#he understands the assignment and he is committed

[iamumbra195]

Live picture of my reaction every time I see someone make a headcanon that Tyler is an irresponsible student like this kid isn't trying his best to keep his grades up really high while being a star athlete to get a college scholarship, despite being stuck in a nightmare dimension with creatures that want to kill him for seven whole hours every day and not knowing if he or his sister will survive long enough to actually have a future:

[queer-ragnelle]

My joy in the work continues and increases. I think I have pulled an understandable character out of Arthur. And he has always been the weakest and coldest to our modern eyes. And if I can do that, the rich ones, Lancelot and Gawain, will be pure dreams to work with.

—John Steinbeck, excerpt from a letter to his editor, April 12, 1959

>

Sir Gawain is probably the most boring of Arthur’s well-known knights. What is there to say about Gawain? He’s not as strong as Lancelot, not as good as Galahad, not as evil as Mordred. Kind of not much of anything, really.

—Overly Sarcastic Productions, Legends Summarized: Arthur’s Knights

[excalisi]

it's a fun hc of mine that during dick's robin days, he went through the "omg i wish i had a cool secret language so i can have secret conversations with my friends" phase all kids go through. but one of his closest friends at the time also happened to be the batman, a guy with possibly the most bizarrely diverse arsenal of skills in the world. bruce sees the merit in the entire idea of a coded language to communicate rudimentary information when they can hear but not see each other. so why not make a code built on bird vocalizations? it's pretty much incomprehensible to anyone without a trained ear or comprehensive knowledge of birding and impossible to even passably mimic without proper training, so while the chances of interception are high, the chances of someone understanding it enough to interrupt during the middle of a bird-convo and feed false information are not.

it also, batman and robin come to realize, feed into the "holy fuck our vigilantes are cryptids" idea. bird sounds that come from seemingly no determinable location (ventriloquism) come to mean batman and robin are nearby. to the goons of gotham, bird song becomes inextricably connected to getting your ass kicked by the dynamic duo. the real reason why criminals don't operate during the day is because they get skittish and jumpy about if the sounds of birds chirping are real birds or some masked vigilantes lying in wait to rock your shit, and it's just easier to commit crimes during the night when all the birds are asleep so you know for sure.

ornithologists have boards on their bedrooms dedicated to the bird-bats of gotham. they've written dissertations.

the bird language becomes a bit of a batfamily bonding connection. teaching each other how to do different clicks and whistles, making up slang so bruce and barbara can't complain of clogging up comms with non-mission relevant talk, searching up birds to associate them with different people, psychologically terrorizing the criminal populace of gotham by chirping at them...

how the bird code works is that there's a bird assigned to each one of gotham's major heavy hitter criminals and vigilantes, and a few assigned to heroes out of the city (by which i mean the ones the bats associate with often enough to have a sign to address by). the only birds i've got so far are the robin (for robin. self-explanatory) and the glistening-green tanager (for the joker). i only have one for the joker bc i wanted to reference this hc in one of my fics and so searched up green birds to find the most eye-searingly annoying-to-look-at green bird i could find, and the glistening-green tanager was the closest one to fit the bill.

[navybrat817]

Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thecherrygod]

If my dad doesn't stop saying that anything i say are excuses I'm gonna commit atrocities

[cometkenji]

killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises. 

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly. 

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint. 

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?” 

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.” 

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up. 

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?” 

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new. 

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick. 

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

– 

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you. 

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up. 

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision. 

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

– 

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him. 

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day. 

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up. 

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it. 

“I can watch him.” 

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you. 

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day. 

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.” 

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless. 

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from. 

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back. 

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.” 

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless. 

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between  friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.” 

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

– 

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it. 

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks. 

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in. 

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine. 

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal. 

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you. 

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.” 

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure. 

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?” 

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.” 

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself.  You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road. 

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much. 

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm. 

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

[mionemymind]

Don't Say Something Stupid

Summary: Wanda is unable to commit yet unable to admit she's wrong. (Part Two of Don't Ask Stupid Questions)

Warnings: Pure Angst, No Happy Ending, Maybe Part Three?

A/n: Wanted to hurt y'all more, so here y'all go :) Gif credits go to @thedorkphoenix

Word Count: 662

Masterlist

Part One | Part Two

“Y/n, your new partner is Emma.” Wanda turned her attention from Vision to Steve at the mention of Emma. Trying to hold back her offense, Wanda commented, “Y/n is my partner.”

Wanda looked back at Y/n, but their eyes hadn’t met as Y/n continued to stare at Emma’s file. “We believe their powers work better together, Wanda. Plus, your new assigned partner is Vision as your mind stones should help with increased efficiency and communication.”

Wanda held back the comment on the tip of her tongue. It wasn’t appropriate to say stupid things like, “But she’s always been my partner.”

“You dumped Vision?” Natasha asked surprisingly. Wanda looked away as she could tell Y/n had heard the comment with the way her shoulders tensed. 

“He kept wanting more and honeslty…” Wanda sighed, feeling more guilty of the additional person she led on, “…and I couldn’t give him that.”

Natasha nodded in understatement as she squeezed Wanda’s shoulder. “Was it because y’all didn’t have the connection?” Wanda shook her head, feeling lost as to why she even did it in the first place. 

“Honestly, I’m not too sure…I rather admit that before saying something stupid.” Wanda tried her best not to look at Y/n’s slumped shoulders as she proceeded to get up from the coach and walk to her room. 

And as Natasha continued to talk, Wanda didn’t dare to remember how much Y/n hated feeling stupid. 

“Why did you get in my way?” Emma was held back by Y/n as she aggressively questioned Wanda. “You almost got Y/n and I hurt with that stunt you pulled.”

Wanda rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Had it not been for my quick thinking, Y/n would’ve got hurt and you would’ve been swarmed.” 

“We had it handled,” Emma bit back. And before Wanda could get another word, Y/n locked eyes with her, and silently pleaded to stop. Seeing Wanda’s stance falter, Y/n pulled Emma back and mumbled, “Let’s not fight anymore. We’ll figure it out a different day so come on.”

While Y/n tugged on Emma’s hand, Wanda mind couldn’t stop thinking of stupid things. The main one being, “Were you even on my side?” 

“Are you ignoring me?” Wanda caught Y/n in the hallway, almost close to the spot where they used to secretly make out. The red head could tell that Y/n had wanted to be anywhere else but there with her. Although it stung, Wanda wanted answers.

“Wanda - I - let’s just be cordial.” Feeling even more confused, Wanda backed Y/n into the wall with her arms crossed. 

“Cordial? You don’t even speak to me anymore.” Y/n still didn’t look at Wanda’s eyes. The girl was absolutely frustrated at how dense Wanda could be as if she couldn’t read the room.

“Well…” Y/n swallowed her anxiety and pain and finally looked into Wanda’s eyes, “…rules are rules. I broke them so this is me moving on from it.”

Wanda stepped back, feeling slapped and shocked at the confession. “Moving on? Are you seriously unable to continue without having feelings involved?” The red head didn’t know where this fierceness came from. It certainly didn’t explain what she truly meant. But she was always too stubborn to think it through. 

Y/n scoffed, not surprised that Wanda could barely understand her place. “You ‘re right, I seriously don’t know why I ever fell for you.” The smug look on Wanda’s face fell. She’s had many people admit their feelings for her but none have ever admitted to regretting them.

Y/n didn’t wait for Wanda’s response and started to walk away but Wanda’s hand stopped her from going. Not wanting to hear anything more, Y/n blurted, “Don’t say anything stupid now, Wanda.”

Snatching her hand out of Wanda’s grip, Y/n declared, “You might get your heart broken if you do.”

Taglist: @halobaby  @arelyitsherec8 @blackxwidowsxwife @cristin-rjd @madamevirgo @trikruismybitch @paradiselost916 @mmmmokdok @morbid-gaymer @dailyavengering @itsnottilly @helloalycia @randomshyperson @tomy5girls @daenerys713 @ensorcellme @lezzzbehonesthere @imagine-reblog

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@imapotatao @iliketozoneout @maximoffbrossupremacy​@olsensnpm​ @psychadelichues​ @whitelotus00 @taliiiaasteria @tynix @autorasexy @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @hiiraya @reginassweetheart @milkeeteaa

@msmothermaximoff @unicorniusfallapatorius @cakechan123 @anniedanvers @oh-thats-cute @ielliesitcheyereposts @how-to-disappearrr @justyourwritter69 @canvascoloredin (Wanted to tag y'all because I think y'all wanted a part two, but I won't add y'all to future taglists unless you want me to)

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part one | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. please note this story will contain a great deal of physical violence, some committed against the reader and some committed by her. this will include fighting, training, torture, and parental abuse. there will also be explicit sexual content. chapter word count: 7500 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix takes his place in formation.  He is the youngest in the youth regiment at only ten years old, but he is no less competent.  They all belong to the same special-ops program, a group of specially selected children raised for armed service.  They are in the employ of Mister Miroh – and he says they will save the world. 

The world is full of shadows, dank black holes and grimy stains so embedded that no regular agent can scrub them out.  The young subjects of the soldier program are not regular agents.  Their existence is their mission.  

Felix has no life outside of the house of Miroh.   

He stands straight.  He looks forward.  His feet are the appropriate width apart and his hands are folded behind his back.  He holds this position as the trainers scour the lined formation, studying the young soldiers and reprimanding any flaw. 

They need the best soldier for this mission.  This is the most important assignment the regiment will ever receive.  Felix has trained his whole life for this.   

“Miroh has many enemies,” speaks the head trainer.  It is a familiar speech, more important now than ever.  “But our target is his local rival.  This enemy family has been a corrupting force for generations, taking through inheritance what it has not earned.  Miroh is not like The Enemy.  Miroh is a solider like you.  He came from nothing, fought for scraps, and built his own business one brick at a time.  He understands the world and he will fix it through you. You will be his hands in the places he cannot reach.  Your role is an honourable one.” 

A trainer passes Felix.  Felix straightens his spine that last infinitesimal degree.  They touch his shoulder but do not reprimand him.  It makes his pulse hammer with anticipation. 

Felix is one of the best.  There is a possibility they will pick him, if only because the actual best has a habit of—

“Oh, cheer up, mate,” Chris’s voice comes from a few rows back. “You know what they say: all work and no play makes—”

He is interrupted by a whoosh of air, probably a trainer punching him in the stomach. Felix closes his eyes so he does not wince.

“Bang Christopher Chan,” the head trainer says, his voice booming across the facility floor.  “Step forward.” 

Felix hears a frustrated sigh, then Chris stomps through the lines to reach the front row.  Everyone looks at him. 

He is an unassuming character.  Not very tall but deceptively strong.  Curly black hair and dimpled cheeks.  Felix remembers that smile, the lilting and friendly, “Call me Chris,” when Felix was just six years old and first thrown into the regiment. 

Bang “Call Me Chris” Chan is the best soldier here.  Or he would be, if he did not hate the honour. 

Even now he is glaring.  Like the rest of them, he is dressed in combat clothes, the pitch black of Miroh.  Unlike the rest of them, he stands with a lazy hunch in his shoulders.  His dark hair is dishevelled and he scowls like a petulant teenager.  He is thirteen going on fourteen but he is far from a normal teenage boy.  Even compared to the rest of them, Chris is something special. 

“Bang Chan,” the head trainer says.  “You have been chosen for this assignment.  Congratulations.” 

Felix is not surprised.  When Chris is forced to apply himself, it is abundantly clear he is the best soldier in the program by a huge margin.   Felix is also not surprised when Chris responds with his usual verve and ire.   

“Yeah, uh, you can go ahead and shove your congratulations up your ass, mate,” Chris says.  He crosses his arms stubbornly.  “Even if we kill this guy, do you really expect us to believe that’s the end of it?  You’re putting us in the middle of a fight we didn’t start.”   

He addresses the soldiers behind him just as much as the trainer.  He even glances at Felix who glares back at him, unimpressed with the rebellious dramatics.  Chris never learns.  He gets more chances than the rest of them because he is so good.  If he wanted, he could be unstoppable.  He could use his strengths for good. 

Instead, he just looks at the trainer and shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chris says.  “You started this fight.  I’m not ending it.”

A few of the adult guards move towards him.  The gathered soldiers take a collective breath, watching with anticipation.  It is common knowledge that thirteen year old Bang Chan can take a regular adult guard in a matter of seconds.  When it comes to Chris, the question is not who will win, but will he fight at all? 

He stands there like he has no intention of fighting.  But before anyone can grab him, the door opens. 

Miroh enters. 

The room is so tense and silent, his footsteps reverberate like thunder.  Miroh is every inch a soldier even in his blazer and tie.  He walks with purpose, his face intent. 

Walking behind him, keeping decent pace despite her smaller frame, is his daughter. 

Miroh is a fighter who does not believe in unearned inheritance, so his daughter is trainee soldier like the rest of them.  She is the same age as Chris.  She trains with the regiment, one of the better agents, but she was not in contention for this particular job.  People have tried to kill The Enemy before and it did not work, resulting in the death of innocents.  Miroh wants a strong heir and he is not above putting her through the same grueling regime as the rest of them, but he will not recklessly risk her life. 

It is fair to Felix.  Miroh’s world makes sense.  He believes in it.  He believes in him.

So he is rapt as Miroh approaches. 

The adult guards fall back and the young soldiers stand at attention.  Miroh’s jaw is set with grim determination.  He stares at Chris.

Chris drops his crossed arms.  He is smart enough not to run his mouth at Miroh directly, but his frustration is clearly simmering beneath the surface.  His fingers curl and uncurl in little fists. 

Miroh stands in front of him.  He speaks loud enough to address the entire room.

“I do not begrudge your desire for information,” Miroh says.  “You’re soldiers, not animals.  I acknowledge that you wish to know about the long-term goals for this company.  But that is not your job or your purpose.  This business is deliberately compartmentalized so if one cog in the machine fails, the apparatus does not cease to function.  The results of your missions speak for themselves.  What we’re doing is good work. That is all that matters.”

“Says you,” Chris blurts.  Even he looks surprised by his own retort, though he does not take it back.  He looks Miroh in the eye. 

Miroh looks back.  Then he reaches into the holster beneath his long coat and draws a gun.  It is smooth, second-nature.  Miroh is used to getting his hands dirty.  His steady hand points the gun at Chris. 

The trigger has not been pulled but the trainers already flinch.  They know Chris is the best and they have worked hard to shape him, even if his stubborn mind is not molded as easily as his body. 

Chris, himself, does not flinch.  He stares down the barrel, unrelenting. 

“You don’t want to do that.” 

The soft interjection makes everyone pause.  Heads turn and eyes dart, everyone’s attention transferring to the thirteen year old girl in the shadows.   

Miroh does not lower the gun but he looks at his daughter.  Chris looks at her too.  Felix is not sure who is more bewildered. 

The girl, herself, is calm.  She has indubitably mastered a stoic countenance, not a hint of emotion anywhere on her young face. 

“He’s the First Guard,” she states simply.  “This is not worth killing him over.”

The First Guard.  The other kids in the regiment sometimes call Chris that, though he doesn’t like it so it is usually behind his back.  Chris does not like that he has been singled out.  Chris does not like anything about the program. 

This is Miroh’s second attempt at the youth soldier program.   The operation raises soldiers from childhood to fight, to withstand pain, to feel no fear.  This training is supplemented with medical treatments, hormonal injections that are only effective if administered in the crucial developmental years of childhood.  It aids in building a body for soldiership, to take a hit just a little harder than most. 

Chris is the only survivor from the first round of injections.  He survived every test that followed.  He is stronger for it, even stronger than the rest of them.  He is a singular asset.  He will never be replicated. 

Thanks to The Enemy, none of them will ever be replicated.  The Enemy recently attempted to recruit Miroh’s developers and killed them when he did not succeed.  Detailed knowledge of the treatment died with them.   

Miroh can never accomplish anything with his enemy on perpetual offense.  Felix knows the stories like the rest of them, the generations of corruption wrought by a single wealthy family with its iron fist wrapped around the country’s throat.  Miroh wants to free them.  Felix knows if they kill this one man, if the household is left to rot in the hands of its weak successor, then Miroh can finally set everyone free. 

It is a noble honour.

Chris does not see it that way.  He never has.  Maybe it is different for him, having watched those other children die.  Felix understands it was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.  The Enemy cannot be killed by a regular soldier.  So many more innocents will die if he is left unchecked.  Surely that is worth the price of a few soldiers.  Wars have casualties.  It will be worth it.

It has to be worth it. 

Bang Chan, the First Guard – call me Chris – takes a deep breath.  It sounds frustrated.  He glares at Miroh’s daughter who is unaffected. 

