#like it wasn’t a doctor it was a wing of a hospital or something. or that person had left the practice. or whatever.

[leclerc-hs]

tachycardia pt.2 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated French (didn't really put french in this), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.5k author's note: hi!!!!!! did you miss me??? I missed all of you! sorry this is SO short but I wanted to post something in honor of reaching 2,000 FOLLOWERS!!! I love u all sm and I'm sorry this is kinda shit. I've been in a really bad writing funk recently but I'm hoping to get out of it. don’t forget to talk to me and don’t be shy I love to hear from all of you!!!! I will try to get the ball rolling on this series as soon as I can. I just kinda started it without even knowing where I wanted it to go so I'm kinda just winging it as I write with whatever comes to mind. if you have anything you would like to see happen in this series PLEASE don’t be shy and let me know I love to hear your thoughts and ideas!!!! xoxo taglist: @amalialeclerc @barcelonaloverf1life @charizznorizz @magicpancake @zabwlky1999

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

AS YOU SIT across from your younger sister in the cozy confines of the café adjacent to the bustling hospital, you can’t help but marvel at the enigmatic workings of her mind.

“Is it really like that? Sex in the on-call rooms?” The question bursts forth accompanied by a hearty laugh, your body leaning forward in laughter. 

“How many times do I have to tell you no?”  You retort, meeting her gaze with an air of firmness amidst the playful banter. 

“What about in the locker room?” She presses further, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“No, and stop indulging in such ludicrous fantasies.” You respond, bringing your cup of coffee to your mouth, you pause before taking a sip. “You know well enough that I don’t engage in relationships with doctors.” A fleeting sense of contentment washes over you with the warmth of the coffee. 

She emits a deep sigh, deeply annoyed. “Are any of them at least cute?”

You feel your stomach churn as the image of Doctor Leclerc floods your thoughts. He’s far more than just attractive. You hesitate for a beat, staring at her wide, expectant eyes. “Yes.”

Her eyes light up almost instantly. “Who?”

“I forget. I don’t really know him.” Liar.

“What does he look like?”

“Brown hair. Very green eyes.” Your fingers twiddle with the napkin on the table, feigning disinterest.

She gives you a skeptical look as if she can read your mind and tell you’re lying. But she doesn’t push further. “When do you have to be back?”

You briefly glance at the time on the screen of your phone, “Shit.” Rising abruptly, you shove the chair back with a jolt, shooting your sister an apologetic glance. “I have to go. I’ll see you at mom’s this weekend?”

You’re already pushing the front door of the café open by the time you hear your sister half-shout, “Yes!”

-

You burst into your patient’s room, breaths coming in ragged gasps, cheeks flushed with exertion. You say a silent prayer to whatever higher power that he wasn’t here yet. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Did you mention that this particular patient has a knack for hitting on you?

Your heart skips a beat, and if it weren’t for the already flushed hue of your cheeks, you’re certain the blush creeping up on your neck would be glaringly obvious.

“Mr.,” You pause to glance at the chart to double-check his name, “Mr. Hart, how are you feeling today?”

“Meilleur, now that you’re here.” Better. You curl your lips upward into a soft smile, jokingly rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Surely you’re sick of seeing my face, Mr. Hart.” You quip, reaching for a stool beside his bed while simultaneously checking his IV bags. “Today’s the day I think!”

Mr. Hart has been in the hospital for over a week, recovering from a surgery for a atrial septal defect.  

“Jamais.” Never. He insists, his head sinking back against the pillow as his gaze follows your every movement. “I’m so close to being able to ask you out properly.”

In that moment, a new scent permeates the air, distinct and alluring. Without even turning around, you sense his presence—the man who just breezed in behind you. Whether he heard the exchange or not, you weren’t sure, but the subtle shift in the atmosphere is palpable regardless.

“Mr. Hart,” His voice, deep and honeyed, washes over you, almost too sweet to be genuine. “Still stirring up trouble for our lovely nurses?” Despite the playful tone, you can sense an undercurrent of something morecalculated beneath his words. His presence radiates warmth, his tall figure looming beside you, close enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. 

“No,” Mr. Hart grins. “Just her.”

Doctor Leclerc’s smile remains fixed, but you catch the subtle clench of his jaw as you turn your head to meet his gaze. “Just stopping by to let you know that we might need to keep you for another night.”

The news catches you off guard; you were under the impression that Mr. Hart would be discharged by the end of the day. As if he could sense the questions brewing in your mind, Doctor Leclerc continues, his voice reassuring. “Just a precautionary measure. I assure you; we’ll have you cleared to leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mr. Hart hums nonchalantly, as if the prospect of another night in the hospital doesn’t bother him in the slightest. His attention remains fixated on you as you inspect the sutures on his chest, his fingertips grazing against your gloved hand with a deliberate touch. “Can’t complain as long as she’s the one checking on me.”

You let out a small laugh, but don’t say anything, as you stand up and remove the gloves to toss them in the waste bin nearby.  

“Mr. Hart,” Doctor Leclerc’s voice is unamused now. “You would be wise to refrain your hands from touching her again. Next time I won’t ask so politely.”

-

Pressed against a wall while in the presence of Doctor Leclerc seems to be a common occurrence nowadays. His tall frame blocking any potential onlookers from seeing who he had cornered.

“Dis-moi,” Tell me. His voice is low, lethal. “Do you flirt with patients often, hm?” 

“What is your problem?” You quip, your brows furrowed as you crane your neck back to look him in the eyes. 

“My problem?” He scoffs, leaning closer to your face, his lips thinned in annoyance. “My problem is that I have to stand there and watch a patient flirt with you,” He clicks his tongue in frustration, turning his head to look away for a brief moment. Giving you a moment, to take in the sharpness of his jawline, and the unshaven scruff that shadows it. “And you…” His voice trailed off.

“And I, what?” You pulled your lips into a slight frown.

“You smell like that,” His hands wavered around your body, in an exasperated manner.

“Smell like what?” 

As he shook his head in disbelief, a mixture of frustration and something deeper etched acoss his features. The disbelief seemed to stem from his inability to fathom that you were completely unaware of something soevident to him. It was that scent, the sweet floral scent that always accompanied you. It drove him mad sometimes. How it was almost the only thing he could focus on sometimes.

With a disapproving click of his tongue, he took a deliberate step back, as if needed physical distance to collect his thoughts.

Ignoring your inquiry, his gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes giving way to a gentler expression as they locked on yours.

Caught off guard by the swift change in his demeanor, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of whiplash from the abrupt shift.

“I wouldn’t say often,” you began, punctuating the order with a slight shrug. “It’s all harmless.”

His response was solemn, his voice carrying a weight of protectiveness that left no room for misinterpretation. “I don’t want them to put their hands on you ever again,” he declared firmly. “If you ever have issues, you can come to me.”

His words resonated with a gravity that made it clear he meant every syllable, his stance unwavering in its determination to shield you from harm.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, acutely aware of the intensity in his gaze tracing the delicate curve of your neck.

“Moving forward, I will be the one to check on Mr. Hart,” he announced, his voice carrying a note of authority softened by a touch of concern.

With a deliberate motion, he extended his arm, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

The proximity of his touch sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the tenderness in his gesture catching you off guard, yet somehow soothing in its unexpectedness. Dr. Leclerc’s presence seemed to envelop you whenever he was near. As if nothing else in the world existed no matter the premise of the discussion, including the constant bickering you two always seemed to do.

“Will you be at James’ retirement party?” The question slipped from your lips before you could fully weigh its significance. Yet, deep down, you knew the answer matters more to you than you cared to admit. You found yourself wanting him to be there, though the reasons remained elusive, even to yourself.

Yes, he was an ass to you most of the time. But, for some reason you couldn’t really fathom, he was always in the forefront of your mind.

His head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Though he would never openly confess, the idea of attending hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment. However, if there was even the slightest chance that you would be there, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. 

“Yes,” he replied simply, the single word carrying more weight than its brevity suggested.

You nodded slowly, as if processing his response required a deeper level of understanding. “See you there?” You ventured, the question hanging in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications.

He nodded, pulling his lips into the faintest smirk.

“See you there, mon lapin.”

[forcemeanakin]

Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT.  Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

____________________________________________

As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries. 

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about. 

All of that was erased the moment war erupted. 

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him. 

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him. 

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible. 

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing. 

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation. 

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place. 

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought. 

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away. 

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation. 

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too. 

He will think you are stupid. 

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot. 

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling. 

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets. 

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes.  Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly. 

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?” 

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process. 

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.” 

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe. 

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you. 

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was. 

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him. 

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect. 

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body. 

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it. 

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.” 

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart. 

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips. 

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him. 

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything. 

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex! 

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled. 

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing. 

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?” 

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way. 

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again. 

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye. 

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention. 

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you. 

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it. 

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting. 

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you. 

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form. 

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response. 

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return. 

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second. 

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan. 

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder. 

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum. 

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions. 

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this. 

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering. 

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.  

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression. 

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up. 

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

 And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men. 

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you. 

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action. 

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile. 

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers. 

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you. 

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration. 

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.” 

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice. 

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.” 

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them. 

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him. 

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it. 

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant. 

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you. 

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over. 

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan. 

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well. 

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

[dnvrsmedia]

Dr. Anderson Will See You Now

Dr!Abby Anderson x Wife!Research assistant!Reader

Summary: You meet your now wife, Dr. Abby Anderson, working at Seattle Hospital as a Lab Specialist. 8 years and a marriage later, your life could not have been more perfect. What happens when your wife is destined on carrying out a silly little prank war?

warnings: 18+ mentions/themes of smut, not proof read

word count: 2k

AN: this is my first post back on tumblr in forever. I don’t foresee myself necessarily posting fics here fully time, but post the occasional fic that i am extra proud of. I still am really only posting on AO3 (sevikasplanet).

hope you enjoy.

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Heavy breaths slow as you come down from your high. Your mind on cloud nine, you almost miss the whispers of reassurance coming from your blonde haired lover beside you. Abby pulls you in to lay directly on top of her. Your nose nuzzling into its designated spot in the crook of her neck. Soft kisses litter her skin as the both of you slow your breathing. You lift your head to look at the blue eyed girl with a toothy smile. No matter how many times the two of you have been intimate, a shy nature subcomes you. Abby chuckles at you with a light hearted roll of her eyes.

“We have been together for almost eight years, married for two of them. How are you still so shy?” Her big palm caresses your thigh as you try to return to your position you previously were in. Abby would not have any of that, the woman tilting your chin to face her with a loving look in her eye.

“I love you, baby.” Abby smiles. Your heart soars at the words left from her lips. That was something you could never get tired of.

“I love you too, Abs.” You plant a slow kiss to her lips, enjoying the feeling of her plush pillows contorting with yours.

Days like these were often very rare in the Anderson household. Abby is a very successful orthopedic surgeon, and you work full-time as a research specialist. The pair of you met while working at the same hospital you do now. Funnily enough, running into doctors was quite the rarity as you were on a completely different wing from your now wife. You had met the big goofy blonde in the cafeteria. It was your first week starting your new job at the hospital’s research facility. To say it was stressful becoming acquainted would be a complete understatement. Everything felt as if it were divinely fated against you (you do have the flair for dramatics and intense perfectionism). Even the stupid fucking self check out machine was laughing at your apparent stupidity.

Abby ran into you having a bit of…technical difficulties as you slammed your badge furiously across the scanner for the millionth time in the span of five minutes. It was pure luck that Abby just so happened to forget her lunch at her apartment today as she rushed to get ready for work. An incredulous chuckle left her mouth, not really sure if this was a bit or not. Tha confusion quickly went away when she heard your frustrated mutters of not so professional language leave your mouth.

“Stupid fuckin’ robot, n’ you’re ‘posed to take my job in the future? Dumb fuck!” Your pouty lips and furrowed brows were unlike anything Abby has ever seen. To this day, she swears this is when she started falling in love with you. Time fell frozen in her mind as she watched you, the most beautiful person she has ever seen.

“Um, I think I can help you with that, if you don’t mind?” Abby clears her throat, feeling the heat rise to her face as all of your attention turns to the buff woman before you.

Left opening your mouth like a fish out of water, your embarrassment flooded through your system– it left you hindered to speak as you nodded your head. All Abby can do is fondly smile at the person before her, what can she say, you have peaked her interest. Abby grazes her hand across yours as she reaches for your badge. Electricity flows through both of your veins at the small connection of your hands. If Abby wasn’t bright red before, she was now. She shook her head lightly as if she was telling herself to remain on task, and did just that. You practically facepalm yourself as you see the freckled face woman flip your badge to the correct side and swipe.

“Oh my god I just threw a tantrum over that.” You giggled at the situation you put yourself in.

“Here, why don’t I buy you your lunch? As a thank you for your hard work uh–” Your eyes trail to the name embroidered onto her white coat. “Dr. Anderson.” A wide smile beams from your mouth, unbeknownst to you, your forever was awaiting right in front of you.

Abby pulls away with a reminiscent smile on her face. Abby was never one to indulge in romantic relationships,at least not the long term kind, until she met you. For the majority of her adult years, Abby spent her time with her head down and her nose between her books. She would spend the little free time she had at the gym or with her close knit group of friends and family. Becoming a successful orthopedic surgeon at her age took hand work and dedication, and if her father taught her anything it would be just that. The Andersons were resilient and Abby was a direct product of that.

Never having known her mother, Abby grew up around doctors. Her second home was the hospital’s daycare. Although Jerry tried his best to be around Abby, there were times where the blonde was left to raise herself. Jerry was open minded and well informed, he lacked the experience of womanhood. Abby was never keen on stereotypical “girl” things. That did help him in raising her, though if Abby did turn out to love tutus and sparkles, he would be the first to participate. Abby appreciated having Jerry as her number one fan. You would think that he would pressure the girl into becoming a successful neurosurgeon, leading a life just as fruitful, but that was not the case. Jerry understood that doing what you loved was the greater purpose of life. Abby just so happened to have a fascination with fixing broken things– where that be bones broken or the relationships of friends. Yet, she never found time to get into relationships herself. Thus, when she found you, she knew she couldn’t let you go. From the moment she saw you halfway to breaking the self checkout scanner, she needed to find a way to fix her way into your life. Those eight years of fixing turned from putting together your pesky IKEA desk, to fixing the hinges on your squeaky door, to finally fixing the ring on your finger, cementing your future together.

The pair of you wouldn’t change the last eight years for the life of you. Those days came with love and laughter. Specifically, unbeknownst to many, Abby liked to play pranks. You, being someone who disliked surprises, somehow fell in love with a six foot two goofball. Her residents would think you were insane for associating Abby with the word goofball. She was nothing shy of a hardass when it came to work. Her pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows were a staple at the Seattle Hospital. She finds it hilarious that the interns are scared of her. Her fellow residents must comply with her reputation when they really know that she is the first one to call when times get hard.

“I have a gift for you coming in at the end of the week.”

The tall blonde smugly smirks as her rough fingers gently contrast her light touches on your naked body on top of hers. Her smile widens as your breath hitches, like you know where this is going.

“A gift? What do you have planned, Dr.Anderson?”

A groan emits from her throat, knowing what that title does to her when you use it. I mean, it is the reason why you two ended up rustling in bed on your day off.

Abby laughs while squeezing the fat of your thigh.

“Nothing you have to worry about. Lover. Just know that you’ll enjoy it just like you seemed to enjoy today.”

A nibble on your earlobe makes your shiver as the soreness between your thighs makes you remember the details of your rendezvous with your wife. Your face smooshes into the crevasse of her neck and shoulder in embarrassment. Abby smiles, ready for her prank to commence.

If you would have known that your wife would go out of her way to make your life unbearably distressing for the next week then you would have told her to take her gift and shove it up her ass. Every waking moment, Abby has decided to tease you. Relentlessly. Constant reminders throughout your day about your gift— that you should be expecting by Saturday— could have never possibly left your mind with how she never let you forget. Her lips trail all of your sweet spots in passing throughout your mornings. Strong hands roughly spread your asscheeks disgustingly well as she wetly explores the inside of your mouth in a storage closet near your lab. Whimpers leaving your lips as your wife teases your nipples while you prepare dinner. Tweaking them in her hands as she whispers dirty thoughts in your ear. Throwing you on the bed, licking, sucking, prodding, and prying at your plush thighs, groaning from below you. Calling you from your lab to an empty office, making you grind on her thigh, then rudely leaving you hot and bothered. Yet, whenever you begged for her to continue, she would find an excuse to not move on.

It’s not that you’d say your sex drive is unnecessarily high, but you have a sexy stallion of a wife, who could blame you? It got to the point where she was the only thing on your mind all day. You felt immense need thrumming through your bones at all possible hours of the day, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. Luckily for you, Saturday was on the horizon. From the moment you woke up, you were by Abigail’s side clinging to her every movement.

Of course, your wife found this to be very endearing and hilarious. Any time you heard a shuffle outside of the front door, you pearled up like a dog. The worst part of the day was waiting anxiously for whatever “gift” your wife had for you. By the time you were growing annoyed, Abby picked you up and threw you over her shoulder—army style.

“Abigail!!! What the fuck are you doing?!” You squealed out between heavy laughs.

To say that you were complaining, ESPECIALLY with the view of her ass you’re getting would be a lie. A loud smack recoils from your hand slapping your wife’s sculpted butt cheek. A faux gasp leaves her lips.

“I’d be careful, baby, I’m the one carrying you.” Abby laughs at your wiggling ceasing. A smack lands on your backside, and although you can’t see her, you know that sexy and cocky smirk adorns her face. Especially after that loud whimper that leaves your lips. Abby flops you on the bed after she makes it up to your shared bedroom. Like a predator to its prey, she slowly stalks up to your lips, her body on top of yours. Her hair loose from her normal solo french braid, creating a halo of hair surrounding your face.

“Hi, beautiful.” Abby purrs as a hand of yours tucks her golden locks behind her ears, caressing her cheek in your palm. No matter the situation, Abby never fails to erupt butterflies in your stomach. Your face turns away from her loving and lustful eyes at the term of endearment.

“Uh uh, baby, look at me. C’mon, you’ve been so good this week. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your surprise now, would you?” Abby coos.

Your eyes snap back to hers, snapping into that submissive state she’s had you in oh so many times. You shake your head and respond to her with a ‘no’.

“Good.” Abby says as she quickly plants a sweet kiss to your lips. You whine in protest at the quick peck, wanting more, yet all your lover does is pinch your cheek with a smirk.

“Patience, baby. I’m gonna go get your gift now, okay?” And with that, the blonde scurried into your en suite bathroom.

Now what you didn’t see would be the devilish smile attached to her face. Abby might be a gentle giant and a fierce lover, but that did not stop her from being wildly competitive. Her need for pranking you only came after a small prank you pulled on her the first year of dating. Thus, ultimately creating an 8 year long prank war between the two of you. Abby even going as far as pranking you on your wedding day.

-2 years ago-

It was a beautiful day to have a wedding, and you could not have been more sure that you were making the best decision of your life. Your intimate wedding occurred at the private beach and house that Jerry owned. The view was spectacular, and so was the day. Before the wedding took place, Abby and yourself decided that you would want to have a private “first look” with you, her, and her friend Leah—a professional photographer. You were practically bouncing off the walls with how excited you were to see the love of your life. You were so curious about what she would wear. So, when it was time to turn around, you were surprised to see your future wife in a blow up dinosaur suit. Your jaw dropped as Abby couldn’t contain her fits of laughter, her tiny dinosaur hands trying to hold you. After your initial shock, you joined in on the continuous laughter. The pictures of your reaction were priceless, and to this day, it is her phone lockscreen.

