#Combat Medic Training Exercises

[lauraneedstochill]

silence my storm

pairing: Jack Abbot x resident!reader summary: Abbot falls harder for you without even noticing, but he struggles to apologize for what he said. He might lose you before he finds the right words. part 2 of Can’t pretend

warnings: rivals to <friends> to lovers, slow burn, implied age gap (you can ignore it) / descriptions of war; mentions of dr*gs, horrible parenting and losing loved ones, dealing with PTSD and panic attacks / PITTFEST (mass shooting, blood and injuries), ANGST. but there’s a silver lining! ♡ / words: 9.5K / author’s note: I imagine Danny Glover as Donny because that man would def talk some sense into Jack ♡ this part is intense so buckle up! / {you also can read it on AO3}

As long as Abbot can remember, he always managed to stand out. He was unruly as a kid, flouting authority and speaking out against injustice. He got teased for his skin sprinkled with freckles, for curls that turned auburn in the sun; he was hated for his inability to yield. The same attitude got him into the army, the same relentlessness helped him push through the combat training — in ten weeks some men were broken and remolded to fit in; but not Jack. He was resilient and fast and competent — with first aid, hand grenades, and rifles, during the obstacle course and field exercises; he joked that it felt like a summer camp. It also felt like the perfect place for him, and the medic training only strengthened his resolve. He didn’t seek attention but he attracted people with his biting humour and his never-fading perseverance. And he believed he could withstand it all.

Then he got deployed to hotspots, to places where the earth under his feet was scorched by blasts, heat dizzying, pulse throbbing in his head. And he watched as the villages were flattened to the ground, vehicles made of steel reduced to wrecks, and half of the things he’d learned before were proven useless. It left him hardened but it didn’t break him. Because somehow Jack always knew the way and the right words, because if he could save a life a day, it was all worth it.

But then came the war zones, and those weren’t about saving as much as they were about survival: on battlefields, in trenches, on desert wastelands that stretched on for miles, sand swirling in the air, legs heavy with fatigue, skin slick with sweat. And death tore people limb from limb, never a negotiator but a butcher, only allowing Jack to dig more graves. Those years flayed him of his assurance and his ardor, and he was knocked down, beaten, maimed, his body scarred and heart shattered, the damage that seemed irreparable, pain that left so many soldiers hopeless. But Jack got right back up.

And he got rougher at the edges and he talked less, but he decided to give life another chance. Jack studied with the same diligence and he threw himself into his work, as persevering as before, as tough as ever. The patients found his stoic demeanor calming, and other doctors respected him for cutting to the chase and thinking quickly. And undeniably, there is some comfort in being the one people can rely on, a beacon that guides through the darkest nights.

But you make Jack feel like he is invisible. And that’s a first.

It would make sense for you to glare in his direction, to let hostility cut through your tone when he’s around. You do none of that. On Monday, when Robby finally comes back — sunglasses tucked in his hoodie pocket, a giant cup of coffee in his hand, a smile so big his cheeks must hurt — you rush in barely a minute after and greet him, quite warmly. You say nothing to Jack although he’s standing right there next to him. Jack stops himself from following you with his gaze and listens to your retreating footsteps. It’s Dana who is glaring at him.

Robby is yet to notice it, his eyes on the board. “I see, the house is packed as always. How’s everyone been doing?”

“Peachy,” Dana deadpans, then moves a medical tablet to him with one hand. “Enjoy.”

His smile wavers at her tone, his gaze darting from her to Jack. “And how is our new senior resident?”

Abbot doesn’t meet his eyes. “Good.”

“Okay, what’s with the one-word answers?”

Princess rolls her chair closer with a smirk: “She’s very good.” Robby groans and she huffs. “What? It was more than one word! Everyone’s so cranky post-COVID.”

“First of all, my test came back negative so it was not COVID. And I do not appreciate you guys trying to ruin my mood this early in the morning,” Robby remarks although he doesn’t sound offended.

But his gaze wanders back to Jack as if he can read something from his reticence, as if he had suspicions before he even came through the doors. “Dr. Abbot, why don’t you tell me about the patients admitted overnight?” Robby suggests nonchalantly. “Come on, let’s take a walk. I’ve heard it’s good for health.”

Jack’s thinking of an excuse to stay. But then he sees you coming back, fresh scrubs on and face focused, and he almost turns around after you, he almost calls out your name. He has to reason with himself: it shouldn’t be a public conversation, you’d never want it to be. And he is yet to find the words for his regret. So he complies with Robby.

They step away, and Jack looks down at the screen, a colored spreadsheet with names and traumas. Robby cautiously looks around. And then he asks:

“So, back to the new resident. Are you getting along?”

Jack accidentally walks into a gurney someone left behind, curses under his breath and forces out: “Like I said, everything’s good.”

Robby hums, hardly convinced and clearly concerned. But not surprised. “You know what I’ve been thinking of recently?”

“I’m sure you are about to tell me.”

“You coming to work here. Remember your first few weeks?”

Those weren’t easy — not to live through, not to reminiscent of. Jack can recall some bland moments and hollow dialogues, a lot of pitying glances given to him. He had to bury his wife six months prior to that.

“I know I wasn’t a ray of sunshine—”

“You were kinda insufferable,” but Robby’s brown eyes are filled with sympathy as he says that. “I mean, obviously no one blamed you. I can only imagine how hard it was in the beginning.”

A crease settles in between Jack’s brows. “And you are reminding me of it why exactly?”

Robby stops, his hand landing on Jack’s shoulder. “Listen, we all adapt to new environment at our own pace. It’s easier for some people but for others, it can take time. And we, as the attendings, should give them that time and not take anything personally or rush to conclusions. If someone isn’t an open book, it may mean they have reasons to keep things to themselves.”

Jack only gives him a confused nod; although the words make sense to him, he can’t grasp their full meaning. “Okay?”

“Glad we are on the same page,” Robby gives him a pat and swiftly turns around.

“What about the patients?”

“Oh, I skimmed through the list, I’ll look up the rest if I need to. Go get some sleep.”

And Jack surely needs it. But Robby’s words stay on his mind, and the incomprehension bugs him, so much so that he comes back to the nurse station. Dana ignores him, loudly tapping on the same one key. He leans to her, lowering his voice:

“Was I insufferable when I first started here?”

“Why the past tense? You aren’t any better now,” she quips dryly.

He can’t hold back a heavy sigh, and when Dana casts a glance at him, he is equally tired and contrite. She grants him some reassurance, albeit begrudgingly.

“You were fine, Jack. All things considered. We knew you’ve been through some tough times. But you are a damn good doctor, and that’s all that matters,” she looks back at the computer. “Although you did scare half of our staff with your silent staring and your tactical knife. Please tell me you don’t have that thing with you.”

“I will refrain from answering that,” Jack straightens up, and her short chuckle gives him hope.

If only approaching you was just as simple.

It’s not that Jack cannot admit that he was in the wrong. Taking accountability for your mistakes helps you to learn from them, his therapist once told him, and words can hurt as much as they can heal. Jack’s had his fair share of hard conversations and harsh truths, and he would never shy away from either. But when he thinks of your heartbroken gaze, his usual equanimity escapes him, and no apology seems good enough to make up for his outburst. Still, he owes it to you to try.

Jack hopes to seize the moment before his night shift, he spends the day gluing together a small speech: he was unfair, he was wrong, he’s sorry. His gaze finds you as soon as he steps into the ER — a habit he doesn’t know how to get out of (nor does he want to). It’s almost laughable how hard it is for him to summon up the courage, it feels like every step to you takes twice as long. He is about to say it — Hey, can we please talk — but you breeze on by him, and then it is too late. Jack persuades himself the timing wasn’t right: he doesn’t want to distract you from your work, he’ll wait until you get a couple of free minutes.

You do not spare him even a second of your time.

It doesn’t seem unfounded: you are busy with patients, you help the nurses with case files, you keep an eye on Whitaker, and offer guidance to anyone who asks for it. Jack’s persuasion wavers but he clings to it, he is dead set on fixing things, he’s never been a quitter.

But your determination is a match for his — and you are awfully proficient at silent treatment.

One day of Jack’s futile attempts bleeds into two, then three, then a full week. And every time you walk past him like he doesn’t exist, like bones and tissues he is made of turned to dust. It should be a relief that you don’t make a scene; instead, your coldness wounds him, a deep incision somewhere at his ribs. And Jack is torn — he wants to put more effort in, he is afraid of taking it too far: it will not help his case if he ruins your lunch break or creeps up on you at the locker room. And it will make him reek of desperation.

But the uncertainty starts gnawing on him, a new bite with each day he fails. The short apology he crafted loops through his mind non-stop — until it sounds like a useless jumble of words, until Jack isn’t even sure him talking to you will not make things worse. You come and leave on time, you offer him no mercy, you master your avoidance as if he is a plague. And Jack is plagued with agitation, and by the third week he is already losing sleep: if he wasn’t desperate before, now he sure as hell is.

Jack checks his phone again because he keeps mixing up the days: it’s Tuesday, he came an hour early and hasn’t seen you yet. He pootles to the vending machine to give coffee another chance to wake him — and suddenly catches a familiar voice.

“Darling, I truly do not want to be a bother, but I have a friend here and I was wondering if you can —”

“Donny?”

It’s been a few years but he hasn’t changed one bit — six feet tall, gaze sharp but eyes warm, russet brown, short grey hair that looks silver against his dark skin, a charming half-smile. He’s also got a huge bruise on his forehead, and there’s a wheelchair he’s ignoring, leaning on the table with one arm.

Princess grins at the man and nods at Jack. “This is the friend?”

“No, this is my biggest pain in the ass,” Donny retorts but his smile grows bigger.

Jack smiles back and walks to him. “Of course, you can’t live out your retirement in peace. Did you head the ball again, sergeant?”

“You’re just jealous 'cause you suck at basketball,” Donny unceremoniously hugs him. But his poise falters slightly when Jack looks closer at his injury. “Apparently, I need a head CT. I keep telling 'em it’s no big deal —”

Jack shakes his head, silently tapping on the chair — Donny rolls his eyes and sits down without protest. “Page me when radiology is ready to take him,” Abbot tells Princess, then smoothly wheels Donny away. “Let’s get you comfortable in the meantime.”

“Do I get a cute nurse?” Donny curiously glances around. “Who can you page to sneak me a Margarita in here?”

“You get me and a cup of ice you can munch on.”

“Jesus, you do know how to kill the buzz.”

“This is me giving you preferential treatment.”

“Aw, you are honoring our unshakable camaraderie? Or have you gotten softer with age, Abbot?”

“It’s neither, but if you die on my watch, Martha will skin me alive.”

“Actually, she’d probably drink to it — we divorced last year.”

“Good for her.”

Donny snorts with laughter, boisterous and unapologetic, slapping Jack’s hand wrapped around the handle. He is about to talk back but then someone catches his attention — Donny turns his head, and his voice turns mellow:

“Oh, here you are, my angel! I was looking for you. Should’ve known the best doctors are the busiest.”

Jack pulls up short — not in reaction to Donny’s words but at the sight of you, standing a few feet away and looking right in his direction. And then the strangest thing happens — a miracle like an oasis in a desert, like a flower blooming in the dead of winter: you smile.

Jack’s breathing hitches.

And he watches like you a blind man who’s seeing sunrise for the first time in his life. It’s faint but undeniably sincere — joy dancing at the corners of your lips as you come near, your gaze kind when you talk to Donny. “Haven’t I told you to take it easy?”