Felix looks between them.  Then his gaze lands on another soldier in the formation.  Seo Changbin is in the first row, a boy one year older than Felix.  Not the best soldier, not second best, but not the worst. His most notable trait is his humour and his friendship with Miroh’s daughter.  They are close – at least as close as anyone can be down here. 

Changbin is looking at her right now, his gaze searing with intensity.  Their eyes meet briefly and he shakes his head, a small motion, just enough for her to see.  Despite his clear warning to stop, she is not dissuaded from addressing her father. 

“With all due respect, sir,” she says to Miroh, “Eliminating Bang Chan would be a mistake.  He’s the best soldier in the operation.”

“The best,” Miroh says.  He presses the barrel of the gun against Chris’s forehead.  Chris goes tense and everyone takes a breath.    

His daughter is still unmoved.  She is a quiet character in general.  Felix has barely heard her speak never mind argue.  She keeps her head down and goes about her work obediently.  She is a good daughter and a better soldier.     

Maybe that is why Miroh hesitates. 

“He is not the best if this is how he conducts himself,” Miroh says. 

“Father, aren’t you the best at what you do?” she asks without hesitation.  “Surely a proper soldier like you should be able to control a little boy.  Are you saying you are not capable of that task?  It takes no skill to shoot a teenager.  What message do you send to the rest of us if you have to resort to desperate measures to keep your own army in line?”    

The silence is deafening.  Even with a gun plastered to his forehead, a little dimple of amusement pops in Chris’s cheek.  Changbin exhales.  Felix is sick of standing still but he holds his form despite the growing tension. 

The seconds feel like hours.  Eventually, Miroh lowers the gun. 

“Guards,” he says.  The adult guards are immediately at his side.  “My daughter has faith in our order.  I would be remiss as a father to fail her.”  He looks down at Chris and speaks with a snarl in his upper lip, “Let us all try our best to succeed.” 

Miroh snaps his fingers and points at Chris.  The guards swarm him, two of them taking an arm each.  At least Chris is smart enough not to struggle.  He is an indomitable force but he does not have an army at his call.  He lets himself be seized. 

“Take him to the Cell,” Miroh says.

An instinctive hiss leaves the mouths of a few soldiers.  They have all been trained to withstand various degrees of torture, but the Cell is one of the worst.  Even Felix shudders at the mention of it.  It is a small windowless room buried deep in the bunker of the training facility, a small prison cell with no light and no warmth.  Everyone has taken a turn in isolation, camped on the hard ground in the damp and cold and dark.  Down there, minutes feel like days, days like years.  At least literal torture causes sensation.  The Cell is a great black nothing. 

Chris does not argue, knowing it would be useless, but he does glare at Miroh as he is hauled away. 

“Take her too,” Miroh says. 

With a snap of his fingers, two more guards surface and grab his daughter.  Her stoic expression finally fractures, true surprise bursting on her face. 

“Me?” she asks. 

“As my daughter, your perspective is acknowledged and appreciated,” he says.  “As a soldier, you need to remember your place.  Throw them in together.  Double the people, double the time.” 

Felix would not want to be shoved in that tiny space with another person.  Certainly not if the trade was double the duration. 

But then, Felix does not like company.  He does not understand the exhausted look on Changbin’s face.  Changbin isn’t being punished, so why would he feel anything? 

Felix watches.  He holds his form even where others begin to wane. 

The guards and their prisoners leave.  The door closes and Miroh looks over the regiment.

“Who’s the second best?”  Miroh asks. 

There is a beat of silence, the scene settling.  The trainer finally clears his throat and looks down at his papers. 

“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he says in that booming voice.  Felix’s heart soars just as high.  “Step forward.”

Felix marches forward, keeps his eyes ahead.  Miroh approaches him.  Felix does not flinch, not even when Miroh circles him like prey.

“He’s young,” Miroh says.  “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

“I want to do good,” Felix answers.  “I’m ready.” 

They put a gun in his hand and a beanie on his head.  He enters the world looking like a normal ten year old boy. 

He puts a bullet in the head of The Enemy. 

He suspects one day he will be back for the son and granddaughter. 

He hopes it will be soon. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Despite your father’s remarkable propensity for making you feel like a child, you are a grown adult.  You are intelligent and conniving and dangerously competent.  In some ways, having been raised like a soldier beneath his merciless iron fist, you are more steadfast, more severe.  Your life is carved into his, your fates tethered as one to his success.  You are your father’s daughter, a Miroh, irrevocably a product of his upbringing.   

You do not show weakness.  You do not throw tantrums.  You might spend twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, and you might spend another five minutes shining your shirt buttons, then ten more folding and re-folding the lapel of your long coat – but walking into his office almost forty minutes late is not the same thing as throwing a tantrum. 

You think you’re composed until you walk through that door, then the week’s anxieties expand in the cage of your chest.  You are capable but you are not stupid.  Miroh might be your father but he is a totalitarian man of influence and it would be foolish not to be wary of his power. 

You are more apprehensive than you appear, but you march in there like a soldier, shoulders back and head high.  You inherited your father’s marble expressions and stone stature.  No one would ever guess your palms were so clammy, your neck hot and damp with sweat. 

“I’m here,” you say by way of greeting.   You are not characters to indulge in artificial small talk.  There is no affection here and pretending otherwise is a waste of everyone’s time.  

“I won’t bother with pre-amble,” he says, predictably.   ”You know why you’re here.”

“I do,” you say.  “And I don’t agree with it.”

“I know you don’t.”

The argument ends just like that.  You knew it was a dead-end protestation before you opened your mouth, but you had to say something.  You are adamantly opposed to your father’s latest imposition.    

A personal, twenty-four hour bodyguard.   For you.    

The decision was not made lightly.   Your father’s business rival perished just under a month ago, the bloody circumstances extreme and mysterious.  Until Miroh can ascertain what truly transpired at that house on that fateful night, then he cannot be too careful when it comes to guarding his own legacy.

Your father is a military tactician and business man.  He is in the habit of bracing for every eventuality with a detached, pragmatic determination.   Of course he wants you watched. This bodyguard assignment is imperative in protecting his house. 

“I have a security team,” you say. 

“They are insufficient,” he replies. 

“I trained them myself.”

“They are too numerous.”

“I’ll cut down the roster.”

“Rotations open vulnerabilities.”    

“And who’s to replace them?” Your patience snaps. “One of your dogs?”

“You are also one of my dogs,” he says, voice soft for such a venomous retort.  It stings like a slash across your chest.  “I would not disparage them.” 

“Oh, of course, my apology.”  You speak with the same false gentility.  “What a thoughtful master you are.”

“I must be,” he says, “because the dogs still come when I call.” 

There is so much contempt in his voice.  He looks at you with more hatred than he ever directed to his worst enemy.   It makes you want to leap across this room and throttle him with your bare hands, like you can shake the animosity right out of him. 

You are too old to feel like a little girl on the verge of tears, demanding to know why her father does not love her.   You have long since accepted there is no easy answer to that question.  You would say that Miroh is simply not capable of love but you know that is not true.  He can love.  He just doesn’t love you.  

You are the perfect heir, his exact replica in ability and countenance, but it is not enough.  It will never be enough.  No matter what you do, no matter how faithfully you obey him.   You have bloodied your hands in the shadows while he takes the public credit.  You have helped build the reputation of the family name.  You have given him everything. 

He rewards you with this.   

You are not stupid.  Regardless of his excuses, he does not want you under surveillance for your protection.  You both know your personal training puts you leagues ahead of the overwhelming majority of agents.  Your security team is a superfluous accessory as is.

Miroh has just witnessed the collapse of a previously impenetrable legacy.  This does not put him at ease.  The battle technician accounts for every possible manoeuvre.  You know he foresees his own downfall just as easily as he sees his success.  Unseated before his time, reputation annihilated, replaced by someone as savage and persistent as him. 

A bodyguard will not protect you from the world.  It will protect Miroh from you. 

For all your inner turmoil, you are a steadfast rock, standing across your father in his office and exchanging a knowing glance.  You are just like him.  Of course he is scared of you.  Of course he hates you.  Of course he needs you.  

The feeling is devastatingly mutual. 

“Who is it?” you ask, calmly. 

“Agent Slump, step forward,” your father calls one of the guards posted at the back wall.  “This is your new bodyguard officer.  He will accompany you at all times, day and night, including your office hours and service train—”

The agent steps forward as your father speaks.  You draw your gun out of your chest holster and shoot when the man steps into your periphery.  It blows through his shoulder and knocks him down, all in a piercing shriek that reverberates around the small room.  The other guards flinch in the ringing aftermath. 

You look at your father and re-holster your gun.  You lay the lapel of your long coat back over your chest. 

“He leaves something to be desired,” you say.  “I would have thought you learned your lesson with these undertrained toy soldiers.  Maybe a better bodyguard would have kept your wife alive.” 

Your own mother died during complications in childbirth.  Miroh remarried a few years later, a woman he genuinely seemed to cherish, a woman who was killed in retaliation for a deal gone sour.  Nothing fills your father with more righteous fury than the mention of her.  Miroh loved her almost as much as he hates you. 

You know better than to retaliate with such childish rejoinders, but you want to hit him where it hurts, see something real on that stoic face.  It garners you a flicker of rage, bathed in all that loathing, and it makes you smile. 

“Let me know if you can find a competent replacement,” you say.  “Until then, I have work to do.” 

You turn heel and march to the door.  The guards move out of your way despite lack of command.  They have never respected you the way they respect your father, but they do fear you and it works the same way. 

You are dressed for the office but after an unproductive hour spent stewing in agitation, you give up.  The head of your security team accompanies you across town to the primary training facilities.  Hidden in plain site, here Miroh has trained and developed some of his most deadly assets. 

You are one of those assets.  You spent your childhood in this facility, training among an elite selection of children, raised for the purpose of violence and victory.  It was a unique program.  It has never been revived, the medicant administered to the children lost and yet to be replicated.  

You are one of the few still living. 

Your training was relatively more lax.  As Miroh’s daughter, the trainers could not let you die.  But neither he nor they had qualms with letting you suffer.  Miroh never admonished them and you never complained, at the time naively thinking that if you could prove yourself then he would care about you.

A foolish aspiration long since abandoned. 

But the training has served you well over the years.  It certainly comes in handy when you need to fucking punch something. 

Your security team is comprised of regular soldiers so it does not take much to best them in a fight.  The exertion is nonetheless liberating.  You have always felt more at ease in action than behind a desk.  Combat clothes are less stifling than formalwear.  There is a reason Miroh never paraded you at parties the way his late enemy did with his late daughter.  Your place is in a fight and always has been.  

After a few rounds in the ring, you stop to rest.   Your team knows when to leave you alone to brood.  You lay back on the mat, flat in the ring. 

There is a moment, as often passes, where you question your entire life.  It has been a long, vicious fight, clawing your way to your position, that the road back out seems like an impossibly arduous task.  Too much has happened, too much pain and loss.  It has to mean something. 

You cannot surrender now.  The very thought has you reeling, physically painful to even consider.  

This is where you belong.  It is an irrevocable truth.  You are a Miroh. 

“Yah, murder princess,” comes a voice and the thud of booted steps.  “Just three rounds?  Tsk.  You’re getting soft.”

You roll over, grinning even though you know better.  You look up at Changbin who is dressed in similar fatigues, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark bangs brushing his smirking face. 

“I was waiting for a real fight,” you reply.  “Looks like I’m still waiting.”

He barks out a laugh. 

Changbin is one of the few survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  Unlike others who were imported from your father’s overseas operations, Changbin was raised right here alongside you.  You do not even remember meeting him; he has just always been there.  

He is a few years younger but he always held your attention, both because of his skill and his ability to retain a sense of humour.  It was an often sought breath of relief in the conditions of your training. 

You look at Changbin now, grinning and more jovial than someone like him should be.  It is a testament to his resolute strength that he can hold a dual personality inside him.  He has always been that way.  He can flip between a stoic soldier and goofy guy in the blink of an eye.  It is part of the reason you have never let yourself entirely trust him.  Though you are fond of him, he is like you: just a little too good at what he does. 

“Haha, the princess thinks she’s a comedian now,” Changbin says.  He nudges you with the tip of his boot.  “If you want to make me laugh, you should try fighting.” 

“Oh, I see.”  You cannot help but rise to his bait, like always.  He is a perpetual little brother even though he is not your real brother and certainly not little anymore. 

You swipe at him and he jumps back.  Just like that, the pair of you fall into a long practiced dance.  

It is not the gentle footwork of a real dance, but a violent collision and parry of limbs.  It is just as musical and in sync, and somehow almost as tender.  You know each other’s weaknesses as well as strengths.  You know how to beat each other and how to prolong surrender, where to give advantage so the other can continue.  You used to fight until the trainers called a tie, saving you both from selection for the loser’s punishment.  To everyone else, it looked like a fight.  To you, it was a conversation and consolation.  Even if you had been in solitude for weeks, in that moment you were not alone. 

Changbin reads you now, in every swipe and jump and dodge.  In your matching black clothes and matching strength you collide and converse.  Your frustration strains in every vein and his enquires are plain in the deliberate pause of his complicated steps.

“Daddy problems, ah, murder princess?” he asks, grinning. 

He catches your fist before it collides with that smirk, twisting your wrist so you are forced to follow with a heavy drop.  You roll together, a back and forth until you individually spring to your feet and face each other.  You wait for the next move with equal calculation.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, batting a hit. 

“Really?” he asks.  “Because there are rumours in the pig pen that the general was looking for a big strong soldier to protect his little princess.” 

He lets you clock his jaw but it is a satisfying smack nonetheless.  A drop of aggravation is wrung out with your sweat.  You wipe your brow. 

“There was a change of plans,” you say.

Changbin laughs.   He is loud, always so loud for someone who can be so stealthy. 

“Of course!” he shouts.  “Keeping the doctors busy today, are you?”

He really knows you too well.  It is mutual.  You side-step a movement and body-check him. 

“Guess that’s what the general gets for choosing from the pig pen,” you say.  You infuse your father’s title with all the sardonic venom it deserves and pig pen with the same playful mockery as always. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Changbin teases right back, catching your taunt as easily as he catches your punch.  “If you keep practicing, one day you might be almost as good as me.” He has been making the same wisecrack for years, laughing to himself every single time. 

“Funny,” you say dryly. 

“I am the best,” he continues to tease, embellishing his movements with an unnecessarily dramatic flair.  “I’m sure that’s why the general doesn’t want me on bodyguard duty, right?  I need a real job, not protecting the princess.”

There are a few rapid-fire moves, too taxing for speech.  Then you manage, “Right.”  You take his offered opening and catch the back of his knee with yours.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your probation after the last field mission.” 

You expect to take him down but you do not expect the weight of his crash.  It is not like Changbin to fully collapse under you, almost like he was truly surprised. 

You are just as dazed by the impact.  You loom over him, staring bemusedly, like you have no idea how he got on the floor. 

It is not like Changbin to take a hit so personally.  Of all your father’s soldiers, he was always the best at shrugging off his individuality in favour of a mission.   He does not tend to dwell on his losses anymore than he lingers in his victories.  The past is a heavy thing to carry into battle.  He knows to leave it behind.  There is always another job around the corner. 

“You’re not still upset about that?” you ask.

The mission was shortly before the enemy’s downfall.  Years ago, one of your father’s child soldiers betrayed an operation.  Lee Felix switched sides and the enemy did not let your father forget it.   But Miroh is an ever-calculating general who knows which battles are worth fighting.  After one failed attempt at seizing the enemy’s daughter, he waited until the enemy came to him instead.  

When he finally did, you caught him.  You sent Changbin after his daughter and waited for the enemy’s imminent surrender.  He retracted his operation but Felix, that loose canon of a traitor-turned-bodyguard, fucked the Mirohs a second time and disappeared with her.  They all died a week later. 

Changbin was noticeably uneasy after the job, but you did not think much of it.   You were not worried about Changbin taking the mission too personally.  Yes, Felix was a former soldier in this regiment, but Changbin is not sentimental.  You chalked up his despondency to his loss.  It is not like him to let a target slip through his fingers. 

“Upset,” Changbin says.  “Me?”

You know him too well.  The joking tone is diminished, buried beneath the weight of his gloom.  He tries to smile but it does not fit on his face, too big and too wide of a grin. 

You tip your head, your regard scrutinous.  You have no idea how to talk to him with real depth.  You look at each other and understand it, but vocalizing it is another matter entirely. 

Like he can read your thoughts, his face scrunches up and he says, “Yah, you, cut that out!”  He shoves you as he gets to his feet, both of you stumbling.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Come on, hit me again.” 

You are certainly better at conversing that way.

You take a starting stance but you are interrupted when someone from your security team whistles.  It is a warning whistle, the sharp tone a code for the arrival of your father.