Silly things like this was what made you sure that you made the correct decision, even if what she is about to do will royally piss you off.

“Close your eyes!” Is yelled from the bathroom with a slight giggle to her tone. Your eyes roll before you cover your eyes with your hands, you know already that Abby hates when you peak.

“They’re closed! C’mon I'm getting bored, Abs.” You yell back.

You can hear the blonde shuffling from the bathroom, trying to hold back her laughs. This sound confirmed to you that your wife was up to something very, very stupid.

“Okay, open up.” Abby bites back a smile as she stands at the foot of the bed.

Your eyes open and your mouth immediately flys open in shock.

“Dr.Anderson will see you now.” She tries to stay composed, clearly failing at the sound of her quiet chuckles.

Abby had teased you relentlessly for a week, turning you on to levels unknown…for an ill fitting “sexy” doctors costume? She looked absolutely ridiculous in this outfit. The costume fit her like an adult trying to put a toddlers dress on. The low cut white dress with a slit on both sides hardly fit over her wide shoulders and built physique. The buttons pulled at a tension so great you were shocked that they didn’t burst. The zipper not even getting the chance to zip due to her ridiculously muscular stature. The fishnet stallings digging into her wide thighs, topping it off with a very very tiny thong. To say that you were not expecting this would say the least.

“Abigail. What. The. Actual. Fuck!” You throw your head back in a loud cackle. Your belly hurting from the intense laughter bubbling up inside. She takes a stride towards you, but stops just as fast as a loud ‘riiiiip’ noise is heard. Her eyes bulge out of her head as she turns around. Her ass and thong fully hanging out as the fishnets now have a large hole on them. A howl erupts from both of your lips at the ridiculousness of it all.

It takes moments for you both to calm down, and after many pictures taken, Abby takes off the costume and joins you back on the bed.

“Although you got me really good, I'm still kinda mad at you for teasing me like that.” You pout at your wife.

Abby trails her hand up to where you need it most, caressing your clothed core. Her lips trailing up to your ear.

“Oh, babe, I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

[ichorai]

stitch ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

words ; 8.7k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, foul language, lucky being lucky, a lot of kisses, coryo's paranoia, he's much more toxic this chapter someone pls save reader (aka doomed by the narrative), i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; thank you for all the support on this series so far! if i've planned this out right, there will be two more parts coming after this one!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Considering you survived numerous explosions and a metal-pipe lodged in your abdomen, you weren’t looking all that bad. Though you were still badly aching, the injuries you had sustained during the bombings strayed away from your face, save for a few small cuts and bruises that would heal in no time. It made it easy for you to pretend like everything was okay as you donned a crisp, ironed, academy uniform. A new one, that wasn’t stained with your blood and the arena’s dust.

All the doctors had advised you to stay at the hospital to rest and recover. But with the games starting in mere hours… you couldn’t leave Wovey alone. You made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

After surprisingly little begging, your mother caved and signed the release forms for you, on the condition that you’d stay on a wheelchair for the entire duration of the games—or until you were fully healed. Whichever came first. 

Coriolanus came early that morning, looking more tired than the last time you saw him, and promised your mother that he’d take care of you with a charming smile. He kissed your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, before wheeling you off to the academy. The warm, fresh wind was refreshing against your face, billowing your hair to and fro.

“I gave her rat poison,” Coriolanus said as he pushed you along. 

The suddenness of his words startled you into a flabbergasted silence. You stared straight ahead for a few moments, lips screwing to the side, trying your best to remain calm. Then, you gritted out, “What in Panem made you think that was a good idea? If Highbottom finds out… it’ll be over for you, Coryo. That’ll be grounds for worse than expulsion.”

“Lucy Gray has to win. She can’t—on her own. I had to give her something.” Coriolanus’ hands flexed on the handles of the wheelchair. 

“I can’t cover for you forever, Coryo,” you whispered, words almost lost to the wind. But he heard.

He narrowed his pale eyes at the back of your head. “You won’t tell, will you?” There was a biting edge to his tone.

“You’re an idiot if you think I would.” You pressed a hand over your bandaged abdomen, obscured by the vibrant red fabric. “Besides—if you go down, I’d go down with you. With enough secrets of yours I bite down on… that makes me an accomplice, too.”

Lucky Flickerman’s eyes were wide as saucers when you showed up to the academy in a wheelchair. He fluttered over to you with a reporter following close behind him, shoving a camera into your face. You loved him, truly, but it was hard to tell apart the Lucky that appeared in front of cameras and the real Lucky your mother was best friends with. A myriad of questions fell from the mustached man’s mouth, and you only managed to answer one and a half of them before Sejanus appeared, and Lucky turned to him to ask him questions about his missing tribute.

With a roll of his eyes, Coriolanus pushed you down a ramp (one that hadn’t been there until just a few hours ago, when they heard news of you coming in a wheelchair), and settled you in front of a monitor with your name on it, in the middle of the rows of seats. His was by the very edge, much to both of your dismay.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he told you, enveloping one of your hands in both of his. He kneeled down in front of you so he’d be at eye-level.

You nodded, but pursed your lips. “Why did you tell me? About the…” You trailed off, worried someone would overhear. But he knew what you were talking about—the rat poison.

He tried his best to give you a genuine smile, nudging his knuckles beneath your chin. They felt cold against your skin—a stark contrast to what the wind outside had felt like. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Enough secrets of mine you hoard, the more you’re tethered to me.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. Your lips parted, but no words left your tongue.

Dipping forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Let’s hope this is over quickly.”

Let’s hope they all die quick, he might as well have said.

“Mmh,” you told him, sparing something akin to a smile. Though, it might’ve looked more like a grimace. Coriolanus’ head was far too preoccupied to notice. You felt sick, and glanced around at all the other students who were taking their seats. Lucky was making his way to the front to get some final touch-ups, flashing you an encouraging wink.

A minute later, he waved away the makeup artists and brandished a microphone from thin air. You almost rolled your eyes—his amateur magic tricks were certainly getting better and better.

“Okay, everyone, places! We’re about to go live! Just because we’re not hosting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Help me out here, alright? Don’t get lost behind your screens. No yawning, no gum-chewing—keep your chins down, heads up, shoulders back, people! And—do remember to smile. It’s why we have teeth.”

Lucky began grinning from ear-to-ear as a demonstration. 

His teeth are far too white for his face, Coriolanus thought as he settled into his seat. A shade brighter and I’d surely go blind.

With a hand raised, Lucky began counting down with his fingers. He announced himself with his usual charming flair—and when the music started thrumming, low and ominous, he began wishing everyone a happy Hunger Games, before rushing off to stand behind all the students. 

The large screen in the center of the theater lit up with a shot of the tributes walking into the arena. Several dozens of smaller screens surrounding it gave the students a wide plethora of different angles. 

Your throat went dry upon seeing Wovey and Lucy Gray emerge from the entrance tunnel holding hands. They smiled at each other—one of the smaller cameras managed to catch it just perfectly—all soft and encouraging. Peacekeepers pushed the two onward with the barrels of their guns and they were forced to separate. 

“Stand on your marks or you will be shot,” the announcement system buzzed.

Some of the tributes sobbed. Some of them hardened with determination.

The cameras panned around—until one of them landed on a hanging body, strung up by bloody ropes. Your eyes widened when you recognized him as Sejanus’ tribute.

Was he dead?

His chest gave a hunkering breath, though shallow and wheezy, and you dreaded to think about how much pain he must’ve been in. 

“Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he’s off the streets,” Lucky said into the microphone. The audience of students behind you burst into sporadic cheers and bouts of laughter.

This must’ve been the last straw for Sejanus, as he got up from his desk and just about chucked the entire monitor across the theater. It fell against the stage with several clutters and thunks. Many of the students nearby flinched. 

“YOU’RE MONSTERS!” he screamed, face wrought with anguish. “ALL OF YOU!”

With that, he stormed out. Perhaps if you weren’t confined to your wheelchair or in a great amount of pain you would’ve followed him, you thought. But maybe you were just making excuses for yourself.

Sejanus was a brave man with a rash head. You were neither brave nor rash.

Lucky began to count down again. And just as he reached one, a loud, buzzer-like sound rang through the arena. Echoed into the theater from the monitors.

The tributes began running every which way. You had your eyes fixed on Wovey. At first, she seemed to jaggedly step towards the center, where a selection of weapons were laid out. But she thought better of it once she saw all the commotion and scuttled back to the rows of seats as fast as she could. She climbed and climbed, and your chest was heavy with the idea of her falling, or of someone following her. Nobody did, thankfully.

There you go, sweetheart. Hide.

The last you saw of Wovey was the top of her small head before she disappeared behind the dusty seats. Good.

Then, you turned your attention to Lucy Gray, running around and screaming for Jessup. You briefly glanced back at Coriolanus, who was looking incredibly tense. His entire face seemed to be set into a deep frown.

What is she doing? he mouthed, mostly to himself. Run!

Immediately, buzzes rang out through the theater as tributes were slowly eliminated and disappointed students got up from their seats. You tried your best to avert your eyes from all the blood and gore. The screams, however, you couldn’t escape. A girl three seats away from you puked all over the floor, much to Lucky’s irritation.

To your relief, Lucy Gray managed to find Jessup amidst the chaos, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hole in the ground—into the tunnels. A few angry tributes were following after them at a worryingly quick pace. Lucky made a rather smug comment about the gamemakers being prepared enough to have security cameras installed in every nook and cranny, even after the bombing “disruption”. 

You let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when Lucy Gray managed to crawl into a room through a flap in the door, Jessup hot on her heels. The tributes cursed and yelled, but no one dared follow in after the two in fear of getting hurt while trying to get in.

“Thirteen tributes remain,” announced Lucky. He looked to you and gave you a wink. “Reaper still looming large on top of the charts while Coral and her pack try to make a play. Little Wovey has done an excellent job of scaling the broken columns and hiding beneath what’s left of the seats. Let’s hope we see her soon.”

You glanced at your monitor. There were options to send her food or water if need be. But not yet. You had to be resourceful with the donations you had.

“Six tributes gone in minutes. If they keep it up at this pace… we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Many hours passed. It was incredibly quiet for a long time—save for Lucky moving off to the side to do some reporting of the weather. Some students even fell asleep by their monitors. 

You were growing tired too, lids heavy with exhaustion and head bobbing up and down a few times. You tried to keep yourself awake, paranoid that something could happen to Wovey if you were to accidentally doze off. To your relief, you snapped awake when a hand rested on your shoulder and Coriolanus kneeled down beside you, offering a bottle of water. It felt wrong to be drinking at your leisure when the tributes were probably parched right now. 

You took the bottle with a grateful mutter of thanks and took a hefty swig.

“How are you feeling? Your wounds okay?” His hand moved up to gently smooth over the back of your head.

“I think so,” you replied, before grimacing. “I don’t like watching this, Coryo. I never have.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I can take you back, if you want. To the hospital.”

“No. I have to stay,” you protested. He seemed relieved at this, not keen on leaving any time soon. 

With a curt nod, he gestured back to his own seat. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”

“You should focus on your tribute, Coriolanus,” you told him, brushing the back of your fingers along his jaw.

“My tribute didn’t have a metal pipe sticking out of her a day ago,” he whispered. “You’re priority number one. You always will be.”

“Well, I’m fine. Lucy Gray, however, is much more at risk,” you replied airily. “If my Wovey can’t win… I’d really rather see her alive.”

Those pale eyes of his searched yours.

“I love you,” he said. It was abrupt and sounded as if someone was strangling it out of him.

“I love you, too. Get back to your seat before Highbottom finds a way to get mad at you,” you told him. With a pointed jerk back to his seat, you heavily emphasized, “Again.”

With a squeeze of your shoulder (you tried your best not to grimace, since he pressed right against a large bruise on your collarbone), he rose back to full height and headed back to his monitor. 

The arena was still silent, even an hour later. Just as you were beginning to seriously consider taking a nap, there came a rustling from the rubble. Lamina, the other district two tribute, rose from behind a large stone slab, and approached the hanging Marcus.

His blood from all the exposed wounds he’d acquired had slowly dripped down his body and formed a frighteningly sizable, semi-dried puddle down below. It was a wonder how he hadn’t already succumbed to his wounds. 

Lamina climbed up the broken stone columns to make her way to him. There were several dried tear tracks on her face, and her nose was very red. Lamina stroked Marcus’ head, and he seemed to jerk alive with her touch. His chest rose and fell in a broken, staggering motion. 

“Please…” he croaked. “Please…” 

He dissolved into gentle sobs.

When Lamina raised her hatchet, you tore your eyes away and looked downward. There came a sick squelch as she struck him and the audience gasped. Lamina cut at his bonds and watched his body crumple down to the ground. Donations for Lamina began to steadily climb higher.

Pup Harrington, Lamina’s mentor, decided to take it upon himself to be the first one to send his tribute a drone with water. Dread settled the pit of your stomach when the drone buzzed in through the broken rooftop of the arena—but it didn’t seem to slow down. No, it only accelerated faster and faster the closer it got. Lamina gave a little shriek and ducked just in time—the drone crashed into the stone column and exploded into a thousand metal parts. The glass water bottle fell down below and shattered by Marcus’ now-dead body.

How were you supposed to send Wovey water now? Perhaps you’d send her food instead—that way, it wouldn’t shatter and go to waste if it hit anything. You scrolled through the options on your monitor. Apples would be a good choice. Plenty of water in them. But you held back—Wovey might’ve been asleep underneath those seats.

A few more hours passed by, slipping well into nightfall. You took a vial of prescribed morphling from your bag and downed it in one go. You could feel it buzzing through your system almost immediately, numbing the sting of your still-healing wounds. It just so happened that Highbottom swept down the steps then, eyeing you behind those spectacles of his. You shuddered and leaned your head down onto the table. The drugs were making you incredibly sleepy.

Highbottom stopped just behind Coriolanus. “You can’t save her by watching,” he murmured to his most loathsome student. “What do you want from that girl?”

“Nothing,” the blonde gritted out. “I want her to live.”

“Mmh. And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose.”

Coriolanus’ eyes squinted at nothing in particular. “I believe I’d be entitled to it.”

“Of course you do,” Highbottom retorted, tone heavy with condescension. “And who do you think makes the final decision for the prize you so covet, Mr. Snow? Wake up. Even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t see a single dime. So… ask yourself this: how much do you care if she lives now?”

Coriolanus was gripping his hands into fists so tight that they turned a ghostly-white.

“And I know… if the young and talented Y/N wins that prize… it’ll go straight to you. Isn’t that right?” Highbottom’s lips twitched in amusement when Coriolanus stiffened. “So it seems that neither of you will be seeing that prize, Mr. Snow.”

His jaw twitched, and he snapped his head to the scowling dean. “You can’t punish them because of me. That’s not fair. Y/N doesn’t deserve that.”

Highbottom let out a gruff laugh, quiet enough for nobody to notice. Mostly everyone had gone home or was asleep, anyway. “It’s not like Y/N would have won anyway—not with that quiet little runt. Kid was doomed from the very start. Take a good look in front of you, boy. Take a look at those tributes—and then you come and tell me what’s fair.”

The very last word was practically spat at him. The dean turned on his heel and marched off. 

Still, hours passed by silently. Lucky was clearly growing agitated with the fact that things were moving so slowly. He’d already had to cancel two dinner appointments.

When Volumnia Gaul stepped into the academy, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders, you were already half-awake. She stood beside you menacingly, and you startled into full alert with a small noise of surprise, the bright blue of one of her eyes boring right into you. She said your name then, all low and elongated. You could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. Still groggy, your blurry peripheral vision told you that practically every one had retired for the night. Save for a few straggler students and, of course, Coryo. You noticed, with muted interest, that every single screen was frozen on an image of the Panem crest, rather than the security camera footage inside the arena.

“I can smell the morphling on you,” she muttered, brows raised. “You should go home. Get some rest. Change those bandages of yours.”

You glanced down at your abdomen—a grimace made its way onto your face when you noticed that your uniform (new, mind you), was stained with a fresh bout of blood. You’d bled through your bandages. With a frown, you uneasily swallowed. It didn’t seem like Dr. Gaul was going to accept no for an answer.

“I, uh—” She noticed the way you began to angle yourself to Coriolanus. He’d fallen asleep by his monitor, in a similar fashion to you.

Her mouth pursed in mock-sympathy. “Coriolanus wants to stay. Watch over his songbird. I suggest you find someone else to wheel you back home.”

Your lips parted in surprise. A part of you wanted to protest, but you were far too tired to argue. “I can get myself home,” you told her. “Good night, Dr. Gaul.”

A creaky, amused titter fell from her throat. “Your little one is good at hiding. A shame she’s not going to make it.”

A wave of nausea rolled over you. You determinedly fixed your gaze on the ground and began to push yourself out of the academy. Volumnia watched you go with narrowed eyes. Once she was sure you were gone, she made her way to Coriolanus. 

The boy had a job to do.

Bobbin’s blood was still all over his hands. Dried, now. Dark with time. Dr. Gaul stitched up the gash on his left shoulder blade—he wondered if you had been in this much pain when you woke up in the hospital. But it was different, because he was slashed by a little boy, and you fell onto a metal pipe. Coriolanus wasn’t sure which one was better. 

Not that it was a competition. It was all Sejanus’ fault anyway, he concluded.

He had wanted to sprinkle bread crumbs on his dead tribute’s body. What a waste.

Once Dr. Gaul had sent him off back home with his wound tightly bound, he staggered out with a heavy chest and tear-stained cheeks.

And he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. He brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection. 

This should be mine, he thought. I should have this. I deserve this.

And then, another irrational thought crossed his mind as he rang the doorbell. 

It will be mine.

The doors swung open—which mildly surprised him, considering it was very late at night—and your mother peeked her head out. She eyed him with part confusion, part surprise. Then, she caught sight of the blood on his hands. The door widened to let him through. 

Almost immediately when he stepped in, your mother roped him into a warm embrace. He inhaled and choked on air. And then, he dissolved into a fit of wracking sobs. She crooned and stroked her hand along the back of his head.

“What’s this, Coriolanus? Whose blood is this?”

He hiccuped and drew in a staggered breath. “It’s… mine. I got into a fight with a classmate about the Games. It got violent and bloody—Dr. Gaul fixed me up.” He emphasized a wince and gestured to the wound on his shoulder. He let your mother fuss over him, demanding to take a look at the gash. Reluctant, he unbuttoned his uniform again to let her see.

It seemed the commotion was enough to wake you up, because you had limped to the top of the grand staircase with sleepy eyes and messy hair. 

Once your mother caught sight of you out of bed, she pulled away from Coriolanus to chastise you, but her words fell on deaf ears. You mumbled out your boyfriend’s name in confusion, before leaning heavily against the bannister to slowly step down, wincing with the movement. 

Coriolanus was quick to move upstairs, meeting you near the top, as you had only managed to descend a handful while he jogged to you. He cupped your face first, smoothing his thumbs over your jaw the way he always did. And when you spread your arms, he just about fell into you, his nose dropping down to the junction between your neck and your shoulder. His entire form trembled with his cries, muffled into your skin. 

It was as if he’d been reduced to a child all over again. Eating paste, salty with his tears of hunger. 

“Coryo,” you whispered, gripping at his waist. “Coryo, please tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

He hesitantly withdrew his damp face away from your neck. “Can we… talk privately?”

With pursed lips, you looked down to your mother at the bottom of the staircase.