“You know I can’t sit still, I like doing things. I’ll rest when I’m in the grave.”

“And I’d rather it happen later than sooner,” the words are stern but your voice is gentle, caring — something Jack suddenly wishes to deserve too. But you talk to Donny as if there’s just the two of you. “What was it this time?”

“That atrocious painting! I swear Martha superglued that thing to the wall. I spent an hour trying to tear it off, had to go grab a ladder. And I don’t know, maybe I slipped on the puddle of my own sweat,” he grumbles, a tad bit embarrassed. “And now I’m waiting for you guys to stuff me inside that noisy metal barrel. I better not get stuck in that thing.”

“You’ll fit just fine,” you say simply, gaze grazing his head: nothing too alarming for you to stare at. “You can close your eyes and pretend that you’re on a beach. Somewhere in Santa Monica, just like last summer.”

“Yeah, minus the imminent bump on my head,” he cackles. “Do you get lunch breaks in here? Will you come talk to me when you have a minute?”

“I’ll find you after you get a CT,” you promise — and then brush his shoulder with a quiet remark: “You are in good hands.”

And Jack can’t help another glance at you but you already round the corner to disappear somewhere in the hall. So he keeps his face straight and finds Donny a bed, then helps him sit against the pillows.

“You fell off a ladder? Should’ve mentioned it,” Jack takes the tablet and pulls up his medical records.

Donny squints at him. “Hmm, that’s weird. Man, what is this feeling...”

“What, does your head hurt? Vision getting blurry or —”

“It’s the tension between you two!” Donny hisses. “Why were you so awkward around her?”

Jack opens his mouth; then closes it, unsure. He’d love to know how you and Donny met but he doesn’t want to snoop around. His eyes are on the screen, his tone flat:

“Your angel, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t have a cute name for you. Your grumpy face doesn’t exactly call for it.”

“Luckily this face comes with a smart head and steady hands. That’s what you’d want from a doctor.”

“Well, aren’t you a modest one,” Donny doesn’t sound amused. “Now stop deflecting and tell me what’s going on. Were you hard on her, is that it?”

Jack wants to say yes. He was insensitive, he was an idiot, and now you’re giving him a cold shoulder, and it’s been driving him insane. But whining will not make things better. And Donny’s wisdom and support should be offered to you, not Jack.

Donny gives him a level stare. “Listen, I know seventy-eight doesn’t exactly instill fear. But I still can pack a hefty punch. And I swear I’ll punch you if you aren’t treating her right,” — and he immediately relents, his words in between a plea and a request. “Man, I’m serious. Go easy on her, the girl’s been through hell.”

“Haven’t we all?” Jack mumbles.

There is no bitterness and no harbored resentment — it’s just how life has been for Jack. And Donny is aware of that so he isn’t judging. He thinks over what he is about to say. Jack reads his file: irregular pulse, complaints of fatigue, some swelling of the legs.

“You know I’m not the one to sugarcoat all the crap we’ve been through,” Donny tells him bluntly, and it’s the truth. “When I hear random folks raving about their picture-perfect military days, I always call them out on their bullshit. But if there’s one thing I am grateful for, it’s the people. My closest friends are from the army and none are finer,” Donny holds a pause, like he is climbing over an imaginary fence, into an imaginary vault your secret’s hidden in — but not anymore. “Her brother was in the army too.”

Jack stops reading. He hesitates because he realizes right away that this is personal, this isn’t a story meant for just anybody to know. But then again, he knows nothing about you. How bad can this one story be? He looks up, and Donny continues.

“He was definitely one of the good ones. Damn, Sammy was a gem, such an enthusiastic kid. We served in Syria, and it was a shitstorm — well, you know what it’s like — but I can’t remember him complaining once. Good morals, quick reaction, awesome shooter.”

A happy ending is unlikely so Jack calculates the options: killed in combat or crossfire, body delivered in a sealed coffin. Or maybe never found, left somewhere in a foreign land, bones crumbling into dirt, a ghost that haunts his family for years.

“He got sent off to Kabul, a lot of snipers did. Back when Bush thought Al-Qaeda just ambles out in the open, waiting for the brave americans to show up and shoot everyone dead.”

“So, shitty planning?” Jack guesses.

“More like no planning. They got stranded in the mountains, Sammy and his squad. Lost contact with the base, half of them massacred within a week. He dodged a lot of bullets but he took a nasty fall — arm twisted backward, pulled his shoulder out of its socket.”

Jack instinctively grimaces. “That’s 11 out of 10 on the pain scale.”

“He gave it a 100. They were out of meds, completely lost, he was in and out of consciousness. Then, by sheer fucking luck, they found some tiny village, and one of the locals sheltered them. He was no doctor, and I’m sure he meant well... He suggested opium for the pain. The guys agreed.”

Abbot thinks he’d rather step on a landmine again. Any death in combat is a tragedy, but at least it’s quick. Addiction kills you slowly.

“They popped his shoulder back into place but the pain lingered,” — and Jack imagines torn ligaments and damaged blood vessels, the bruising changing color from red to blue. “It was hard to wear a backpack, hard to sleep at night.”

Abbot deduces grimly: “He needed more opium.”

“And he came back an addict,” Donny nods. “It wasn’t just opium, it never is. But Sammy did try to get better, I’ll give him that. Two years in support groups, in therapy, going from one rehab to another. And she would always follow him around, pay him visits, send him letters. She refused to give up on him, and he loved her to pieces, and we all wanted for him to get a grip… I wish I could tell you why he never did. He just kept falling off the wagon, and eventually, he ran out of money. So he borrowed some — from the people you should never be in debt to. And when he didn’t pay in time, they thought: what’s a better bargaining chip than his dear sister?”

Jack wishes he could go back in time and tell Donny he doesn’t want to hear this story. Heavy, hot rage already simmers in him — at the mere thought of someone hurting you; it also pains him deeply.

“They roughed her up, pretty badly. And one of them got out a gun — on trial, they insisted they didn’t mean to fire it, they just wanted to scare Sammy so he’d pay. The guy aimed at her but then a fight broke out, and someone pulled the trigger. Sammy pushed her away at the last second. The bullet went right through his heart. He probably died before those fuckers even managed to escape. When the cops arrived, they had to drag her away from his dead body. She was fifteen.”

Jack wants to bang his head against the wall.

And he thinks of you freezing at the doors, of how your gaze didn’t meet his when you were wiping off his blood, of your strained voice. And you weren’t reckless, weren’t prideful or condescending. You were afraid he might get hurt trying to keep you out of harm’s way. Because it happened to you once before, because it tore your heart in half. And his words made you relive that.

“It’s hard to bounce back after that. I don’t know how she did. Not with her parents' help, that’s for sure.”

Jack clears his throat; his voice is marked by sadness. “They aren’t very close?”

“I still can’t believe they are related,” Donny rants. “I’ve heard that money ruins people but her parents set a new low. Couldn’t say a single good word about their own son at his funeral. Didn’t care to console their daughter. They were ready to fuck off as soon as the priest gave his speech but she didn’t want to go. And they just left her at the cemetery, can you imagine? I was the one to give her a ride home. And I swear, at some point that evening I contemplated murder.”

And he doesn’t say the exact words, but Jack reads between the lines: you’ve got no other family. You had to grow up having no one to rely on.

“They wanted her to get a banking job. Said she shouldn’t spend her life digging into someone’s guts, it is not very lady-like. But she studied day and night, managed to get a scholarship — hell, I didn’t even know they offered those in med schools. The day after she got into residency, she cut ties with her parents. Haven’t spoken to them since. And I guess the silver lining is that she did become a good doctor, despite it all.”

Abbot gets paged to radiology. But his thoughts are far away — in his childhood home, at the dining table in the kitchen: here’s his mother with her contagious laughter, his father with the deep voice and crude jokes, the comfort of a family meal and sharing conversations. There were arguments too, even fights — his dad and he were too alike to compromise sometimes. But he knew that his parents would have his back, and they always did. Not getting that support as a child sounds hard, harrowing. You must’ve been very lonely.

Donny studies him for a moment. “So are you gonna tell me what you did or should I start throwing punches?”

After all the truth he’s just learned, it feels wrong to lie. “I... I did go hard on her. But I will apologize,” Jack says firmly and faithfully, like a vow. And he can’t help but admit: “You are right, she really is great.”

Donny can’t resist a chortle. “I’m always right. You should know by now.”

His CT comes clean but he does reluctantly complain of headache. Jack figures it’s a mild concussion and lists the basics: take paracetamol for the pain, rest for a week, no physical activity. No alcohol.

“Not even a splash of whiskey? Not even a tiny —” Donny reads no from Jack’s unblinking stare. “You are no fun, Abbot. Like, at all.”

“Your liver will thank me.”

“My liver is attached to me, and right now I’m not feeling very grateful,” but Donny isn’t aggrieved either because he swiftly adds: “Where’s that cup of ice I was promised?”

The walk to the ice machine and back takes Jack about five minutes. He hears your voice first — and he can tell you’re smiling just from the sound of it. Jack sees you from afar and gets his hunch confirmed: Donny is scrolling on his phone to show you something, his face expressions eliciting a laugh from you, genuine and carefree. And when you are like this — not wearing your usual defense, not rushing anywhere, not weighted down by every bad thing you had to live through — there’s so much light in you, Jack finds it hard to look away. Warmth threads through him, quiet and calming, and he can’t stop looking.

And he is drawn to steal more glances at you, like would a treasure hunter carefully steal pieces of art.

Jack catches on to small things: you mindlessly tap on the corner of the chart when you’re deep in thoughts, you often bite the inside of your lower lip while you are reading, eyes darting quickly from left to right. And he wonders what your favorite books are, and if you spend your evenings cozied up under the covers in the dim light of your bedroom. But what is readable to him under the LED lamps of the ER is weariness that spills under your eyes and tugs at your limbs, your voice quieter and your pace falling off a little.

On Wednesday you have to stay an extra hour when one of the patients goes into preterm labor: it ends with her hemorrhaging, blood trickling on the floor, and Robby steps in, and everyone is loud and maybe slightly panicking. You aren’t — still steady and unwincing and knowing all the right steps, no guidance needed, no mistakes made. But then you walk out and pull the edges of your sleeves down to your fingers, as if you’re cold, as if your grit is frailing, and it makes Jack’s heart ache. He grabs a knitted blanket he has stacked deep in his locker — thick, soft, bright plaid, a handmade gift from one of the army vets he treated years ago. He leaves it at the nurse station, as if by accident. You almost miss it on your way out, but then your eyes glide over it — and you can’t help but touch it, putting your whole palm onto the fluffy wool. It’s just a speck of comfort before you back away, hands quickly tucked in the small pockets of your denim jacket.

But the next day, when Jack trudges to the ER after another failed attempt to sleep, he sees that you’re already dressed to leave — your hoodie half a size too big, your hair down and head titled as you talk to Dana, — and you are holding to the blanket with your fingers, relaxed or tired enough not to fight a smile. He lingers at the doors and gazes at you for a long minute. And then he sneaks into one of the waiting rooms so your face won’t fall at the sight of him. When he comes out, you are gone, but the blanket still has some of your warmth. And he aches all over.