You and Changbin straighten, turning to watch as Miroh approaches with a flank of armed guards behind him.  They are all dressed for combat in their black uniforms and black masks.  The half-mask is regulation for all field agents.  It covers the bottom half of the face and serves as protection in the event of smoke from explosions or exposure to noxious aerosols and gasses.

It also undoubtedly turns a human soldier into a less-than-human figure.  It obscures features, faces, flaws. 

Sharp eyes stare at you, every face uniform and expressionless.  There are half a dozen of them.  Your father’s usual security detail trails behind them.  Your security team eyes them in turn.   The whole room feels like a pot about to boil over.    

“What is this?” you demand.  

“This is my adherence to our agreement,” your father says. 

“Our agreement?” you ask.

“Yes.”  He stops in the middle of the room, standing straight and steady.  He looks at ease, like he barges in here with a small army every day.  “You tasked me to find a competent replacement bodyguard,” he says.  “So here is how this will go: whichever agent can beat you in a fight, right here, right now, will be your new bodyguard.  If you defeat them all, I will drop the issue and leave the matter of your personal security to you.” 

You look at his soldiers then at him.  You force yourself to composure.  It is not like you to instigate so much confrontation. You prefer to keep your head down and get the job done.  Your father does not love you but he knows your work is reliable.  Usually that is enough.

This entire escapade with the enemy has unravelled everyone.  The house of Miroh should be more stable than ever, your father taking over assets left behind by the enemy, but the whole world feels changed.  It is off its axis.  You feel unsteady, your body braced for attack with no reprieve.  You feel like you are looking at the world through someone else’s eyes.  Everything feels wrong.

In difficult times, you fall back on training and soldier instinct.  You are a battle technician, just as competent as your father.  He is not going to drop the issue and this is a fair compromise.  You can fight these guards.  Half a dozen well-trained field agents is a handful but not impossible.  Your body is built to be a little faster, a little stronger, to take a hit harder. 

“Fine,” you say, a single grating syllable.  You bite the word.  Through clenched teeth, you add, “Let’s do this.”

You and Changbin exchange a look.  He reflects your confusion, knowing you can easily take these guards, knowing Miroh knows that too.  It makes you feel even more uneasy.  Your father must be planning something but you do not know what.  But you cannot control him.  You can only control yourself.  You can fight these guys.  You can win. 

You take a swig of water then stretch.  The first guard takes a position in the fighting ring.  You brace yourselves with a starting stance, measuring the other. 

You wait, sweat dripping down your brow.  You feel their eyes on you, every soldier, your father, your friend.  Changbin stands off to the side, sitting in shadows.

It is where your kind belongs.  You are not regular soldiers. 

The fight begins and you take him down swiftly.  Your game with Changbin was just that, a game.  This is real.  This is a battle.  This is what your body was made to do. 

One by one, you take out the agents.  They charge at you, they swing at you, they even try to taunt you.  You deflect it all.  Your fist connects with a temple, your foot their knee.  You pop joints and flip soldiers and springboard back to action. 

You are getting tired by the last soldier but you do not let it show.  You sweat profusely, breathing hard, but you run at him and take him down.  Your bodies are a swirl of limbs and powerful movements.  Then he is on the ground, groaning, and you are rising, victorious. 

“Well?” you say.  You cannot help but grin, elated from the sheer exertion of exercise, and proud of your triumph.  There is a small, stupid part of you that hopes underneath everything, your father is proud too.  That he must relent and admit you are good.  

Miroh just stands there, unmoving and unaffected.  It dims your smile, frustration returning.  It simmers hot beneath your skin. It distracts you. 

Pain explodes in your left cheek, so sharp and searing it turns the world dark for half a second.  You see lightning flashes as you stumble, falling onto your side.  There is another guard in front of you, one you did not even see enter the room.  Did he drop down from the ceiling? 

He is a blurry shape.  You blink the stars out of your eyes, holding your throbbing head until clarity returns. 

Then your stomach drops. 

It is not a guard looming over you.  He wears the same black combat uniform and the same half-mask, but everything about him is different, everything from his build to his stance to the ice cold slash of his dark eyes.  Emotionless.  Empty. 

“Ah, I see,” you say, a breathless slur of words.  You cannot stop your voice from shaking.  “The First Guard.  I should have known.” 

There are only two living soldiers who can fight at your level.  The only two survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  One of them is Seo Changbin.

The other is Bang Christopher Chan. 

He stands over you in his combat gear, unflinching and barely human.  Even without the mask, you doubt you would see any humanity.  There is not a single shred of the boy he once was.  Chan was a problem for Miroh, once.  That was a very long time ago. 

That boy, Chris, is dead.  He has been dead for years.  The soldier in front of you is someone – something – else. 

You get to your feet, slowly and shakily.  He watches you.  He does not speak and he barely blinks, his gaze a meticulous perusal, his body braced for anything. 

Chan has the bloodiest, dirtiest hands of them all.  He does your father’s worst missions, assignments with details that even you are barred from knowing.  He is terrifyingly efficient, deadlier than any weapon in Miroh’s arsenal, and that is saying something because it is a substantial arsenal.  

Your own hands are dirty but it is nothing in comparison.  He is fast, he is deadly, and he feels nothing.  He looks at you like a machine scans a calculation.  A broken bone here, a fracture there.  You are certain he is already picturing a hundred different ways to contort your broken body. 

“Right,” you say. 

You are a strategist.  You know how to fight.  You know when not to fight.  But it is like instinct.  You look at him and something says fight him.   

You feel your father’s eyes on you.  You are not sure who is teaching who a lesson. 

You take a swing at Chan.  He dodges it.  He swings too, faster, but you anticipate it.  You tuck and roll, moving faster than you have ever moved in your life.  You are seldom pushed to the brink of your abilities like this.  Even half your skillset is double what most adversaries possess. 

But Chan is too much.  You spend the fight on constant defense, blocking swing after swing, hit after hit.  You take advantage of the smallest opening and crack your fist on his chest, only to realize he deliberately opened himself to it.  He grabs your wrist and twists you around before you can retaliate.�� You are not used to such brute strength.  You follow his twisting to prevent a sprain or fracture, which he anticipates.  He grabs you by the throat and yanks you into him, right off your feet. 

You choke, blue swarming your rapidly blurring vision.  He slams you down on the ground, further disorienting you, still clutching your neck.

You dive somewhere deep inside your head.  You collect yourself as per your training, then swing your knee up between his legs.  It does not fully incapacitate him but it does discombobulate him.  He lets go of your throat and you slide between his legs, jumping up behind him.  He turns just in time to take a kick to the stomach, blasting him backwards to the end of the ring.    He prevents a worse fall by forcing himself down on one knee. 

You take the second he is down to catch your breath.  You try to calculate your next move but your adrenaline is dwindling.  Hopelessness settles in your chest.  You cannot win this fight.  At best, you can prolong it, but—

For the second time, you are blind-sided by pain.  It shatters down the right side of your body, a winded shove that blows right through you.   But it is not Chan.  Chan is still getting to his feet. 

You look up only for Changbin to bring his fist down in your face.  It knocks you off your feet and you land with a heavy thud.  Your heart races inside your aching chest. 

You have never fought Changbin like this. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss when he grabs you by the neck and drags you onto your feet.  You come to your senses and fight back, but you are hurt and tired and he has been recuperating. 

He punches you clear across the jaw and knocks you down again.  The world tilts sideways, spotted with black and blue.  Changbin drops on top of you.  You cannot even wrestle him, so disoriented.  He gets you flat on your front and pins you down. 

Then he takes a second to whisper in your ear, “Stop fighting me, murder princess.  Who do you want as a bodyguard?  Me or that thing?” 

If you were not so tired, you might have laughed. 

Your life is so backwards.  Changbin is helping you by beating the shit out of you.  But it is undoubtedly helpful.  He is right.  If Chan beat you, then Chan would be your bodyguard.  Your father would win.  He would have one of his agents glued to your side.  An agent you would never be able to shake no matter what you did. 

But it is not Chan over you.  It is your friend.  Someone from the same shadows as you.  Someone your father was not anticipating.

Changbin grabs you by the neck and yanks you up.  You look at your father with blood dribbling out of your mouth.

“I win,” Changbin says. 

Your father does not look happy.  That should upset you.  You and Miroh are bound as one. 

But it gives you a thrill.  His abomination of a soldier looms to the side, still staring at you, like he expects the fight to continue any second.  You suppose Chan’s life is one big fight and always has been. 

It doesn’t have to be that way for you, you think to yourself, a dangerous thought, one conjured by the feeling of your only friend holding you in his arms.  It looks like a death grip to anyone else, purely technical, but you feel it, the way he cups your injuries carefully despite his bulk and power.     

Miroh is scared.  He is getting desperate.  He wants you brought to heel.   In doing so, he is only stoking your resentment.

That pot starts to boil over.

“Well?” you say, in a voice as rough as gravel. 

“Yes,” your father says with a petty little snarl.  “I suppose you have won, haven’t you?” 

Changbin helps you off the ground.  You suffer through your pains.  You can feign steadiness for another minute, for long enough to retaliate.

You climb out of the ring.   You pass the other injured guards.  You walk right up to your father. 

Miroh stares at you.  You have identical glares, measuring each other.  Two soldiers with the same fire in their blood. 

You punch him.  It is a nice sharp shot across the face, using all the strength you have left.  You are one of the best.  Despite your injuries, it is still one fucking hell of a punch.

Miroh falls back in an undignified sprawl, hitting the hard ground with a painful thud.  He is good but he is not you. A fall like that would not have broken your bones the way it clearly fractures his arm.  

“Until next time, father,” you say. 

You step over him.  His security team immediately surrounds him, helping him up.  Your team comes to your aid as well.  Changbin follows too, coming right up to your side.  He grabs your arm and slings it around his shoulder, taking the brunt of your weight seconds before you would have collapsed. 

You look back over your shoulder.  The injured guards are tending their wounds.  Chan is looming in the background like a living shadow.  Miroh is clutching his arm and staring at you with fury pouring out of him.  You walk away, smiling despite your injuries. 

Your father should know better than to hit you.

You always hit back.

[tragedy-for-sale]

The Point of no Return

Because I will never shut up about the Hardeen arc- I really need to emphasize the importance of this moment right here. When we think of the Hardeen arc, we only ever think about the aftermath, after the lie and after the pain. But I have never thought about the before. The moments right before.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, he brings his lightsaber to his chest and he gathers himself. He has to take a moment to think about what he's about to do.

This is a complete turn of feelings from when we see him wittingly ask how his funeral was, it's that simple and easy commentary that makes them all think this was easy for him to do. He shoves down what he's feeling right here and instead he jokes and laughs. He's fun and easy, he's funny, he's great, but he's not, he's not, he's in a lot of pain and he hurt everyone close to him in the worst way. Obi-Wan would never hurt them, but he has, and he'll never be forgiven.

He made this choice for the greater good, but the greater good is seldom so. It's in this moment we understand his full awareness of the deception he is about to undergo, how there is no forgiveness for the action he is about to commit, how after all this is over, Obi-Wan cannot expect forgiveness and understanding because this is for the greater good, this is for the Jedi and all they protect.

This isn't a choice for Obi-Wan. It is an assignment to a Jedi Master. Attachment is forbidden, become a part of the cosmic force, and the galaxy will benefit from your sacrifice. But the undercurrent of remorse is there, and all the people he left behind will never forgive Obi-Wan for dying.

So, Obi-Wan holds his lightsaber to his chest because it is his life, it's a silent goodbye to who he is because of what he is. He chooses the Jedi and that choice kills him. It's in that moment that he says goodbye to Anakin and Ahsoka, to Cody and himself. His identity, his lightsaber, are about to no longer exist. Obi-Wan would willingly sacrifice who he is for the sake of the Jedi but that doesn't mean it is easy for him to do. So he holds his lightsaber close because he's not becoming a part of the cosmic force, he's becoming something much worse.

[justblades]

⌕ AT WITS END, 18+

⟢ CHARACTERS : jing yuan x afab! reader x luocha WC : 2.1k

⟢ WARNINGS : SMUT, MINORS DNI. dubcon, drugging, threesome, anal sex, double penetration, use of sex toys, porn with plot.

⟢ SUMMARY : the xianzhou general and a merchant doctor take notice that you were dr~gged by a suspicious syndicate. they are at your disposal to save you from the grave situation, but it could only be done when the drug's symptoms are quenched.

being luocha's apprentice in the medical field alone takes up most of the space on your plate, especially now that you're assigned to jing yuan to be his personal physician— the jobs just keep on overflowing, too much for the feeble mind to handle.

in actuality, you weren't supposed to be stationed in the xianzhou luofu. it's just that luocha isn't fond of having much spotlight shone upon him that therefore lead to you being referred to be the general's doctor. as soon as you caught wind that you piqued the interest of one of the charioteers of the luofu, you were determined to perform at your best - to be chosen.

and the gods of luck only spat at you when you were employed by the general jing yuan. he never committed any grave sins nor did such heinous things, it was just his way of governing that left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth as soon as you got to know more of jing yuan. you harbor a strong dislike for anyone regardless of their position to be cowering in the shadows when particular problems arise, saying sham excuses like "i am forbidden to take action because of my rank."

seeing the gray headed general opens up old wounds; a scar you thought that has healed a long time ago. as someone who used to be in the bottom of society's hierarchy, it was until then you grew old you started to understand corrupt officials. those who live in their privileged bubbles, enjoying the comfort of their power and own homes.

as meticulous jing yuan is, it was natural for him to not mind your small banter and snarky remarks against the general. the way he reacts is exceptional, he doesn't bother defending his name amidst the comments he's been receiving since day one. jing yuan never loses his composure and pays no heed to trivial matters.

you grit your teeth as you recall those moments, swearing to yourself that you'll br able to crack him and spit in his face that he's a no good leader. mentally cussing him out as childish as it seems, you continue to do your job, which was preparing your equipments and kits containing vast range of medicines.

drawing a sloth sigh in the end, you carefully lift up the objects. pivoting your heel to take a swift turn, suddenly, your eyes lock a glance with the familiar golden hues, those that exude indolence and of mystery. shock rakes your spine and goosebumps break over your skin, making you fall down on your butt as you feel a tug from your upper clothing.

you were too occupied at piercing through the general's soul with your bitter expressions that you didn't notice the matter at hand in present. "to what do i owe you the pleasure?" your words hinted with sarcasm, you end the question with a cozen smile.

much to your surprise, he crouches down to your level and helps you pick up the strewn pieces of gadgets and equipments on the wooden, varnished floorings. you cock a brow at his actions and proceeded to watch him in confusion; but a sudden puff of glacial wind traces your skin, reaching parts of your body from within.

glancing down at what could be the cause, it was a little too late for you to realize your clothes were torn apart, exposing your treasures right in front of the man you hate so much. instinctively grabbing the largest piece of ripped fabric, you immediately cover the last part of your dignity with it, closing your eyes shut to recall what transpired in such a short moment of time exactly.

"your senses are way too off lately." his smoky voice cut off your rowdy train of thoughts meanwhile you spiral further into bewilderment on what he's hinting at. "you've fallen prey for their false marketing. however, worry not. i'll do what i can to take it from here."

your eyelids unexpectedly felt heavy, as if jing yuan's words are making you feel dizzy. you could only ask yourself 'what is he plotting', until the moment his large slender hands support your figure. "i'm certain you're puzzled; but the food you ingested two days ago had long term effects of a particular ingredient - similar to an aphrodisiac. fortunately, its symptoms erupted just now and not while you were on duty."

he drapes your arm on his shoulders and snakes his hand around your waist. jing yuan carefully lifts your body and leads you to a particular vicinity. you hoped to see where he was taking you at least, but your vision betrays you as you fall into a deep sleep.

you peel your eyes open to well-lit ceilings, etched with luofu's motifs. you scan your surroundings amidst the lethargic feeling weighing your body down, only to see the despised general welcome your vision once again. "unfortunately, there is only one way to rid you from its symptoms." you part your lips open, but your throat feels dry - no words follow suit of what you wanted to verbalize.