She cleared her throat tiredly. “I’ll leave you two be. But no funny business, understand? Y/N needs to recover.”

With a serious stare in Coriolanus’ direction, she turned and marched off to the Northern wing.

“Come on,” you told him. “Let’s go to my room.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. His arm wrapped over your waist to help you up the few steps. “It’s so late, and I just barged in and interrupted your sleep—”

“Coryo, you’re covered in blood. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

Once in your room, you shut the door and leaned against it. Coriolanus made his way to your bed and sat on it, face buried into his hands.

“Does this have something to do with Dr. Gaul?” you asked, watching him with keen eyes. 

His head snapped up and he regarded you curiously. “How’d you know?” 

“She told me to leave. And all the screens were… frozen.” With slow steps, you limped across your room to sit right beside him. “Whose blood is that?”

Coriolanus was silent for a long while. So long that you wondered if he even heard your question at all.

“Don’t—don’t hate me. I need you.”

“I won’t hate you. I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop it, Coryo. You don’t get to decide whether I l—”

“It was Bobbin.” He effectively cut you off, rendering you speechless. “I killed him.”

You stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “The… the district eight boy?” With each passing second, your eyes grew larger and—wetter. Coriolanus had to turn away. “You were in the arena? Dr. Gaul made you… oh, Coryo.”

“Sejanus went in to see his friend.” The last word was sneered out in a rather demeaning manner. “The tributes started attacking us. I… I hit Bobbin with a rock.”

He left out the gorey details. How he kept bashing Bobbin’s head in even after his body stopped twitching. How it felt… powerful. 

“It was self defense, then,” you murmured, drawing closer to brush your lips against his shoulder, just above his sutures.

It was, at first. And then it… wasn’t. Coriolanus pursed his lips. 

“Bobbin… he was Wovey’s friend, I think.” Your voice wavered, and you blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he frowned. He didn’t like how much you cared for her, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made him. It was like Highbottom said… the kid was doomed from the very beginning.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, voice as soft as silk.

“I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll be here for you.”

“You’re too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re always just so… good. How do you do it?”

There was a considerable silence before you reached over to take his chin between your fingers and force him to look at you. “I’m just trying my best. And you are, too. Don’t discredit yourself, Coriolanus. You’re good for me. You always will be.”

His pale eyes flickered. Then, he kissed you. Slow and soft, begging for more but—you pulled away with a hum before he could press further against you. 

A distinct coldness fell over his expression. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. About Bobbin.”

You studied him for a few seconds. Watched the way he folded into himself with such caution. Compartmentalize and shield the most ugly parts of himself away from you. It was a defense mechanism of sorts. You knew it all too well, and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why do you always think that I’ll go about and tell the world everything you say to me? Do you not trust me?”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I do. I do, of course I do. You just—you know everything there is to know. You can destroy me completely, and it’ll be my fault because I let you in—because I let myself fall in love with you.”

Your features twisted into one of shock. “Is that what you think? That I’m seeking to destroy you? Bring you down? What—Coriolanus, why would I do that? Do you hear yourself? How many times do I have to say that I love you until you realize that I mean it?” 

“You can love me and still betray me. They’re not mutually exclusive.” There was a terse silence that stretched thick between the two of you like taffy. His brows furrowed together and he stared angrily down at the ground as he frustratedly worked his jaw. “I’m not saying you will betray me. I’m saying you could. And that… that terrifies me.”

“I won’t. You said it yourself, remember? I’m tethered to you. I’m an accomplice—I know too much,” you said, exasperated. “But there is nothing I want to take from you. I gain nothing from stabbing you in the back. I just—I want for us to be a normal fucking couple!”

Coriolanus hung his head. With another sharp breath, he nodded several times, as if he was snapping himself out of his own thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

When your countenance softened inexplicably, Coriolanus let himself slowly tear his walls of paranoia back down. His hands returned to you then, far more hesitantly cradling your face, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs as he kissed you. It was familiar and comforting, yet simultaneously all too much.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you panted into the kiss, trying to break away as your lungs screamed for air. “I miss you. It’s been so long since we just… existed alone together.”

He nodded—because how could he say no to you?—and helped you settle back onto the bed. Let you hold onto him, let you trace mindless shapes into his arm. Watched as your eyes fluttered shut and you fell back into what looked like a restful sleep. Envy curled within the confines of his chest. Sleep graced you so easily. Why did everything come to you so easily?

Nonetheless, he dipped forward to brush his lips against your temple, before gingerly pulling away. You stirred with the jostling, but stayed deep asleep. With that, Coriolanus made his way out of your room, clicking the door shut as softly as he could, and descended down the stairs. He left your house with a heavy chest and a throbbing shoulder.

Early the next morning, your mother came to the academy with you to watch the end of the Hunger Games—and to be there for moral support, she’d told you. She wheeled you in with a bright smile, greeting all the staring students with a friendly confidence. Once she brought you in front of the very same monitor as yesterday, she kissed the top of your head before flitting away to speak with Lucky, who was all smiles and charm. You overheard him saying that he was confident the games would come to a close soon. Your mother said something in reply, but their voices were drowned out by the swell of students entering the theater.

Coriolanus walked in only a few minutes after you, Tigris on his arm. The two of them made their way to you—Coryo was stone-faced, looking more tired than ever. Tigris appeared more worried than anything, but she was just about glowing in her new pink dress, all sharp angles and pristine fabric.

“You look beautiful,” you told her genuinely once she drew closer to you and took both your hands in hers. “I love your outfit. The color suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, flushing a pleased rouge hue. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been impaled by a metal pipe,” you told her with a slight grimace. “But, you know… no better way to fix that than to watch children kill themselves through a screen.”

The two cousins laughed dryly at your sarcasm. Tigris then enthusiastically told you that the dress she was making for you was ready—and you grinned and told her you were incredibly excited to come see it. With that, she nodded and left to take her seat amongst the stands, wishing the two of you good luck. 

Once she was gone, Coriolanus reached out to grasp your shoulder. Your talk with him last night plagued him for hours and hours when he should’ve been asleep. 

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, leaning into his touch when he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “You look tired, Coryo.”

A wry smile. “Slept like a baby.”

It was a lie, and you knew it. You frown-smiled at him nonetheless.

He bent at the waist, tilted your face up to meet his, and kissed you square on the lips. Some of the students in the stand wolf-whistled, and it felt distinctly like Coriolanus was putting on a show for them, and for the cameras. And you were, well—you were an unwilling actor.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and gestured to his seat in the corner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Likewise.”

Coriolanus found himself wondering if you were hiding something from him. Why did it feel like you were drawing yourself away? Were you planning on sabotaging him?

Before he could dwell on it anymore, you gently nudged him off, as Lucky was beginning his opening remarks once again. He talked about the mystery behind Bobbin’s death (sending a cold tremor up Coriolanus’ spine), but moved on rather quickly to the stats board. 

The few remaining mentors settled down and the rest of the students in the stands quieted to watch the games continue. 

Not fifteen minutes later, commotion started brewing between Jessup and Lucy Gray. It was hisses and twitches from the boy at first, but then grew into explosive anger and panicked aggressiveness. Frightened, Lucy Gray began to doggedly run away from her friend, crawling out of the rubble-strewn tunnels and back into the main arena. 

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata, Jesssup’s mentor, said. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hazy screen. There seemed to be foam collecting at the corners of Jessup’s mouth as he chased after Lucy Gray, demanding to know what she’s done to him. The hazy memory of Lucy Gray at the zoo mentioning a bat bite resurfaced into your mind.

“It’s rabies,” you told the two. “The foam in his mouth. He’s got rabies—the bat bite in the train, remember?”

Coriolanus and Lysistrata’s eyes both widened. 

“The same district folding in on itself!” Lucky announced into the microphone, and began rattling off some more unnecessary commentary.

“Send him water!” Coryo demanded Lyssie. 

“What?” she asked, watching in horror as her tribute tried to make a grab for Lucy Gray, but she ducked away just in time.

Impatient, Coriolanus stood up and leaned over her desk with gritted teeth. “Remember the posters in the war? Rabies—it makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone!”

Lyssie’s mouth opened and closed. “That’ll scare him!”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on her monitor. “It’ll get him away from her. Jessup is done. And you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

With a tight frown, Lysistrata reached forward to order a water drone. Lucky was preening with all the action.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus breathed out once her order processed through. 

“Nothing to be proud of,” she said, scowling at the screen.

Lucy Gray was begging for her friend to snap out of it as she climbed up a fallen stone pillar, and screamed when a water drone came whizzing right past her ear, crashing into Jessup. Glass went flying every which way. The water had done its job scaring him—Jessup yelled and tittered with the sudden force. He fell backward and toppled right off the pillar. His body made a sickening crack as it came in contact with the ground. The audience exploded into cheers. 

Horrified, Lucy Gray slid down the pillar after her barely-alive friend, hands shaking. A terrible sense of guilt washed over you.

“Jessup?” she asked, shaking his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You watched over me, now I’m watching over you. Sleep now, Jessup. Sleep.”

Jessup’s death was slow and painful. Lyssie sent a bitter glance towards Coriolanus, before storming off. 

But the horrors weren’t yet over for Lucy Gray—Coral and her pack appeared from behind a large pile of rubble, cornering her like coyotes would a lamb. They sneered and jeered at her.

You turned to look at Coriolanus, seeing his face crumple with desperation. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment.

“Use your donations!” you called over. “She won’t fight, Coryo. You know that!”

With a frantic nod, Coriolanus snapped his gaze back to his monitor, and hurriedly pressed down on eight drones of water for his tribute. 

“Mentors allying together in such troubling times!” Lucky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Will it be enough to save the songbird?”

The little machines whirred into the arena at alarming high speeds, and crashed into the unassuming tributes surrounding Lucy Gray. She ducked and covered her head with shaking hands as water and glass and metal parts flew every which way. 

“Hey!” one of the mentors exclaimed. “You can’t attack the tributes!”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus retorted back, looking extremely relieved. Then, he looked back at you, and mouthed, thank you.

Taking advantage of the knocked down tributes, Lucy Gray rushed forward, grabbed a glass of water that remained miraculously unshattered, and ran off to hide behind another fallen pillar. You remembered that Coriolanus had given her rat poison—a part of you wanted her to use it to survive, and the other part of you hoped she wouldn’t ever touch it in fear of people finding out about Coriolanus cheating. That would spell the end of him.

Coral and her pack roused with groans and aches. They moaned about losing Lucy Gray, before setting their sights on Lamina and pursuing after her. It was a shame to watch her go, you thought, remembering the kindness she did for Marcus. She was stabbed in the abdomen (reminding you of your own bound bandages), and fell into a crumpled heap beside her district-mate.

While they were all busy going after her, one of the smaller screens caught Lucy Gray appearing back from behind the rubble, placing the full water bottle back on the ground. She hurriedly reached over to dump water out of any of the other bottles that hadn’t broken. 

Lucy Gray managed to escape Coral just as she began to notice what she was doing, darting up some broken stairs and into a duct, latching it shut so they wouldn’t be able to follow her in. Lucky made a sullen comment about how there were no cameras set up inside there.

Coral and the pack retreated back down to survey all the water Lucy Gray had dumped out, save for the one single bottle. You wondered if said bottle was filled with rat poison, by any chance. 

Since you had your gaze focused on one of the smaller screens, you hadn’t even noticed little Wovey emerging from a row of seats not too far away from where Lucy Gray was hiding inside the duct. 

Your eyes frantically turned to the main screen when one of the pack members exclaimed, “It’s Wovey!”

“No, no…” you muttered, leaning forward in your wheelchair, ignoring the painful sting in your side. Wovey was quick to disappear back under the seats, scampering between rows and small gaps under fallen rocks so that they couldn’t follow after her. Twisted relief clawed at your chest and you heaved for breath when they muttered defeat and decided to go back down to the ground. The group began to dissolve into an argument, which thankfully kept them otherwise occupied from going back to hunt after other tributes. To none of your surprise, Coral ended up stabbing Mizzen right in the chest. 

“And who do we have here?” said Lucky when the main screen changed to show a coughing girl emerging from her hiding place. “Ah! It’s Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Dill staggered towards the water bottle. Uncapped it and drank a few small mouthfuls. She coughed and wheezed. Lied down slowly, chest still rattling with coughs. It had to be poisoned, you concluded. To die right after taking that drink… it was far too much of a coincidence. Lucy Gray must have used the poison. You didn’t dare chance a glance back at Coriolanus, afraid you’d see cruel victory in his eyes.

Reaper ran out a minute later, calling out for Dill as he rushed to her. “Dill? Hey, what happened? Dill! Dill, wake up!” 

And when he realized his district-mate was dead… Reaper let out a guttural scream. It echoed and ricocheted around the arena for everyone to hear. You frowned and tucked your arms closer to your sides.

To your surprise, Reaper began to move the dead tributes’ bodies to where Marcus and Lamina were. He laid each of them carefully beside one another. Fixed their positions and brushed the dirt away from their face. Dill first, then Mizzen. Then Bobbin by the entrance—to which none of the other mentors knew who killed except Coriolanus and… you. 

Reaper tore down the long Panem flag hanging from the arena’s wall. The students burst into boos and derogatory yells. He dragged it over to the makeshift morgue and draped the dusty fabric over the corpses. 

There was a lump in your throat as you watched him stand over the bodies he had so meticulously arranged. He gave the tributes one last shred of dignity when the Capitol—you included—had so monstrously stripped every bit of it away. You twisted in your chair to look at your mother in the stands. She had a hand over her mouth as she watched on, looking every bit as choked up as you.

Reaper gazed straight into one of the cameras and spread his arms. “Are you gonna punish me now?” he asked. “ARE YOU GOING TO PUNISH ME N—”

His yells were suddenly cut off by a breaking news announcement. They still echoed about the theater, and you still could hear Reaper’s strong voice in your head. 

Volumnia Gaul sat stiff and menacing on the large screen, her single, beady blue eye seemingly ablaze with a cold fury.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss. One that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.” The screen changed to display a horrifyingly graphic image of Felix’s dead body covered in bruises and unhealed gashes. This was met with gasps and cries from the crowd. “Out there in the districts… they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games!”

Scandalized murmurs spread throughout the theater. 

Your lips parted with shock. What was the point in having the Hunger Games without a victor? You turned to look at Coriolanus, who was looking every bit as distraught as you. 

A rainbow of destruction, Gaul had said. He knew exactly what that meant. With a tight expression, he sat up and ran out of the theater. You watched him go with utter confusion, calling out his name, but your voice was drowned out over the sea of upset students.

Where was he going? To plea his case with Dr. Gaul or Highbottom? Or… no, he’d told you about the snake muttations Gaul had in her lab—while you were drowsy and delirious with pain, but you could remember it faintly—how they were rainbow in color, fast as lightning as they struck down Clemmie. Did that mean those snakes were going to be set loose in the arena? 

Your heart skipped a beat. Wovey could hide from the other tributes, sure, but small, fast, and most likely deadly snakes? She wouldn’t stand a chance. 

And what of Lucy Gray? What was Coriolanus planning on doing for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Coriolanus came running back in, sweaty and breathless. Just in time, because Coral and her pack were beginning to close in on Lucy Gray, stabbing spears through the vent flap. One of the boys down below the ducts began to cough and sputter, not in an unsimilar fashion to Dill, before collapsing down to the ground with a shudder, blood pouring out of his nose. 

Rat poison. You were sure of it. 

They stabbed at the duct some more until it buckled and broke under her weight, and she came crashing down. Hurriedly, Lucy Gray stumbled up to her feet, climbed over the dead body, and ran as fast as she could away from Coral. They were hot on her tail. Everyone watched with bated breath.

And then—the loud whirring of a carrier came descending down the center of the arena. A large, blackened cylindrical tank was being lowered into the center through the broken rooftop. You let out a shaky breath of petrification. Inside must’ve been the snake muttations Coriolanus told you about. 

The few remaining tributes stared at the tank with wide eyes, too stunned to move. 

“I’d wager that that is going to be no good.” Lucky smiled as he stared at the screen. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?”

Both the arena and the theater lapsed into utter silence. 

Until—until little Wovey peered her head up from the seats. She’s so frail, was your first thought. Slowly, she began to climb out of the rows and hopped down broken pieces of stone to get back to the ground. 

“Wovey—” you found yourself saying aloud. Many eyes drew to you. “No, no, no…”

You watched as the little girl walked towards the large black tank with wide eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her grimy hand. Reaper was warning Wovey to keep away, but the little girl was still moving closer.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Can we go home? Please…”

“Fuck! Fu—shit, fuck! No, Wovey!” you frantically yelled as if she could hear you. Desperate to get her to stop going towards the tank, you looked down at your monitor.

Not many donations… 

But enough to send a drone.

Maybe if you sent food—it’d distract her. Keep her away.

And so you began placing an order for a food drone, much to Lucky’s commentary delight. With shaking hands, you pressed confirm.

But there was one thing you hadn’t considered. 

You hadn’t considered the drone coming in from directly in front of Wovey—with the tank right in its way. A whizz, a blur of silver metal, and murmurs of shock from the crowd. The machine drove itself against the glass tank and broke apart into a thousand pieces. Small red apples went flying every which way. Wovey stopped in her tracks for a moment. 

It was a temporary relief.

A crack formed in the tank. And then—another splinter within the glass. And another, and another, and another. They formed a terrible sort of spider web. 

“No,” you whispered, lips quivering. It was all your fault. “Oh, no.”

With that, the glass gave way to its fractures, and burst apart in a cascade of glittering shards. The snakes came tumbling out just as Dr. Gaul had said: a rainbow of destruction. They took down Wovey first as she screamed, slithering over her small body until you saw no part of her left. You had fallen silent, but your entire body ached as you violently shut your eyes, eliciting a hot tear to streak down your cheek. 

“Not candy! Down goes Wovey!” Lucky announced, though he winced with an apologetic glance in your direction. “Sorry, Y/N.” 

The rest of the snakes were quick to pick off Coral’s pack, and then Coral herself, who cried out that all those lives she took… they couldn’t have been for nothing.

They slithered around Reaper, who sat strongly by the pile of bodies he had arranged. He died alongside them as the serpents closed around his throat.

And that just left Lucy Gray.

“All colors lead to Gray!” Lucky announced, overly pleased with his wording.

Coriolanus smiled, victorious. “She’s—she’s won. It’s over. She’s won! Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow,” said Lucky. He pointed over to Dr. Gaul, who was watching from the theater’s stands with crossed arms. 

The students all murmured and gasped. Coriolanus looked around helplessly.

“Dr. Gaul, she’s won!” he asserted. “It’s over, let her out!”

Volumnia stared at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

And then… Lucy Gray began to sing as the snakes slithered their way to her. They coiled over her ankles and into the ruffles of her dress. Over her arms and around her stomach. Along her back and draped on her shoulders. She sang and sang, her voice strong despite the itchy dryness in her throat.

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus Creed demanded. 

Coriolanus set his jaw. “Must be the singing. It’s calming them.”

“She can’t sing forever,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Everyone in the audience watched, enraptured, as Lucy Gray sang her heart out, wrapped in iridescent snakes. You let out a shaky exhale, and another tear slipped down your face. Watching Wovey go was one thing—you didn’t want to watch Lucy Gray die, as well.

Anger rose in your throat. 

You turned your wheelchair away from the screen—away from your damned monitor. It was your fault Wovey was dead. You wouldn’t watch Lucy Gray die, too.