On Friday there’s a storm alert, and the evening comes dreary and drizzling. Jack isn’t surprised that they get a car crash victim barely ten minutes after he is in. It is a woman in her thirties — with a head injury and three broken ribs, clothes wet with rain and blood, her vitals weak. But somehow her daughter is intact, and she’s brought in by one of the paramedics: six years of age, tight curls and a tiara on her head, poofy dress that’s sky-blue and sparkling. And she can’t stop crying.

People are drawn to help — the nurses come to offer her kind words, to bribe her into calmness with some sweets. But her sobs turn into wails, cheeks red, and body shaking, and she’s too terrified of everything to be reasoned with. And Jack is bothered by how powerless he feels, how much he wants to be of help too but has no clue where to begin. There was a time when he really wanted kids; but recollecting it feels like reopening a wound he spent years on healing.

You emerge out of the trauma room and take the gown off with one swift motion, your gaze already on the girl. But you tread carefully, slowly, waiting until she sees you coming with her teary eyes. Then you crouch down next to her.

“Why is a princess crying in our hall? You are shedding tears all over your beautiful dress,” and your fingers smooth out the layers of satin and tulle, and she glances down at your hands. You give her a small smile: “You look just like Cinderella.”

She stops mid-sob, stares at you, then at her own dress again, bright sparks of glitter caught in the blue. She manages out, sniffling: “S-she is my fav-vorite.”

“Isn’t this what she wore to the ball where she met the prince?”

The girl goes quiet, wipes her nose. She gives you a nod — and then another one, more certain. Her words come out calmer: “Like in the movie.”

“Even prettier up close,” you assure her easily and wipe off her tears with your fingertips. She’s pouting but she isn’t crying anymore. You brush away a curl that stuck to her wet cheek. “I know you must be scared but you are safe now. And our best doctors are trying very hard to make your mom feel better. You just need to hold on for a little longer,” you murmur. Her lower lip trembles yet she fights against it, small hands grabbing the sparkling fabric. Her eyes are woeful but yours are warm, as is your voice. “What is that Cinderella’s mother used to say? Something about being kind and having courage.”

She looks like she’s about to burst into fresh tears. Instead, she shakes her head with defeat, curls bouncing at the movement.

“I don’t— Don’t think I have a lot of courage.”

“It’s okay, honey. You can take some of mine,” you tell her and take her hand in yours, fingers gently massaging the skin above her wrist. Her breath is even, all of the tears dried up; and timidly, she smiles. You get up, your hand still holding hers.

“We have a room with coloring books and a teddy bear who can keep you company. And on the way there I’ll let you pick a jelly, any flavour you like. How does that sound?”

She agrees eagerly, and you breathe out a short laugh, then lead the way. And Jack’s gaze stays on you, his own breath stilled — and a thought crosses his mind before he can stop it, vivid like a falling star: you will be a great mom. And in the next second, he forces himself to look away, to push back a myriad of other thoughts suddenly sparked into existence. Because it is unreasonable, because he fucked up, because it’s wrong to even think of that.

But it doesn’t feel wrong.

He battles with himself for half an hour. The girl’s mother pulls through — Jack learns about it from Robby who goes around looking for the kid.

Dana shrugs with the utmost indifference. “I didn’t see where they went. Dr. Abbot, any chance you did?”

He knows you must be still in the waiting room, and maybe now it’s time — he’ll walk in and make apologies, away from any prying eyes. He will be genuine and repentant, he’ll take all the blame. At this point, he isn’t above begging.

“I’ll bring the girl,” Jack mutters.

His heart rate instantly speeds up as he approaches, throat dry and body stiffening, even before the room comes into view. Jack breathes in and pulls the door handle — and right at the entrance, he comes to a halt.

It’s quiet inside, and on the small uncomfortable couch stuffed in the corner, you and the girl are sitting, covered with his knitted blanket. And you are asleep. The tension in his chest evaporates as he watches you — your head pressed to the wall, your face peaceful, and he wishes for nothing more than for you to always feel like this.

Jack takes one step in, and the girl peeks out from under the blanket. She puts a finger to her mouth, then slowly gets up, the blue dress shimmering and rustling slightly as she moves. The kid confidently struts to Jack, wraps one of her hands around his, holding the teddy bear in another. She looks up at him and whispers: “How is my mom?”

“She’s alright,” Jack whispers back. “You can come see her.”

She tugs at his hand, and Jack glances at you, commits the moment to his memory, convinces himself he’ll make it quick. The girl brims with excitement but she acts polite and walks slowly. And she peppers him with questions: how many rooms are there in the hospital? Can you fix everyone who’s hurt? Can doctors wear dresses at work? Are all of them as tired as the lady who gave her the orange jelly? Jack winces at the last one. But he likes talking to the kid — it’s actually quite easy, fun, not scary at all. When they reach her mother’s room, she turns to look at him again.

“This is Mister Courageous. You can take him,” she gives him the plushie, the bear’s paw pressed into Jack’s palm. The girl beams at him mischievously, and he sees her dimples when she adds: “Maybe you need some courage too.”

But with all his courage, Jack is short on luck: when he rushes back to you, the waiting room is empty, his blanket folded and left lone on the couch. It is upsetting because tomorrow is his day off; but he comes up with a flumsy consolation: he has more time to think over what he should say, to phrase it better. So in between the patients, he mentally constructs another speech, tactful and heartfelt, no less than you deserve to get. His nerves are eased a little by the morning; he gets home and gets about five hours of uninterrupted sleep: no dreams of oceans, no nightmares filled with fog.

The afternoon is sunlit, warm against Jack’s skin when he draws back the curtains. He takes a shower and makes lunch, then does the dishes and the laundry. And he turns on the police scanner — out of boredom, out of habit, just so he’s always in the loop. His day off lasts for about ten more minutes before the PBP frequency roars to life:

Shots fired. Multiple GSW.

He grabs the walkie and turns up the volume. It’s Code 3 — and he knows its meaning from the memo: Backup requested. Proceed immediately. All available units.

Jack gets ready like’s about to go back into combat — he dresses up in under two minutes, with measured breathing, and quick steps, and cold composure. He takes out the bag he’s got packed for emergencies: a mini ultrasound, tactical crickits, tourniquets, hemostatic dressings. He thinks about going to the ER on foot because the roads will get busy in no time. But he decides against it — running the distance with his prosthetics isn’t the wisest choice: it will be a long shift, he’ll need all his strength.

So he gets the keys to his pickup truck, hurries down the stairs and into the parking lot; he slams the driver’s door shut, then his foot presses on the gas. In nine minutes Jack’s already going through the sliding doors — Robby exhales when he sees him.

“Brother, I’m so fucking glad to see you,” he gives Jack a hug, his face laden with worry.

“I heard the news on the police scanner, drove here as fast as I could.”

“Yeah, I figured. You just missed the briefing.”

“Let me guess, colored slap bands? I’m in the red zone?”

“You and me both. Go grab yourself a fancy orange vest,” Robby nods toward the table already crammed with supplies.

“How many are we expecting?”

“I don’t know but it doesn’t sound good. Pittfest must’ve been packed.”

Dana walks past them, visibly nervous and holding up the phone. When Robby looks at her, she shakes her head no.

Abbot gets alarmed. “Wasn’t Jake supposed to go there?”

“He was, I gave him my ticket a month ago so he could take his girlfriend with him. But he went down with a nasty cough, and they had to cancel plans. Apparently, it’s COVID.”

“And he definitely didn’t get it from you,” Jack chuckles.

But Robby isn’t smiling, and Dana doesn’t put the phone away, doesn’t stop calling. And there is a feeling that crawls up Jack’s spine, like winter frost crawls up a window pane:

something is off.

He takes a look around, scanning the crowd of residents and nurses, and everyone is talking in hushed voices, and many faces that he knows now wear the expressions he doesn’t like seeing: fearful, hesitant, dismayed. A few are managing alright — Mateo and McKay are reassuring Javadi, Santos is helping Mel tie a gown, going over the instructions out loud. Whitaker is standing silent, his fingers clasped together and green eyes anxious, like deer’s.

That’s when Jack realizes that you aren’t here.

“Where’s your star resident?”

Robby averts his gaze. “She u-um... Took two days off. I heard that she’s been working overtime, and I didn’t want her to burn out. Seemed like she’s been a bit stressed these days.”

Jack is stung by guilt. Because he suspects it’s not just work that got you so stressed, because he is the one at fault and —

“Whitaker said she planned on going to Pittfest.”

Robby’s words have the effect of a grenade, the air knocked out of Jack’s lungs like doors out of a building by a blast. And he’s left deafened by the shock wave: Jack can see Robby talking but no sounds reach him, drowned out by the ringing in his head. He has to focus to read Robby’s lips — he’s saying you will be alright. You’re a tough kid. You are probably helping everyone who’s injured. You are too busy to pick up the phone.

But Jack’s imagination is adept at picturing the worst: deep wounds, deadly wounds, your heart flatlining, lungs stopping, every hopeless case from the textbook. And even worse is the razor-sharp realization:

he had so many chances to tell you.

Now he may never get another one.

His throat tightens like he’s about to get sick. A nurse bumps a disaster bin into him on accident, and Jack steps aside, unsteady on his feet. He has to bandage the pieces of his composure back together, and he desperately hammers disbelief into his head: no, you might actually survive, there is a good chance that you will.

He holds on to that thought like it’s his lifeline.

Jack gets the gloves and safety glasses, stands closest to the doors, waits for the first wave of injured. And once he sees it — fresh blood, torn flesh — the autopilot finally kicks in: Jack moves like he’s on the battlefield, where time is critical and every second counts. In the ER, it does too. In the red zone, it’s 5 minutes per patient, after that — it’s OR, ICU, or morgue. So Jack gives orders and intubates and cuts into bodies, his hands busy with tubes, bandages, and blades; he fights for every life. But then he notices a gurney fully covered — the first corpse — and he goes to look under the blanket, and his hands shake, a tremor that seeps down to his bones.

And it is getting harder to shake off his fear, to act like all his thoughts aren’t consumed by you.

Unwittingly, Jack looks for hoodies and denim jackets, for your hair color, for anyone whose face resembles yours. In the second hour, two more victims die, both male; in the third, they get a dead body from a civilian’s car — a woman, headshot to the head, a quick death. And every muscle in Jack cramps up when he sees her: it’s not you but it could’ve been. Maybe they’ll bring in your corpse next.

And he can’t take a full breath.

Jack makes up an excuse to leave for just a minute. He walks into the bathroom and presses his head against the cold tile wall. He slowly counts to 60 and gets back out, chugs half a water bottle. Then he sees Robby running out of the corner of his eye. Jack gazes after him — one second, two, three, four. And then his gaze stumbles upon you.

Dark green shirt, sleeves stained with crimson, blood drained from your face. But you are standing on your feet. You are walking on your own.

You are alive.

Relief hits him so hard, he almost chokes on his emotions. The ringing slowly fades as his lungs finally gulp air, his eyes now glued to you. You bring in an old man — one of the guards, shot in the leg: you stopped the bleeding, and he is responsive. Ahmad is following you, his shirt bloodstained too, a mark one of the victims left. He doesn’t care, he keeps mumbling something to you but you weakly wave him off. Your left sleeve is bunched up at the top like there’s a bandage underneath, and your every move is slowed down like you are fighting off exhaustion. Jack’s legs carry him to you with zero hesitation.