"this is a grave situation but i need to have your consent."

another static voice erupts in the vicinity, seemingly coming from a gadget jing yuan had in hand. "general, we're running out of time already." his brows knit in exchange, and mumble few words right after. "doctor, forgive me."

your body jolts awake from the intrusion you felt from your lower region, only to see a makeshift of lewd toys handled by the grizzle haired. as much as you wanted to protest, it all just started to make sense, as usual, a late epiphany after series of events unraveling. it was the ingredient preventing you from speaking.

he pumps the object in and out of your cunt at such an abrupt pace, catching you off guard with every thrust. pro tem, you grip the sheets of the clinic's bed, holding on for dear life as if you were about to die from immense pleasure. panting hard, jing yuan doesn't halt, he only quickens his movements, a sole goal occupying his mind.

the gods really frowned upon you, for the guy you harbor such hate is now having you softly mewl because of a predicament. you were uncertain of what and who should take the blame— as expected, no one is to be blamed but you. if only you weren't craving that particular food that has been circulating in the ship for quite a while, you wouldn't have ended in such position.

being before him bare, fragile fuels nothing but your fury; but your body language says otherwise. your toes curl as you could feel the toy send virations in your pussy, your g-spot making friction against its surface sends your mind afloat the abode of sanity.

your song of moans was interrupted when another figure makes his entrance this time. the tall carved wooden doors swing open, revealing a blonde male who was a little too recognizable for your eyes carrying his iconic, gigantic coffin. "general, i'm afraid that won't do."

with a short span of time, the two comes in an agreement, shifting of positions follow suit. you're apparently underneath the merchant while held up by the mentioned general, his dominant hand tightly clasped on the remaining scrap of fabric wrapped around your hips.

everything happened in a flash and a foreign sensation makes you wince. your two holes were being prepared for further accommodation of the two males' dicks, using up half a bottle of a lubricant to make sure everything will sail smoothly. a nod of approval is all that it took for your entrances to be prodded by large girthy cocks in unison as you grant them such abashed moans.

jing yuan controls your pelvis with his mere one hand, discering every detail of your body language to see if he's making progress of easing the mysterious ingredient's effects. his aureate hues fixate only at you, his usual carefree demeanor and a lively smile replaced with pursed lips; followed by a crease forming in between his eyebrows.

luocha was the same, even though you were far too tantalizing for a man's eyes, they had to focus at the matter in hand. his flaxen irises examine evey nook and cranny of your body, scrutinizing every beads of sweat trickling down your skin as mere indicators of the symptoms. the unfamiliar feeling welling from both sides of your walls seep in to your system— whilst the two males exert the best of their efforts to pleasure your yearning body.

the blonde head's breathing becomes ragged in rhythm, each of his pants deepen in each thrust. after all, he's not someone sexually active, nor someone who performs hard labor at the daily; it was anticipated for his stamina to thin out. however, the situation doesn't seem to improve, not one bit. it was then jing yuan starts to change his tempo, he slows down as he pulls out, and picks up the pace once he rams in.

jing yuan's flow grants him mewls slipping from your lips, his long, deep back strokes seem to do the job perfectly from how you were reacting. gushing noises blends with the squelching sounds from the sounds of two dicks pleasuring the both of your entrances at the same time. a warm stream of fluid spills into luocha's clothes, the white fabric darkens into several splotches.

as embarrassing as it was, they heeded no mind. if anything, it's a proof that their method is working - reinforcing their resolve to quench your lustful feelings. luocha's gloved hands cup your tits bouncing up and down, nestling your perked up nipples in between his fingertips. he attempts to catch his own breaths, exerting more force into his thrusts deep into your pussy.

he rocks his hips upwards and your walls coil around him from the tip down to his last inch. you could no longer stifle your moans, you were way past caring for your pride— jing yuan, as always to your rescue, his calloused hand presses your cheeks, making you close your mouth forcibly. even though your chin was smeared of your drools already, at least there wasn't a lot, looking at the bright side.

the grey head general gently holds your dampened face, making you face him. from a second, you catch a glimpse of his expression; one that can be practically assumed not seen by anybody. his brows tightly knitted, luminous golden eyes locking a short glance with yours that were clouded of ecstasy. a guttural moan bubbles from his throat, along with luocha's deep mewls of satisfaction rushing to his cock inside your velvet walls.

"y-you're so tight." jing yuan utters under his breath as he continues to piston into your asshole. it was a new occurrence to see him stammer for he always addresses everyone with exemplary choice of words and smooth dealings. getting to see the general like this from what your body had to offer felt intimate— but luocha's actions catches you by surprise more.

he nibbles on the soft plush of your right breast, the left one being toyed with rather harshly. the general accidentally lets go of your face and your vision was brought back to seeing luocha's guise once again. the doctor looks up to meet your tantalizing gaze, whereas there he felt the two of you shared a mutual understanding. you crash your lips into his, your wet cavern being invaded by his warm tongue. it was a deep, sloppy kiss, you swear you could feel a hint of fuming jealousy behind you.

even so, your pleasure - your life comes first before trivial matters. the general lets it pass, and there a furor of release brews from the three of your bodies, all in sync. with one last deep thrust from jing yuan's and luocha's throbbing dicks; the life threatening situation finally rests at peace.

after everything that transpired, the general greets you with his usual blithe smile, accompanied by the golden gleam of his irises and a kiss of an angel just below his right eye. you had to soften and warm up to him everytime you remember your life is indebted to him.

although you couldn't lie, a thought crosses your mind, "perhaps jing yuan planned all of this." a part of you agrees as he knows you wouldn't cozy to your employer unless put in a dire situation and another part doesn't since it believes he's a kind soul deep inside. you also started to realize the general's nature, his governance and how he managed to keep the xianzhou's peace for a long time.

admittedly, it was your shortcoming. you knew deep down you were better than what you showed him - and so you strived to improve and understand at the end of the day. as for the blonde doctor, luocha, he pretends it never happened. after all, the two of you share a past bond forbidden to speak of in the present time.

all's well that ends well.

my masterlist !

[whitehotforeva]

thinking of peacekeeper coriolanus gently fondling your body whilst you nap against him in the meadow. watching you slowly get needy for him as you eventually wake up, undone at his fingertips. 𓆩♡𓆪

word count : 2,045

warnings : 18 + !!!! somnophilia, non con? fingering (fem receiving), little degradation but also praise <3 and some victim blaming.

a/n : hiii angels, it’s been a while. uni is absolutely killing me and i hate exam season!! it’s so easy for me to write smut yet i cannot do an assignment. anyways, enjoy the filth and i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes. also this is my third fic so it may be blehh and i’m still trying to learn how to work tumblr jsjsjs. anyways hope u all are well, gonna be more active after exam season, my bday is coming up too <3

your boyfriend, the blonde peacekeeper, had the day off so you both had decided to venture through the woods and to the lake, spending the long summers day splashing together in the water as the sun shined down on you both, kissing your skin.

the weather had been getting warmer, the season had changed so you knew before heading out to wear a pretty white sundress so that your skin could breathe for once. district 12 was always so glum, but now that summer was here, it brightened up the place a little.

so after the long day you had with coriolanus, you found yourself resting against his body as you both sat under a tall tree, bathing in the relief of the shade given. it was becoming evening now anyways, the air slightly cooler as a gentle breeze blew through the wind.

his hand rested in your soft hair, gently playing with it as your eyes fluttered. you both breathed calmly in the comfortable silence.

that was one thing you loved about being with him. sometimes all you guys needed was silence. a hundred words could’ve been said from a simple look into his stormy eyes and he would’ve understand fully, silently communicating back. he understood you better than anyone. you had hoped that he felt the same. that he could say that you understood him better than anyone too. you had been dating the peacekeeper for a month now yet a part of you felt like you were missing something. not from him, but in him.

your worries diminished a little each time you saw him. ever since he entered your life, he had taken charge, looking after you so graciously when you needed it. he deciding everything for you. for once in your life, you enjoyed having someone else make the decisions for you. growing up in 12 was always a horrible struggle, and with your mother dying a few years before, everything was even more harder. so despite the little guilt you felt each time coriolanus would buy you your groceries and drop them off at your small home, your heart would warm at the acts of service he committed for you. with him you were looked after. with him, you were safe.

so your eyes fluttered softly as you felt sleep call you. you didn’t want to fight it, so you didn’t let it. you were safer than you had ever been in coriolanus’s arms.

you drifted pretty quickly and soon enough, soft snores left your lips as an amused chuckle left coriolanus’s. he let you rest there for a little while, gently running his hand over your soft shoulder and down your arm whilst you slept.

you were so delicate in this moment. he looked down at your sleeping face, his eyes slightly darkening at the sight of your sunkissed nose and pink cheeks. he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding in. you looked so easy to ruin..

he had taken you before, only a week after you guys had started dating despite your refusals and worries, he managed to coax you into more relaxed state, whispering sweet reassurances as he took what you could never could get back.

and after it happened, you realised you never wanted it back. you would give it to him over and over if you could. so despite your innocent nature and shyness around him, he brought out something needy in you from the depths of your stomach that you never even knew existed.

his arm wrapped across your waist as his fingertips began to dance along your thigh, moving higher and higher as he gently pulled your sundress up. he felt his pants tighten behind you at the sight of your white cotton panties. he decided to play with your body a little. he slowly pulled your dress up so it was bunched up against your hips as he ran his fingers across your stomach, smirking a little as he saw you squirm slightly. you were always so sensitive there.

“oh baby.”

he breathed out, his other hand tracing patterns on your thigh as he continued to drag his finger down your stomach, placing a soft kiss to the side of your head.

you were always so sweet to him. so sweet for him. so polite and obedient. he felt like you deserved a little reward for being such a good girl. for listening to all his orders. for clumsily reaching up to kiss his face each time there was a frown on it. he had all of his secrets of his past, but one thing he was sure of in his own twisted way, was that he had you.

he’d always have you. no matter what. even if that meant dragging you to the capitol in a cage with him.

he noticed the way your panties grew damp and couldn’t help but touch at the spot, his eyes flickering to your closed ones as you subconsciously squirmed.

“my sensitive little girl.” he murmured as he gently massaged his fingers into your damp panties. he continued this action for a few more minutes as he felt his fingers grow damp and used it as his sign to gently tug down your panties, revealing your bare glistening pussy.

he wanted to lower himself down and devour you. to have your hips buck against him as he would hold them tightly down whilst his tongue circles your clit, pulling out multiple orgasms from you as you’d shriek in pleasure.

he decided he’d do it later. he’d treat you again at home. he was certainly feeling generous today, but he wanted to gently touch you now. to watch the movements of your body change as you delicately laid against him, resting. vulnerable. there was something so intimate about touching your sleeping form. about copying the way you’d sneak your fingers into your panties to play with your most private parts whilst thinking of him. his throbbing bulge gently grinded against your ass.

he had pulled your panties down to your thighs now, just a little above your knees. his fingers resumed their touching as he slowly rubbed at you, letting your juices coat his finger as he watched your body rock slowly, responding to the pleasure that your brain couldn’t exactly comprehend right now. he kissed your shoulder, lowly speaking against it as his lips brushed the skin, “my good girl. my baby.”

as soon as the words were spoken, you whined gently and he chuckled. even in your sleep you subconsciously knew it. you knew your body belonged to him. you knew he owned your pleasure. that he owned you.

he began touching your bundle of nerves at a quicker pace as he placed a sloppy kiss on your shoulder. soft pants left your lips now as your brows scrunched up, your sleeping brain trying to make sense of the sensations shooting through your body. you couldn’t help but just squirm and as his plump lips latched down onto your neck to begin to suck at it, a broken whimper left your lips.

“such a pretty baby. so good for me, even when you sleep. my needy princess. my little slut.”

he drawled those words against your neck as the movements of his cock intensified, grinding into you more as each time you squirmed, you met his bulge. he groaned out softly and watched as your arm stretched out in an attempt to grip onto something. to try to understand the feeling that engulfed you. the hot pleasure that pulled you closer towards something and felt like too much so you needed to reach out for something to steady it. to steady you.

coriolanus held down your arm as he placed desperate kisses along it, his movements on your little clit going faster as higher pitched pants left your lips. that was always an indicator that you were about to cum. he had heard it many times before you’d explode all over his cock.

he breathed out heavily as he continued his sloppy kisses, doing it anywhere he could see.

“fuck. you’re gonna cum for me, huh? cum baby. cum angel.” he spoke into your ear, the deep timbre of his voice echoing faintly in your mind as your hips bucked and a loud moan left your lips, your eyes fluttering open as your high hit you. your soft orbs widened as your back arched against the firm body behind you and a whimper escaped your mouth as you felt a wave of pleasure shoot over your body, carrying the waves of his touch as you squirmed aggressively against the long fingers that were strumming your clit.

you gasped out his name. you gasped it out again. and again. like it was a prayer, like a mantra. your tired yet widened gaze shot to him as your eyes fluttered from the drowsiness and from the euphoria that shot through your veins.

“i-“ you gasped out. you didn’t even know what to say. or what to think. you didn’t understand the situation fully but as you glanced down to look at your boyfriends fingers resting against your bare soaked pussy, a dark blush painted your cheeks, a few shades deeper than your slight sunburn.

he adored the sight and as you looked back up to him, before you knew it, he crashed his lips into yours. broken breaths left your lips as you responded hungrily but needed to pull away sooner. you needed air. from the moment you had woken up, he had ripped it away from you as your orgasm hit.

you felt him grind into you feverishly and his hand roughly grabbed your face to guide you back to his lips, kissing you aggressively as he rut his hips against you, a loud groan leaving his lips as he exploded himself. the entire situation had him going crazy. the way your body was so vulnerable yet responded like a slut to him drove him wild. the way he controlled how you breathed. how he controlled the air for you. how he was the air for you. his own high hit as he sucked and bit on your already swollen lips. you had to forcefully pull away, gasping out loudly for air.

“c-coryo!” you exclaimed in shock of it all. his dark eyes gazed down at you, slightly hazy with pleasure and a hint of power that unnerved you.

“it’s okay baby. you wanted that. i was just giving you what you needed. making you feel good, okay?” his instant reassurance sunk into your skin yet you were still in your little state of shock, having woken up to such an unexpected thing. well, unexpected for you. the confusion on your face had him slowly stroking your cheek as he placed a soft kiss on your noise, parting his lips to explain to you again.

“you needed it, okay? and it felt good, didn’t it? you were so needy baby. so whiny. like a little slut.”

his words had your face warming up even more as you felt slightly embarrassed. you had never done this when you slept. god, what was coriolanus doing to you? he had that much power that he was invading her mind whilst she slept? even when she was unconscious she needed him?

pride swelled in his chest and something tugged at his heart when you shyly looked away, biting down on your lip as you apologised. he instantly shut it down.

“hey. none of that, okay? you needed it princess. and it was my job to give it to you.”

you breathed in shakily before glancing up to him, hesitantly nodding. he was right, right? i mean he didn’t do anything wrong? it felt good for her. good was the wrong word to describe it. it felt incredible as she came undone at his fingertips.

you couldn’t control how you acted whilst you slept right? but he could. he gave you the solution. he was always so sweet. always looking out for you. a shy smile grew on your lips.

“thank you, coryo.” you murmured softly as you watched him grin.

all that ran through his mind was that you needed to fall asleep around him more often.

[muddyorbsblr]

would've could've should've pt3

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: Loki makes things right with you and your relationship, and Shuri makes a heartbreaking discovery about your past

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k [prepare drinks & snacks accordingly]

Warnings (spoilers ahead but y'all need these) : 18+ | heavy themes (dubcon hinted at in log reports; a whole portion detailing human experimentation involving drug-induced mental and emotional subjugation); Loki committing crimes (in the name of his bb); angst; Thor's mega-himbo behavior; language [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; soft bf Loki hours

"I do not understand why we must be the ones doing such a menial task, Brother," Loki grumbled, walking through the large aisles of the marketplace that Thor all but dragged him to. "We are Asgardian royalty, and we are gods, we should not have to procure our own supplies."

"Stark says it is important that Midgardians perceive us as more than gods and heroes, Brother," the blond explained. "We do have staff in the Compound tasked to perform these duties for us, yes. But every now and again, there is a rotating schedule wherein we perform them. So that we may lessen the perception that we are a sort of enigma to them that only makes our presence felt when there is crisis. They can see us living our respective lives when we are not saving theirs."

While he could see the logic somewhat, he still wished that he would have been assigned to do this with you instead. It had been a few days since you two got back from your mission in California, and since then he outright refused for you to spend a night alone. And all he wanted at this moment was to finish with this drudgery and make his way back to you.

"This may be menial to you, Brother, but let me offer you the same advice that Jane once gave me when I expressed a similar sentiment on my first time," Thor continued on, walking down an aisle filled with those Pop Tarts that he favored munching on and tossing a half dozen boxes into his cart. "Find a semblance of fun in the exercise. Personally, I see this as my opportunity to include more my favorite Midgardian snacks, since staff don't put nearly enough and they expect me to share them. I get some of Jane's favorites as well."

Loki mulled over the seemingly basic advice, grabbing some of your favorite drink and tossing some extra into the cart. "I think I can begin to see the appeal," he conceded, he was still relieved when they finally crossed off all the items and brought the carts to the register, however.