“LET HER OUT!” you screamed at Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus flinched and stared at you with wonder, along with the rest of the student body. You bared your teeth in a pained snarl, and you let the tears freely fall. They were scalding against your skin, along with the multiple cameras that had turned right to you. “She won. Who’s going to donate to your Games next year if they know you’ll just kill their victor off? Let her out, Gaul!”

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus pleaded, nodding at your words. “Let her out.”

“Get her out!” Tigris chimed along. Your mother voiced the same sentiment a second later, her face shining at you with pride. 

One by one, students began yelling at Dr. Gaul to get Lucy Gray out of the arena until practically everyone was chanting along.

“Nobody’s going to watch your Games without a victor!” Snow told her over the swell of voices. 

With a sharp scowl, she raised her hand. Almost immediately, the crowd fell into silence. 

“Get her out,” she quietly grumbled to one of her assistants.

Lucky clapped and announced excitedly, “She’s won! Lucy Gray has won! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th annual Hunger Games!”

Victory music began playing throughout the theater—trumpets and drums and bells echoing into his ears as the students rushed down from their seats to congratulate him. Shaking his hand, slapping at his back, ruffling his hair. Tigris was at the front of it all, smiling at him so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t split into two. She wrapped him into a warm hug and he held her tight, laughing into her shoulder as the weight of realization fell against him.

He’d won.

Once he pulled away from his cousin, he pushed through the packed crowd to get to you. You were on your feet already, though your weight was leaning heavily against one of the handles of your wheelchair. You were positively overwhelmed by all the commotion around you. 

He held your face with both his hands and kissed you in front of everyone. The cheers grew louder and louder, and Snow pulled away smiling wider than he ever remembered smiling before.

But when he looked at you again—truly looked at you—there were still tears spilling from your eyes. They didn’t look quite like tears of joy, either.

“She was thirteen,” you sobbed, curling against him. “Coryo, she was thirteen. It was my fault. My fault.”

Caught up in his own victory, he’d very nearly forgotten who you were talking about. It took him another second to realize that you were crying over Wovey. Irritation clawed at his chest and he frowned at you. You should’ve been congratulating him—not thinking about your silly dead tribute. What were you expecting? Hadn’t you known this was coming?

Nonetheless, he held you to his chest with empty words of comfort murmured into your ears, rubbing a palm up and down your back in a placating manner. He kissed your forehead and the crowd swooned with the romance of it all. 

You jerked away from Coriolanus when you felt a distinct pain shoot up your stomach. You looked down, noting the darker red blotch in your uniform. 

It seemed like you’d bled through your bandages again.

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[coochiequeens]

Doctors and nurses who are not willing to listen to their patients should be replaced

BY VICTORIA SMITH

The third time I went into labour, I was determined to avoid getting told off. With both of my previous births, I had somehow managed to get things wrong. My errors the first time: going to hospital too early, then, when I returned three hours later, “leaving it so late”. The second time: ignoring assurances that I didn’t need to come in yet, then giving birth in the car park — an event I later discovered was being used in antenatal classes as an example of women “not planning ahead”.

“My previous births have been fast,” I said, when I went into labour with my third, “so I’d like to come in now.” I was speaking to the woman at the midwife-led unit that is the only option where I live. (If you need a caesarean section, you have to be transferred to next town.) “Third babies are notoriously difficult,” was her response.

What an odd thing to say to a woman already in labour. The “notoriously” suggested it wasn’t based on any actual evidence, but rather a kind of folk wisdom. It felt as though I was being warned not to tempt fate, not to assume that this baby would just pop out. I saw myself being categorised as one of those arrogant women who presumes to know her own body, only to be taught a harsh yet much-deserved lesson. “Third babies are notoriously difficult” sounded not unlike “third-time mothers shouldn’t get above themselves”.

In fact, I have never been particularly cocky about childbirth. When I was pregnant with my first child, back in the days when the Right-wing press were still obsessed with famous women being “too posh to push”, I wondered if I might be able to get an elective caesarean myself. I did not particularly care about childbirth being a wonderful experience, or about “doing it well”. I didn’t care if the Daily Mail thought I was a joke.

What I cared about was not having a child who would face the same difficulties as my brother, who was starved of oxygen at birth. This has had serious consequences for him, and for the rest of my family. Just how serious is hard to gauge. He was born traumatised; there has never been a before to compare the after with. What there has been instead is the hazy outline of an alternative life, one that runs parallel to the one he has now. It’s a life that began with the problem being identified sooner, with him being delivered quickly, perhaps by emergency caesarean. The difference between this and his actual life comes down to something small: mere moments, mere breaths.

I was born three years after my brother, in a larger hospital, where my mother was induced and monitored carefully. There is something very strange about being the sibling who had the safe birth. It feels as though I stole it. There is a constant sense of guilt, as if my life — my independence, my choices — constitutes a form of gloating. “This is what you could have had.” Everything I do feels like something owed to my brother (do it, because he can’t) but also something taken from him (you shouldn’t have done that, because he should have done it first).

Still, my family were fortunate, insofar as my brother didn’t die. Current reports on the Nottingham maternity scandal reference 1,700 cases, with an estimated 201 mothers and babies who might have survived had they received better care. What strikes me, reading them, is the enormous gulf between the cost of a disastrous birth and the trivial, opportunistic way in which childbirth is so often politicised — with mothers themselves viewed as morally, if not practically, to blame if anything goes wrong.

As a feminist who concerns herself with how the female body is demonised, my interest in debates about birthing choices is more than personal. I have read books railing against the over-medicalisation of childbirth, aligning it with a patriarchal need to appropriate female reproductive power. I have also read books protesting the fetishisation of “natural” birth, suggesting that it infantilises women, that it implies women deserve pain. To be honest, I find both arguments persuasive and dismaying. Both are right about the way in which misogyny and professional arrogance can shift the focus away from meeting the needs of women and babies. I feel a kind of rage that we are told to pick a side.

Representations of the labouring woman are so often negative: the naïve idealist, the “birthzilla“, the birth-plan obsessive, the woman who is “too posh to push”. This latter stereotype has gone hand-in-hand with a veneration of vaginal births, and stigmatisation of caesareans, that has had sometimes disastrous consequences. Midwives at the centre of the Furness General Hospital scandal were reported to have “pursued natural birth ‘at any cost’”, referring to one another as “the musketeers”; at least 11 babies and one mother died. But their approach was sanctioned by their employer: the 2006 NHS document “Pathways to Success: a self-improvement toolkit” explicitly suggested that “maternity units applying best practice to the management of pregnancy, labour and birth will achieve a [caesarean section] rate consistently below 20% and will have aspirations to reduce that rate to 15%”. Proposed benefits to this included “a sense of pride in units”.

Responses to maternity scandals now express horror that such an anti-intervention culture ever arose — responses in the same press that denigrated women such as Victoria Beckham and Kate Winslet for not giving birth vaginally. Instead, newspapers now stoke outrage over “natural” treatments during NHS births, such as burning herbs. Women have been shamed for having caesareans, but they have also been shamed for wanting births with minimum intervention — as though they are selfish and spoilt for seeking control over such an extreme situation.

In his memoir This Is Going To Hurt, former doctor Adam Kay writes disparagingly of women who arrive at the delivery suite with birth plans:

“‘Having a birth plan’ always strikes me as akin to having a ‘what I want the weather to be’ plan or a ‘winning the lottery’ plan. Two centuries of obstetricians have found no way of predicting the course of a labour, but a certain denomination of floaty-dressed mother seems to think she can manage it easily.”

Wanting to have some control over your experience of labour — which will hurt you and could kill you or your baby — is not akin to some messianic aspiration to control the weather. And in his mockery of the woman who wants whale song and aromatherapy oils, ironically, Kay deploys the same silencing techniques that might intimidate a woman out of seeking the very interventions he so prizes. What he and others do not seem to grasp is that their arrogance is a problem, regardless of which course of action they champion. It makes women feel they can’t speak, for fear of inviting hostility at their most vulnerable moments. It’s true that none of us knows our body well enough to know how we will give birth. But, looking back, I find it utterly insane, not least given my own family history, that one of my biggest worries during labour was “please don’t let anyone get cross with me”. Then again, I don’t think that fear is unrelated to the desire to remain safe.

Birth is not a joke. It is not a place for professional dick-swinging or political one-upmanship. I cannot describe — and, as I am not my mother, cannot fully understand — the shame of feeling that you “let down” your child before they drew their first breath, that they will forever suffer because of it. You watch an entire life unfolding and that feeling is there, every single day. This is the fear of the women in labour who are characterised as either idiots mesmerised by fantasy homebirths or cold-hearted posh ladies who can’t take the pain. If things go wrong, they are the ones who will bear the consequences, reflecting every day on what might have been, if they’d only done more.

When people discuss their siblings, my mind does wander to the one I don’t have, the one who was born safely. Perhaps he would have a job he loved, or one he hated, but in any case a job. Perhaps he would have a partner. Perhaps he would have children, and I would be their aunt. Perhaps we wouldn’t get on, wouldn’t even speak, but he’d have a life of his own. I know he thinks about this too. I wonder if the professionals who presided over his birth have thought about him since.

My third labour was not, by the way, “notoriously difficult”. My third son arrived into the world safe and well. No one can say why him or me, and not my brother. Mothers may long for control over birth, for which we are mocked; but we do not have it, for which we are blamed. Politics still takes precedence over our needs, and the needs of our babies.

[imaginedanvrs]

encrypted relations

part 10 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 4.5k

warnings: mentions of previous abusive relationship, physical and mental trauma recovery

a/n: happy valentines ig <3 thank you all for your comments and support, here's the final chapter :)

The steady beeps and flow of your breathing through a mask seemed loud in Yelena’s ears as she sat by your side. She had hardly moved in the days you had occupied the hospital bed, even pacing outside the operating theatres for the long hours you spent in there. The blonde had been told by nurses, doctors, Natasha and Kate that it would do her a lot of good to go home and get some rest, that you would be closely monitored when she wasn’t there. Yet Yelena couldn’t bring herself to so much as leave the ward. 

  “She’s stable, but right now our main concern is what her mobility will be like when she wakes up given the damage to her legs and back. It’s hard to predict at this time,” the doctor told Natasha as the pair stood outside of your room. 

  “When will she wake up?” The redhead asked as looked through the window to where Yelena had fallen asleep on the chair. Her neck would be sore when she woke up. 

  “Whenever she’s ready.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Natasha nodded, understanding that there wasn’t much more they could do for you at that moment in time apart from administering the right medication. The rest was down to you. 

  Natasha winced as she watched her sister suddenly jolt awake from her brief sleep. She rubbed the side of her neck as she brought her chair slightly closer to your bed and examined the monitors for a few moments for anything different. The redhead had been trying to give Yelena some space in the previous days given that she wasn’t accepting anyone's company except for yours, but Natasha knew it wasn’t healthy to let her sister carry on alone. 

  She knocked on the door gently before she entered, giving Yelena a small smile she didn’t get back. Natasha pulled up the spare chair next to the blonde, sitting in silence for a few minutes as she took in your state. You were better, though the damage was still prominent. 

  “Kate wants to come and see her,” Natasha finally said. 

  “No one’s stopping her,” Yelena was quick to say. 

  “You don’t seem to like anyone else being in here,” the redhead commented. Yelena didn’t respond. It was somewhat true. “You can’t shut everyone out, Yelena.” 

 ��“Why did you not want us to be together?” The blonde asked as she watched the steady rise and fall of your chest. Natasha followed her eyeline, knowing Yelena was going to ask that question sooner or later. 

  “It’s not that I didn’t want it to happen, I just wanted you both to be careful,” Natasha sighed. “You’re new to relationships and y/n’s only seen the bad side to them. That doesn’t make you incompatible but I thought you both would’ve seen the sense in going slow instead of skipping straight to sex.” Yelena listened carefully to her sister, understanding her point. It made sense in hindsight, as most things did, though at the time there had been a part of both of you that knew it too. 

  “And besides, I thought you guys would tell me about something like that. I never expected you to think you had to sneak around and hide it from me. You should never have to keep something like that a secret, especially from your sister,” Natasha explained clearly as she looked at Yelena who nodded slowly. 

  “I wanted to tell you,” she whispered. 

  “I’m your sister but I’m her friend. I should’ve been looking out for both of you,” Natasha admitted. 

  “You’ll have the chance when she wakes up,” Yelena stated adamantly, not allowing anything to shake her belief that you would be okay. 

  “Yeah,” Natasha agreed. 

  “You recognised Ruslana,” Yelena started slowly. “But not from the red room and not by her name. Who was she to y/n?” She asked, the question had been weighing on her since their meeting. 

  “As much as I wish it wasn’t true, she’s who she said she was,” Natasha said honestly. “It wasn’t a healthy relationship by any means, she had y/n do the hacking for the red room - not that anyone knew that at the time,” she explained. 

  “She never told me that.”

  “She never told anyone.”

  “I am glad I killed her,” Yelena said after a steady sigh. 

  “I’m glad you did too,” Natasha admitted. “Even if it was reckless,” she added. Yelena rolled her eyes but her sister didn’t miss the smile that settled on her lips. “I’m going to get you some lunch,” Natasha told her as she stood up. “I’ll get enough for Kate too.” Yelena nodded and pulled out her phone to text the young archer. 

  “I miss you,” Yelena told your sleeping form. “I wish I knew about Rae, maybe it would have helped. But I understand why you didn’t tell me,” she said. You took several supported breaths. “I wish I was more honest as well,” she admitted. “But we’ll have time for all that when you’re awake,” she said adamantly, though the continuous beeps from the machines attached to you worked to dig doubt into Yelena’s mind.

  “Please wake up,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her eyes clouded. “I missed you so much, please don’t stay away much longer.”

*

The light was the first thing your brain registered when you woke up. It was far too bright, a painful contrast to the blanket of darkness you had rested under for the past week. You kept your eyes squeezed shut as you allowed the rest of your senses to adjust and take in your surroundings, the steady beeping next to you being too loud for one thing. The bed you were on was far more comfortable than your last one and the room was pleasantly cool, as though someone knew that was your preferred sleeping conditions. 

  The pain was the next thing you experienced and it made the discomfort of the lights jump to the back of your mind in comparison. It was everywhere and seemed to extend right into the centre of your bones without pity. Your skin felt as though it was tearing with every slight movement and the whimper you gave only scratched at your dry throat as you grasped at the bedsheets and stumbled upon a warm hand resting on your bed. You forced your eyes open just as Yelena did, meeting the grey orbs that you had hardly left your mind in your time apart. Your breath hitched as her features brightened at you. 

  “Hi,” she said as an anxious smile flickered across her lips. 

  “Hi,” you whispered, your throat protesting. Yelena grabbed the jug next to your bed and poured a glass of water, not hesitating to bring it up to your lips to aid you to take the water with steady sips until you had enough to ease the ache in your throat. “Thank you,” you said, unsure of how to even start on everything else you wanted to say. “Have you been here long?”

  “I haven’t left,” she told you. 

  “How long has it been?” You frowned. “You must be tired.” 

  “I’m sure it is nothing compared to you,” Yelena said, noticing your pain. You glanced down at your covered body, unsure if you wanted to see what lied beneath. “I will get a doctor,” she announced but the moment she stood up you reached out for her wrist and held it tightly. 

  “Wait,” you said, not wanting to wait any longer to fix the regrets you had become all too aware of during your last consciousness. “I’m sorry,” you started but Yelena cut you off as she sat back down. 

  “Don’t say that,” she insisted, though it sounded like a plea. “I know you didn’t mean what you said at the party.”

  “I just want to explain,” you winced. 

  “I read the letter,” she told you. 

  “Oh?” You remembered that letter vividly. “Right,” you nodded, recalling how it had ended. You hadn’t written that letter with the intention of recalling it to the blonde word for word, it was meant to be a guide to help you navigate your mind. You hadn’t planned for Yelena to be on that journey with you. So where did that leave you?

  “Can I take you out some time?” Yelena suddenly asked with an air of uncertainty that you weren’t ever going to be used to seeing on her. Despite the pain, you smiled. 

  “I would like that,” you told her and saw her shoulders instantly relax. She shifted her wrist so that she could hold your hand in hers, a gesture that hadn’t lost any of its perfection. “Where do people usually go on first dates?” You asked with an easy grin that Yelena mirrored.

  “I was hoping you would know,” she countered knowingly. 

  “Maybe a cat rescue centre?” You suggested. Yelena rolled her eyes and dropped your hand with a huff.

  “Screw you,” she said, though it was clear she was suppressing a smile. You chuckled at the sight and felt a bloom of pain arise in your chest. “Can I get someone now?” You nodded, letting her go under the certainty that she would return. 

  You rested your head back and tried to focus on anything but the increasing pain across your body, remembering all too vividly how you had come by your injuries. You didn’t want to think about Rae, especially now that Yelena’s role in your life was finally beginning to feel more concrete, but your past had caught up to you in a way you couldn’t have ever anticipated. 

  Rae was a widow and nothing you ever had was real. You were just a means to an end for her to use to support what Yelena and Natasha had suffered from. You frowned, refusing to let yourself fall into that spiral of guilt that never did any good for anyone. Sure, you had indirectly caused harm, but with S.H.I.E.L.D and Yelena, you had played a significant part in helping the heroes and the later acts had been your choice. That was enough. 

  “Miss, l/n,” a doctor greeted as she stepped into the room with Yelena close behind. “How are you feeling?” She asked with a genuine smile. 

  “Bruised,” you undermined slightly in the blonde’s presence, not wanting her to know how bad the pain really was. 

  “We’ll increase your dosage so that you can be more comfortable,” she told you as she read your vitals and the information written out on the board above you. “Your body’s been through a lot,” she informed as she began to explain the numerous operations you had gone through and how your body was expected to recover, given the chance and what condition it was in at that time. “Could I ask you to raise your left leg?” She asked. You felt Yelena shift next to you as you strained to lift the heavy limb and succeeded, after several moments' effort, to get it a few inches above the bed and repeated it with the other. You were unable to raise either of them as high as you could prior to your injuries, but you were well aware of how lucky you were to be able to move it at all.  

  “That’s good to see,” the doctor told you honestly, withholding from the fact there had been great apprehension as to whether or not you would be able to accomplish the movement. “Can you try and sit on the edge of the bed with your feet over?” She continued though that proved to be harder. Your back burned in protest as you twisted it and you had to use your hands to help drag your legs across the mattress until they fell over the edge and you suddenly felt very unsure of your ability to support yourself. You gripped onto the bed as tight as you could while Yelena stood by your side with her arms outstretched ready to catch you should you fall. 

  “Now when you’re ready, see if you can stand up.” You breathed out and peered over the side of the bed with some apprehension. You suddenly felt quite high up. Tentatively, you pulled yourself closer to the edge until your feet hovered just an inch from the floor. 

  “I’ve got you,” Yelena reassured. You smiled at her with little confidence and finally pushed yourself off with a soft pat on the floor. You didn’t let go of the bedrail as you steadied yourself, leaning the majority of your body weight on the bed instead of your own two feet until you let go. You stood for several seconds unsupported until the muscles in your legs gave out beneath you. True to her word, Yelena caught you just as you toppled, hooking her arms underneath yours and immediately guiding you back to the bed where you sat in defeat. The doctor mentioned something about physiotherapy, but you weren’t really listening. Your legs were numb again, but it proved difficult to be too disheartened when you felt Yelena rub soothing circles on your waist as she listened to the doctor intently. 

  “And we’ll monitor your progress to see if you need any additional support,” the doctor said, noticing that she didn’t have your full attention.