Robby glances at him and back at the old man. “I’m taking this one. His vitals are surprisingly good.” Then he barks out at Ahmad: “Go change your shirt, you look like you got stabbed. You’ll give someone a heart attack. C’mon, now!” — and he wheels the old man away, Mel treading on his heels. A nurse groans behind them at the amount of blood splattered all over the floor.

But Jack couldn’t care less about the patients, his focus on you, his voice aching. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him with your hand pressed to the wall, a little breathless, almost soft. Involuntarily so. Because of course he doesn’t deserve any of your softness. “Where’s the pink zone? I want to stick around.”

He wants to argue with you but then you meet his eyes, and your gaze is disarming, striking, and Jack is too guilt-ridden to oppose. So he concedes and points you in the right direction, then watches as your silhouette moves through the waves of white and red until you are out of sight.

Jack drinks more water and helps Mel with intubation. Whitaker passes by, maneuvering between the wheelchairs and the gurneys — he asks for extra bandages, and Robby shouts in reply that he’ll bring some. Princess asks around with irritation who the hell left bloody handprints on the wall.

“Speaking of not getting drenched in blood,” Robby comes running. “I just removed the absolute perfection of a tourniquet. Great placement, no cardiac issues, didn’t get a drop on me. Not that you can tell,” he jests tiredly and changes gowns.

“The old guard from the fest?” Jack asks absentmindedly.

“Yep. We patched him up so good, he’ll be dancing in a month.”

Whitaker’s face is suddenly splashed with incomprehension. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

Robby turns to him, one brow raised in a silent question.

“You just said the tourniquet worked well. But it’s his gurney that left a trail of blood at the entrance, I almost slipped on it,” Dennis explains.

That same feeling bites into Jack again — there’s something wrong. It’s something bad. Ahmad strides into the hall, clean shirt on, still half-unbuttoned because he’s in a rush. And he goes straight to Robby.

“Hey, man, can you reason with your resident? I ain’t no doctor but I’m pretty sure she shouldn’t be running around with a bullet in her shoulder.”

There is a lull — like one before a bomb strikes.

Then Robby roars: “She what?!”

And Jack’s already on the move, looking for you, heart in his throat, blood running cold. You never made it to the pink zone — you stagger in the hallway, holding yourself against a wall, the cotton shirt balled up in your hand. You wear a tank top, and now Jack sees it all so clearly as if he’s looking at an x-ray: your left shoulder slumped down, an entry wound right of your shoulder blade — the bullet must’ve missed the bone because there’s still some movement and you aren’t bent in pain. But dark maroon is smeared down your arm, the bandage soaked, the streaks of blood running to your wrist.

Then you sway slightly on your feet, and Jack reaches you just in time to catch you. Your eyes dip shut, and in a second you are unconscious, your body going limp and lifeless in his hands. Jack searches frantically for a pulse when he notices:

there is no exit wound.

So your shoulder is a minefield, six arteries waiting to explode on contact with the bullet — and now the count goes on for minutes. He knows that, he’s dealt with that, he should get to work. But he can’t move, swept by a wave of horror, dread filling him up like icy seawater.

Someone is yelling.

Someone is running to him.

A gurney hits the nearby wall, the metal screeching against concrete.

“Up, up, up!” McKay moves the gurney closer to him. “Why didn’t anyone check her for wounds? Does she have a pulse?”

“Yes,” Jack manages, voice hoarse, fingers unsteady on your neck. He moves them under your chin — and there is a beating, faint like a ripple on the water, enough for him to let out an exhale. “She does have a pulse.”

He picks you up and places on the gurney, one of his hands immediately slick with blood. McKay swiftly moves you through the hall with Robby running by her side, his face wracked with distress. “She didn’t say anything, she— Fuck, I should’ve asked.”

Jack is wracked with so many feelings that they are tearing him apart. He should’ve asked you too, he should’ve noticed, how could he not. How could he keep his penitence a secret for so long. The trauma room you’re wheeled into quickly fills with people — as if in some unspoken pact, it’s mostly women: Santos, Javadi, Mel; Dana is looming at the doors. Dennis peeks in from behind her back.

But in the sea of faces, Jack is only seeing you.

He registers some fragments, freeze-frame shots flashing through his mind: your body turned on one side, wound splashed with antiseptic, someone’s gloved hand gliding the transducer over. The gel mixes with blood, the clumps of it being wiped off your skin, more bandages pressed to the wound, more fluid leaking, soaking them. He knows the bleeding’s not arterial because it would’ve been much worse. It doesn’t make him feel better.

“Jack!” McKay calls out to him again; he only hears it on her third attempt. There is a rumbling outside — the thunder rolling in, a harbinger of rain.

“She’s O-neg, and we are short on blood bags. That’s your type, right?” Cassie asks louder. “Can you donate?”

“Yeah,” Jack replies distractedly. It takes a few seconds for the words to settle in. “How do you know her blood type?”

“We donated together,” Javadi hurriedly explains. “I mean, technically she was the one donating because I didn’t really— I’m kinda not a fan of needles and— Sorry, doesn’t matter. She’s O-neg.”

Jack gazes from you to Robby. “Did you locate the bullet?”

“It grazed the scapula and snuggled close to the axillary artery. No metal shards,” but the unease flickers through Robby’s concentrated face.

Because it isn’t just the arteries and bones: it’s webs of muscles, nerves and vessels — the bullet going through all that would leave a lot of damage. It can leave you in so much pain, you won’t be able to move your arm. It can put an end to your career.

The thunder claps once more. The nausea threatens to bubble up Jack’s throat again. “What caliber?”

“Pretty sure it’s a .22.”

Robby darts a glance at him, and Jack can read its meaning: a .223 bullet would’ve shattered the bone. Would’ve been lethal. A .22 is smaller, so you have better chances to recover. And Jack will get a chance to —

The monitor starts beeping as your blood pressure drops. More bandages are thrown out wet. The rain outside loudly scuds against the walls and windows.

“You sure the artery’s intact? She is still bleeding,” McKay notes, brows furrowed.

“Arterial comes in a different color,” Robby’s expression mirrors hers. He peers at the image on the screen, eyes narrowing, a moment that is unbearably too long. Then his brows shoot up. “It’s not the artery, it’s the vein.”

Your heart rate is bright before Jack’s eyes, the number inexorably increasing: 120, 124, 127, 130. Robby is aware of it too — he quickly moves the ultrasound machine away. Then puts on a new pair of gloves.

“The ORs are packed so we need to deal with this in here. Cassie, you’re with me, everyone else — get back to your patients. We will update you guys when I’m done.”

Jack’s gaze wanders back to you — your tank top cut in the middle, the fabric ruined, your shoulder marred by the open wound that will leave a lifelong scar. He only now realizes that he’s been holding to your green shirt. He grabs it tighter.

“Let’s do a direct transfusion,” he breathes out.

Robby has no arguments against it, and Dana rushes in without command. She rummages through the supply closet. “Hey cowboy, come sit.”

“I’ll stand—”

“No, you will sit. Don’t waste your time on testing my patience,” she stares him down.

Jack stalks in and takes the chair closest to you, his gaze fixed on you, his voice dull. “You can drain me.”

Dana glances at him with a huff. “I’d like to avoid that.”

She pulls his sleeve up, wipes his arm clean with antiseptic, then works fast: a cannula in, connected to the transfusion tubing, then to your vein. Then Dana gives him another look and asks more quietly: “Are you okay?”

Jack looks numbly at his blood flowing, then to the drops of yours left on the floor, harsh red against the muted blue. Robby inserts a tube into your throat. And Jack is not okay, he is very far from it. “I’m not the one on the table,” he notes despondently.

The fear stays wrapped tight around his ribcage like barbed wire.

Your arm is scrubbed with hydrogen peroxide, and Dana helps to hold it up. Your pulse is thready, and all the sounds are muted in Jack’s head, his mind clouded like the sky before the storm, the waves of agitation churning in. His gaze darts to your vitals then to the instruments — scalpels and forceps catching light, steel stained, dark crimson. He watches Robby work with bated breath: it’s dilute epinephrine irrigation to reduce the bleeding, then suture ligation to make it stop.

The red number of your heart rate is slowly going down. Jack’s nerves are tight like a taut string.

He is too overwhelmed to show any reaction when the bullet is extracted, the edges of your wound sewn, the breathing tube removed. He doesn’t notice when Evans takes the needle out and puts a band-aid on his arm. He barely feels his legs when he stands up, his eyes snag on your body being wheeled out to transfer to your room.

Jack follows you without a doubt, with no questions, in a heartbeat.

He leaves his vest at the nurse station, the reasoning he’s come up with is believable enough: his leg’s been hurting, he just needs a break. He takes the stairs and gets up to the patient’s floor right when McKay is coming out of your room. Jack snaps out of his pensiveness only when he’s sitting by your bed.

And he’s afraid to move.

He can’t concentrate on any thought, he doesn’t dare to make wishes, he’s learned not to rely on prayers. So in the silence that’s broken by the thrumming rain, he watches as your chest falls and rises with each breath. Jack balances right at the very edge of slumber, and the exhaustion is weighing on his body but he doesn’t let it up a bit. It feels like time is stretching into endless hours — in truth, it barely takes one. And then he sees your fingers twitching.

He anxiously drags his gaze — up from your hands to chest to shoulders. When he looks at your face, you are already slowly blinking, eyes on the ceiling. You let out a quiet groan — and unexpectedly, it’s followed by your voice:

“If this is about me being reckless again, I really don’t want to hear it right now.”

The hand Jack reached to you freezes midair.

You aren’t angry or annoyed, just tired — which hurts him more. All the unsaid words feel heavy on his tongue; he swallows them without a sound.

“I’m gonna call Robby,” he mumbles and quickly leaves the room.

Jack pauses when he’s outside, his heart pounding so fast he needs a minute to calm down. He takes a few deep breaths, one thought cycling through his mind like mantra: you are alive, he didn’t lose you, all his apologies can wait.

He doesn’t go back in with Robby. Instead, Jack leans against the wall next to the door and listens in on the conversation you are having. Robby holds back his discontent but you do offer him an explanation: you didn’t want to bother anyone, it didn’t seem too serious, you thought you’d ask for help when the ER’s less busy. Then come the standard questions: how much the shoulder hurts, how freely can you move your injured arm, is there still any discomfort? Jack’s getting mildly irritated with how long this process takes because he thinks you only need more sleep. And he does too. He bites his tongue when Robby finally walks out.

“We’ll monitor her overnight, probably will discharge her in the afternoon,” he taps on the tablet, then stretches his arms. “God, I’d kill for a glass of scotch right now. Wanna make a beeline for the bar across the street? I have about an hour left.”

“I think I’ll stay put. Maybe see if Evans needs some help with paperwork, or check up on Shen,” Jack trails off.

In all honestly, he feels like his legs are filled with lead. As soon as Robby leaves, Jack picks a chair and puts it right next to your room and almost falls on it, his limbs lumbering, his body worn to a frazzle. The floor is quiet, and he tells himself he’ll close his eyes just for a minute.

... He wakes up on inhale.

At first, he doesn’t know why.

The weather has calmed down, the raindrops tapping in the distance, the buzz of people echoing somewhere far enough to not be a bother. Jack rubs the back of his neck, his muscles tense, his mind a little drowsy — and he catches a small sound, something like a gasp. Then comes another one, sharp, desperate, like someone is struggling to breathe. And that someone is in the room he’s sitting next to.