"And another appeal for the unattached…" his brother murmured, not so subtly nudging him in the direction of the cashier. "This is a prime place to meet some stunning Midgardians who are also performing their own duties."

"Well hi there!" the woman greeted him. "I'm Sandy." She started ringing up the items with a peculiar stance that had him quite uncomfortable where he stood, always angling her body to offer him a few of her breasts down the wide neck of her shirt. "Thor's told me all about you."

"Brother…" Loki hissed the word through gritted teeth. "What in Norns' name are you doing?" Was this oaf trying to play matchmaker with him? Fully knowing that he was already happily committed to another? To you?

"Oh come on, Brother. It's clear that your current entanglement with your mortal will go nowhere if she refuses something as basic as laying with you. You've had many lovers back on Asgard, so I am not mistaken in assuming that this is her issue, and not yours."

"And may I say what. A. Shame," the clerk Sandy interjected. "In my opinion anyone that doesn't know and appreciate what they have don't deserve--"

"Hold your tongue," he snapped at her. "It is not your place to impose your opinion on me, you vile woman." She began to cower where she stood, suddenly becoming shifty in her stance. "You know nothing of her and yet you stand here pretending as if you have the higher moral ground. And you." He turned to address Thor now. "You call yourself my brother and yet you attempt to mastermind me away from my beloved and you haven't the slightest clue who you dare to offend--"

"Brother she is not your beloved. This woman isn't even willing to--"

"This woman's name is Y/N Y/L/N. You have regarded her as someone brilliant and fierce and yet you disrespect her so sickeningly." He gave his brother one last sneer before handing over the little plastic card that held Stark's money. "Not another word from you. I wish to be done with this task as soon as possible."

The clerk nodded wordlessly, the faintest hiccup coming out of her as she tried to temper her fear.

"Brother, my deepest apologies I did not know you and Lady Y/N had been--"

"Not a word from you, either," he hissed. "Lest you have forgotten the extent of my rage, Brother, allow me to put it into perspective. I would repeat my actions from over a decade ago in a heartbeat if it meant making her happy. Worse even, if she asked it of me. And of the two of us, she is the one that deserves your apology. She is the one you so flippantly disregarded with your words and your actions."

His oaf of a brother stayed silent the entire way back to the Compound, only uttering a simple sentiment that attempted to convey the remorse that he was trying to process.

"This time I might actually deserve you stabbing me, Brother."

That got him a singular mirthless chuckle. "I will do much worse if I ultimately lose her."

"Morgan, sweetie, be honest with me and your Auntie Nat. You're not doing your homework, are you?"

The little girl looked up at the two of you from her side of the table with wide eyes feigning innocence, looking the spitting image of her father. "I am, Auntie Y/N. Promise…"

"You sure, baby? Because…I know it's been a while since I went to school. You know, in the Bronze Age?" She let out a tiny bubbly giggle at your antic of placing your hand on your back and hunching over, pretending to hold yourself up by an invisible cane. "But baaaaaack in my day, my teachers would've smacked my hands clean off my arms if I was doing my math homework in crayon."

"This isn't my Math homework, silly Auntie Y/N," she giggled again, putting the crayon down and turning the paper around to push it in your and Nat's direction. "It's for Art class. We're supposed to draw our family. Look it." She threw her little body across the table, reaching out with the eraser end of her pencil to start pointing at the parts of her drawing. "There's Mommy and Daddy, and then Auntie Nat and Gruncle Bucky--"

"Wait hold on, Morgan, what did you call Bucky?" the currently platinum blonde assassin asked Morgan, trying so hard to hold back her amused smile. And failing.

"Well, he's an old man but he doesn't look it, so I got confused if I should call him Uncle or Grandpa, so now it's both. Gruncle."

Nat pursed her lips, her body beginning to shake from the laughs begging to escape her."That makes so much sense, sweetheart," she said, holding her hands up as if in surrender. "Keep going, baby Stark, who else you got in there?"

Morgan pointed to the next couple. "Auntie Wanda and Vision, and then Uncle Thor and Auntie Jane, then me…and right next to me." She pointed her pencil at a final couple, the drawing of her holding the woman's hand. "There's Auntie Y/N and Prince Loki."

A lump formed at your throat, combing back through all of your memories in recent months if there was something that the child might have seen that revealed your relationship to her way too perceptive eyes. "Uhh…why'd you pair me up with Mischief, sweetie?"

"Oh…well, because you're alone all the time, and Prince Loki's alone all the time, and if I drew you both alone it'll just look kinda sad so…I drew him next to you."

You had to fight against the urge to sigh in relief. "That makes sense. That's really thoughtful, baby."

The ding of the elevator effectively stopped the conversation, Morgan bringing the piece of paper back to her side of the table so she could finish coloring in everyone's hair. "We've returned!" Thor's voice bellowed as soon as he stepped into the common area.

"Welcome back," you droned, typing a reply to Shuri's message that just came through. My friend, I found something on these reports that I think you should see first. "Wonder what Shuri found…"

Nat leaned over your shoulder to see the message, her brows furrowing together after giving it a few passes. "You want, I could come with you when you go see her in case it's something real bad, Babes." All you did was nod at her, giving her a soft smile before tilting your head to lean against hers.

She had no idea what went down with you when you were in your late teens, in those years roaming the halls of that campus. Nobody except Loki knew, and if you were being completely honest with yourself, part of you regretted being so vulnerable with him because now he treated you like you were so fragile the tiniest little poke could break you apart.

And you'd spent so long doing everything in your power to make yourself stronger, more guarded. So that no one would ever be able to hurt you again.

"Y/N?" You sat up straight at the sound of Loki's voice filling the common area, the three of you at the table looking at each other with questions in your eyes.

"In here, Mischief," you called back, giving both Nat and Morgan a signal to act normal and stop watching like they were sat in front of the TV with a soap opera playing. You tried to finish up your reports from your mission in California when a familiar large hand placed a can of grape soda next to your water bottle. "Oh…Thanks, Loki." You looked up at him, giving the god a tiny smile before going back to your reports.

What he did next had both the assassin and Stark's daughter dropping their whole schtick of 'acting normal', taking your hand in his and gently tugging you to your feet. He didn't seem to care that there were very curious eyes intently watching on, brushing your hair back to tuck it behind your ear.

"What's wrong?" you blurted out, your heart at your throat from his actions. Before you could say anything else, he closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You melted into his embrace, the gasps and squeals around you blurring into the background.

When he broke the kiss, he pulled you into an embrace, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath, as if he was grounding himself. "I'm so sorry, darling. I've been a terrible partner to you, treating our relationship as if it were a secret to be hidden away. I never meant to--"

"Hey hey shh it's okay…" You wrapped your arms around his neck, doing your best to not sound like you were on the verge of tears. "It's okay, sweetie, you didn't know. And I didn't tell you, so that's on me, too."

"Absolutely not," he grumbled. "No part of this was your fault." He pulled away to frame your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Nothing that ever happened to you was your fault. I love you, little mortal."

"I love you, too, Mischief--"

"Hold up, you're Reindeer Games' girl?"

You pulled away just enough to look over and address Stark, placing your hands over Loki's. "Yeah, Stark…I'm 'prim and prissy'." His face visibly paled at your confirmation, remorse immediately coloring his features. "You got some more genius barbs to throw at me for not sleeping with my boyfriend?" You gave Nat a signal to cover Morgan's ears, which she quickly followed much to the child's visible pouting dismay. "What've you got this time? Tits sagged up? I'm probably dry like the goddamn Sahara in the nether regions? What if there's actually nothing down there and I'm built like a goddamn Barbie doll?"

"Goddammit, I really put my foot in my mouth this time, huh?"

"More like you decided to put all that yoga to good use, bent over and gave yourself a rimjob and then started running your mouth, but sure, Stark. Let's go with that." 

Tony flinched at your words, visibly biting his tongue from what was undoubtedly his instinct to dish out some snark just as good as he just got it. "You know what, I totally deserved that. I'm really sorry, jellybean, I never should have said anything."

"As am I, Lady Y/N," Thor spoke up as he joined the rest of you. "I never should have imposed in on your and Loki's life together. He has told me in numerous ways on our way back that my careless actions have jeopardized his happiness, and for that I beg for your forgiveness."

You and Loki shared a look, both of you arguably right for questioning the sincerity of both apologies. Neither of them had any hesitation subjecting either of you to their opinions when they didn't know that they were throwing verbal darts at your head.

Ultimately you decided not to double down on your own barbs. At least until Thor apologized some more for his mega oaf behavior. "And I sincerely apologize for attempting to introduce another woman to my brother in hopes that he'll be lured away from his current partner, truly I had no idea it was--"

"Hold the fucking phone there, Blondie, you what?!" You could feel your blood rushing to your head, all your irritation toward both imbecilic men bubbling all the way up to the surface after Thor's confession.

"It was moronic and--"

"You're damn straight it was moronic," you seethed, your hand itching to risk potentially permanent injuries just to take a swing at the god that pulled the buffoonery. "I get that you want the best for your brother and all that, trust me I want that, too. But you were all the way out of line for that one."

"Yes, I know," he mumbled, his head turned down in visible shame. "Loki if you wish to stab me for my idiocy you're than welcome to--"

"Fuck that, I'm gonna stab you," you seethed, the god next to you holding you a touch tighter and trying to rub small circles into your skin to calm you down some. "This was none of your business. Even back when you didn't know it was me, you were both out of line for the jabs you took at Loki's private life. And honestly if you're so remorseful about it, you owe Bucky an apology, too. Y'all were dogpiling on his girlfriend way before you started going in on me."

With every word that came out of you, it felt as if there was still something completely blocking you from the truth. A question that went unanswered even by you and the memories you held ever since college. Ever since Simon.

"I don't…I don't know why I'm like this," you said more softly this time, turning to Loki and trying to find the words that could convey at the very least what you showed him a few nights ago. "It's been like this since I was a student in that damn campus. I don't know why but every time I've been in a relationship since then, if things start moving…physically, I--"

"Shh darling…" He pulled you into an embrace again, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "You need not elaborate. You were wronged, none of this was your fault."

"Your god is right, my friend," Shuri spoke up, announcing her presence, a grim look on her face as she held her tablet. "I have combed excessively through the reports for the compounds you found in your college building, and I have…distressing news."

"Yeah…Nat and I were about to come find you, Shuri. What'd you find?"

"This will be…quite an uncomfortable question, Y/N, are you certain you wish to discuss this with all this company?"

"They'll find out anyways. Most of them are nosy like that." You threw a pointed look Stark's and Thor's way, both men immediately looking away in shame. "But I suppose we can spare some innocent souls. Morgan, sweetie, go find your mom, we have to discuss bad guy things now."

The little girl pouted but followed your request, making her way to the elevator to go and find Pepper.

"My friend, what can you tell us about your former relationship with Simon Richardson? Only what you remember and what you are comfortable with sharing. We can start there."

Loki led you to sit on the couch, keeping his arm around your shoulders and rubbing up and down your arms to ground you as you started to recall. "He was…kind and sweet. Until he wasn't. It started with him offering the faculty lounge for me to hang out in during my free periods, then…coffees…lunches. The days when I had a class during first period, he'd be there and we'd grab breakfast together. Then came the first dinner together and he kissed me, told me he was falling in love with me."

"Hold up there, jellybean, this Richardson…he was your professor, right?" You nodded at Stark's question. "Add that comment I made about saying hi to your old professors to my list of things I have to make up for then, I'm so sorry, Y/N."

You just shrugged. "As with most of the things you're gonna have to apologize to me for, Stark…you didn't know." You took a sip of your soda before continuing your story. "The next few months after that were…confusing to me. Every time we had a moment alone he was so sweet and doting, always staying close to me, kissing me, regular degular boyfriend things, you know? And then the second someone else would come in the room he…pulls away. Becomes distant and…almost clinically professional. Drops my hand, immediately puts three feet of distance between us. Tells me it's to protect our relationship. That if people found out, they'd take him away from me and I'd be punished somehow. Told me he was protecting me."

Loki placed a soft kiss to your temple, keeping his forehead pressed to the same area as he spoke. "My love, I'm so sorry. My actions toward you in our time together have brought your memories of your time with him up to the surface."

"You didn't know," you sighed, leaning in to his embrace. "I never told anyone and…nobody ever really bothered to stick around to find out what was actually going on with me the second they realized they weren't gonna 'score'." You took a few deep breaths, finally finding a bizarre sort of relief now that you were talking about the memories that plagued and taunted you for so long.

"And when did you two end things?"

You let out a sound between a scoff and a chortle at Shuri's question. "Generous of you think there was a concrete 'end' to things, sweetie." There was a faint whoosh somewhere to your right, the new silhouettes in your peripheral alerting you to Jane's  and Wanda's entrance. "Hey, Babes."

They both offered you some form of greetings before pulling up a seat, the Sokovian speaking up first. "Morgan mentioned something about you looking angry and hurt. Something about Thor doing something idiotic?" She addressed the blond god next. "I mean, a bit on brand for you, but really? Introducing Loki to someone that's going to start bad mouthing his partner? Shouldn't you know your brother well enough by now that that'll get you a stabbing? You know…after a thousand and a half years?"

"Wait hold on, you what?" the scientist spoke up, swatting her boyfriend upside his head. "You know that just got you kicked off the prospects on wedding officiant, right?"

"Well considering my brother is no longer King of Asgard, I surmise that the Valkyrie would be the one that performs that particular duty regardless," Loki shot back before turning back to face you, a soft smile gracing his features. "One day, I mean. When you're ready."

"You sure you want that, Mischief? Considering I might just be a lousy non-existent lay after all this?"

"About that…" Shuri spoke up again, prompting you to continue your story.

"Right, sorry. The ending…I suppose that started when he suggested we'd go away for a weekend. Somewhere farther away from campus where we could actually be a couple outside his apartment. We got a hotel room and…I'm sure you can all fill in those particular blanks." Everyone grimaced at the mere thought, looks of sympathy thrown your way from every direction. Loki pressed another kiss to your temple, his embrace pretty much the only thing holding you together. "We spent a few more nights like that over the next few weeks. Then the academic year ended, a new batch of students came in, and one day I got to campus and…someone new was at his arm. He stopped answering my calls, my texts weren't even left on Read. One day I asked him point blank what happened and all he said was I don't know what you mean, Miss Y/L/N. You're not my student anymore."

"Bastard," Wanda hissed. "He should be locked up. Maybe have Strange throw him in one of those mirror dimensions so all he'll see for the rest of his miserable life is his own ugly lowlife mug."

"And even worse, he's still doing this. We saw him in that reunion. Fucker even had the brass balls to exchange words with me like it was no big thing. He had one of his current students clinging to him like a barnacle. Chances are he's gonna do her what he did to me and that girl from so many years ago. And who knows who else. Anyways ever since then, something always felt kind of…fucked up with me. Every time things got too physical with someone it's like my body recoils. Even when I don't mean to it's like…it closes up shop without consulting my heart. Or my brain."

"I may have an explanation for your body's behavior, my friend." Shuri tapped away at her tablet, projecting the screen's contents into a larger holographic rendering in the center of the room, showing you all a photo of one of the compounds you'd come across in the lab. "This is PM-19, a substance that can mentally and emotionally enslave a subject to the closest source of pheromones and leave them more open to be controlled. Manipulated. When the connection between subject and administrator is severed, the effects…well, the reports all say that the effects are varied."

"Varied on what?" Nat spoke up, moving to sit on the other empty seat next to you and grabbing hold of your free hand.

"Potency of the compound in the subject's system," Loki answered through gritted teeth. "They experimented with dosage, form of administration, wear-off time…"

"O-Okay but what does this have to do with my shitty predatory ex?" you butted in, your voice shaky with the fear that you knew exactly where Shuri was going with this.

She flashed a set of log reports next on the screen. "I isolated the reports that took place while you were in your relationship with Richardson," she explained, waving a hand at the screen. "Going on to the reports that reference all test subjects from this period moving forward. I will let you all read at your own pace."

Nat handed you a large glass of water, telling you to down it before going into the reports. Thankfully you heeded her advice, or else your body might have forgotten how to function reading through the various statements.

April 15, 2013 -- Potential test subjects found. Administrators have been granted permission to pursue and administer PM-19 at their own discretion.

April 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: aerated by means of cologne. Precautions were taken to ensure that Test Subject 13-31-A and Administrator BG were at a safe distance from bystanders that could have been exposed to aerated PM-19

April 22, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A exhibited signs of withdrawal from engagement. Subject has been administered aerated PM-19 again. If pattern continues, dosage for aerated PM-19 should be every 24-36 hours to sustain potency in Subject's system.