  “Like what?” Yelena enquired. 

  “Leg braces can be of great help.” You nodded absently. You didn’t want a brace. 

  “Thank you,” you muttered towards the nurse, wanting the meeting to end. She seemed to take the cue and departed with a sympathetic smile. Once she closed the door behind her, you looked at the blonde and patted the space in the small bed behind you. A smile graced Yelena’s lips as she moved to the other side of the bed and you hauled your legs up again, settling on your side as she slipped in beside you. You didn’t waste a second in stretching your bandaged arms out around her as she did the same. It was easier to ignore the pain when it meant you were able to hold the blonde again and a small price to pay to feel her steady breathing above you. 

  “I will help you walk too,” Yelena told you with a certainty you always associated her with. 

  “Tomorrow,” you replied. “Let's just stay like this for now.” Though Yelena wanted to help you get better as quickly as possible, she couldn’t decline the offer to stay with you in the way she had been craving. Instead, she rested her chin on top of your head until you both fell into a peaceful slumber like you had numerous times before.

*

“Oh my god,” Kate rushed out once she stepped into the room. 

  “Hey,” you smiled at the sight of your best friend and sat up slightly. 

  “I can’t believe you did that!” She exclaimed. “That was so dumb!” She continued, giving you the same frantic look she did after drinking a dozen red bulls in order to get through a twenty four hour stake out. “That was so so dumb and I’m so mad at you,” she told you as she enveloped you in a tight hug and clambered onto the bed beside you. You chuckled with a wince you didn’t want the archer to see as her hands caught the edge of the strike on your back. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said as she held you tight. 

  “I won’t be if you keep squeezing the air out of me,” you told her with a grin. She pulled back with a start and gave you a sheepish smile. 

  “Sorry I just…you scared me,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m so-”

  “Don’t you dare,” you interrupted. “It was my choice to leave. It scared me when I thought they had you,” you pointed out, seeing the comfort Kate drew from your words. “Worthit though.”

  “Really?” Kate frowned as she glanced at the different bandages across you. 

  “Yeah. The way I see it, I tried to save your ass so now you owe me so much pizza,” you shrugged and Kate began to grin.

  “Except you didn’t really save either of us,” she said matter of factly. 

  “I still almost got turned into minced meat for you!” You huffed. Kate was beyond glad that you were still able to make light of something that could have destroyed other people. She knew you were still hurting, but it was good to see you hadn’t been entirely broken by what had happened. 

  “Not just me,” she smirked. “I heard Yelena’s been in here a lot.” You hummed simply, suppressing your smile. 

  “I sent her home to have a shower.” Kate chuckled at that. 

  “Are you guys good?” She asked except the way she was looking at you indicated that she already knew the answer.

  “We’re going on a date,” you informed with a grin that Kate quickly mirrored and launched forwards to give you another, lighter hug. 

  “Finally,” she beamed. 

  “Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed with an eye roll as she pulled back. 

  “I’m happy for you,” she told you with a sincerity that made her eyes glimmer. “For you both,” she added. 

  “Thanks, Kate. For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” you told your best friend. 

  “Somewhere really lame I bet,” she shrugged and pulled up a chair next to your bed to give you some space. “So I know you’re happy with Yelena and all that sappy stuff,” she began. “But you do realise that as best friends we’re obligated to discuss this latest addition to the whole crazy ex thing.” You knew that there was never any genuine pressure to discuss the most recent events that had unfolded with Rae, but you were done trying to pretend like anything to do with her never happened.

  “Well for starters, she’s a widow,” you said. 

  “Dude, what the fuck?!”

*

“You’re doing well, y/n,” the therapist encouraged once she helped you up from the heap on the floor. You bite your tongue as you clung to the bar to prevent yourself from snipping that it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel like you were making much progress at all despite working your leg muscles as best you could in the past few days. “I think we should call it a day for this session and pick it up again tomorrow,” she suggested. You didn’t want to stop. You wanted to keep going but you knew the physiotherapist had a lot of other patients to attend to and you couldn’t take her attention away from them. 

  Yelena emerged from where she had been watching from the sidelines and brought your wheelchair with you to help you into it. You almost swatted her hand away to do it yourself, but you needed the support and you couldn’t brush her off. You went back to your ward in silence as Yelena commented on your progress, apparently sharing the belief that you were making good progress. You still couldn’t walk unsupported and you could only take several steps at a time before falling. Yelena and Kate were amazing for being so supportive, but it had always been Natasha who had taught you skills you needed the most. You hadn’t seen her since that night at the party and you were beginning to believe it would be a while until you would again. 

  “We don’t have to wait until you’re walking, we could go to a restaurant that is wheelchair accessible,” Yelena rambled as she helped you back into the bed. 

  “You’re not getting tired of waiting on me, are you Belova?” You quipped. 

  “I’ve been waiting a long time,” she muttered back with a fond smile. You hummed in agreement. “I’ve done some research to see which restaurants would be best,” she continued. Of course she has. “But I want to visit them myself to fact check,” she told you matter of factly. “Because sometimes it’s not as good as they say and-”

  “I love you,” you said suddenly. Yelena’s eyes widened as she took in your words. “Sorry, you don’t have to say it back and I know you kind of already knew it because of the letter and if history has taught us anything I probably shouldn’t be moving so fast anyway but it just felt right to tell you because-”

  “I love you too,” she cut you off confidently. “I think I have loved you for a long time,” she added. You pulled her forwards slightly and she took the cue to lean down and kiss you softly, cherishing the moment’s intimacy that you had both waited so long to display. It was new territory for you both, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “And I would like to go on a date sooner rather than later,” she smiled. 

  “Just don’t stay away for too long,” you replied, still holding her hand as she pulled away. 

  “Never,” Yelena promised, leaving your room with a glowing feeling in her chest that she was allowed to embrace for the first time in her life. She owed that to you. 

  Similarly, you lay with a content grin on your lips for a while as you reflected on every moment you had with Yelena and couldn’t help but anticipate what was to come. Though if she was constantly willing to go the extra mile, you should be too. With that in mind, you dragged your feet over the side of the bed and braced against the sides as you raised yourself to your feet, unaware of the emerald eyes that watched you from the hallway. 

  You took a supported step as you clung to the bed, feeling your legs shake in protest but unwilling to back down just yet. You carried on regardless and successfully reached the end of your bed so you could set your target on the window just two steps away. Two steps was nothing, right? Wrong. The moment you advanced towards the window the numbness took over both legs in their entirety and you toppled to the floor without Yelena being there to help you up. Someone else was though.

  “I thought you were only supposed to do that with a nurse around,” Natasha stated as she appeared by your side. You looked up at her with a badly concealed surprise as she held her hand out to you. You took it, knowing you were unable to get up on your own.

  “As if you would follow that advice,” you muttered, uncomfortable at the tension that filled the room. 

  Natasha didn't reply to that. “They said you’re doing well,” she said instead as she helped you sit down. She didn’t pull up a chair, opting to hover by your side with her arms across her chest.

  “Apparently,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. You had never found yourself struggling to make conversation with the redhead before, even though there was something you both needed to talk about. 

  “Yelena said you guys are gonna go out some time.” You kept your eyes glued to your lap as you swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. 

  “Yeah, is that…yeah,” you said slowly, wanting to ask for her approval but too afraid to hear her reject it. 

  “I’m glad-” she began but you cut her off before you could take in what she was trying to say.

  “I’m sorry, Nat. I know you told me not to date your sister and I never thought we would actually- I mean I didn’t expect that she would even want to- or that we would end up getting so-”

  “Y/n,” Natasha cut off as she sat down next to you. “I had no right to ever tell you Yelena was off limits and honestly, if I had known how you felt about each other before I saw what you did with each other, I never would have stood in your way,” she said firmly. “I would have had some issues with the order you two were working in,” she continued and you finally let yourself smile in relief, “but that’s only because I want the best for both of you. Now I know what that is.” Without another word, Natasha tilted her head to rest against yours and you didn’t waste another second in leaning in to wrap your arms around her, feeling the immense safety that always came from being in such proximity to either Russian. 

  “I promise not to hurt her again,” you whispered. 

  “I’ll spare you the lecture,” she chuckled. 

  “I’ve heard enough of them,” you told her as you remembered the hours Rae had spent at your side.

  “You’re safe now,” Natasha said with all the assurance you needed to hear. “I told you I’d find her.” You hummed faintly.

  “I never doubted it. Now there’s nothing holding me back.”

*

Six months later

  “Just a bit further,” Yelena encouraged as she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You glanced up at the last stretch of the hill, knowing it was going to be the hardest. It would be worth it though. “Do you want to stop for a bit?” Your girlfriend asked as she watched you struggle to persevere.

  “I got it,” you told her even though your legs were burning, adamant on getting to the top without any assistance. Yelena stuck close to your side as Marty peered up at you from the other, giving a bark of encouragement too. “Thanks, bud,” you told him as the last few metres drew closer and you finally hauled yourself up to the top where you collapsed in an exhausted heap. Your burning legs were numb but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you gazed out across the cliff. 

  “Are you okay?” Yelena asked, concern written over her features as she crouched down in front of you. You merely smiled up at her and placed your hand to her cheek, only needing a moment of that contact to ease her worries as she sat down next to you to admire the view and grab some water from her backpack for you all. 

  “It’s even better in the summer,” she commented as you sat up, resting your head on her shoulder. You hummed in agreement and craned your head slightly to gaze at Yelena. 

  “Beautiful,” you muttered. 

  “We should camp out here next time,” she said, too caught up in the view to notice your subtle admiration of her. 

  “I like that idea,” you told her, although what you really liked was the idea that there would be a next time and no doubt many more after. “I think they do too,” you added when you noticed Marty and Fanny looking at you both with great interest. Yelena chuckled and rested her own head on yours. 

  “You think you will be up for it?” The blonde enquired. 

  “I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”

  “You’re doing well,” she told you, knowing how frustrated you had been over your slow healing progress at the start but how, despite the odds, you had made it back onto your feet.

  “So are you,” you said. Yelena kissed your forehead softly, knowing what you meant. 

  “It’s easy loving you,” she said simply. You grinned, feeling your heart elevate in your chest as you wrapped your arms around your girlfriend and sat content under the knowledge that you never had to doubt it. “It always will be.”

The end.

[writercole]

On Second Thought...

Summary: Dr. Jake Seresin meets his match. Pairing: Jake Seresin x Vikander!Reader (Omaha's sister) Words: 1901 Warnings: Dr. Jake Seresin, flirting, innuendo, Dr. Javy Machado, Sass, probably some swearing, medical discussions regarding neurological symptoms. Credits: I don't know anymore I know @ryebecca helped with the title and gave her squeak of approval on the graphic. A/N: I literally found this on my thumb drive and...well...it's been a long week. Have a treat.

Dr. Jacob Seresin, doctor of neurology, Jake to his friends, sighed heavily when he checked his cell phone. He trudged through the parking garage, exhaustion weighing him down after a twelve hour shift where there had been an influx of patients but an absence of nurses or doctors to be found.

The absence of any text messages or missed calls from his ex girlfriend drove him further into a bad mood. Jake had returned home from a long shift, much like the one he had just ended, to find that she had packed all of her things and gone, leaving only a lingering trace of perfume that dissipated after a week.

That had been nearly four months ago.

He had taken time out of almost every day for the first two months to send her a message, whether good morning, good night, or to hope her day was going well, but there had been radio silence, nothing coming back through the phone, though the messages marked as read.

Truthfully, her abrupt departure from his life had barely rattled him. He could still function; his job never took a hit and his patients never noticed a thing. Even the ones who had been with him since he opened his practice. And the nurses had more interesting things to talk about than his vanilla, ethical love life. 

Jake still felt the sting of loneliness, though, a sting that spread through his veins as he cared for patients with loved ones beside their bed. He may not have loved Gretchen, but he missed the companionship and the emotional connection that came with having someone waiting at home. It was something that surprised him, the need for feelings involved in his relationships.

Jake wasn’t surprised when he saw a message from an old med school buddy, Javy Machado. They’d taken residencies at separate hospitals in the same city and still hung out when their off days coincided. The reason for the message, however, was strange.

> Yo, Seresin. I got a tough case here. Need an outsider to come check this out. Tomorrow. I start my rounds at 6 AM.

Jake replied back that he’d be there and asked for any details that he could get before they met up at the hospital. The more he knew going in, the better. It was easier to rule things out that way. 

At 0530 hours, Jake walked into UMCSD and headed for the cardiac wing. He noticed a distinctly different atmosphere as he walked through the halls. There was a peacefulness under the beeping and bustling that SDGMC didn’t have. 

He rounded the corner and scanned the area, not seeing the tall man that had called him here. A short woman was standing at the counter scribbling on a chart and he walked over in the hope that he could get directions to Machado’s office.

“Excuse me, nurse,” he said. She didn’t respond but her posture stiffened slightly. “Nurse?” he called again, getting no response again. He reached up and tapped her on the shoulder as he tried one more time. “Nurse, I’m looking for Dr. Machado.”

She whipped around, her hair slapping him in the arm, and put her hands on her hips. “You aren’t from here, are you?” 

“Uh, no. I just need -”

“Well, how about you actually find the nurse you were looking for instead of asking a doctor who is charting a consult where to find your…lover,” she spat as she eyed Jake up and down. 

“That’s not…no,” Jake shook his head. “I was called in to consult on a patient. I’m Dr. Seresin from General.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stood there, crossing her arms over her chest. “And Dr. Machado called you in? Are you sure?”

“Jake! You’re early!” they heard called across the wing. Neither of them broke eye contact as Javy walked up to them, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Oh, good, you’ve met Dr. Vikander.”

“Coyote, what the hell did you call him for?” Dr. Vikander hissed as she diverted her fury to her colleague.

“Well, I thought an extra set of eyes on the case would be helpful,” Javy shrugged. “This is Jake Seresin, an old buddy from med school and the best neurologist on the SDGMC campus.”

“I’m the best neurologist in town, Machado,” Jake corrected.

“No, you’re definitely not,” she scoffed.

“Oh, I’m good, sweetheart. I’m very good,” he smirked, “I’ll be happy to show you.”

“I have to see this. Coyote, lead the way to the patient,” she bit back. 

“Not exactly how I was thinking of demonstrating but if you want an audience, sweetheart, I’m fine with that. I know Javy likes to watch." The look on Dr. Vikander’s face delighted Jake. Getting under people’s skin - especially women - happened to be a favorite pastime of his.

"Dude, that was one time and no patients were involved," Javy corrected. "Can we please go see my patient now?"

Dr. Machado led them into the room and introduced them to the patient, giving a brief overview of his symptoms. "Presented with sudden inability to stand and fainting. He's a patient of mine, single bypass. Cardiac workup is clean."

"Did you feel dizzy or lightheaded before you fainted?" She looked at the digital chart on the tablet, pulling up the bloodwork and cardiac workup that Dr. Machado spoke of.

“Not really,” the patient responded.

“Any headaches?”

“I’ve been having headaches almost daily for years. It wasn’t any different than normal.” The patient shrugged and yawned before continuing. “No allergies either.”

“What about fever, nausea, vomiting?” Jake questioned, looking over her shoulder and ignoring the glare she gave him.

“Nope, nothing like that.”

“You didn’t have the flu recently?”

“Yeah, like two weeks ago but it was a normal flu. My doctor tested me and everything.”

“How about vision loss, double vision, being extra tired, numbness?” Dr. Vikander continued.

“Some numbness. Definitely extra tired. Occasional double vision.” The patient’s voice had quieted, almost as if he were recognizing the seriousness of the condition, the extent of the things he’d been experiencing becoming symptoms.

“Any pain or swelling?”

“Yes, but I just thought it was from the weather changing. You know how it gets when you’ve worked jobs that are hard on your joints and stuff.”

“We’re going to need a few more tests,” Dr. Vikander told him gently. “I’m hoping that we can get this figured out quickly and get you home to your family.”

“Thank you, doctors.”

The three physicians stepped out of the room, the two neurologists following behind Dr. Machado all the way to his office in silence.

“Well, what are we looking at?” Javy asked as he leaned on the edge of his desk.

“Meningitis,” Jake announced with confidence at the same time that she said “multiple sclerosis.”

“Well, those are both easy treatments but they’re vastly different treatments.”

“You can’t possibly be thinking meningitis,” she scoffed. 

“There’s no way that could be MS,” Jake retorted.

“Meningitis doesn’t cause vision problems.” 

“And MS doesn’t cause headaches.”

“He said he’s had those headaches for longer than the other symptoms.”

“Guys,” Javy called. He wasn’t surprised when the two doctors ignored him, facing off against one another for their diagnoses.

“Well, a spinal tap will confirm my suspicions and prove who the better doctor is,” Dr. Vikander stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And an MRI and blood culture will confirm mine.” Jake slipped his hands into the pockets of his scrubs, confidence oozing off of him.

“Well that MRI will also show indications of MS.”

“And your spinal tap will show meningitis.”

“At least the two of you agree on the tests that need to be done,” Javy mumbled under his breath, prepping the orders for the patient to have a spinal tap and MRI as well as blood cultures as soon as possible. After the requests were in, he sat back, watching his two friends argue their sides to one another.

He sighed as he watched. The whole point of having her and Jake consult on this patient was to show Jake that UMCSD fit him better. The toxic relationships from SDGMC were non-existent, the doctors worked together better, and while the funding was lower, they helped the patients who needed it the most. And Javy knew that’s what Jake got into medicine for.

“And another thing,” she shouted.

“Enough!” Javy exclaimed as he stood. “I need you guys to work together on this case. It’s not a competition. I’m in over my head and I need as many ideas as I can get. I trust the both of you can do that.”

“Yeah,” Jake mumbled while his shoulders sagged.

“I will try. For you, Machado. But don’t get your hopes up on a diagnosis from this guy,” she said. “Man thought I was a nurse when he got here.”

“You were at the nurse’s station. What else was I supposed to think?”

“I was charting. I’m in a lab coat. I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, lab coats and open charts indicate doctor not nurse.”

“Seriously, if I can’t get you two to work together, I will call another neurologist. And the only one who isn’t retired that I can actually tolerate is Cain. And you know what he’s going to say if I have to call him,” Javy explained.

“Sorry,” the other two doctors muttered. Their heads hung forward and their shoulders curled in, both avoiding eye contact with the cardiologist.

“Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me. I have more rounds to make.” 

The three doctors stepped outside of the office, the two neurologists watching Javy walk away.

“Can I buy you a coffee? As an apology?” Jake offered.

Dr. Vikander eyed him suspiciously and nodded, gesturing for him to follow her. They walked in silence through the hallways, twisting and turning their way towards the little coffee shop that was nestled near the front lobby. “How long have you known Javy?”

“Since our first year as med students. He came in from Tulane, I came in from UT Austin.”

“So you were in the same med school classes, then?”

“Yeah.”

She hummed with a small smile as they approached the barista and ordered their coffees, surprising each other when she got a quad with 2 sugars and Jake ordered a vanilla frappuccino with extra whipped cream. The smile on her face stayed while their coffees were made, confounding Jake, pushing his buttons until he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Why is Javy and I being in the same med school class making you so happy?” he questioned.

“Oh, no reason,” she denied. As they collected the coffees placed on the counter, she added, “just that I’ve been practicing longer than you.”

Jake stared after her as she walked back towards the entrance. Several emotions swirled in his body. Disbelief and surprise swelled at the core of his being, surrounded by jealousy, a need to be better than her, and also a sense of enchantment. 