Jack leaps off the chair and thrusts the door open, and instantly he meets your eyes — wide, terrified, lips trembling and parted. You are sitting in bed, one hand pressed to your chest as you are helplessly gasping for air. He rushes up to you, his voice low but firm, calm, coaxing.

“Hey-hey, you need to breathe through your nose,” Jack says, but you only shake your head, your fingers digging into the white hospital gown.

He sits on your bed and takes your hand before you can scratch into your skin through the thin fabric. “Can you think of a phone number? Any number. Try saying it out loud but backward,” he suggests, his gaze never leaving yours. “What’s the last digit? Let’s start with just one. You can do it, c’mon. Think about it and tell me.”

It takes you about a minute — with each new second your panic wanes, slowly but surely, like thick fog giving way to clear skies. Your voice cracks when you force out:

“T-two.”

“Okay, that’s good, you’re doing good,” Jack praises quietly. “And what’s the second to last?”

Without thinking, he brushes the inside of your palm with his thumb. You don’t recoil. You keep looking at him, and your voice grows stronger, and you are letting more and more air in as you name the remaining digits.

Only when he hears the tenth, Jack figures out: “That’s the ER number.”

You drop your gaze. “I don’t know many phone numbers. It was the first one that came to mind.”

But what he hears is that you don’t have many people you can call. He wishes there was a decent reason to share his number but he can’t think of any.

“How are you feeling?” he asks cautiously.

You take a deep breath in, then out. “Better, I guess. Thank you. I didn’t mean to bother you, it was just a bad dream.”

Jack guesses that it’s more than that: more serious, long-lasting, the imprint your trauma leaves behind, not letting you forget. Because he knows — from memories, from the experience, his own included. He almost sounds apologetic when he notes:

“That’s how PTSD usually works.”

“Isn’t this too soon?” you chuckle mirthlessly. “I was hoping I’d get one good night while I’m on morphine.”

But then your gaze flits back to him — and it’s wondering and heedful, like you are afraid to hurt him. Your question comes out in a whisper: “Did you have to deal with it too?”

Jack is taken aback although it’s not offense that paints his features — it’s genuine surprise. Did you ask around about him? How else would you know? You give him an explanation before he can find the words to ask.

“The dog tags. You tug at your chain sometimes when you think things over. That’s how I noticed,” and it’s your turn to be apologetic.

But your reply is softened by a smile, and you don’t move your hand away from his. It’s not the topic Jack likes bringing up: he’s rarely met with understanding, and he hates being pitied. But you don’t give him pity — instead, you look at him like you want to treat him gently. And he feels like he’d talk to you just about anything.

Jack slowly nods. “Hard to avoid PTSD if you’re in the military. But therapy helped. Lots of therapy, lots of patience. The good old recipe.”

“Can’t wait to break the news to my therapist,” you let out half a groan, half a laugh. “I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.”

“My therapist would’ve loved it,” Jack blurts out.

You give him a puzzled look. But you sound intrigued. “Okay, you need to elaborate on that. Or find a better therapist.”

Jack breathes out a chuckle. “He just likes solving things — problems, puzzles, murder mysteries. And I feel like he’s getting a little bored of me. Sometimes when he is writing in his notebook, I wonder if he’s just got a crossword hidden in there.”

“Oh, mine loves baking. I used to leave with hands full of pastry. I shared it with colleagues, I even started feeding birds. It’s kind of a relief that we switched to online sessions. Pretty sure half of the pigeons in my neighborhood now suffer from obesity.”

A smile crosses Jack’s face — not at the thought of chubby pigeons but at the realization: you find it easy to talk to him too. But then your hand trembles in his, and instantly Jack is on alert for trouble: his eyes dart from your shoulder to the needle taped to your arm.

“Are you in pain?” Jack frowns. “What’s your morphine dosage? You can get a little extra if —”

“No,” you refuse sharply, and Jack’s acutely aware he chose the wrong words. You only sigh and tug at the blanket with your other hand. “It’s not about morphine, it’s just... My blood pressure is usually low so I get cold easily.”

Jack perks up: that’s something he can actually help you with. “Wait, I’ll be right back,” he promises and rushes out like he just got a second wind.

All his enthusiasm is blown out by the chaos in the ER: it takes him a mortifying amount of time to find where his wool blanket disappeared. He searches the entirety of the nurse station, goes through his locker, he checks both bathrooms and even ventures out into the morgue. He’s running past the entrance when he glimpses Shen — with the said blanket thrown over his shoulders.

“Hey man, look what I found!” Shen blithely tells him.

Jack darts to him and yanks the blanket off, his gaze burning. “Don’t. Just don’t ever touch this.”

Shen blinks uncomprehendingly. “What? It’s not like it had your name on it!”

When Jack comes back, he finds you curled up on the bed, the thin bedcover brought up to your neck, hands folded under your cheek. He tiptoes closer and puts the blanket over you, then tucks you in. He’s checking the IV line’s placement when all of a sudden, your fingers catch his palm — as if on impulse, or maybe out of habit you are unconsciously forming.

“You are so warm,” your voice is barely above the whisper.

His hand stays pressed to yours as you doze off, and Jack stands still. For a minute, five, ten; he doesn’t feel like moving.

And then, without letting go of you, he manages to reach the chair and pull it closer to your bed. He sits down and lowers one of the side rails, then leans to you, his elbows sinking into the mattress, your steady breath grazing his skin. Jack rests his chin on his free arm and watches you — with peacefulness that’s akin to tenderness, with some other feeling that fills him up with warmth.

And slowly, he gives in to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the rain and monitors, his hand tangled with yours, his thumb on your pulse.

GSW = gunshot wound / PBP = The Pittsburgh Police;

shout-out to @/thedarkesthistories who made a post about everything Jack’s got in his backpack ♡

I did a lot of research (the FBI agent watching me through my laptop was probably hella confused by me reading case studies and watching surgeries lmao) BUT obviously, I am not a doctor so please forgive me for any inaccuracies;

the title is a quote from “Wake” by SYML ♫

dividers by @/cafekitsune & me.

some bad and good news. the bad: this chapter originally was coming close to 20K and... no, I don’t think many people would’ve read that. so we’ll have 4 chapters in total instead of 3. the good news: the next chapter is half-written so hopefully it won’t take me forever to finish it (fingers crossed).

English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me if you spot any major mistakes!

I also want to take a moment to thank everyone who left a comment and reblogged my fic(s). obviously, I am grateful for every like I get. but if I’m being honest, my imposter syndrome often beats all the motivation out of me, and as much as I enjoy writing, I spend an embarrassing amount of time on self-doubting. I know my fics aren’t everyone’s cup of tea (I rarely write short stories, I don’t include smut in every single one, my writing style might seem overloaded or too detailed... the list goes on), and that’s fine. but I also have an unfortunate habit of joining fandoms a little too late. which feels like walking into a cafeteria where all the tables are already taken, and no one intends to spare you a seat. I don’t feel like a part of a community and at the end of the day, I write for myself. which is why it’s so rewarding when people find the time to say something nice about my fics and to share them. thank you so much to every single one of you, that means a lot to me. ♡

[thethronezone]

Dying laughing at the poor pregnant Primarchs.

Found myself wondering how they would react if it was one of their favorite sons turning out to be pregnant instead. The Warp is feeling broody.

Mortarion - Goes "That's not physically possible" when Typhon informs him that he is pregnant. It's only after he performs an examination on his own that Mortarion admits that indeed, that man is pregnant. Somehow. Doesn't really trust it since this is obviously some magic phenomenon but does make it a point to make sure that Typhon is given the proper medical attention. Other than that... Well, as long as the man doesn't give birth to some sort of abomination then Mortarion won't say anything. Gives Typhon a thumbs up of encouragement from a distance.

Fulgrim - After overcoming the initial shock or learning that Julius Kaesoron is with child, Fulgrim decides that this is actually pretty cool. Much more appreciative of the pregnant form when he's not the one experiencing it. Nothing but encouraging and sympathetic to any physical side effects (nausea, vomiting, cramps) and does make sure that Julius always has a few serfs on hand that can help alleviate these pains. By the way, has he thought of baby names? Because Fulgrim has a full list. Not that he has to use them. But he can. Fulgrim has also picked out decor for the nursery. And the nanny. And the school the kid will one day go to. Hope you don't mind!

Angron - When did Kharn get pregnant? DID HE ENTER COMBAT WHILE PREGNANT!? Angron is straight up forbidding Kharn from entering any sort of combat exercise during the entirety of the pregnancy. That includes sparring, using the gun range, fuck, nothing but the lightest yoga is permitted! Meanwhile, Kharn is just rolling his eyes ("Ok mom"), already planning on doing some weapon's training with a few neophytes right after this conversation. Angron is stressed.

Magnus - Oh Ahriman, you are so full of surprises! Now, allow Magnus to perform a full body (and soul) examination! He needs to know just how this happened! Honestly, Magnus is so intrigued by the more scientific aspect of this all that he almost completely forgets that there's, ya know, going to be an actual child coming out of this. So intrigued by this all that he might just recreate whatever caused this to happen and make himself go through it. For scientific reasons of course. Again, completely forgetting that a whole ass person is going to be born from this.

Perturabo - Kydomor Forrix tells Perturabo he's pregnant and the man has the gall to click his tongue. He then goes on a 20 minute rant about how he expects Forrix to pick up on paperwork while he's unable to work in the field and that, just because he's pregnant, he can't expect special treatment. All of this Forrix both expected and accepts. Then, three days later, he is shocked to find a beautiful, handmade cradle outside his living quarters. He makes sure to thank his Primarch for the thoughtful gift later but Perturabo just grunts in response. Nonetheless, small, handmade toys keep popping up every now and then.

Alpharius - You're pregnant? We're pregnant. While Ingo Pech might be the one carrying the child, the whole legion is going to take part raising it. Indoctrination? Yes sir. That baby is going to shouting "I am Alpharius" straight out the womb. Meanwhile, Alpharius and Omegon are supportive in their own ways, making sure Ingo is provided for during the pregnancy. Lowkey excited for it, they see it as an interesting experiment/experience.

Lorgar - Say it after me; virgin birth. When Lorgar learns that Argel Tal is pregnant, with no apparent intercourse, he attributes it to some kind of miracle/divine plan. So congrats Argel! You've just been promoted to holy figure Virgin Tal! Your duties during pregnancy includes; daily purifications, getting blessed and praying until your tongue goes numb. That baby is going to be born in god's light and there's nothing you can do to stop it!

Horus - Garviel Loken might be the one pregnant but Horus is the one that's the most excited for it. Also secretly very jealous but he hides it well and copes with it by convincing himself that the baby is at least going to be partially his since Garviel has his geneseed and blah blah blah (he's huffing copium). Very involved in the whole pregnancy, lowkey acting like it's his kid that's going to be born, and is almost acting like Garviel is just a surrogate. Will deny it though if anyone accuses him of it.

Konrad - Outright sneers. Why would you want a child? Whatever, it's Sevatar's problem, not Konrad's. At least, that's how Konrad puts it at the start of it all. But he keeps a close eye on Sevatar, snarling at whatever Night Lord that gets too close or even acts out in his proximity. And then extra rations appear on Sevatar's bed, which he's pretty sure were taken from some other Night Lord. Not that Sevatar is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Konrad wants to play scary fairy godmother then he ain't gonna stop him. It's only when Sevatar finds a few dead rats on his bed that he starts rethinking that decision.