April 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion by means of beverage. Administrator MP notes instant shift in 13-31-B's receptiveness and an increased eagerness to comply with Administrator MP's suggestions regarding trivial lifestyle choices.

May 2, 2013 -- Administrator SR has attempted administering PM-19 to potential Test Subject 13-31-C via aerated form through body spray, but 13-31-C has shown no tangible effects. Will administer stronger dosage via ingestion if effects are still negligible.

May 5, 2013 -- Administrator SR has successfully initiated Test Subject 13-31-C into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through beverage and food. Shift in receptiveness is incremental. Will observe effects through continued dosage.

May 7, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A actively seeks out Administrator BG and displays an obeisance toward him. She seems to rely on his approval of her decisions. Administrator MP has considerable control over Test Subject 13-31-B's food and clothing choices by means of simple suggestions and the slightest form of positive feedback. Administrator MP to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-B.

May 9, 2013 -- Administrator SR has been continually administering PM-19 to Test Subject 13-31-C via ingestion. She has begun to gravitate toward him during free periods. Administrator SR to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-C.

May 13, 2013 -- Administrators BG, MP, and SR have been granted permission to administer more potent dosage by means of injection. Will use the campus' free vaccination as the means of delivery.

May 15, 2013 -- Test Subjects from batch 13-31 have been administered PM-19 directly into bloodstream and collectively show visible ardency toward their respective Administrators.

May 20, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B showing more agitation when respective Administrators BG and MP are not by their side. Test Subject 13-31-C appears visibly calmer but shows significant internal disquiet when away from Administrator SR.

May 21, 2013 -- Administrator SR has officially begun to engage romantically with Test Subject 13-31-C to observe if she will exhibit the same signs of agitation that Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B possess when away from their respective Administrators.

May 25, 2013 -- Administrator BG has severed the connection with Test Subject 13-31-A after significant increase in agitation after having PM-19 introduced to her bloodstream. 13-31-A created a spectacle in Science Building cafeteria and was escorted by Administrator BG to campus clinic. Subject displayed alarmingly elevated blood pressure and was immediately admitted to nearest hospital to be put under HYDRA monitoring until subject recovers.

May 26, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A has been terminated after waking in hospital and repeatedly threatening to pursue all avenues of action against Administrator BG and put PM project at risk of being brought to public awareness. Action sanctioned by all active Administrators. Administrator BG now evaluating new potential test subjects.

May 27, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-D initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through food and beverage. Administrator BG has been instructed to keep careful watch of 13-31-D and tasked to increase dosage every 3 days and observe waning time. Administering via injection no longer viable due to window closing to guise under free vaccination.

May 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B shows little regard for caution and attempted flagrant display of affection when crossing paths with Administrator MP whilst surrounded by both colleagues and other students. 13-31-B has been thoroughly admonished for her actions.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator MP began distancing from Test Subject 13-31-B. Subject is now displaying visible signs of distress and is aggressively seeking him out even outside of campus grounds. Increasing frequency in initiating correspondence. Administrator MP expresses concern that 13-31-B's behavior will require intervention if no improvement shows in next 30 days.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator SR notes increased obeisance in Test Subject 13-31-C since compound PM-19 was introduced to her bloodstream. Administrator SR has been granted permission to proceed with next stage of relationship: Consummation

June 3, 2013 -- Administrator MP has placed a request for the termination of Test Subject 13--31-B after a spectacle in the campus parking lot where subject was shouting at MP for not answering texts and calls. Administrator MP will remain inactive for batch 13-31 and will resume his duties when evaluating for Test Subjects for batch 13-32.

June 6, 2013 -- Administrator BG notes that Test Subject 13-31-D is more aggressive and attempts to initiate contact with BG. Administrator has placed a request to speed up timeline to romantic engagement to observe if 13-31-D will become more submissive and deferential.

June 7, 2013 -- Administrator SR has begun final stage of PM program for Test Subject 13-31-C. No other task will be assigned to him other than observation of 13-31-C's behavior once connection is fully severed. He will resume his duties along with Administrator MP when evaluating for Test Subjects for Batch 13-32.

June 8, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-B and 13-31-D have been simultaneously terminated after 13-31-D disclosed details of relationship with Administrator BG and both subjects agreed to report this behavior to campus faculty board. Only remaining active Test Subject is 13-31-C.

June 13, 2013 -- Frequency in Test Subject 13-31-C's initiation of correspondence after Administrator SR has begun final stage.

June 15, 2013 -- Administrator SR has fully severed the connection for Test Subject 13-31-C

June 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been notably absent in classes. Administrator SR has placed a request to send a HYDRA representative to check on 13-31-C's status.

August 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C shows signs of detachment from her peers and current relationship. Potential side effect of PM-19 after severance of connection between subject and administrator seems to be physical recoiling upon implication of intimacy. Subject's body seems to perceive this either as a threat or as a breach of her loyalty to Administrator SR.

April 15, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E initiated into PM program. As mentioned in preliminary notes for batch 14-34, test conditions from Test Subject 13-31-C's case will be replicated in hopes of replicating the only surviving case of batch 13-31.

April 22, 2014 -- Unexpected and unaccounted for circumstance occurred. Test Subject 14-34-E shares a class with Test Subject 13-31-C and has asked questions on how to gain better favor with Administrator SR. It seems that test subjects that were connected to the same Administrator are also drawn towards each other.

April 24, 2014 -- Administrator SR initiated contact with Test Subject 13-31-C to extract information about what she may have told Test Subject 14-34-E. 13-31-C remains adamant that no details of their prior involvement were divulged and answers remained strictly academic. Administrator SR's feedback for her elicited positive reaction. It seems even after prolonged period since severing their connection, submissiveness and deference to Administrator SR remains. Hypothesis: If connection is severed at peak potency of PM-19, Test Subject's actions post-severance are subconsciously geared to seek the approval of their Administrator.

April 25, 2014 -- Administrator SR has been instructed to hasten timetable for Test Subject 14-34-E after subject witnessed SR's interaction with Test Subject 13-31-C and created a spectacle demanding to know what his history with 13-31-C was. Noting that subjects may be prone to increased irrational tendencies and paranoia while connection with Administrator is active.

May 1, 2014 -- Administrator SR has placed a request to terminate Test Subject 14-34-E after threats of her escalating him to the faculty board for their involvement. SR notes that 14-34-E has mentioned the existence of video and audio recordings containing indisputable evidence of their interactions. Directors of PM program have considered close monitoring of Test Subject 13-31-C to determine what differs in her case compared to the rest of the test subjects from Batch 13-31 as well as the replication attempt with 14-34-E.

May 2, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E successfully terminated. Her belongings have been incinerated. All potential evidence of involvement with Administrator SR destroyed. Test Subject 13-31-C once again the only surviving test subject under this specific set of test circumstances. Replication of scenario will not be attempted again until further studies have been conducted on 13-31-C. Actions to be taken to closely monitor and intercept hospital records, therapy session notes and/or recordings, and all other documentation that will provide better understanding of 13-31-C's physiological and mental make up.

March 10, 2016 -- Administrator SR has expressed concerns regarding Test Subject 13-31-C becoming a SHIELD Agent. He has been reassured that there is no cause for concern as long as she stays a low to medium ranking Agent and does not become involved in high level operations.

September 16, 2019 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been put on High Alert List. Her status as an Avenger warrants the action of capture on sight.

August 10, 2020 -- Multiple mentions of jilted former entanglements of Test Subject 13-31-C have surfaced online, detailing a 'frigidness' that the team is confident in surmising is due to the amount of PM-19 in 13-31-C's system when connection between her and Administrator SR was severed in 2013. It would seem that Test Subject 13-31-C's physiological reactions are tethered to Administrator SR's pheromones and can only successfully sever the connection on her end when the source of the pheromones ceases to exist. Or when she does.

November 16, 2023 -- Administrator SR expresses grave concern given Test Subject 13-31-C's current status of being romantically involved with highly dangerous individual Loki, Asgardian God of Mischief.

Your vision began to blur from the tears flooding your eyes as you read the reports over and over again, your mind stubbornly denying what you were seeing on the screen. Test Subject 13-31-C. You'd seen numerous log reports about her when you first perused the files a few days back but it never occurred to you that you knew her much better than you could have ever expected.

She was the girl in the mirror. The one with the haunted gaze and the smile that struggled to reach her eyes no matter how hard anyone tried.

You'd been so haunted by your worries that history would repeat itself and what Simon did to you, discarding you as soon as someone even incrementally younger came along and not giving you a second thought, would happen again the second you gave yourself fully to Loki. And now it turned out that your refusal to let the dark thoughts that plagued you when Simon left you all those years ago take over your life…turned out you haunted him right back.

"There is one more thing," Shuri spoke up, flashing a message on screen that came from Simon himself. "Our duplication of their machine seems able to receive their correspondences in real time. Simon Richardson has begun to explore requesting for termination of Test Subject 13-31-C. He wishes to see you dead, Y/N."

"Over my putrid rotting corpse," Loki seethed, tightening his hold on you. "He won't be able to touch you, my love. I swear it."

"Could you…" you tried to speak through the sobs you were trying to hold back. "Would you be able to send a message back? Make it seem like it's coming from his bosses?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Child's play, my friend. What do you wish to send?"

"I want you to arrange a meeting." You adjusted your hold on Loki's hand, lacing your fingers through his. "And I want you to come with me."

The god raised your joint hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Of course, my love. I would have come with you regardless." He pressed his forehead against your temple again. "I'll never leave your side."

"Okay am I in a position to say that seeing Reindeer Games being affectionate is giving me fucking whiplash?"

"No," everyone collectively said in unison.

"Personally I think it's adorable," Jane quipped. "And I know your brother has a real crappy way of showing it, but we really are happy for you."

"'Tis true, I am happy for you and Lady Y/N, Brother--"

"No no, Macho Barbie, you don't get to talk, either," Nat spoke up, throwing a balled up piece of paper at his head. "If Tony deserves the time out on the steps, you deserve the goddamn dunce cap for your antics."

If there was ever a moment that could solidify beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were practically tailor-made by the Norns for Loki, it was this precise moment here. Watching in the shadowy corner of a room as the culmination of your flair for the theatrics almost eerily mirrored his.

You were sat at a desk situated in the middle of a dark seemingly empty warehouse, with only a single hanging lamp serving as a light source. Positioned in a way that your face was still mostly shrouded in the darkness until you wished to make your identity known.

And in your respective positions, you two waited in silence for Simon Richardson to arrive. The unsuspecting pathetic bastard thinking he would be meeting with the higher ups at HYDRA to rectify the situation that he'd been raising with them regarding the safety of their project now that your status on their watchlist has been raised to the highest alert level due to your relationship with the god.

Loki's enhanced hearing allowed for him to hear the shaky breathing and the faltering steps before the wretch pounded his fist at the entrance. "Showtime," you sighed under your breath, taking a moment before calling out in an accent that vaguely resembled the Valkyrie's, "Enter!"

The professor looked around the warehouse, visibly irritated upon seeing that almost the entire place was pitch black, and made his way slowly toward your desk. When he got close enough, another light switched on, illuminating a rather uncomfortable looking stainless steel chair.

"Sit." He did as you told, nervously running his hands up and down his thighs. A quick whiff in the air told the god that the weak mortal was already sweating bullets and barely any words have even been exchanged yet.

Good, he inwardly seethed. You don't deserve to know peace after the lingering damage that you'd dealt to the woman I love.

"Speak," you commanded, the faintest creak of the leather from your hand gripping the armrest being the only indicator that betrayed your facade of "cool and level-headed".

"Have the council agreed to a course of action regarding Agent Y/L/N? You told me before that you allowed for her to continue on with her life due to being the only survivor of batch 13-31. That her situation fascinated you. But now I fear that she is too dangerous to let live given her current romantic associations with the Asgardian that tried to raze New York."

"You never stated on the request your reasoning," you told him through gritted teeth. "How come you are so intent on the expedience of Subject 13-31-C's termination?"

The fidgeting man let out a nervous chuckle. "All due respect, ma'am but are you new? Maybe you didn't hear me? Her boyfriend tried to lay waste on New York! I don't wanna give her the time to open up to him and realize that the reason she can't get with him in the sack is because of PM-19! Who knows what he'll do to me?"

"Well we can start on breaking every joint in your body as an appetizer," you answered back, dropping your accent and leaning forward to let the light illuminate your face. "And from my understanding, the only way to sever the connection from my end is for the source of the pheromones to cease existing. All I have to do is kill you."

Richardson visibly relaxed in his seat, letting out a haughty chuckle as he tsk'd at you. "Silly girl, you didn't actually think it's that simple, did you?" He stood up, making his way to your desk and slamming his hands down on the tabletop, making you flinch at the sound. "Should've known you really were more beauty than brains. Then again it looks like even that is fading away. You really should use some of that Stark budget to take care of those lines on your face because aging does not become you, sweet thing."

"Whatever remnants of PM-19 I have left in my system physically inhibit me from killing you myself, is that it?"

"Maybe there's still some brain left in you after all," he mused in a condescending tone. He grasped the bottom half of your face harshly, your face twisting in horror as you tried to twist his hand off you, finding that you couldn't. "You can't harm me, sweet Y/N, let alone kill me. You literally don't have it in you." Your form began to visibly tremble in his hold, disgust now coloring your expression as he gave you a once over. "It's just you and me here. Maybe we could take a walk down memory lane. For old time's sake."

"Go to hell," you spat at him, jerking your head away from his hand with a sickening crack that Loki took note of to heal once everything was taken care of here. "And I'm not alone, you sick fuck." Richardson turned around, terror finally entering his eyes once he caught sight of the god's silhouette.

"You can't kill me," he tried to threaten. "You kill me and they'll come after you. All of you."

"HYDRA coming after us?" you quipped, giving Loki a tiny nod as he stepped menacingly closer. "Sounds like a regular Tuesday, doesn't it, sweetie?"

"To quote my brother, at least make it a challenge for me." He couldn't help but let his mouth stretch into a wicked grin as he watched the pathetic man start to shake where he stood.

"You kill me and that won't stop the project," he blurted out, most likely in a final desperate attempt at some form of a bargain. Or a threat. "Aren't you hero types all about the greater good and all that shit?"

"Normally we are," Loki answered, a dagger materializing in his hand in a flash of green. He grabbed the back of Richardson's head, poising the blade at his throat. "But I'm not a hero. Not today. Not for you." He pressed the blade harder against his throat, looking to you for his cue to follow through. You gave him all the answer he needed with a little nod of your head, wincing from the minor injury you'd given yourself just moments earlier. "As far as you're concerned, I'm the god you made an enemy of the moment you laid your grimy hands on the woman I love."

He could have made it quick, almost relatively painless, but after the prolonged impact that his vile actions had on you, it would have been a mercy if he were allowed to shuffle off this mortal coil with little suffering. And Simon Richardson was undeserving of mercy. He ensured that he felt every agonizing second that the blade dragged across his neck, and that he stayed lucid until the last possible moment that the light faded from his eyes.

When the late professor's body went limp and fell to the ground, you doubled over in what seemed like shock, bracing yourself by slamming your hands down on the tabletop, your arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up. The god was by your side in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you upright.

"What is it, my darling? Are you alright? What are you feeling?"

"I feel--" you tried to say between shallow breaths. "It's like…I just won tug of war."

"Is that…is that good, sweetheart?" He found it rather difficult to tell with the panic setting into him from your shortness of breath. He rubbed circles on your back, trying to guide you to take deeper breaths and standing upright on your own.

"It's like I got all the air knocked out of me from being flung to the ground because the other side finally let go, and I'll probably have a few battle scars, but at the end of it all…Yeah. It's good. So good." You suddenly stood up straight, turning to face him and throwing your arms around his neck. "It feels like I can finally breathe."

You pulled away, pushing back locks of his hair and looking over the blood that spattered across his features. There was such an innocent, almost disoriented look in your eyes. Something that eerily reminded him of how he felt when he was finally free of the mind control the mad titan Thanos had him under. As if he was trying to find his footing again. Learning how to live in his skin and mind without the presence of another lurking in the darkest corners.

Freedom, he realized. You were free.

"Come on," you told him, smiling as you reached for his hand, your whole hand engulfed so easily by just his palm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"You need not trouble yourself, little mortal. I can simply wave it all away--"

"I want to," you insisted, starting to tug on his hand. He relented rather quickly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth from your suddenly playful nature. Was this what you were like before you were shackled by that repugnant drug?

And just when he thought he couldn't possibly fall even deeper in love with you.

You led him to the car where Hogan was waiting for you both. Loki gave him a singular nod and he spoke into an earpiece calling for someone to dispose of Richardson's body. When you were both settled in to the back seat, you tore a strip off the shirt you were wearing, dousing it with water to start wiping away at the blood on his face.