She captured his attention with her fire and her passion, the way she fought for a patient she didn’t even know. She stood her ground when confronted with a different opinion. Her intelligence and wit challenged him in a way that made him want to both stare in awe and scream in anger.

She was going to be a problem for him.

[annaizscribbling]

In Which the Farmer is a Cryptid (pt 5) Harvey

(start at pt 1 here)

Harvey’s mustache twitched. He was standing over the sleeping farmer, carefully tucked into white sheets on a hospital bed. She looked paler against the sterile room, like the sun was being sucked from her skin. He didn’t like having to see her like this—frail, sickly, injured. She never so much as stirred whenever she slept. It only added to the deathly aura around her.

He sighed and leaned into the bed behind him, taking off his glasses to massage the spot between his eyes. The farmer really did a number on his poor nerves. She seemed to think she was invincible, like every fiber of her being was convinced that death would never be an option. Harvey tries to tell her to be careful, to slow down, to not go so deep, not travel so far. It’s difficult to navigate the patient/doctor relationship when she’s also his friend. He worries about her. She does not seem to pay that any mind.

One desperate part of him wants to scream (and possibly cry) that she absolutely should never do anymore exploring. No more mining. No more monster hunting and solo quests. Harvey can’t even pretend to understand just how much she does, how far below the earth she has delved or how much that adventurer’s guild has pushed her into doing. He knows it’s more than anyone will admit to.

But he knows she’s an adult, and as a medical professional, his only right is to advise. He can’t force her to change her lifestyle, no matter how dangerous of one she had. As her friend though, he’s routinely fighting the urge to beg her to stop. He wants to do something he shouldn’t, like conspire with her husband to put an end to her injuries, find a way to seal her from the mines, talk with the mayor to get her banned. Something. Anything.

Though something stops him. Common sense of course, warns Harvey against trying to force her to change her life, but something else does to. He’d never admit it, even to himself, but she’s built for such reckless days. She heals so quickly, scars fade, and wounds close faster than they should. Her nutrition levels are always … perfect. Never deficient in vitamins. Her blood tests always come back unusually healthy. Her husband has expressed some concern that she’ll go days eating the same nutrition-less algae soup, but her results always say otherwise. The farmer usually has that strange youthful glow, like her body really was at his best. No matter what, she’s healthy. Always healthy, save when somebody drags her to his clinic half dead and bleeding profusely, of course.

That night, at the delightful hour of 2:30AM, Robin knocked on his door, hefting up the farmer in her arms. If he hadn’t immediately begun preoccupied treating the injured farmer, he would have been surprised at how strong Robin was. Carpentry, he supposed, built more muscles than model plans and stethoscopes.

The farmer had been beat to a pulp, by what? He did not know. Long deep scratches, bite marks, freezing cold patches, slime, blood, dust, her skin told a story he did not wish to hear. It took time to disinfect and clean the injured skin. He had to cut away her ripped up clothes, which were a laughable defense against whatever she had encountered below the surface of the earth. A half dozen emeralds rolled out of her pocket and tumbled to the floor. Harvey ignored it in favor of searching for broken ribs. That damn massive eyeliner wing of hers was still intact and had to be washed away before he could tend to the cut on her temple. Her hair was still strangely clean, and he did not find any sweat on her person, only blood. Though only half the blood was hers, it seemed.

Two different wounds required deep pressure to halt the bleeding. She was half mummified in bandages by the time he was finished. He wished this wasn’t the first time he’d have to do this for her. At this point, Harvey had made a small fortune patching her up. It was not something he was overly happy about. Scolding her did not seem to have any effect. He sometimes received an apology, but only for upsetting him. She did not seem to like upsetting him, but her desire to mine and work herself to the bone seemed a greater motivator.

Robin had already offered to call Sebastian, so Harvey could focus on the farmer. He was probably almost to the clinic. Now that his work was done for the moment, he could take a second to collect himself before he arrived. It would be best if they were not both panicked.

He looked back at her, each breath small and almost robotic. She was a puzzle, that was for certain. He loved the farmer. They all did. Nobody could care like she could. Nobody could do most things like she could. She was incredible. She was an enigma.

Harvey sighs to himself. His eyes trail to the bin of bloodied rags he’d been using to clean her up. He would dispose of them properly, of course. Though for the moment, he just couldn’t look away, wondering how she could bear to go through so much pain, time and time again.

The first few times this happened, Harvey took it as a grave reminder that even she was human. The perfect lonely farmer girl herself was only flesh and bone. Are they not the same? No matter how collected and mysterious she had seemed, she still bleeds like the rest of them.

Now he’s not so sure.

A mouse bleeds just like a wolf.

Harvey is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the front door open loudly and slam with a rattle. He collects himself and rushes out, paying no mind to his bloodied lab coat.

“Harvey?” Sebastian says hoarsely, eyes darting around frantically. He’s a mess, still in pajama bottoms and a hoodie thrown over top. His hair is frazzled and he’s wearing two different sandals. Robin is standing beside him, one hand gently on his forearm.

“Hello, Sebastian, why don’t you come in? Come see her. She’s alright, just asleep,” Harvey says softly, holding open the door for him.

Robin gives her tall son’s arm a squeeze. Her own clothing has a blood splatter on it. She looked calm in the face of it. “You call me first thing tomorrow morning and let me know how she is, Sebby, please?”

He nods and wordlessly and distractedly pats her shoulder before moving past her. He’s agitatedly biting his bottom lip, chewing on chapped skin. He shoves his shaky hands in his pockets.

As soon as Harvey opens the door, Sebastian rushes to her side, checking her over and seeming to count each bandage and scrape. He takes her tanned hand in his own pale one, running his long fingers over each of her knuckles. He looked relieved, in spite of her state.

“She’ll be alright, but she has to take it easy for at least a few weeks,” Harvey said firmly, “change her bandages every day, keep the wounds clean, and for Yoba’s sake, please keep her out of those mines until she heals at least.”

Sebastian smiled wryly. “I’ll try my best, Doc, but you know how she is.”

“I am imploring you, Sebastian. She can’t keep going like this.”

“Has she been struggling to recover? Or seeing long term damage I should know about?” Sebastian asked, his gravelly voice still soft and almost humorful. It was weird.

“Well. Er. No,” Harvey admitted awkwardly, “but it’s common logic. This isn’t good for her.”

“I’ll ask her to take a break,” Sebastian said, having never let go of her hand, “Because believe me, I’m pissed. I told her to take an extra Muscle Remedy and she forgot, then she didn’t head home at 11:00, which is not part of our deal, but let’s be honest. She’ll be back the moment somebody asks her for some topaz or some shit.”

“She has to stop, for her own wellbeing,” Harvey said quietly, keeping at bay his frustration and worry.

“Can you stop the sun from coming up in the morning, Doc?” Sebastian asked lightly, eyebrows raised.

Harvey was not amused by that.

“She’s not like us,” Sebastian said, smiling at her sleeping face, “you said it yourself. No long term damage. Perfect health. We’ve been married for just two years now, and I have learned that my job isn’t to stop her. It’s impossible. So now, I leave the impossible to her, because she’s pretty damn good at it.”

Harvey paused, before sighing and cupping his own face in his hands. “I’m going to start billing you extra for my nerves.”

“Understandable.”

[mara-tevith-solo]

It Takes Two

Part 2 is here finally

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x enhanced ex-avenger reader

Warnings: Angst, happy ending, kinda possessive Miguel, love confessions, mentions of injuries and medical stuff, self gaslighting, they finally stop being idiots

Words: 1.8k+

Rated: PG-13

You woke up alone and in pain. Well, it wasn't exactly pain as you knew it, but it was definitely discomfort. The right side of your chest felt like it was woven with lead and your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, adding to your over all discomfort "You gave us all quite a scare!" A Spider-Nurse chuckled as soon as he entered your room with perfect timing, scaring the crap out of your poor little self.

"What happened?" You asked, your voice rough and popping from disuse, the heart monitor beeping in time with your fright.

He began poking and prodding, measuring your condition with his eyes and ears "Doc Ock got an extremely good hit in, sent you flying based on what Lyla said. Bruised your spine, gave you a stellar concussion, and a decent laceration in your right pectoral. It'll scar, but you'll live and that's the most important thing." He was rambling, but his words made everything rush back to you, including a certain confession to a certain someone. You wanted the floors of HQ to swallow you whole and never let you go. The very last thing you'd ever wanted to do was bother Miguel with your feelings for him, make him feel awkward and put on the spot. You were certain that he didn't feel for you as you felt for him, that there was no way he'd let himself because of the Universal difference that stood between you. "Head hurt?" The nurse asked with a warm tone, making you imagine the soft smile that lurked under his mask.

"Ya, just a bit." You nodded a little too quickly for comfort, passing off your emotional turmoil as physical discomfort.

He nodded in understanding before pulling your hospital gown down just enough to check on your wound "Let me just see how this is healing and I'll go get a Doc so they can give you something for the pain."

"Thank you." You said it as sincerely as you could, pulling what looked like another smile from the Spider-Person.

"You're very welcome." His fingers were gentle as he removed the bandage, not letting the tape pull too much. The air was cold against the wound, making it sting ever so slightly "Looks good, forty-five percent closed on it's own. I'll go find a Doc for you." He put the bandage back before leaving just as suddenly as he'd arrived, his steps just as quiet as every other Spider's.

It didn't take long for the Doctor to come, her white coat pristine over her dark suit "Hello Y/n, I'm Doctor Petra. How are you feeling?" She asked in that measured tone all Doctors seemed to use.

"Uncomfortable."

She nodded with a thoughtful hum, quickly putting on nitrile gloves and pulling back the bandage for her own peek "Well, I can confidently say you can be discharged today, the wound is healing excellently on it's own. And I can give you some prescription grade Ibuprofen for the pain if you want."

"No, I've got some at home I can use."

"Ok. Light duty for a while I'm afraid. No missions or heavy lifting until after your follow up, ok?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alrighty!" She hummed, taking off her gloves and throwing them to the bin across the room "You're all set to go! Your clothes are there on the chair, take your time getting dressed and holler if you need help! See you in two weeks!" She got up and left your room before you could ask when in two weeks you were supposed to go back, but decided to not press it as you slowly stood and shuffled over to your pile of clothes stiffly. They were clean, mostly, save for the blood on your undershirt and jacket, but there wasn't a speck of dirt to be found. Getting your shirt on was hell, your wound not wanting to let you raise your arm up enough so you had to get creative. Walking out of the hospital wing was relieving, though seeing Miguel waiting for you at the entrance was a whole new stress in and of itself.

He was still as a statue as he waited, stoic as usual with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You felt like you were walking into a lecture as you stiffly closed the space between you until there were only two feet left "Hey..." You greeted first, you voice soft and light in trepidation.

"Ready?" His voice didn't match his visage, it was light and warm instead of flat, his eyes that shade of garnet that was quickly becoming your favorite. You didn't trust yourself to speak, instead nodded and quickly falling into step beside him. His hand immediately found itself a home on your mid-back, warm and soothing, anchoring through your jacket. Addicting. You wanted to sink into the contact, and you could swear he sensed that as his fingers spread to increase contact, taking up nearly an entire third of your back. He didn't say or do anything as you both walked towards his office, just coexisted in the same bubble as people stopped and murmured around you. "So, I suppose we have something pretty important to talk about." His words filled the messy space as soon as the doors closed behind you, his expression instantly changing to something akin to teasing amusement.

"Oh?" You asked, pulling away from him to sit on a desk, needing to take the pressure off of your hips and back.

He raised a brow at your bid of ignorance, the corners of his mouth barely curling in a restrained smile that was fighting for freedom "Mhmm." He took a spot barely inches away from you, between your knees. Your heart was racing wildly in your chest, in his ears, your throat jumping in time under his gaze. He found it adorable, how nervous you suddenly were. "Something about me being pretty when I smile?" His smile grew in spite of his attempts to curb it as your eyes widened, realizing that he did indeed remember everything you'd said, and confirming to him that you remembered as well. "And how you've had a crush on me for the last year." He watched as you looked away, mortified, a dullness lending itself to your eyes. It concerned him, making his suit recede from his hands as he reacted for you, broaching the last few inches as he gently grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought your focus back to him "Hey now." He cooed low in his throat, trying to coax you out of the shell he saw you constructing.

"I shouldn't have said any of that. It's unfair of me to burden you with my feelings. I'm really sorry, I promise to not make it a problem for you." Your words were hasty as they tumbled off your tongue, still not looking him in the eyes.

He ducked into your gaze, worried as you tried to shut him out and shut the conversation down, made you look him in the eyes as he brow furrowed "Why would it be a problem for me?"

"For a multitude of reasons!" Your voice was suddenly loud and you were willingly meeting his gaze, eyes swirling with a plethora of emotions, so many that he suddenly wanted to kiss away and chase out of your mind with all the love he could give you for the entirety of his life. "We're from different Universes for one! And you deserve so much better than me!"

His head tilted to the side as your words rang in his head. Did you truly believe that you weren't good enough for him? If anything, he whole-heartedly believed he wasn't good enough for you! "What?"

"I wasn't even good enough for my ex! He threw me away as soon as he could, after everything! I'm broken! You can do so much better than me. You deserve so much better..." You sniffled, tears falling fast and hard from your eyes.

Both of his hands found your cheeks, his thumbs tenderly brushing away your tears before he was pressing his forehead to yours, sharing air with you, hoping that his thoughts would be shared with you "Eres mi cielo, mi alma. Te amo, más que a nada." He rumbled into the minimal space "You are everything to me, Y/n. You always will be." He vowed, making your tears multiply as the words you'd longed to hear were finally in the air between you "I'm not Steve, I'm not going to leave you for a 'what if' because there's no one better for me than you. Because I love you. I want to grow old with you, I want to raise children with you, make a life with you. And only you. Only if you want the same with me."

Your heart was stuttering as you processed his words, as you searched for a falsehood you already knew you'd never find. You were nodding before you had a chance to get the words out "Yes, for a million years, yes!" His smile was everything to you in that moment, so broad you were sure his cheeks would be sore later, his eyes so bright they were like red stars.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked softly, moving so close that his nose was caressing yours, sending goosebumps across your body with a rush of thrill and anticipation.

You nodded, not breaking contact as his breath fanned your face lightly "Please do, Miguel." He didn't waste a moment, pressing his plush lips to yours feather light, testing the waters. It felt like he was being electrocuted in all the best ways, a tingle rushing up and then down his spine as your lips pressed so deliciously against his. He couldn't tell who deepened it, all he knew was that in no time your lips were dancing together, following a rhythm only they knew as you both clung desperately to each other, his hands under your shirt, touching as much of your skin as they could, while your hands were tangled in his hair. He could barely pull away from you even a few inches to catch his breath, your pupils blown as wide as his no doubt were "I love you." You whispered softly, smiling up at him so prettily. He groaned a growl as he dove into another kiss, devouring your breathy giggles as you kissed him back. You were finally his, where you belonged, and he was going to make sure you remained by his side, he was going to love you like you'd never been loved before. He swore it to the Multiverse. To all the Gods. To every molecule in his being. He'd love you til the end of Time itself.                    

[kittenfangirl20]

*Adam starts to feel a great amount of pain and had to be rushed to the hospital, his babies with Lucifer were coming, he let out pained screams feeling bad that Eve had to go through this, he was letting out a stream of very colorful curses and Lucifer glared at some Karen who dared to look offended at Adam as he was helping him through the waiting room, once in the back Lucifer used his angelic magic to temporarily alter Adam’s lower half to help him deliver the babies, Adam blushed when he felt his water break*

Adam: FUCK!!!!!!!!!

*contractions started coming and it was the worst pain Adam ever felt, he started to cry while Lucifer got closer to him and sang soothing songs to Adam while using his magic to ease the pain, Lucifer hated seeing Adam be in pain for hours*

Doctor: Alright, I will need you to start pushing.

*Adam started pushing as he felt something coming out of him, he took deep breaths while quietly praying for the pain to end, he was sure that a hospital in Hell would be offended if they knew he was praying to God*

Doctor: We have a girl.

Adam: Lyra.

Lucifer: She is beautiful.

*Lyra had brown hair like Adam, but white skin and red circles on her cheeks like Lucifer, she had little hooves for feet and little gold wings, Adam was amazed that he birthed something so perfect, but the pain came again and he knew her brother was coming, while it still hurt a lot Adam knew what to expect this time and started to push especially when he felt the second baby start to leave his body*

Doctor: A son.

Adam: Luke.

*aside from the fact that Luke was a boy, he looked exactly like Lyra, Adam was drenched and sweat and his body was finishing the birthing process, but he was so happy, he had two beautiful babies with Lucifer, Lucifer helped Adam pull down the hospital gown down so his chest could be accessible and Lyra was placed on one side of Adam while Luke was placed on the other, Lucifer assured Adam that his body would provide milk for the babies, but Adam wasn’t sure even though Lucifer assured him since he had to be the one to carry Charlie since Lilith was unable to carry a living baby, he found out Lucifer was right when the babies latched onto him, he just relaxed marveling at the babies*

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - An Original Story.

Well, guys, here it is! I've been planning this premise for a while, but very recently the pieces of it all fell together, the main characters virtually materialised by themselves, and here we have it. I won't lie, it will be quite dark for the first couple of chapters, and if you are easily triggered by depression, suicide or anorexia, I'd give it a miss, but I have injected a lot of love and heart into it, and some comic moments as well. It does start to lighten considerably by the third chapter.

I had to AI my main characters in their appearance, unfortunately, since I can't really find anyone in reality to face claim them to.

So, here we go. Please remember to be kind and give me a reblog on this, as original fiction is so very overlooked on this site, any help promoting it would be greatly appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts, too!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 4,137

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

The fateful swing of a pendulum; some say it is as precarious as this, the thing that bridges the gap between life and death. Swing too far and the darkness engulfs you forever, eternal sleep settling over a body, whether willingly or not. Not enough, and it swings you back into the light, again, whether willingly or not.  

For James Kingston, on the 21st of March, 1997, it wasn’t willingly.  

The wings of death had opened to him, shrouded him in the alluring caress of her inky, feathered shadows, enveloped and lifted his consciousness away from it all. His body should have followed.  

It hadn’t.  

“James Nathaniel Kingston, twenty-three years old, found almost asphyxiated on the bathroom floor by the 999 caller twenty minutes ago. Both forearms slashed and approximately thirty co-codamol and twenty ibuprofen tablets imbibed with half a bottle of tequila.” 

Light. Dark. Noise. So much noise. Pressure lifted from his arms, applied once again when the wounds began to gush. More shouting. A light shined into his eyeballs in turn. A tube down his throat.  

“Just let me fucking go.”  

It had been quiet, where he’d temporarily found himself. Quiet and devoid of everything, exactly what he wished for, a slither of peace finally filling the void of emptiness that had opened within him to such an extent, nothing could fill it comfortably. And god, how he’d attempted to.  

In the end, the burden of existence had weighed upon him with an immovable, unfathomable pressure, his resolve breaking, toppling, his foundations crumbling like an ancient tower under the brutal duress of a wrecking ball. Slipping into it, he’d taken the large knife, just about coherent enough to open both arms and watch the river of red flow, witness his life draining out in a gush of crimson that glittered sticky over his dark clothes. 

Vomit, a surge of it exiting his mouth into a receptacle held by a man in hospital clothing, telling him not to fight it. Charcoal. God, that was foul. He’d been so close, happily floating his way into the eternal embrace of death. How dare they interfere with it. 

“James, come on. Lie back, buddy. Let the tube go.” 