Sanguinius - Watch Sanguinius channel all his anxiety for the future into Raldoron's baby. Like, this kid is going to be born into a world that will probably see it as some sort of apostle or something and Sanguinius won't be able to stop it. So, to make up for it in advance (partially to ease his guilt) he tries to make Raldoron's pregnancy as comfortable as possible. Tries to act cheerful but there's a hint of melancholy in all his actions. Still, he does look forward to the birth of the baby. Such moments are always full of joy and worth being celebrated.

Corvus - Uhm... Congrats? When Branne Nev informs Corvus that he's with child, the Primarch does not quite know how to react. But he's going to try and be supportive! Just, eh, from a distance. Almost treats Nev like he's got a contagious disease and that he'll also get pregnant if he gets too close. But in the later stages of the pregnancy, when it starts showing, Corvus sometimes get this soft, almost longing look in his eyes. He also starts leaving little trinkets for the baby that he thinks it will like.

Ferrus - Ferrus takes a long, hard look at Gabriel Santar and then sighs heavily. "No working in the forge or the lab until after the child is born". Not mad, not disappointed, just tired. But supportive! Do you like supplements, Gabriel? Because you are getting a bunch of them. Your baby is going to be born strong as fuck, don't worry. Ferrus creates a whole schedule for "optimal fetus development" which he put together with a council of fellow Iron Hands, tech priests and doctors.

Rogal - There's a lot of solemn nodding from Rogal when Sigismund is revealed to be pregnant. He then excuses himself for a few hours (much to the anxiety of poor Sigismund who is left wondering if he has angered his father) but when Rogal eventually returns he's got a 10 page document full of predictions for the pregnancy (due date, weight gain, health complications etc). Actually very involved in the pregnancy and demands regular updates on both Sigismund's and the fetus' health.

Vulkan - Straight up picks Artellus Numeon up twirls him around in a big hug. Congratulations! Oh, he's so happy for you! Vulkan is genuinely excited and immediately starts asking Artellus if he's thought of any names, if there's anything he needs, is he feeling well etc.. Oh, and yeah, he's confined to Nocturne for the entire pregnancy. Just to keep him safe! But don't worry, Artellus is still allowed to use the forge... Until his second trimester of course. Yeah, Vulkan is a bit overprotective but what can you expect? This is his first grandchild!

Lion - The look Lion gives Luther is one of disappointment, as if Luther somehow did this to himself! Then he sighs, shakes his head and just orders the man to be on desk duty for the duration of the pregnancy. At first, it seems like Lion is very disinterested, only occasionally asking if things are going well with 'it'. But then Luther finds some extra rations in his chambers. Then some pelts. A pillow? Luther quickly deduces that Lion is the one leaving him these things and while he can't outright thank him for it (Lion would never admit to it), he does mention out loud how much these things are helping him and not even Lion can hide the smug look on his face.

Leman - Ha! Hahaha! After Leman is done laughing at Bjorn for magically getting pregnant, he congratulates and reassures him that he's going to be a fantastic mother. Jokes aside, Leman gets very involved in the pregnancy. Call it pack instincts. Keeps bringing Bjorn food (too much food to be honest) and it's like he has a seventh sense for whenever Bjorn is about to chug a tankard of ale. Bjorn hasn't had a beer in 9 months and he's about to strangle Leman with his bare hands. He does appreciate all the pelts he's been given though.

Jaghatai - Summon the council of mothers! Shiban's pregnancy is a welcome surprise and Jaghatai makes sure that he has all the support that he will need. That being said, he lets women that have experienced pregnancy and motherhood take the reins on this one. What they say goes (though Jaghatai won't snitch if Shiban wants to sneak out for some jetbike rides every now and then). Also makes Shiban sit in on maternity classes in preparation. Promises to teach his kid how to ride a horse when they get old enough.

Roboute - Guilliman finally gets the real experience of being a father because Cato fucking refuses to relax for even a second, acting like a hyperactive 5-year old, and Roboute has to fucking threaten to court-martial him to get him to sit down for even just a single minute. Cato is acting like he isn't pregnant (ordering people around, running drills etc) and he sees it as punishment when his Primarch puts him on paperwork-duty for the duration of the pregnancy (no frontline combat for you sir). Secretly, Guilliman is looking forward to the baby being born since it's kinda like his pseudo-grandchild (he wants to spoil it so bad).

[mistydeyes]

Hi izzie,can you write what it would be like if one of soaps cousins that’s in SAS but often has time to visit the base and is dating 141 members

fem reader preferably

thank you so much for submitting! so sorry it took a hot minute for me to get to this but i hope you enjoy!

the invasion of the scots

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summary: As you walked into the briefing for your latest co-op mission with Task Force 141, all eyes were on you. Usually, this wasn't out of the ordinary as you were one of the first women to complete the full selection process for the SAS and your reputation preceded you. However, this was different as your gaze shifted from your surprised cousin and your terrified boyfriend.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (codename: Peitho)

warnings: SWEARING

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"I'll see you all tomorrow at 08:00 for a briefing," Price announced as everyone exited the training room, "we might see some familiar faces, the SAS is loaning us some of their best." As they all walked to the showers, Soap just happened to be walking with the exhausted Ghost. "Have a cousin in the SAS wonder if she'll be there!" he hummed happily, "haven't seen her in ages." Simon nodded and hoped his suspicions would be wrong tomorrow. He turned on the shower and sat under the cold water for a moment. Out of the handful of women that was in the SAS, the chances of it being you were slim but never 0.

"Hey Peitho, are you ready to meet the renowned 141?" your friend joked as you exited your vehicle. "Just another room of sweaty men, it's like a basic Tuesday for me," you replied and jokingly punched his arm. "But you only hear whispers about these guys, no one doesn't even know how many of them there are." "I'll take my chances, Haystack," you muttered and you continued to follow your captain to the briefing room. As you walked through the linoleum hallways, you could feel the stares everyone was giving you. "Jesus, it's like they've never seen a woman before," you scoffed and Haystack turned to you. "It's not every day someone sees a legend like you." You smiled slightly at his compliment. It had been a few years since your big accomplishment. You and another woman had been the first to ever complete the full selection process. It was daunting to experience the grueling exercises and jeers of the other men but you would smile and take what was thrown at you. "I thought this was selection not a training run for Royal Navy," you'd spit and everyone backed off.

"Play nice," your captain warned before entering the door. You followed right behind him and walked to his right. "As promised Price, here's the best of the best," he announced as he gestured to the four of you. "Here we have, Buccaneer," everyone's gaze turned to the stoic man who stood at 6'7'', his dark hands and arms glistened with taupe-colored, healed scars. "Next there's Typhoon," and again, everyone's eyes shifted to the man who stood shorter than Buccaneer but whose body was pure muscle. He gave a small wave, followed by a crazed smirk. "Next, there's Haystack," your close friend walked forward as his pale skin and bleached hair practically blended into the wall, "got the reputation of being dead weight but he'll be the best combat medic you'll ever need." "Finally," you knew it was your turn and you stood forward, slightly.

You took a look around the room and noticed the men looking back up at you and their files. However, as your eyes drifted to the left, you could feel your eyes widen with recognition. There sat your cousin, you knew he was in the British Army but didn't realize he rose to this caliber. He had a slight smile on his face as he looked at you. However, your familial reunion would have to wait as you looked over at the broad man wearing a face mask. Although his face was obscured, you would recognize his figure and eyes anywhere. In fact, it was the one that was on top of you in bed a month ago. You swallowed as you both locked eyes. Why the fuck was Simon Riley here?

Your revelations were disrupted as your Captain continued his introductions. "We have, Peitho, one of the best women to ever make it out of selection. Don't even try anything with that one, she'll take you out before you can even utter a word," he joked and you nodded at his statement. "I assume you've all seen what they can do, I've given you our best hijacker, weapon specialist, combat medic, and covert operations specialist," he concluded and the floor was all Price's. "Thank you, Captain, they'll do great," he said confidently and the room boomed with his voice, "they can get to know my men on the plane." At this, everyone took a seat. You sat on the opposite end of Simon and Johnny, but you could feel their eyes on you. "Now for the debrief," Price directed and dimmed the lights to illuminate the large monitor on the display.

"I expect you all to review the floor plans our intel has provided," he directed as Sergeant Garrick yawned, "we will be leaving at 06:00 in two days." "Happy reading," Haystack commented as you both walked towards the exit. Before you could leave, Johnny placed a strong arm around your shoulders. "Y/N!" he exclaimed, "Haven't seen you in ages." You smiled up at him and reached a hand to ruffle his short, dark hair. "Pleasure seeing you again," you replied, "you're far from the lad who went to those raves." You both shared a smile as you caught up and exchanged some stories from the last few years. "Your mam said you were in the SAS, but I didn't know you were the one who completed the selection," he continued. "Told her not to brag," you replied, remembering how talkative your mother was especially when it came to her only daughter. Before you could continue, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You both turned and realized you were blocking the exit for Simon.

"Sorry about that, Simon," you said, almost instinctively. As the words tumbled out of your mouth, you realized the mistake you had made. "Simon?" Johnny questioned and you both knew you were doomed, "Y/N, how do you know Lt?" Fuck. Me. you thought internally as Simon's eyes shot to yours in a panic. "Um, some out-of-office relations," you choked out and before Simon could exit, Johnny grabbed his arm. "You fucking bastard," he muttered, "so this is where you've been spending your leave?" The situation was escalating as Simon escaped his grasp and crossed his arms over his chest. "My personal life is none of your business, Sergeant," he commanded and Johnny balled his hands into tight fists. "It does when it's my cousin!" he practically shouted and you hoped no one could hear the commotion.

"Johnny, calm down," you directed, "I had no idea, Simon even worked with you. It's only been 6 months since we met." Before anyone could continue, Captain Price stopped in the doorway. "Hey!" he boomed, "we have a mission in 36 hours, get on it." You all nodded like scolded children and began to make your way back to your quarters. Before you could part, you gave Simon a quick hug and turned to Johnny. He still had the same angered look on his face and you rolled your eyes. "Get over it, little Johnny boy," you teased at his childhood nickname and he looked away. "Fine, but you know there are serious implications of pumpin' a superior," he mumbled. He walked off and you looked back at Simon. "Surprise, love?" you said almost questioningly before Simon led you to his quarters to “review” the floor plans.

As you sat wedged between Simon and Johnny, you were getting to know Sergeant Garrick or Gaz as he preferred. "So Pietho like the Greek goddess?" he asked and you nodded. "Goddess of persuasion and seduction," you smiled before Simon hit your thigh lightly. "I think I'm gonna be sick," Johnny moaned and Gaz just looked even more confused.

[bigassmoonchild]

Feral

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

The first three parts give context, but aren't required for this read.

Summary: You had your problems with your squad, no different than anyone else running their first. One Alpha, Michael, gave you the most problems, dragging you from leave to punish them all. It didn't take long for him to become your biggest problem, or for Simon to try and take care of him.

Content Tags: Shouting (not w/ between Ghost & Reader), A lot of Anger, Fluff, Protective Ghost, Violence, Fighting, Ghost shows his Face, Non-Sexual Punishments, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No use of Y/N

A/N: I woke up this morning with over 100 notifications from tumblr, and I've spent all morning trying to think of another part for Maple Syrup. As always, content is under the cut and my asks are wide open <3.