"We have rags here for exactly that purpose, Y/L/N," Hogan quipped. "You didn't have to go all book boyfriend."

"Okay first, what have you been reading that you know that reference because I want recs. And second, I have no idea how Tony organizes stock in this car, and I didn't wanna wait. You're more than welcome to put the divider up if it makes you uncomfortable, Happy."

The bodyguard put his hands up, as if conceding in the exchange. "Fair enough, fair enough. I'll send you a list of those books when we get back. Right now I'm just gonna put up the divider, let you two get some rest. I'll let you know when we're at the Compound."

"Thanks, Happy. Maybe send it through FRIDAY. Just to my tablet. Morgan likes playing with my phone and I don't want my goddaughter near those books until well after drinking age."

You'd finished wiping away the blood from Loki's face moments after the divider fully went up, giving the god a playful satisfied little smile before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"There you go, all done." You settled easily into his embrace as he wrapped his arm around you, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "I know that…now that he's dead, the PM-19 doesn't have a hold on me anymore but…mentally…" Your brows knitted together, your frustration visible as you struggled to find the words.

"It still feels as if there's a lingering presence in your mind," he offered, his heart aching for you when he heard your sniffle as you nodded against his shoulder. "I'm all too familiar with that feeling, my love. I wish I could tell you it goes away completely with time but…I cannot be too sure. Some days will be better than others, as if the presence has been kicked into the farthest darkest corners of your memories but…they remain."

"Right now it feels like it's in a car just behind us so…doesn't feel too far." You tilted your head to look up at him, relief flooding him when he saw in your eyes that you no longer seemed as distant. As if whatever journey you would embark on towards healing the wounds that Richardson left you, you knew and you welcomed the notion of not going through it alone. "I hate to say it, Mischief but…killing him didn't kill the fears he left behind."

You did not need to say more; he could surmise which fear you meant. The one he saw when you allowed him into your memories. The fear of being replaced as soon as you laid with him. The fear of leaving him dissatisfied and forcing his hand to look to another to fulfill what you couldn't.

Perhaps even a fear of being touched altogether.

"I want you to know that I am here for you, little mortal." He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, and another to your jaw, using his seiðr to heal the slight fracture from your altercation with that wretch of a professor. "Always." Another kiss, featherlight, to your lips. "You need never worry of pressure coming from me, I swear it."

"Maybe a little pressure wouldn't be too bad," you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back a with a touch more passion than he'd ever seen coming from you. "Maybe just…baby steps?" Your next action stole every bit of breath from his lungs, keeping his gaze while you moved his hand, placing it on the bared skin of your stomach. There was only the slightest tremor in your breath as he tentatively caressed your skin, but you no longer flinched away.

"Baby steps," he breathed out, pulling you closer to his side. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck and he felt you steadily succumb to your exhaustion, relaxing against him.

Loki finally allowed himself a moment of rest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. It would be a long and arduous journey as you healed from the prolonged damages that your time with Richardson wreaked upon you, but he would be with you throughout every step. Through every nightmare, every frustration, and ultimately every victory.

And then perhaps one day you both would wake and the step to be taken would be toward an altar.

But for now the god was more than content exactly where he was, holding you close with his hand on your skin, following at whichever pace you would be comfortable taking.

A/N: Another request from the pile done! 🎉🎉 Next up is gonna be a fluffy lil thing that I'm gonna turn into an outtake for one of the first stories I wrote, 'a heart like yours' 🥹

But before we get to that, we've got a good bit of RTC and OLTK and 'the final Lady Sharpe' coming…and whatever else my silly lil writer brain decides to start on 😳👀

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @cabingrlandrandomcrap

[pinkaton]

crushcrushcrush ❣︎ mark grayson hcs

gender neutral reader, pronouns unspecified

mark falls for you either because he looks up to you in some way/thinks you're cool, or because you're super cute to him (or all of the above) - either way you make him nervous.  

he's embarrassingly tongue-tied in almost every interaction, even a simple 'hi' is suddenly difficult to muster in your presence (no his voice didn't crack in his eagerness to greet you, that's not why william is snickering next to him).  

he doesn't really approach you unless he has to though, like being paired up for an assignment or some other 'practical' reason. beyond casual small talk he's almost content to admire you from afar, or just stay acquaintances.  

william alternates between making jokes at his expense or encouraging him to be forward with you, but they're mostly mild ribbing. he doesn't want to push mark after he fully realizes the extent of harm and danger he has to face, so he's more understanding of his reluctance this time.  

he would happily play the role of wingman though, especially if mark is curious about your interests - william has his ways of procuring information.  

mark ends up knowing more about you than you recall telling him, he tries not to show it because y'know, that'd be kinda weird and he doesn't wanna weird you out or anything - he fails at it of course, he was never a good liar.  

him keeping his distance is only partially due to his own uncertainty and shyness in romance, he's mostly hesitant to try dating again after his relationship with amber went south.  

... not to mention the lack of privacy in his life with the GDA breathing down his neck, the fact that he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life a number of times, and at literally any point in time he could be required to leave you to don the mask and suit.  

the thought makes his smile slip as he stares at you from across the hallway.  

it's a world he'd rather you stay far, far away from, and after what happened with his father he finds it hard to fully welcome someone new into his life. especially a civilian.  

despite himself he's giddy with anticipation if you show interest in getting to know him better, and if he suspects his crush is reciprocated he indulges in the feeling.  

if you're forward with him he can't resist flirting and/or bantering back, (even if he stumbles over his own words all the while) but there's something restrained about the way interacts with you, always not-so discreetly slipping away before anything can get serious.  

if you're more introverted he feels emboldened to take initiative to approach you, but besides his somewhat nervous air he's never anything more than friendly and polite.  

even if you don't know him all that well yet mark grayson wasn't considered a hard person to befriend, but around you, and only you, he's surprisingly elusive.  

he tip toes between surface-level friendliness and pulling away when he has to commit to something deeper, oftentimes he's clumsy despite his intentions, and it's not hard to tell that he wants something with you despite his occasional cageyness.  

but for the time being, the innocent rush of a highschool crush gives his dual-life a sense of normalcy, and the thought of seeing you again always brings a dopey smile to his face, even on the confines of a hospital bed.

[kanmom51]

A couple of words

So...

JK is with JM.

We all know that.

It's a fact, no matter what those that have their panties in a knot say, or more so, what they would want.

These assholes (you know who I'm talking about) can argue about it all they want. They can squirm and twist and scream and pray, but at the end of the day facts are facts.

JK and JM chose to enlist TOGETHER, through a process that has them TOGETHER, in the same unit, in the same base. Not same duties within the unit (the military utilizing their individual strengths), but all the same, at the end of the day they are TOGETHER.

It makes me laugh how there are those that still argue they aren't placed together, and then there are those that have obviously come to terms with the two being together in one unit (well not really, but have no arguments left as they keep being proven wrong), that now they have shifted their argument to the two not sharing same bed or quarters.

Like, haven't they had enough already? It's just so exhausting.

This incessant need to disprove what these two mean to each other. They are both in the military serving their country. A military that deems sex between two men (while on base, as limited by the supreme court) to be an offense punishable by incrassation. Are there queer men in the army? There most certainly are. Are there men sharing quarters and/or beds in the military? There sure are. JM and JK being in the military and as such being assigned to quarters by their superiors... would them sharing quarters or a bed add or take from what they are and mean to each other? It's stupid to think it would. Serving together is their choice. Being able to share quarter or a bed, well, that would not be entirely up to them, even if that would be a choice they would want to make.

I hope I am explaining this properly.

Bottom line is, they might be sharing quarters and even a bed, but even if they aren't, it doesn't take from what they are to each other or mean to each other, and it most likely wouldn't be by their own design.

What more do you want? Really? Would a selfie from their bed do it for you? Perhaps a shirtless one? Maybe a kissy kissy selfie? Not gonna happen. Not to prove a point for you, in any case. Oh, and btw, we did get many selfies from them in the past.

Same bed, shirtless, very suggestive ones as well. Didn't convince you then, and I am sure it won't convince you now either. You will always have a stupid excuse or explanation why it's not what it is. Just like you do now...

Seriously, the depth of denial at this point is past annoying. Because, no matter what you think about the state of their relationship (and by now you all know my take on the two of them, partners in long term relationship of course, but there are still those having a hard time to commit to it), you have to be an outright idiot not to see or understand and internalize that these two are together at this moment by choice (as no other member of the group and with no other member of the group). They have told us and shown us time and time again what they mean to each other, and this here is them telling us oud and clear that they couldn't go through these 18 months of military service apart from each other.

And yesterday it seems like JK had some time off from his very busy and laborious duties. Or, he chose to spend his couple of hours of rest between meals to go online and for us to know he was online. He actually seemed to have spent quite a bit of time on TikTok following a few more accounts and liking some clips.

He liked some Hobi clips (for his upcoming documentary and album), liked a couple of Fri(end)s' clips and he also liked JM's #thisisJimin dance clip for Closer than this.

JK chose to not only like it, but to comment on the clip as well:

An explanation perhaps? You know, for not liking this earlier, as he did JM's previous #ThisisJimin clips? And understandably so, given the clip was released 21 December 2023, seeing that they were both doing their basic training at the time.

And maybe this is a coincidence... maybe it isn't (you know what my feelings are about those Jikook coincidences), but this happening on 24 March 2024, exactly 1 year from the release of Face.

Idk man...

I gotta remember this is JK we are talking about here.

Same day as this was happening too.

Not saying a damn thing here...

Or am I?

[babygorewhore]

Daddy Issues part two

You deliver your next payment to Rafe Cameron after your agreement to save your dad’s job. But you start to develop more than an arrangement emotions. And Rafe isn’t exactly the commitment type. Part one

Hi!!! I hope you enjoy part two!! I’m so nervous for sequels lol. But this is filth guys. Warnings! Oral! Fem and male recieving. Degrading! Unprotected sex! Spitting! Some angst but good ending! Abusive dad! Violence! Probably not in order but oh well. Barely proofread. Okay anyway enjoy. Thank you to dolly for beta reading!!!!

It was time for your next payment.

Rafe had instructed you to wear your favorite outfit, one that no one had ever really seen before. He wanted to be special and he wouldn’t tell you what he assigned you to do once you arrived at his penthouse.

He told you the key code as you typed it in and the door unlocked. Your heels clicked against his floor as you peeked and saw him leaning against the wall. He looked even hotter with his white half unbuttoned shirt and dress pants. His hair was starting to fall from being slicked back and he gave you an appreciative smirk.

“You look sexy, baby girl. Come here.” He beckoned with a finger and you quickly obeyed.

Your dad had been out of jail for three days and was mostly gone making up his lost hours at work. The drunk bastard hadn’t paid attention to how you got him out as he shrugged past you this morning while you tried to recover from last nights fucking session.

You were still sore in between your legs but Rafe couldn’t get enough.

And neither could you. This was becoming addicting and you were also afraid. You were starting to want more and notice small details about him. How he liked his coffee once he let you go yesterday morning. And the momentary second he held you last night after you came. His fingers could be soft and gentle as they traced over a small scar on your body.

He didn’t ask where it came from and you didn’t feel like telling him about the time your dad threw a beer bottle at you and it cut your skin.

Rafe seemed to understand your situation more than he ever let on. But you didn’t dare to ask.

As you got to him, he grasped your chin and admired the makeup you put on and started to spin you.

You wore a favorite dress, knee socks and a pair of heels. Your hair was loose which was a rare thing since it was usually up during a long shift.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous. Too bad all that makeup is gonna be wasted.” He growled and his hold tightened. He immediately pushed you to the floor, wasting no time getting you on your knees with an expectant look in his eyes.

As you reached forward to pull his bottoms down, Rafe’s large hand lightly smacked your cheek. “Remember what to call me? Or do I need to remind you?” You had halfway pulled down his boxers.

“Yes, daddy.” You whispered and he gave you a half smile of approval.

“Good little bunny,” His sentence ended in a moan as you stroked the soft skin of his dick and spit on the precum tip.

Rafe brought out a side of you that you only secretly fantasize of being. Nothing much was off limits with him and you didn’t feel afraid to allow yourself to be as dirty as possible. You ran your tongue on both sides of his cock before kitten licking the growing beads on his tip like the obedient girl you were. Your hands teased him as you rotated motions on his dick. You had learned over the past short days what felt good to him from your lack of experience.

But Rafe wasn’t in a mood for teasing as he yanked your hair back, hard and slapped the tip against your tongue and shoving inside your mouth. You initially freeze, still getting used to the feeling as your throat wants to close but you force yourself to relax and breathe through your nose. His skin gently grazed your teeth as your cheeks hollowed as he started violently thrusting.

He started to throat fuck you, his precum sticking to your breath as you attempted to pull back to swallow but he only held you harder as your hands were pressed against the wall to steady yourself with fingers splayed. “Daddy, I can’t breathe.” It sounded like a jumble but you knew he fucking understood you by the way he laughed with sadistic humor.

“You can fucking take it, you dirty bitch.” He says between thrusts as your eyes were welled and shed tears.

Your gag reflex wanted to kick in but you remembered his previous words about breathing through your nose.

It was painful in the most delicious way as Rafe bobbed your head but then as he came to his edge, he removed you and you felt him cum all over your face. Your mouth, jaw and neck was covered in sticky fluid as you blinked and went to rub your eyes. You coughed slightly with a drunken moan.

“You’re such a whore, you know that? Letting me fuck your mouth. Smear all that pretty makeup. We’re not even halfway done with what you owe me.” He growled and nudged you flat on your back.

He easily shoved your dress and exposed your bare pussy. It tightened around nothing as he dreamily ran his fingers along the slit. “Only I get to do this, understand? Only I get to fuck this little cunt.”

“Yes, daddy.” You whined as he plunged his middle and ring finger inside you, curling them as your walls clenched around his digits. He pumped them slowly in a come here motion, his thumb able to stroke your throbbing clit as black prickled the edge of your vision.

All your problems felt forgotten as he widened your legs, your heels making a slight noise against the wooden floor as he bent your knees. He took out his fingers and then straddled you. Like last night, you expected him to start slamming into you but he pulled both legs over his shoulders, your back arched off the floor.

He was able to hold your thighs as his heavy cock stretched you out and started relentlessly thrusting. Thank god you were wet enough as he humped you like a fucking animal, “that’s it, baby. You’re doing so good.” Your eyes widened briefly before your core fluttered intensely.

He never praised you in a genuine way but you didn’t echo it as you tried to hold onto his arm. “Thank you for fucking me, daddy.” You managed between his movements. His mouth was parted as he grunted, his hair fully across his forehead.

He made you swear up and down that you wouldn’t use birth control and you kept your word. Your own release came and spilled all over his cock in a shrill noise that escaped your abused throat.

Rafes own cum coated your insides as you felt his hand shake around your thighs. You both stayed there for a few seconds.

You briefly wondered if he would give you the same fluttering gentleness he did last night but that hope quickly vanished as he pulled off, leaving you on the floor. “Get cleaned up. I’ll take you home.” He said dismissively and your heart ached as he walked away, getting dressed again.

You shouldn’t expect any different. This wasn’t a relationship. This was a business transaction and ownership. Everything he said was just in the moment. But the hurt was still there. You had done all this for a man who didn’t deserve it and now…was it worth it?

You did it more than your asshole father. You were doing this because you liked Rafe Cameron.

He had the decency to wait for you to enter your home as he dropped you off. Your dad had taken the car but you were met with a disaster as you closed the door with your heeled shoe. Your dad was sitting on the floor, empty beer cans surrounding him as you made a noise of frustration.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He slurred and paused at your messily wiped off face. “You out there whoring yourself? To that Kook?” His words were a slap as he stood.

“Yeah, dad. I had to hook up with Rafe so I could get your ass out of jail.” You ground out. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Your dad scoffed. “I don’t give a shit what you do out there. But when you get in here at least have some self respect. You’re no better than some slut.”

“Stop it. Stop talking like I’m a piece of trash!” You shouted. “I do nothing but try and keep this house and fucking help you!”

The hit came without warning and faster than you ever expected. You scattered on the carpet. Clutching your cheek, your dad kicked you without warning. “Coming into my fucking house, talking to me like I’m a little bitch. Who the FUCK do you think you are?” He hit you again, harder and your mouth was bloody.

“STOP IT!!” You screamed. “DAD STOP! I’m sorry!” You sobbed.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall and you saw Rafe’s tall form fill the space. His blue eyes caught you and they burned with rage as they saw you in a heap. His head snapped at your father who loomed over you unsteadily.

Rafe lunged at him and landed a sickening punch. You heard the crunch of your dads nose, knocking him against the wall. Rafe punched him again in the face, the jaw, his stomach and finally he blindly wailed on him. “Don’t you Fucking Ever Put Your hands on her!” He roared at your father who was slipping on the ground, his eyes shut and bloody.