Heaving again, he yanked it from his throat, his fist connecting with the doctor’s face, vomit and blood splashing all over. Hands pushed against him, held him down.  

“I need all available staff in here to hold him still!”  

Oh, no. “Get the fuck off me!” His booted foot lashed out, connected with someone, something, a yelp sounding, his bloodied forearm hitting a nurse in her throat. “Get off me or I’ll fucking break your neck!” 

Multiple hands fought against his thrashing, the tube plunged back into his throat. More charcoal. More vomit. “Okay, his stomach is clear. Sedate him so we can actually stitch his arms up.” 

It took six members of the A&E staff to hold him still, until the effects of the drugs injected into his system sent him back into a world of pure, beautiful black, his body stilling. He was finally under control, his blood type attained, three units of AB negative lined into his arm, the nurse who he’d kicked in the chest beginning to stitch him up.  

She showed him all the care he likely wouldn’t have thanked her for, remarking to herself that what she was witnessing was no simple cry for help. This young man, he’d wanted death, sought it avidly, the cuts she stitched so deep, she was surprised he’d survived going on those alone. Twenty-three and he was so weary with whatever he carried mentally, he’d only seen this, something so horrific, as a viable exit plan.  

In the waiting room, two of his friends were seated, the young men revealing a little background on him when she’d gone out to give them the relieving news that he’d survived. They were members of the same band, a band who by all accounts was just beginning to take off, James the lead guitarist of the outfit named Nocturnal Descent.  

She’d tentatively asked if they had any clue why he’d done it. The taller of the two, with full sleeves of tattoos and two bleached streaks in the front of his long, dark hair had shaken his head. “He’s a bit moody sometimes, bad tempered an’ all. Unless he’s been drinking then he’s larger than life, but nah. Nothing that’s made me think he’s about to do himself in. He cuts himself sometimes, likes the pain, he’s into the whole blood letting thing and whatever, but nah. No idea.” 

Witnessing the older scars that flecked his arms, she could believe that. 

“He’s been quiet for a bit,” the other man had confirmed, while he’d sat picking at one of his long, ginger dreadlocks. “Wasn’t nothing that made us wonder if he was alright or not. Just gets like that sometimes. Especially when he’s tired. Jim likes his sleep.”  

How close he’d come to finding that eternally, the nurse thought, finishing up her stitching. She then cut him out of his vomit stained, blood drenched clothes, giving him a little wash down so at least he was fresh and comfortable when he did finally come around.  

“God, fella,” she marvelled, “I’d bloody kill for your hair.” Poker straight, jet black and only a few inches from reaching his waist. He likely did little to keep it so beautiful, too, such was the injustice there when men possessed lovely hair, or amazing legs, and it not be anything they particularly put an effort into.  

“Well, that’s you all sorted. I certainly hope you’re more pleasant than you were before when you wake up again.” With that, she left him there in the room he’d been moved to in the side ward, likely to remain until he was assessed by doctors. Bodily, he’d need some time to heal and recover from the physical trauma of attempting suicide, but it’d be what was going on up in his head that would be subject to the deeper assessment.  

It was an hour before he finally began to come around a little, able to hear voices outside of the room he was in. He groaned faintly, his thoughts all plummeting down into the very depths of the dark once more. 

“Fuck. Still alive. Steve’s a prick.”  

Steve, he guessed, had likely been the one who’d found him and called an ambulance. It wouldn’t have been Snedders, who’d already been too stoned to move more than three feet when James had decided to lock himself in the bathroom and end it all.  

No, once Liam ‘Snedders’ Snedderley hit the weed, his speed decreased to that of a tranquilised sloth. Amazing really, for a man who could drum with such velocity, a whirlwind of ginger dreadlocks swirling as he did. This? It was definitely Steve. His best mate, who at that particular moment he loathed.  

“Just wanted to die, but no. Selfish bastard couldn’t even let me have that. Top grade twat.” 

Whether there’d be a time to come where he’d lighten such hostility, he didn’t know, attempting to lift his arm and scratch his nose but finding he couldn’t. Opening his eyes, the lights of the room obnoxiously bright, he grumbled, looking down to see his bandaged arms both fastened into wrist restraints.  

“Usually got a bird on my cock when I’m bound up.” His thoughts were accompanied by a little smirk that quickly faded, tuning his ears to the voices coming from outside of his room. “Ahh, fuck. The duchess is here.” He’d recognise the shrill tones of his mother even through a lead lined box. 

And she was on form, as usual.  

“It's this whole scene he’s gotten himself into, that’s what’s brought it on! He started listening to this black metal nonsense when he was fourteen, had started a band by sixteen and now his entire life revolves around the darkness of it!” 

The doctor she was talking at rather than to cleared his throat, wanting to at least attempt a little diplomacy in how he handled the balance of fact, and remaining tactful with a woman whose son had just made a serious attempt on his own life. “Mrs. Kingston, it’s a little more complex than that when we are dealing with clinical depression, of which I am inclined to suspect your son is suffering from severely, should we take his actions into consideration.” 

Her ranting to the contrary continued. Truly, nobody knew it all like Carole Kingston, James lying there wishing he’d stabbed himself in the ears so he didn’t have to listen to her. His music was his solace, something he could pour the darkness within himself into, make the noise in his head and the bleakness in the epicentre of him a little more bearable to deal with. She’d never hear that reasoning, though. Never hear him.  

“Carole,” he heard his father speak tersely, not even needing to witness him to know that he was likely pinching the bridge of his nose after removing his glasses. It was an Alan Kingston go to when aggravated. “You know he’s gotten a lot better since he started the band. The doctor is right, though. I think it’s been going on longer than we wanted to admit.” 

Thank fuck his dad wasn’t working nights and he wouldn’t have to deal with his mother alone, with his head torn to pieces. That strong Liverpudlian lilt that most found either comedic or grating never failed to soothe him. 

“For how long, would you say, Mr. Kingston?” 

“Ahh, probably since he was about eleven or twelve, you know. We just thought it was teenage hormones, moodiness. They didn’t talk about it when we were kids, all this depression stuff, so we didn’t really know it was that we were dealing with. Well, I think I always had an inclining, but I just shoved it down, you know. He needs us to acknowledge it now, so we can get him well. Whatever that looks like going forward.”  

“I want him back home with us,” she spoke hotly, “where I can keep a flippin’ eye on him!” 

“Should’ve definitely gone for a fucking noose.” James thought darkly, actually snorting a small burst of laughter through his groggy state. 

“Carole, he’s twenty-three,” Alan began in reasoning, “he’s a grown adult. You can’t babysit him every last second of the day.”  

He smiled at that. At least his dad always fought his corner.  

“I’m afraid that likely won’t be an option for him currently. He needs to be further assessed once his sedation wears off, but I personally will be recommending that James is sectioned under the mental health act.” 

“Sectioned?” Carole spluttered, her mouth dropping wide. “You want to throw my son in some asylum? And what the bloody hell has he been sedated for?” 

“Woo, I get to go to the funny farm,” he thought, his thoughts raining sarcasm. “Better than wrath of the mother, though.” Sarcasm was the drug-addled response, his temper placated enough not to begin vying for escape at the thought of being committed against his will.  

Out in the corridor, his father feared for whoever was charged in actually moving him to the psychiatric facility he knew James would likely end up in, though. He might have been slight, but he was all lithe muscles and long limbs at six feet three. And god, he’d seen his son fight before when finally growing a backbone against his school bullies.  

Sedated might be the best way to keep him, as much as it pained him, knowing his precious boy only had confinement and a course of medication that would probably zombify him in his immediate future.  

“Mrs. Kingston, James was in quite a state while having his stomach pumped. He became extremely violent with a number of staff members attempting to treat him, so sedation was the only logical course.”  

Sedation and restraint, his wrists burning beneath the padded leather cuffs that tethered him to the bed. Well, he had kicked one nurse in the chest and threatened a second with breaking her neck, he could just about remember. He felt bad about that. While he might have been a brawler when presented with anything that threatened him, James had never, ever been the type to hurt a woman.  

Quite the opposite, he liked to think.  

Women and his treatment of them were the last of his worries at that moment, though, listening for a little longer to what the doctor had to say before succumbing to the need to doze. He felt tired down to his bones. When he did come around again, he saw his dad he sat sitting at his bedside, Alan smiling wearily at him. In all of this, he was the last person he’d wanted to hurt. Truly though, he’d thought of little else as his life had faded upon the bathroom floor. Only his elation to leave it behind.  

“It’s quiet. Where’s the duchess?” 

At least his sense of humour was intact. “Gone to get herself a cuppa,” he confirmed, shuffling his chair closer as he reached to rest a hand on his arm. “Scared the bloody life out of me, you did. How you feeling now, kidda?” 

“Sick, but not like I want to throw up or anything.” 

Alan nodded, his forehead creasing with a deep line of concern. “Not surprising, with the number of tablets they had to pump out of your stomach.” His eyes saddened, thumb pressing against his inner elbow. “Why’d you do it, lad? You know you can always come and talk to your old man here, if you’re not feeling right, eh? Always said that, haven’t I?”  

His mouth twitched, James trying to find a way to word it that wouldn’t hurt his dad more than he already was. Truly, there was little adequate recourse to the truth of the matter. “Just don’t wanna be alive no more, dad. It’s fucking meaningless, innit?” 

“Here now,” he soothed, his hand reaching to grip his shoulder. “Don’t you say that, me lad. Got the bloody world at your feet, eh? The band’s starting to take off, you’re out there doing what you want to do. It’s got all the meaning in the world, mate.”  

He sighed through his nose, his eyes falling down to momentarily gaze upon where he was restrained. “Nah. Don’t feel like that. Just feel fucking empty, dad.”  

“Well, that’s apparent. The doctor thinks he knows why, and I happen to agree with him. Getting it through to your mother, though, different story. As you might guess.” He paused for a second, drawing himself up a little taller in his seat. “They think you’ve got clinical depression, kidda. If I’m honest, I reckon you’ve had it a while, you know. I blame myself, for seeing it and not doing anything, watching you become withdrawn and all that.”  

James shrugged. “Ain’t your fault. Just the way I am, innit?” 

“It doesn’t have to be, mate,” Alan stated, James seeing it there in his face, the fear, the anguish he’d caused. And he was still here putting him through it. Yeah. Fuck Steve for calling that ambulance. Fuck himself, too, for being like this in the first place and putting people through all of the worry. “They can treat it with pills, try and mend whatever it is in your head that’s broken. It doesn’t have to be like this, eh?” 

“Wouldn’t be like this at all if people just let me die, like I want to.” He didn’t say that aloud, though, staying silent for a few moments, his eyes flitting over to the other side of the room.  

“You want me to leave you alone for a bit, son?” 

“Nah,” he sighed, turning back to his dad. “Can you undo these straps, though?” 

“Can’t, mate,” he lamented, “you pose what they’re calling a significant violence risk. Apparently, you went full Vinnie fucking Jones on the team who were trying to save your life. Little shite.”  

You little shite; it had been his dad’s go to since he was about three whenever he played up. His mouth twitched, something resembling a small smile curling the corner of his full lips. “Ain’t that little no more though.”  

“Yeah, the nurse with a boot shaped bruise coming up between her knockers knows all about that!” 

He puffed his cheeks, eyes widening a little. “Doubt I’m popular.”  

“I’m sure she’s had worse than that in her time, kidda.” 

“Yeah, but kicking her in the tits?” James exclaimed, snorting a little laugh. “That ain’t my style, dad. Not unless they like it a bit rough.”  

The little snap of teeth his son followed that statement with had Alan wheezing with quiet laughter. “Bad lad. I’ll never bloody forget you coming down the stairs with that girl Helena, and the poor lass is doing her best to cover the bloody bite marks all over her chest with her hair. And then your mother sees ‘em and gives you the death glare. ‘So, you’ve been up there shagging all afternoon, have you?’ she shouts, and I’m sitting there trying not to laugh at the smug look on your face.” 

God, Helena. That had been a while ago, the girl he’d been with for just over a year at sixteen. “Said she looked like someone had flung her in a piranha tank.”  

Alan’s wheezing amped up considerably at that, a small slither of relief settling in him to see his boy smiling a little. It was a momentary reprieve in a harrowing situation. God, if Steve hadn’t been there. Alan had hugged him tightly upon arriving in the waiting room, thanking him over and over for kicking the bathroom door down and acting quickly, clearing the vomit from his mouth, wrapping his arms in towels and calling an ambulance. He’d saved him. He’d always been a good lad, Steve.  

“Look at you now, though. Grinning like an idiot, being that smug little shite I love with all my bloody heart, mate. Can’t be that bad all the time, can it?” 

James didn’t blame his dad for seeking out a silver lining at all, although the truth wasn’t so simple. “Doesn’t matter, dad. I can be onstage with the band, out drinking, biting on tits while I’m shagging some girl ragged, laughing my arse off and all that, but underneath I’m still the same. Still got all this shit I can’t get rid of.”  

“I just don’t understand it,” he huffed, scratching his thick beard. No. And that was the problem. Nobody did. “We’re going to get you some help though. You just need to sit tight with it. You aren’t going to like this one bit, lad, but there’s talk of having you sectioned. I think the doctor wants to have you further assessed and they’ll go from there, but personally I think it’s the best place for you right now.”  

“Do I have any say in that?” 

His mouth straightened into a thin line, shaking his head. “No, son. Chasing thirty co-codamol and twenty ibuprofen tablets with half a bottle of San Jose and then opening up both your bloody arms takes that away from you. You need help, James. Help I don’t think you’d actively go and seek on your own.”  

The hidden undertones were clear, rippling in worry just below his father’s strong surface. If he was allowed to leave the hospital of his own volition, he’d simply go and finish himself off and actually accomplish it. It was true, too. James had already earmarked the motorway bridge over the M6, should he find his way out of the looming threat of being sectioned. He doubted he’d survive a truck smacking into him at seventy miles an hour.  

The door opened, revealing his mother, a steaming paper cup in her grasp. As soon as her eyes found his, she did what he least expected. She sobbed. He was expecting rage, a tirade, a full-blown stream of haranguing. For that moment, at least, it didn’t materialise, Carole striding around to the other side of the bed and placing her tea down, her throat pinched as she cried, reaching for him and stroking his hair as she kissed his forehead repeatedly.  

“You, and it, and you could have...” Only squeaks followed, Carole hugging his head as she broke down. “You nearly died, James! You nearly flippin’ well died, you silly bloody thing! Why did you do it, love? What happened?” 

He winced, feeling slightly smothered, the scent of her very strong perfume a little too much for his senses as she continued to hug him. “Like I just said to dad, it’s how I feel all the time. Just hollow, innit. Don’t wanna be here.”  

Straightening, her hands went to her hips, cocking her head. “That’s bloody absurd!” 

Oh, here she was.  

“Carole,” her husband warned, “go easy. He doesn’t need chewing out right now.” 

“I beg very much to differ!” Turning back to her eldest, she stared at him with wide eyes, James desiring nothing more than wishing he could unfasten himself and put some distance between them. “James, you need to snap out of this. Acting glum is one thing, but trying to kill yourself, without a second thought for your family?” 

“Carole,” Alan spoke again, looking exasperated. 

“It’s all this bloody black metal, isn’t it? Corpse paint and death! Bleakness and sorrow, you’re bringing it on yourself!”  

Alan was just about to speak, his son getting in first. “Mum, I love you to bits, I do. That isn’t anything to do with it. Stop looking for things to blame it on. I’m not happy and I could listen to all that pop music shit like Sam does and it wouldn’t make a fucking difference, I-” 

“Language!” she cut in with. 

“Oh, piss off!” 

“Don’t you bloody talk to me like that, my boy!” she raged through her tears, Alan standing up and moving quickly to her side of the bed. 

“Come on, this isn’t happening now. He ain’t in the state to hear you being irrational. Go wait outside for me. Drink your tea and have a ciggie, calm down a bit, eh.” Picking up the paper cup, he steered his wife in the direction of the door, shushing her when she made further attempts at protest. “I know you’re upset, petal, but this isn’t about you. Go on, now.” 

Shutting the door, he turned back to the bed, taking a very deep breath. “Better?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, dad,” he confirmed, the unpleasant feeling in his stomach that his mother’s tirade had left beginning to sink again. It wasn’t her fault really; she was just very highly strung. She only did it because she loved her children deeply, but he and his younger sister Sam did often feel either stifled or prickled by Carole’s particular brand of parenting. “Can you do something else for me?” 

“Of course I can, lad.” 

He beckoned with a little jerk of his head. “Can you scratch my nose, just above the piercing? It’s driving me more mental than I already am.” 

Alan beamed, wheezing a soft laugh. “Must be, kidda.” Reaching, he scratched at his nose, patting his cheek gently once done before he sat down again. “I remember when you did that. Ice, a whacking great bit darning needle, and blood all over the sink. Daft sod, eh.” 

A doctor came in to check on him not long afterwards, telling him that for the immediate moment, he was being restrained under the mental health act on a temporary hold, subject to further assessment come the morning. He wouldn’t be allowed out of his restraints, or transferred to a ward. He would stay where he was until a bed was found at a psychiatric facility, the doctor assuring him they’d attempt to find somewhere within the Warwickshire area.  

His dad only stayed a further ten minutes after that, James feeling woozy again after being administered a sleeping pill, the doctor feeling it best for him to stay medicated in order to rest after his ordeal.  

“I’ll come by tomorrow on me dinner break to see you. Love you all the world, lad.”  

Not being particularly affectionate, he didn’t expect to hear the same back, but the smile his son gave confirmed it. Poor kid, he truly couldn’t comprehend just how bent out of shape he was at that moment, but he could at least take some comfort in the fact that the problem he’d tried to pretend didn’t exist for so long was finally being treated.  

As for James, all he could do as he fell into a synthetically delivered sleep was despair that he was still there to be treated at all.  

[batmanie]

maybe 43.  “Your muscles are in knots. Better let me rub you down.” with ak scriddler..? only if u want to of course

Uncharacteristically quiet, Edward was resting in Scarecrow’s favorite spot on the tattered corduroy couch. The said, sorry piece of furniture was placed in the middle of the claustrophobic, windowless space that was the Master of Fear’s current ‘base of operations’. A storage unit for rent wasn’t really meant for people to live in, which made it a perfectly good hideout – or so Jonathan Crane thought.

Yet, the Riddler had apparently found it with ease.

The man in green was sitting with his arms crossed, saying nothing – looking like a ticking bomb about to explode. It bothered Crane a bit, but not as much as it thrilled him. Unusual behavior in his patients had always been his favorite subject to study.

He didn’t ask Nigma a single thing as he joined him on the couch, he simply watched the man taking off his heavy boots and stretching out his legs – making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.

Coming to Scarecrow’s lair tonight was not a part of their arrangement. They used to schedule quick hookups every now and then, but this visit was a surprise.

In fact, Jonathan would have thought Edward to lay low for a while, especially after his recent break out from Arkham. Riddler seeking out Scarecrow and then not proposing any scheme, and not even saying what he wanted? It didn’t quite add up.

Curious, doctor Crane tried to be discrete as he studied the man’s face for more answers.

Perhaps this silent treatment was a game of sorts? Knowing Riddler, everything was but a game, and the childish man never wanted to lose.

Recently, there were rumors about the Riddler getting ill, refusing to eat and suddenly collapsing in his cell at the asylum. Rumors had it, the man had been hospitalized, however, this seemed to be the part of Edward’s escape plan as he had broken out from the medical wing, no longer than a few days after these events.