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

Ghost could watch you forever. Seeing how you flit around the soldiers, taking care of each of them, barking orders at your own little squad. After being removed from missions, you were able to convince whoever would listen to give you a squad to train, a group of hopeful combat medics.

Sometimes he would find himself watching what you were doing, and he would inch himself close enough to hear what you'd be telling them. Sometimes, it was nothing short of you screaming at them, other times it might be explaining how to stitch someone up. Most times, you sat back and watched as they worked through the exercise that you had created for them.

You were still off on leave, leaving your squad under the hands of Soap and Gaz to train them further on combat situations. Ghost had spoken with them a few times, listening to them rant about the soldiers you had to deal with. Especially one Alpha, who had been demoted from a regular soldier to being entrusted with saving others.

So when Ghost got the first hint of your scent, not the stale one, his head spun to the doors. Your leave was supposed to last another 6 days, not that Ghost was counting, and worry spiked through him. Had something happened? Was everything okay with your family, or did you merely forget one of the gifts you were giving to your nieces and nephews?

When the door slammed open, your eyes gazed across the mess hall. Your brows were furrowed and Ghost could smell the anger lacing your scent, alongside the musty smell of the rain that was coming down. The room had gone silent, everyone looking over at you. Your eyes locked on your squad, body tensed.

"Get the fuck outside," you growled, staring through your squad. They hesitated and your fist slammed into the wall. "Now!" You shouted, watching as they scrambled up and moved. All but the Alpha, who moved leisurely. Your eyes didn't leave his and you pointed. "You move any slower and I'll have you dishonorably discharged for insubordination," the man didn't flinch.

He gave a smile, looking at you. "You're not even a soldier, you have no say in what I do," your muscles relaxed, leaning your head back, eyes falling closed. Ghost stood, moving towards the two of you, opening his mouth to say something.

"You're on my squad, you do as I say, unless you want me to remove you. You want this to be your last strike?" The Alpha looked away, opening his mouth to make a remark.

"I'm sure there isn't going to be a problem, is there?" Ghost finally spoke up, moving beside the man and staring down at him. The Alpha scoffed and walked away, leaving you looking around.

You gave a soft smile. "Leave your stuff, it'll be cleaned up," and you turned and walked away, adjusting a hood onto your head. Ghost stared after you before walking back to Soap and Gaz, sitting beside them again.

"What the hell happened?"

You stood in the rain, having grabbed another jacket to protect you from the chill of the wind, alongside the rain beating against you. Your squad was running until they collapsed or someone admitted who caused the problems. You knew, though, that the stubborn Alpha in your squad was always the problem.

"You need to get back here," Soap said into the phone. "I honestly don't know what to do with them," and you booked a flight.

Now you were waiting, patiently. Someone would give in soon enough, someone always did. There would always be a weak link, and if it took running them until they threw up so be it. A hand fell on your shoulder and you looked back, eyes climbing to find Ghost standing behind you.

"I've never heard you scream," you laughed, looking back to your squad. The Alpha ran at the front of them, no reaction to the amount of running he was doing. You were pretty sure he had lapped everyone at some point, but you weren't paying close enough attention.

You looked back to Ghost. "You have most definitely heard me scream, just not angrily. Soap called, said that the squad was getting out of control and they didn't know what to do," you sighed. "I thought I taught them better, but I guess I haven't treated them exactly like soldiers," Ghost hummed behind you, eyes trailing the Alpha.

A shiver ran through you and Ghost pulled you back into him, letting you soak in his own warmth. "Does he always give you problems?" You nodded, letting him take on your weight as you leaned against him.

"There is rarely a day that goes by when he doesn't give some form of lip, but everyone's grown used to it, I guess," you whispered, sighing deeply. It bothered you, so much, that you couldn't get all of your squad to act like it. Like a pack. "He's just trying to take control back. He was kicked from his last squad because of similar problems, speaking down on Betas and Omegas," Ghosts scent changed a little, but you weren't able to decipher what it was before it had disappeared.

Neither of you spoke for some time, merely watching the group of wanna-be's run around and around. You wanted to be back home, with your family and watching the little ones run around, not some grown adults. You just wanted to be able to control the squad like other people, but you needed a break. So you went on leave, but came back too soon.

There wasn't much of choice, though. Either let Soap and Gaz keep getting eaten alive, or you come back and beat them back down, but maybe if you talked to Simon he would've been able to help. No, this was your squad, they were your responsibility. You'd have to be a Drill Sergeant, and it was already giving you a headache.

You pushed off Ghost, watching as one of the Omegas stumbled before righting herself. You gave a deep sigh. "Get over here!" You shouted over the rain and wind. As everyone gathered, you glared through them. "I am not your mother. I shouldn't be coming back from leave early because your senior officers are unable to control you," you huffed, looking away for a moment.

The rain still pattered down, and the Alpha was looking away. You couldn't decipher how you felt about him, but you knew it was heavy dislike. Something about the man made you uncomfortable.

"You'd expect a group of adults to behave better than a group of pups, but I suppose none of you have grown," the Alpha opened his mouth to speak and Ghost took a step forward, daring him to make a comment. "I haven't been treating you as soldiers, clearly, so from now on you'll be meeting up with Task Force 141 to being your morning training," a smile graced your features.

You'd spoken with Price briefly over the phone on your flight back. It didn't take much to convince him, and his tone gave you the chills once or twice as he described what he could do. You didn't mention anything to Ghost. You weren't entirely sure what he would do if he found out you were being dragged away from your family because of a problem child.

Everything was still in the air, what you would end up doing with them. As you gazed across, the only person not having any form of regret was the Alpha. Michael. If you could, you would have rejected him from being a part of your team. You'd read his file, it was nothing short of infraction after infraction.

You gave a deep breath. "You're going to go into the mess hall and clean it, if I come in there tomorrow and find even a crumb you'll be stuck cleaning it every day until you leave," no one moved. "What are you waiting for?" They scattered into the wind, Michael still taking everything at his own speed.

Ghost grabbed his soldier, eyes not leaving the mans. "You'll be with me," and you watched him get dragged away. You were finally free to take a warm shower, perhaps curl into your nest for some sleep you'd lost while traveling.

It was late in the evening when you heard from Simon. He had walked into your room, taking his boots off and crawling next to you in your nest. His balaclava scratched at your neck as he scented you, brushing his cheek against you.

You turned the page in your book, letting the large Alpha nearly curl around you. Your fingers found the top of his head, scratching at him over the balaclava. Yet to see his face, you never pushed it. It was none of your business to push him, even as his mate.

You could hear him chuffing softly, nose digging into your neck slightly. It was quiet for some time, outside of the chuffing of Simon and the pages turning from your book. His hands were around you, tugging you closer to him as your fingers continued scratching.

The chuffing quieted, a bothered grunt coming from him. "Want to feel your hand," he muttered, tugging at his balaclava before being able to pull it off entirely.

You didn't look, didn't move, just kept on reading as your fingers found hair. That made you pause, brows furrowed as you turned to look at him from where he returned to your neck, his chuffs returning.

Purring, you tugged him to look at you, book falling from your hand. Simon groaned softly, trying to pull his head out of your grip. A quiet be still, coming from you before he paused, eyes opening to glance down at you.

Scars littered his face, your fingers finding some of the larger ones to stroke at, trying to memorize every part of his face. You could see his cheeks growing a little red and you laughed softly, pressing your hands to his cheeks.

"Little embarrassed of being looked at so thoroughly?" Simon looked away, finally pulling out of your grip and hiding his face back against your neck. You could feel him lick you slightly, laying down a nip or two, his hands tugging you against him again.

It was a few moments later that either of you finally said anything. "What did you do with Michael?" Simon huffed against you, a quiet who?, coming from him. "The Alpha you pulled away from the rest of the squad," you added.

Simon pulled away to look at you fully. "Nothing illegal," you looked at him, smile dropping. He gave you a little grin. "Just gave him some things to do to get all of his energy out, he had a little too much to be acting that way," you laughed.

The next morning, you had a knock on your office door. "Come in," it wasn't anyone you would've expected. Not Ghost, nor Soap or Gaz. Michael.

He slammed his hands on your desk and leaned over it. "I want out," you raised your brows. "I'm not gonna let some little doctor think she can control me," you gave out a deep sigh. "And what about Ghost? You fuck him to get where you are?"

"My relationship with the Lieutenant is none of your business, soldier," you answered, crossing your legs. "You want out? You leave this squad and it's the last place you'll be. You know you can't join the military again if you get discharged. Too many infractions," you shrugged, pulling his file out of your desk. He looked at it.

Lunging for it, you pulled it out of his reach. "Who the hell gave that to you?" You laughed at him, his scent changing to something reeking of anger. God, why were you able to smell him? "Or, is it because you're an Omega?" He smiled shortly.

You stood. "You haven't been taking your suppressants as prescribed, have you?" There was no other answer for why he was so angry constantly. Without a consistent dosage, the androstenone in him would be too high to think properly. He could go feral.

Lunging for your phone, you were only able to get one number dialed before he threw it into the wall. "A little Omega bitch, fucking Ghost in order to get where she is," he snorted. The door was cracked open still, but Michael was in the way. There was no leaving.

Looking away, you blinked slowly. "I'm assuming this is how you were removed from your last squad," he threw your chair into the wall and you opened the file.

"You have no right to read that, you bitch," he growled, trying to grab it over your desk. You pulled it back, Michael growling deep in his chest. "You're gonna give me that, or I'm gonna fucking kill you," you could feel your heart in your stomach. Sure, you could fight but it was nothing with an almost feral Alpha trying to kill you.

Glancing around, you had to look for something to hopefully protect yourself with. A man like Michael could easily kill you, you didn't doubt it. One wrong punch and you'd be in the infirmary, another and you could be out of it. Forever.

"You touch her and you'll find out why I'm feared," Simon. You could feel the relief coursing through you. He wouldn't let anything happen to you, let alone allow another Alpha to hurt you. You looked between the two, seeing Michaels face slowly start to drop.

You dove under your desk the second either of them moved, a growl ripping through the area as you heard a body slam into the wall in front of you. You knew the fear on your scent would be pungent, especially to Ghost.

And it was. He could smell it from down the hall, causing a spark of fear to course through himself. The only other thing he could smell was another Alpha, and he hoped to god he wouldn't be too late. When he opened the door just a tad bit more, he heard the threats.

It set something off in him that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He didn't hesitate before throwing the other Alpha into the wall, seeing you dive under your desk in his peripheral. His fists found the man, but it barely did anything. A feral Alpha would do anything to kill whoever he saw, and Ghost could hear shouts coming from the hall.

Michael charged at Ghost, who braced for impact, colliding with him and being dragged into the hall and on the wall across from your office. Ghosts knee found Michael gut, throwing him onto the ground and climbing over him.

Some MP's had come careening down the hall, guns up and shouting commands. Ghost tried holding the man down, but it didn't do too much before he was bucked off and climbing to his feet. The fear was still pungent on your scent and it set Ghost off.

He couldn't do anything before gunshots echoed down the hall and Michael collapsed. A few tranq darts scattered along his back.

Ghost was put on administrative leave, pending investigation. You'd used the rest of your leave to be able to stay with him and for the entire duration you weren't out of his eyesight.

Showering? He was standing against the far wall, staring through the doorway.

Trying to use the bathroom? The locks on your bathroom doors had never been used more, and when you left he would be standing in front of it.