“Stop! Please!” You shrieked at him, scrambling to stand. “rafe, please!”

That made him slow and jerk his head towards you, his knuckles bloody and his shirt haphazardly to the side. He breathed hard before focused again on your father. He yanked him closer by his collar. “You ever touch her again, I will kill you. You understand, motherfucker? I’ll fucking kill you.” He shoved him away allowing him to fall on his broken nose.

Rafe pulled off his jacket as he approached you. “Here.” He said gruffly and put it around your shoulders. “We’re fucking leaving.”

You shivered in his car as tears streamed down your face as he drove you back to his house. The drive had been silent. Rafe had taken you to his kitchen where he got out an ice pack and pressed it against your cheek. It was almost awkward. Being in his home without the immediate fucking. And he wasn’t used to being kind. That you could tell by the way his eye contact wavered.

You still hadn’t spoken. You had drank water to try and clear the blood from your mouth. “Thank you, Rafe. I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t save me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me. I-I’m really sorry.”

That took you aback. “You’re sorry?” You questioned.

“Yeah, I am. I never should have taken you back. If I knew how bad he was I would have-“ He clenched his jaw and gingerly stroked your hair out of your face. “I treated you like shit earlier. That wasn’t cool.”

His struggle for words was endearing as you let him figure out how to phrase it.

“You’re gonna stay here. Take a break. You need to heal. You know I’ll take care of you? You don’t need him anymore. I’m your daddy now, princess. Don’t even think about that piece of shit.”

Your eyes watered again and you nodded. Not having the energy to put up a fight. “Thank you, daddy.”

Rafe nodded. “Good girl.” He glanced down and lifted you up on the counter. You gasped and he settled his fingers on your legs.

Rafe lowered until he was on his knees. You looked at him with shock as he separated your thighs, and his gaze was predatory as he looked at your cunt.

“I only do this for you, bunny. No one else gets daddy’s tongue” he ran his tongue along the slit before it laid against your clit.

Your head rolled back and you cried out as he sucked the center before lapped at your pussy like a starved man and kept you from jerking around. Your thighs went around his head as he moved his head to capture your cunt, his sloppy lips sucked and slurped every ounce of arousal you gave him. This experience was so different and better than you thought. Rafe Cameron on his knees beneath you was a rare sight and you couldn’t get enough of his moans. He repeatedly went from greedily licking your clit to putting his tongue inside until you were riding his face. Your ass was on the edge of the counter as you whimpered and whined his name.

“Daddy, I'm gonna cum.” Your breathing was fast as you covered his mouth with your creamy fluid and he groaned deeply and licked up the mess.

He stood and wiped his chin with the back of his hand before kissing you. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he sucked your lower lip and when you winced he stopped.

“Sorry, princess.” He chuckled and nodded. “Well, I’m not really good at this. But I don’t want to just fuck you. Just so you know.”

And those words were in his language the most sincere he could tell you. And you accepted it.

@xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @xxhellfirebunnyxx @drewstarkeyslut @imyourdaninow @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @slvt4jamesmarch @take-everything-you-can @lesservillain @emsgoodthinkin

[jasonswh0rre]

The Psychological Analysis of Jason Todd

I am a psych major, and my professor is allowing us to make an analysis of any character of our choice, so I figured who better to write then Jason Todd. This was very fun to write and I very much enjoyed rewatching Batman: Arkham Knight. Please enjoy. ☁️ Warning(s): Trigger Warning for Trauma, Mental Health Content, Violence, Graphic Imagery, Spoiler(s)☁️ Word Count: 2.6k ☁️: Authors Note: I am working on fanfics, more headcanons for Arkham Jason, unfortunately I am busy with classes, assignments and deadlines. I will try to be punctual but it may take time. Thank you for your understanding.

Introduction 

Jason Todd is the secondary villain in Batman: Arkham Knight, which has the same moniker. He is the second Robin and Bruce Wayne's adoptive son.

Jason Peter Todd was born in the slums of Gotham City to two drug-addicted parents, who would eventually try to settle a debt they had by giving Jason away when he was a baby. Jason received no parental figure to help guide him, leading him to petty crimes such as theft to nourish his survival. Jason is a character who takes what he needs if it means prolonging his survival; his lack of a parental figure leads him to an identity crisis between longing for a parental figure and convincing himself he is better off without one. When the simple truth is that every human needs a mother and a father, we respond positively to a nurturing environment, and through early adolescence, our brains crave the structure needed to build us into well-rounded adults. 

At fifteen, Jason inadvertently met Batman while committing robbery when Batman was fighting Gotham's notorious supervillain, The Joker. Believing Batman is in trouble, Jason jumps between pushing the hero from harm's way. Despite life's misfortunes, Jason possesses a remarkable code of morality enough to want to save someone. Jason, attempting to rid Joker of his breath, aims a pistol at the clown and, before firing, is knocked out of his hands by Batman's batarang. Unfortunately for him, Joker would leave Jason with a cryptic message, one for the young man to head.

Jason would later be apprehended and taken into custody in the back of a police car by Batman after Batman retrieved his gun and stolen money. However, rather than being charged, Jason receives a blessing through a Wayne Industries project that helped troubled teens; through the program, Jason was able to turn his life around. All attract the man who helped Jason find a new purpose: Bruce Wayne. Months after being released, Batman appeared in Jason's dorm, again offering Jason another opportunity. 

2nd Robin and Kidnapping

Taking Jason in as his ward as well as dubbing him Robin after Dick Grayson, Jason sought justice and enjoyed being a hero. Like the previous Robin, he showed a keen aptitude for it; unlike his predecessor, he possessed a fiery temper and willingness for more lethal force. While Jason's temper is directed towards the criminals that harm the innocents, Batman views this as inexcusable, fearing the day that Jason will kill instead of reprimanding. 

In the most twisted sense of irony, Jason's morality inevitably becomes his downfall. The Joker has blown up a school with kindergarteners; this leads to Jason's resolve that Joker needs to die. Knowing that Bruce would try to stop him, Jason abandons his comms and tracker so he can kill Joker. However, it is a trap, and Joker ambushes Jason. Jason was kept in a wheelchair, bonded by barbed wire that kept Jason leaning hunched over in excruciating pain. Throughout his pain, Jason's mind remained still; he was confident that Batman would find him; his sheer will at the beginning of his torture is, with all honesty, remarkable as Joker has been known for his mental abuse and mind games he plays with his victims including his sidekick, Harley Quinn. 

In the six months of his torture, Jason's unwavering mental resolve was slowly crippling as Joker had wanted; throughout the game, Jason's voice mixed with crippling fear and small doubts about Batman coming. The Joker feeds into his doubts by showing him a photo of Batman with his replacement, Tim Drake. This leaves Jason troubled as he slowly loses hope for Batman. 

The last act of Jason's torture involved a video sent to Batman via The Joker of Jason, who has undergone all his brainwashing; in the video, Jason is sitting down in a chair; he is not chained, barbed, handcuffed, or kept sitting still in any way by all means Jason could easily walk away. This is a significant and crucial part of Jason's torture as it symbolizes just how much mental anguish and emotional exhaustion Jason went through to the point that he no longer had a yearning for freedom—making him downright timid and submissive towards Joker enough to out Batman's identity when asked by the latter. This results in Joker shooting Jason point-blank in the chest, as Joker "never could stand a tattletale." However, this was only a ploy to make Batman believe Jason is genuinely dead.

On the contrary, Jason was kept alive for another year, endeavoring more torture, mistreatment, and malnourishment. Harley Quinn did the final touches of Jason's emotional and mental brainwashing; a former psychiatrist who manipulated Jason into believing that Batman was the cause of his anguish and his pain was his doing; she did this long enough, even punishing Jason by waterboarding him and electrocuting him when he refused to say Batman, indicating he still had some level of awareness of who was torturing him. 

However, once Harley could get Jason to say Batman's name, Jason was drugged and beaten by two prisoners dressed like Batman; he was given a gun by The Joker and was ordered to kill them. Jason's resolve and humanity were a cord, still entrenched in him before Harley convinced him further, snapping his humanity and getting him to shoot the two dressed-up prisoners dead.

During the riots of Arkham Asylum, The Joker paid mercenary Deathstroke to keep Jason there and shoot him if he escaped. However, Jason convinces Deathstroke that Joker will not keep his promise and that if he helps, Jason will triple whatever Joker plans to pay. Accepting the offer, Deathstroke assists Jason in escaping, stealing a helicopter, and flying to Wayne Industries. Jason steals millions of dollars from his former guardian. Ironically, crossing paths with Tim Drake, who assumes Todd to be Deathstroke's sidekick, when Jason's ankle is caught between Tim's grappling hook, Jason cuts the cord, allowing Tim to fall when suggested by Deathstroke that killing Robin would bode well for them with the Dark Knight. Jason Coldy says that if he dies in a fall like that, Batman needs to pick his sidekicks better. 

Jason's psyche has been torn and scattered, leaving him a hollowed carving with a mocking J branding etched onto his face, from birth his eyes were already met with darkness, born to parents who never showed him recognition, let alone love, and through the Wayne Industries Project and his adoption by Bruce his eyes were wide, and remarkably hopeful, to be free of the weight of Gotham's misfortunes finally; those eyes that looked with gleam forced shut until he saw nothing but blackness.

Arkham Knight's Birth

Jason adopts a new persona built on the pain and suffering in the wake of his escape from Joker. He feels betrayed by the one person he only had in the world and wants vengeance. Jason works alongside Scarecrow, one of Batman's enemies. The two begin a plan on Halloween to take Gotham and Batman's legacy along with it. Jason gathers all Batman's enemies to join, assembling a militia with Deathstroke. While working with each other, Scarecrow "tests" his fear toxin on the young man, sending him on a psychological spiral. One of his more apparent fears is the Joker, who can be found near, in the background, or standing right in front of him laughing and mocking him, but beyond the clown prince of crime's appearance, Jason also sees his replacement, Tim Drake, and "fights" him.

The fight has Jason severely outnumbered in the beginning, with Tim succeeding, even using his staff to choke Jason, forcing him to the ground as the Jokers around him laugh. Further into the fear toxin, Jason appears in front of Wayne Manor, where he throws down his helmet and says the following: "Someplace warm, someplace safe, someplace where I'm needed, someplace where I'm loved," Joker once again appears in front of him laughing and mocking him on whether he even deserves it, this is Jason's internal struggle in a manifested form of the person who caused him harm, of the person who convinced him from the start that he was alone and would not be saved. Jason is mischaracterized as always being angry or standoffish, but anger has more truth than any lie detector can scoop. Jason feels this anger is not just because of some personality trait; anger is his cry out, and he's shouting to be seen and loved. This is most likely due to being tortured at 15 or so, which, despite the fact that at the time of Arkham Knight, he was in his early 20s, his mental age was regressed to the age when he was captured. This makes Jason appear at first glance as someone emotional, cocky, and arrogant. He values safety and love; he doesn't want to be on his guard 24/7, but he's grown up in an environment where letting your guard down gets you killed. He follows Joker into Wayne Manor, where he sees Bruce; suddenly, several versions of Batman appear in the room. They beat him and told him they never wanted a partner or even a son. This is a conflict that has always waged war in Jason's mind. Jason's biological father attempted to give him up and then belittled him when he explained that Jason's worth was so low that he couldn't even leave him; he has low self-esteem that he internalizes into rage in the way that he fights to prove his strength. 

This is why Jason has a strong attachment to Bruce/Batman it maybe due to an underlying desire to seek his approval especially by the time when he adopts him. Bruce gives him everything he could ask for and anything he could think of, and Batman gives him a purpose. Ironically, this is still the case despite Bruce himself having an avoidant attachment style. 

Conclusion and Diagnosis

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" exhibits a complex interplay of psychological factors that align with the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). One prominent feature of BPD is emotional dysregulation, characterized by intense and rapidly shifting emotions. Jason displays various emotions throughout the game, from anger and hostility to vulnerability and despair. His reactions often appear exaggerated or disproportionate to the situation, indicating difficulty regulating his emotional responses.

Furthermore, Jason's sense of identity is notably unstable, which is another hallmark feature of BPD. Having grown up in a dysfunctional environment with absent parents, Jason lacks a stable sense of self and struggles to define his identity. This is evident in his adoption of various personas, including Robin, the Arkham Knight, and, later, the Red Hood. His shifting identities reflect a profound inner conflict and a desperate search for validation and purpose. Jason's interpersonal relationships also reflect the interpersonal instability characteristic of BPD. He forms intense and unstable attachments to figures such as Batman, vacillating between admiration and resentment. His interactions with other characters are marked by rapid shifts in perception, alternating between idealization and devaluation. For example, while Jason initially idolizes Batman as a mentor and father figure, his feelings of betrayal and abandonment lead to resentment and hostility towards him.

Moreover, Jason exhibits self-destructive behaviors as a coping mechanism for his emotional pain, another hallmark of BPD. He engages in reckless actions, disregarding his safety to seek vengeance against those he perceives as enemies. His confrontations with adversaries are often fueled by a desire for self-assertion and control, masking more profound feelings of emptiness and despair.

Underlying Jason's behaviors is a pervasive fear of abandonment, stemming from his traumatic upbringing and experiences of betrayal. This fear drives his desperate attempts to maintain connections with others, even as he pushes them away with his volatile and unpredictable behavior. Jason's fear of abandonment manifests in his interactions with Batman and the Bat family, where he oscillates between seeking their approval and rejecting their authority.

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" embodies many of the core features of Borderline Personality Disorder, including emotional dysregulation, identity disturbance, interpersonal instability, self-destructive behaviors, and a fear of abandonment. By analyzing his actions, relationships, and psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, it becomes apparent that Jason's character aligns closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD, providing a compelling framework for understanding his complex and multifaceted personality.

Besides indicating various symptoms of BPD, I would also consider diagnosing Jason with Complex Post post-traumatic stress Disorder (C-PTSD). Given Jason's background of severe trauma, including childhood abuse, neglect, and prolonged torture at the hands of the Joker, it's worth considering Complex PTSD. C-PTSD typically develops in response to chronic trauma and is characterized by symptoms such as emotional dysregulation, disturbed self-concept, difficulties in relationships, and a persistent sense of threat. I would include diagnosing Jason with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD): Jason's experiences of profound loss, trauma, and betrayal may contribute to symptoms of depression, such as feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, and a loss of interest in activities. His struggles with emotional regulation and chronic feelings of emptiness could also align with depressive symptoms. Following my diagnosis, I am also inclined to believe he suffers from attachment disorders; given Jason's tumultuous upbringing and experiences and a multitude of parental figures involving neglect and abandonment, it's possible that he may have developed attachment-related difficulties. This could manifest in insecure attachment styles, fear of abandonment, and challenges in forming and maintaining healthy relationships. 

Furthermore, I would consider Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD): While Jason displays empathy and compassion at times, his willingness to engage in morally questionable or violent behavior, as well as his disregard for societal norms and rules, may align with some features of ASPD. However, his capacity for genuine care and loyalty makes this disorder out of sorts with his character.

Lastly, Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED): PTED is a proposed diagnostic category characterized by intense feelings of injustice, betrayal, and embitterment following a traumatic event or series of events. Jason's experiences of betrayal and abandonment, particularly by Batman and the Joker, may resonate with the symptoms of PTED. 

In conclusion, the character of Jason Todd in "Batman: Arkham Knight" presents a compelling portrayal of psychological complexity shaped by a tumultuous history of trauma, betrayal, and profound loss. Through a comprehensive analysis of his experiences and behaviors throughout the game, it becomes evident that Jason embodies many psychological struggles, warranting consideration for various diagnostic possibilities. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) emerges as a primary candidate, given Jason's emotional volatility, identity disturbances, and interpersonal difficulties. His tumultuous relationships, intense fear of abandonment, and self-destructive tendencies align closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD. Furthermore, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) offers another lens through which to understand Jason's psychological profile, considering his history of chronic trauma and its pervasive impact on his functioning.

Additionally, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) may contribute to Jason's experiences of profound despair, hopelessness, and emotional emptiness. His struggles with attachment-related difficulties suggest the possibility of underlying attachment disorders stemming from his early experiences of neglect and abandonment.

While Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) and Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED) offer alternative perspectives, they may not fully capture the complexity of Jason's character, given his capacity for empathy and genuine care, despite his propensity for morally questionable behavior.

In essence, Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" is a poignant exploration of the human psyche's intricacies, illustrating the profound impact of trauma on identity, relationships, and emotional well-being. By delving into his psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, we gain valuable insights into the complexities of mental health and the enduring resilience of the human spirit.