Edward didn’t look sick, he looked like he always did with his wrinkled forehead, short brown hair and his clean-shaven chin. But he was too quiet. His gaze, usually intense, seemed kind of absent – or maybe he deliberately avoided Crane’s preying eyes?

He didn’t look sick but he did look stressed out, clutching both his elbows with his trembling fingers. He was holding his breath, as if he waited for the right moment to say something reckless.

Jon knew something was up, yet, he didn’t care to ask.

Finally, after a few long minutes passing between them in a complete silence, Riddler decided to speak up. “I… I’m here to…” he faltered and bit down his lower lip.

Jon had never seen Edward struggling to share his mind like this before.

“You’re tense,” he stated the obvious, cutting Nigma off and making him turn his head to look at Jon. There was a hint of surprise in his gaze. Surprise and something else, akin to sadness.

“I have to tell you…”

“Don’t,” Jon interrupted, trying to keep his voice neutral but it still came out rude.

Edward stared at him, eyes wide. Shocked? Or a little scared maybe?

“It can wait,” Jon added, this time much softer. “I can see you’re quite stressed out, darlin’.”

He reached out to touch Edward’s left arm, to feel how tense his body was under his green blazer.

“Your muscles are in knots. Let me rub you down first.”

There was an unspoken question in Riddler’s eyes, and even more hesitation in his body language.

The man licked his own lips and sighed heavily. “Fine,” he nodded, lacking any signs of appreciation for Jon’s generous offer.

Scarecrow stood up from his own couch, making space for Nigma to lay down on his stomach across the dirty cushions.

Burying his face in the fabric of a pillow, Edward hid himself from the world, and from Jonathan’s gaze.

The doctor didn’t mind, he approached his guest from behind, trying to straddle his back, however, with his stiff, injured left leg dangling from the couch, this position turned out to be extremely uncomfortable for Scarecrow.

He didn’t say a word of complaint, and in return he heard a muffled sound of discomfort coming from the man beneath him. A pleasant little noise, indicating that Jonathan’s body weight, unimpressive as it was, still didn’t go unnoticed.

Getting to the task, Jon placed both hands on Edward’s back, letting him get used to the touch. After a second or two, he moved his long, slender palms up to the man’s upper back. Making small circles, he concentrated on the neck muscles, pressing a little harder wherever he felt stiffness.

He was patient and methodical in his work, as he knew patience was everything when dealing with the Riddler. And in due time, he got results.

Edward visibly relaxed, his body became less tense and more accustomed to Jonathan’s touch. The small sounds of pain and discomfort turned into relieved exhales. Jon was pleased with his work.

He was starting to like this new, silent Edward, who for once was not arguing or correcting Jon. He thought, he could get an advantage from Riddler’s unexpected visit, and his strangely agreeable mood. There was more than one way to help him relax, and why not making this evening enjoyable for both of them?

He was playing with this tempting idea in his head when he noticed something worrying. Edward’s breathing pattern had changed, suddenly turning uneven.

Scarecrow paused, observing Riddler’s reaction with a hint of concern.

The man, who so far kept his both arms buried under the cushion, now had them trembling slightly. His face was still hidden from Crane, but judging by the sounds he made, it seemed that Nigma was… sobbing?

This caught Scarecrow off-guard. A display of emotions, not triggered by his fear toxin, was not something that happened often between the two of them. They weren’t even that close. They might have this friends with benefits relationship going, but it was always more about the benefits than being friends.

Confused, Crane froze in place. Was he supposed to do something? Say something? Or just walk away?

The situation at hand took him far out of his comfort zone. He was unwilling to deal with Nigma’s emotional crisis right now, even though he was probably the most capable person to deal with such a thing – having a doctorate in psychology.

He didn’t want to be in this position, but it wasn’t right to leave Edward like this either. Sincere or not, he could do as much as to spare a few empty words of consolation for his pathetic partner.

“Edward…?” he started and immediately regretted it, not being able to empathize with the other man in any way.

“It’s alright, Edward,” he finally told him.

“No, it’s not!” Came the angry reply.

Then, after a few shaky breathes, there was a familiar, high-pitched voice again: “Riddle me this. I’m silent as the deepest sea. I’m laying still but cannot sleep. You shall commit me to the Mother Earth, for I have already turned to dirt. What am I?”

Scarecrow said nothing.

He didn’t wish to know the answer. If ignorance was bliss… what was knowledge?

He didn’t ask for this riddle and he didn’t ask what exactly was wrong with Edward. What did it matter anyway? Whatever it was, Jon couldn’t do a damn thing about it!

He had no words of comfort, no compassion in his heart. He had nothing to offer Edward under this circumstances. And what did Edward even expect from him in the first place?

Instead of answering the riddle, he continued to rub the man’s back in the gentlest, most sensual manner he possibly managed.

It was the least he could do for Edward.

Being a villain meant dying alone.

[klausysworld]

Hey there, amazing person! I just broke my elbow and had to go in for surgery. I am now in a lot of pain and could use a pick me up. Could you do a fluffy Kol x reader where the reader is super freaked about the surgery and even though he doesn't know how any of the stuff works, he still stays as long as he can to comfort her. Then when she wakes up Kol is super sweet and stays the whole first night even though she keeps him up cuz she's in pain. Please 🙏 I need this in my life!

I’ll always stay

You woke up in the hospital with immense pain shooting through your body, your face was stained with tears as you brought your hand to touch the source of your discomfort

“i wouldn’t do that darling, it’ll only hurt more” you whipped your head round to see Kol in the chair next to you, he was leant forward and looking at your arm

“it’s broken…you have to have surgery” your face paled as he spoke those words and tears spilled over your cheeks when you shifted and felt your elbow move. A choked cry left your mouth as you stared at your arm

“no no…oh it hurts Kol! it hurts!” He was on his feet in an instant and gently held your hand that wasn’t attached to your injured arm.

“We’ll get some more pain stuff okay? NURSE!?” he started screaming for the nurse repeatedly

“I NEED A NURSE! DOCTOR! SURGEON!??” you couldn’t hold in your little laugh as he waved his arm around like a mad man to capture the attention of a doctor

“YES! you. here now please, we need drugs so she feels better…like not in pain better not like high…unless you think that could help i mean-“

“Kol…i don’t think he’s gonna let me get high just cuz i broke my elbow” the doctor stood there in silence as Kol tap on the button that gives you pain medication

“sir, she’s at the max medication, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait till the surgery, its very soon and then when you wake up it should start feeling a little better” you nodded and the doctor looked at your elbow

“you’re not going to be able to do some things for a while…”

“thats fine i can do everything for them, cook, clean whatever the need i got it, you can go now” he responded quickly and ushered the man out

he turned back to find you trying to get comfortable, Kol sighed and sat beside you and gently rubbed your legs

“well..surgery isn’t too far away…i can read to you? well i’ll just tell you a story…maybe from my past? i don’t have a book on me but, you know its fine i’ll wing it” you offered a smile and he kissed your forehead before beginning his story

———————————————————————

“okay we’re going to count to ten and we need you to just take deep breaths, you’ll start to feel tired, that’s normal and it’s a good thing. The surgery wont last too long and when you wake your pretty boyfriend will probably still be here okay?” you followed the instructions and fell into a sleep like situation

———————————————————————

Your head lulled to the side as you felt your body shift, you noticed an arm around your waist and then saw Kol snoring with his head on your stomach as he barely hung on the end of the hospital bed making you giggle and pet his hair listening to him mumble in his sleep. You went to move your other arm but the sharp pain stabbed through you again and you gasped a cry. Kol’s head snapped up at the sound of your stress and he fell of the bed

“what in the- oh crap- are you okay? does it still hurt you want me to go get-“ you cut him off by shaking your head while he scrambled to his feet and pulled the chair over to you

“no it’s fine i just, just stay please”

“i’ll always stay… i managed to download Netflix on my phone if you wanna pick something” his brows were furrowed and he tapped on the screen before shimmying over so you could both see the range of films and shows

you watched as he scrolled through the different genres with a concentrated expression and you found yourself smiling fondly

“you look cute when you’re serious” you told him and his eyes darted to yours as a smug smirk tugged at his lips

“mm and you always look cute my darling, could just eat you up” you laughed at that and leaned towards him, he entwined your good hand with his and pressed play on your favourite film. He would stay, you knew he would, he would always stay, for you.

(i know it’s short but i really hope it still lifts your spirits a bit, i hope the pain decreases and you start feeling better soon. I wish you the chance ti find your own Kol Mikaelson and a better rest of 2023 🤍)

[nerdyqueerandjewish]

obviously these things are not all on the same scale but the compounding of personal, communal, and global events just have me 🫠

- End of Sept my beloved childhood dog had to be put down

- October 7th, Hamas attack

- October 9th, get a call from my dad that he’s flying in because grandma unexpectedly took a downturn

- October 10th, nervously waiting for my dad’s update all day. Finally get it and hear that things are critical but stable. He feels optimistic after talking to the doctor. He was able to talk to her too. She’s too tired in the evening because dialysis is tiring,but I should visit tomorrow.

- October 11th wake up early and can’t go back to sleep. Go get coffee just for something to do. Gets call at 6:58 from my dad and I know it can’t be good. Go to the hospital. See her. Give the doctors permission to start palliative care so she’s more comfortable. Hold her hand. Give her so many forehead kisses. She cant talk, but she tears up when I tell her how much I love her and my future plans. My dad is wearing a stupid fucking pro-cop shirt and I can’t help but be angry about how clueless he is and for adding this stupidity to a day that’s going to be etched into my brain for the rest of my life. Every 15 minutes or so when the nurse checks in, they remind us that there no rush, but we can take her oxygen mask off whenever we are ready. When are we ready? How are we ever ready? We know she doesn’t want to be kept on life support. Are we ready? We know she is experiencing some discomfort all hooked up like that. Are we ready? Let’s wait for one more person to get here. Are we ready? We wish she could tell us what she wanted. Are we ready? After everyone got to say goodbye. I think my partner was the one to finally suggest that it was time and I agreed. Or was it me who said it? My dad was looking for any input. An only child, not wanting to make these decisions alone. I slip into my historic role of eldest daughter, not even much younger than him anymore, knowing a decision is better than no decision. My sister and I each have one of her hands. As soon i can no longer hear her last exhale, the doctor comes in to declare her time of death. People spend different amounts of time after. My sister has to go back to work. My dad stays around, then says he’s going to grab his sweatshirt from his truck, then texts and says he’s going to find somewhere for us to get brunch. I spend about an hour with her after she was gone. Holding her hand, kissing her forehead, rubbing her arm until it’s completely cold. It takes longer than I’d thought. I keep a lock of her hair. It’s hard to leave her bedside. Next time I touch her body it will be pulverized bone that I’m trying to scoop into a locket. My partner and I get brunch with my dad.

This grief is by far the most difficult thing I’ve had to deal with in my life, and I don’t think my life has been particularly easy. She was the source of unconditional love I could depend on in my life. She was only 68 so I took for granted there would be more time. I’m able to cling to knowing that she was ready even if I wasn’t, that she had a peaceful death with people she loved. Meanwhile I’m seeing headlines every day grief multiplied over and over again, learning more about the attack, learning more about the Israeli military response escalating, bombings, bringing more and more death and grief. Violent deaths with last moments that haunt and terrify me. Deaths where the mourners do not get the comfort that I’ve been clinging to. Grieve for Jews and I have people who I consider my peers deciding that this means I’m some sort of right wing nationalist who doesn’t give a shit about Palestinians. Grieve for Palestinians, and people in my community think I’m some sort of self hating jew who believes terrorists attacks are justified. Feeling rejection on multiple fronts when shit is real. Even writing it I can hear a response of “really, feeling rejection is hurting you? People are dying!” And it’s like YES- people dying doesn’t mean that suddenly we no longer experience the human need for connection AND the thing that’s causing this rejection is seeing people��s humanity and CARING ABOUT THOSE DEATHS.

Really I just don’t know how a person can’t see their own grief and pain reflected back again and again in other people.

Don’t really have a point to this aside from the fact that this is definitely warping my brain in new and exciting ways but just shout out to people who are dealing with Major World Events and Major Life Events at the same time time. It sucks ass.

[mirrortouchedsea]

Ah, the hospital. Shu always hated the hospital. So…sterile, so clean. It was for the health of the patients, obviously, but it wouldn’t kill them to add some color somewhere. A nice painting would do wonders, especially in this room. He’s…not really sure why a child was in this wing, a place usually reserved for the elderly. Children’s rooms in hospitals tended to be brighter, more colorful. Everyone deserved that. 

Reaping children was a hard job, even for someone immortal like himself. A life cut too short by illness, violence, or sheer accident was always a tragedy. Nobody liked to do it but Shu volunteered for it every time. It was painful, but he wanted the children to be in a comforting presence as they passed on. Something he hadn’t been granted in his own time. The girl on the bed was sick. She wasn’t due to die for a few days yet but he thought he could spend a few days with her before then. At least, for part of them. Death never waits, after all. 

Shu often comes in during the early hours when visiting the sick children. If they’re awake, they may be able to see him, talk to him. He smiles and laughs at their bad jokes, listens to their woes. It is easier to move on with someone you trust by your side after all. 

He comes in around 2am to visit the most recent addition to his list. She has a few weeks yet but her condition is terminal. When he makes eye contact with her, she curls up in her hospital bed. Maguro Mikejima, the name on her files read. He smiles. 

“Hello, Maguro.” Children, he had realized, were more responsive to their first names. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

She uncurls slightly, though still eyes him with a wary look. “W-who are you?” 

He kneels by her bedside. “You can call me Shu. How are you feeling?” 

“Are you one of the doctors?” 

“Something like that.” 

She relaxes. “My brother told me not to talk to strangers but…if you’re a doctor then it’s okay.” Shu takes note of a small stuffed toy sitting next to her on the bed. 

“I just want to make sure you’re feeling okay. Are you having trouble sleeping?” 

“Mmm…I dunno. Sometimes I guess, like right now. It kind of hurts to breathe.” 

“I see…” Shu raises a hand and looks at Maguro, waiting for a sign that he could go on. She nods, somewhat hesitantly, but it’s enough. Shu places his hand on her forehead and channels his energy into her. It was a temporary solution and his magic could only make things easier. It wouldn’t work on the underlying problem. She should be fine for the rest of the night at least. “Does that feel any better?” 

“Mmm!” She hums happily. 

“Good. I have to go now, but I’ll see you again soon, okay?” He held out his hand in a pinky promise, another thing he realized children liked. 

“You promise?” She wraps her own pinky around his. 

“I promise.”

[simpforfic]

The tiger and The tamer PT.2

Thank you so much for reading the first part, here is your gift for the support <3

WARNING: mentions of n33dl3s but it isn't too descriptive

Word count: 1072 words

Part 1 <- Part 3 <- Masterlist <-

As the guards put a shock collar on Horangi and slowly led him out, we both locked eyes. How golden eyes bearing into my soul like in the morning but our small eye contact was broken when one of the guards pushed him to go. Something about his eyes made my heart beat a bit faster but I can’t tell why, I brushed off the feeling remembering I have more important matters on my hand. 

Horangi hissed when he stepped onto the white blinding hallway, “Can’t they just dim the lights a bit, it's so bright here. Wish I still had my glasses.” “Horangi, you broke them when you trained 2 days ago.” He gave me a small side glance with those beautiful eyes as we both continued walking down the white hallway. He started some small talks about life outside the lab and stuff like that, Horangi turned to me before asking me, “When do I get out?”. I turned to him with a puzzled look, “You know, like finally getting out of this place and interacting with the outside world again.” “Sorry but for that one I can’t answer, only the higher up decides when you get out..” His ears fell down but he continued looking forward. I felt bad that I can't fulfil his wishes but if I dare to break a rule in this lab, my life will be on the line.

We finally arrived at our destination, the medic wing. Horangi’s tail seemed to sway a bit more than usual when he saw the red cross symbol on the door. “Really another medical test? Didn’t I already do one just yesterday?”Horangi rolled his eyes as he was ushered into the medical bay with me going in after him.  

“Ahh, welcome back, Horangi and Dr Y/N.” Dr Valentin greeted us both with his same cocky tone. 

“Well hello doctor, We are here for the physical exam for Horangi.”

“Wunderbar, come this way.”, he led Horangi on to those hospital beds you see when you are in for a check up. The sound of the paper lining crunching as he sat down felt uncomfortable. I always hated that sound, Dr Valentin turned towards me. He warned me with a stern tone, “I would recommend you leave the room. We are gonna do some blood tests.” I gave him a small nod as the peach coloured curtains got closed by his nurse who I didn’t notice. I always felt sick looking at needles, I sat down on a chair beside the curtains. 

After 5 minutes, the curtains opened again to reveal Horangi’s tight sleeve rolled up above his wrist. I could see a small patch of red on his wrist where I assume the needle was in. The nurse puts the test tube full of blood into a small box before carrying it out the door to the lab. “Now Onto the Physical test, Horangi please stand on the weight.”. 

It took only around 4 minutes for Horangi to finish his physical exam from weighing him to checking his blood pressure. But as Horangi was escorted by a guard to the sparring testing chamber, Dr Valentin asked me to stay back for a while. “Dr Y/N, here a file from higher up.” He laid down a file with a big red classified stamp on it, looking at Dr Valentin with concern and confusion. I opened it, The first thing that caught my eyes was the title ACCIDENT #12, SUBJECT…, “W-what is this?” “There was an Incident with a random subject, where the Subject had slowly become aggressive and territorial with their doctors in charge. It wasn’t until the subject attacked a guard for trying to have a small conversation with their Doctor…” 

My brows knit together as I heard Valentin's statement, so I pressed him for more info. “Do you know the cause of this sudden aggression?” “The subject was a lion hybrid unlike Horangi who is a Haetae hybrid. We found out that the subject can experience mating seasons..” My brain stopped functioning for a minute as it tried to process what Valentin just told me. “WAIT THEY CAN GO THROUGH THAT?!” “Calm down, the reason why the higher ups made me tell you this is because, we are worried that most animals or animal-like hybrids will go through this heat. For example Horangi.”

I stared deep into his soul with wide eyes, I knew Horangi is a Haetae but the tiger variant but I never knew he could go through heat. “So what are they gonna do? And how are we gonna know if Horangi can even go through heat?”, he only shrugged. That did not do jack shit, “We only can observe from afar, Y/N. In the file there is a list of things that you should watch out for. If you spot more than 3 things then you should instantly report it to me or higher up.” I flipped the page to see the list of behaviour to keep an eye out, letting out a defeated sigh I gave Dr Valentin a small nod but as I reached the door ready to go to the sparring testing chamber. I turned around to ask, “Is this issued to all the doctors or only doctors in-charge of Animal or Animal-like hybrids?” “All doctors..”. With that I gave him a goodbye and closed the door behind me.

Horangi’s POV

As I stood in the testing chamber waiting for Dr Y/N, my mind won’t shut up about her. Something about her just keeps on distracting me, is it her eyes?, her laugh or body? “UGHHH WHY CAN;T SHE STAY OUT MY MIND!” I screamed at myself mentally as I let out a strong punch onto the concrete wall beside me leaving a small crack in it’s wake.

My ears stood up as I heard the door to the glass panel above this testing chamber open, Dr Y/N and another doctor stepped in the viewing station. "Okay Horangi, you will be fighting against a dragon hybrid. Please get ready." As the metal door in front of me opened to reveal a random dragon hybrid with red wings and a red slender tail. I cracked my knuckles and bend my head to the left, I gave my challenger a small grin before the lights when dim enough to not harm my eyes.

"Let's do this."