For some time you had also been far to shaken to let Simon leave your eyesight. There was nothing he would do that you weren't following him for, his showers left you sitting on the counter and talking to him, even without a response. You didn't go into the bathroom with him, but sat by the door as your eyes flittered around to each corner of the room, looking for feral Alphas.

Before either of you became more comfortable, Simon wouldn't even go into your nest. He would sit outside of it, never moving much at all. It took you panicking in the middle of the night for him to start going back inside of your nest.

Neither of you knew what the future would look like, but as long as you had each other, you figured you'd be alright.

Next

[rottenpumpkin13]

headcanon: Sephiroth is hailed as an invincible soldier who can take a bullet to the chest and not flinch, up until an entire room of cadets witnesses him stub his toe and then crumble on the spot in misery

SOLDIER Second Class Zack Fair

Incident Report #4872

Date: [REDACTED]

Location: Training Room B, Floor 49

Subject: Training Exercise Incident - Sephiroth, "The Toe Incident"

OFFICIAL REPORT

At approximately 0900 hours, SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth was conducting a demonstration of proper foot positioning and weight distribution for advanced martial arts techniques. The exercise required barefoot execution as per Combat Form 7-B specifications for maximum ground sensitivity and proper form.

During the demonstration, Sephiroth's right foot made unexpected contact with the reinforced steel corner of the training mat platform. The following expletives were voiced in rapid succession:

"FUCK"

"FUCKING HELL"

"SHIT"

"SON OF A FUCKING—UGH!"

"FUCK SHINRA"

"OH FUCK EVERYTHING"

"WHO THE FUCK DESIGNED THIS GODDAMN CORNER!?"

"FUCK EVERYONE"

[Remainder redacted for length and intensity + because I feel shy writing them]

Immediate aftermath included:

• 3 cadets requiring emotional support

• 7 cadets frozen in absolute horror

• 1 cadet recording the incident (device has been confiscated)

• 1 SOLDIER Second Class Kunsel (he laughed so hard he threw up, had to be sent to Medical)

Sephiroth spent approximately 2.7 minutes on the floor alternating between lying face-down, rolling side to side, and occasionally hitting the mat while cursing in 3 different languages.

Recommendations:

- Install rubber corners on all training equipment

- Never mention this incident again

- Implement a swear jar

Respectfully submitted,

Zack Fair

SOLDIER Second Class

[ni-idea-07]

In the Sights.

Tw: Kidnapping/Forced Detention, Physical and Psychological Violence, Obsession/Yandere Behavior, Emotional Coercion, Depersonalization/Harassment, Invasion of Privacy, Disturbing Language, Intense Psychological Content, Non-Consensual Relationship/Abuse of Power

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, where do I start?

The first time you saw Piers was on your first day. You'd been assigned to Alpha Team, and the first impression you received was one that made you shiver.

Everyone on the team was male, big and strong, and they trained hard.

You were a small girl, formerly part of Gamma Team, which perished after a mission in the Lofoten Islands. You, the gunner, and the pilot had barely survived, and the one who got you out of there had been the only survivors. The BSAA brass had given you the choice since there were several other teams in the BSAA who wanted you. You were a combat medic, specializing in performing surgeries or advanced battlefield treatment.

But damn, you were a miserable, pathetic piece of shit compared to the others on Alpha Team, and while you were in shape, strength and raw combat weren't your thing. You looked ridiculous when you couldn't even perform training exercises.

—"Just in time, soldier"— Chris Redfield greeted, approaching you.

From that day on, you were part of the BSAA.

Chris was able to tailor the exercises and workouts to your needs and your muscle mass. You were a mouse who was given a bolt and nut and told that those would be his weights.

Piers didn't like it very much. You were a girl. It's not that Piers is a misogynist; he was raised by the women of his house since the men were focused on their military careers.

He had also seen what women were capable of. Merah, Claire, and Jill were prime examples. Agile, fast.

But according to him, you weren't cut out for this, and if you survived in Lofoten, it was by a miracle. After all, you were a combat medic. Not a gunner, not a sapper, no.

You were practically just a doctor who knew how to shoot.

Or at least that's what he said. Even though he'd seen what you were capable of, he kept telling you to stay behind because if they killed you, the entire team would be in danger without their medic. He didn't trust you; you didn't see yourself as a soldier. You saw yourself as a secretary or a woman with a light, feminine job like a job at a beauty salon or a social media influencer.

You were attractive and didn't mind acting like a girl; he'd grown accustomed to strong, somewhat masculine women.

You reminded him of the traitor Jessica Sherawat.

All that changed when, on an outing after a mission, you were both very drunk and strangely happy with the atmosphere.

You had gone out as a group, but everyone had already split up or gone home.

But you and your lieutenant ended up fucking in the bathroom of that bar. After that, Piers wanted more and more.

Maybe he didn't notice, maybe he didn't want to notice. But you were uncomfortable with him.

You didn't want attention, and if you did it with him, it was because you thought there wouldn't be any consequences (not to mention a possible pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease, you should have thought things through).

Piers hates a lot of things, and one of the things he hated most was not having what he wanted.

That was you.

Soon, he started showering you with gifts and attention. You were brave enough to tell him you didn't reciprocate his feelings. But that wasn't enough.

He could be intense when he wanted; life was too short to go without what he wanted. Entering your house was too easy for someone like him.

It was his private sanctuary: smelling your perfume between the sheets, sinking into your bed, letting the residual warmth your body had left envelop him. Your cat purred in his hands as his gaze wandered to your half-open closet, where your clothes waited as if they were his too.

It was definitely a good idea to tell Captain Redfield to have you teach the new recruits first aid classes. You were barely home anymore, which meant Piers could see you every day and your house felt empty.

Your makeup was neatly organized, the kitchen cupboards were full and organized.

The refrigerator was also full and tidy. You were vegan, so your kitchen practically smelled of soy.

He walked into the bathroom; your shower towel was neatly folded and hanging next to the shower. He couldn't help but grab it and smell it.

It smelled like you, and it drove him crazy.

He didn't just want you to be his girlfriend anymore; he wanted you to marry him, raise children together, grow old together, and, if possible, die together, since he couldn't bear to be without you. The towel was still in his hands, barely damp from the last shower you'd taken before leaving. Piers held it against his face, closing his eyes with an expression of false peace, as if the scent could stop the storm inside him.

He didn't understand why you were avoiding him.

You had agreed to sleep with him, hadn't you? So why were you acting like it meant nothing? As if it hadn't ignited something irremediable inside him. Piers wasn't an idiot. He knew that for you, it had been a stupid, drunken escape after a difficult mission, a bad decision you'd buried under layers of work and escape.

But he hadn't forgotten.

He couldn't forget it.

Ever since that night in the bar bathroom, where you'd moaned his name while your nails left marks on the back of his neck, he'd decided you'd be his. Not on a whim. By fate.

He watched you teach the new guys. You smiled at the recruits, with that natural sweetness that made his blood boil. Not because you smiled, but because he knew that smile wasn't for him. It never was. And that sickened him.

You couldn't keep acting like nothing had happened.

You'd played with fire.

Piers had started collecting little bits of you: your comb with hair caught between its teeth, a T-shirt you left in the locker room, an eyeliner that mysteriously disappeared from your bag.

He kept it all in a metal box that he hid in his room like a sick teenager.

—"You're forcing me, you know?"— he whispered softly as he sat on the edge of your bed. The cat jumped onto his legs fearlessly, purring as if it recognized him.

He smiled, petting him affectionately. Animals always knew who to be with.

—"She'll understand, too. She'll understand that I do it out of love."

That night, he didn't leave your apartment until very late. He carefully locked everything, wiped off his fingerprints, folded the towel back the way it was before, and left through the balcony the same way he'd come in.

The days became strange. He would get too close to you at the slightest excuse. You could swear he smelled your hair. It wasn't long before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rested his head next to yours. Sometimes he kissed the top of your head before moving away. You tried to distance yourself; you didn't dare say anything to him. He was your superior and the next captain of Alpha Team, since Chris would be retiring soon.

-------

—"Hey Y/N... Would you like to go get coffee with me?"

You were shivering from the cold that night, having just returned from a mission where more than a third of the team had died.

You didn't want to drink anything hot; you wanted to cry for losing your friends.

—"No... I really appreciate it. But... I just want to go home"— you murmured.

He smiled.

—"Let me take you then. Tell me where it is."

You sighed and nodded. Your car was still under repair after someone put sugar in the fuel tank.

You were very cold, and Piers's car was the perfect temperature. He fastened your seatbelt. You didn't say anything, but it was quite tight. The ride was silent. It wasn't because he wasn't talking (because yes, he talked to you the whole way, but it was you who wasn't paying attention). You preferred to stay silent and close your eyes.

You got ready to get out when you saw that the street they were passing was familiar.

—"I like you, you know? I always liked you. I didn't like you before, but I couldn't help but fall at your feet."— He laughed a little before continuing. You could feel the car speeding up; it was obvious he wasn't going to let you out.

—"Piers... Where are you taking me?"— you asked, your voice still trembling, your fingers gripping the door handle, even though you knew he had activated the child safety lock.

Piers looked away from the road for just a second to look at you. His smile was soft, almost tender.

—“Somewhere where we can talk without interruptions. Today was a really hard day for you, Y/N. You need a distraction… and so do I.”

The car’s engine roared beneath Piers’s feet, getting faster and faster. The speedometer was reading over 100 km/h even though there was almost no traffic. The city lights became blurry lines through the window.

—“Piers, I want to go home. Now”— you said more firmly, feeling terror rise in your throat.

He sighed.

—“Don’t say that… Not when all I want is to take care of you.”

His hand left the wheel for a second to rest on your thigh. You shuddered at the warmth of his palm. It was a possessive touch, so gentle it hurt.

—“Stop acting like you don't have feelings for me, Y/N. I know what you felt that night. Don't pretend. Every time you tell me you don't want to see me, I don't believe you… your body was telling me something else. Do you remember how you kissed me? How you moaned my name…”— His voice grew darker, huskier.

You swallowed, holding back tears.

—“I was drunk, Piers… I don't want that with you. I don't want this…”

Piers was silent for a few seconds, his jaw clenched. He swerved, pulling off the main avenue and onto a nearly deserted road lined with trees. The pounding in your ears was deafening.

—“Don't say that, darling. You have no idea how bad it makes me feel to hear you talk like that.”

His hand tightened on your thigh.

—“Piers, stop the car. Now”— you demanded, your voice rising a little.

He gave a short, humorless laugh.

—“What for? So you can keep running away? So you can keep going on stupid missions just so you don’t have to talk to me, so you don’t have to look me in the eye. No, Y/N. Not anymore.”

The car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. The screech of the brakes echoed in the stillness of the night. The silence that followed was so thick it seemed to swallow the air.

Piers turned off the engine and turned to you. His eyes, barely lit by the dashboard, looked like two dark pools.

—“I… I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I don’t want you to be alone, not one more day. Do you know what it’s like to think someone could hurt you? That you could die out there, on any mission… and I’d be alone without you. I can’t, Y/N. I can’t.”

He leaned over you, his breath mingled with cologne and gunpowder. His forehead gently bumped against yours.

—“I want you with me. Always. I won't let you keep acting like nothing ever happened between us. I won't let you keep denying me.”

You tried to pull away, but he cupped your face with both hands. His grip wasn't violent, but you couldn't break away either.

—“Piers… please… let me go…”— you murmured, feeling your breath hitch.

Piers brushed his thumb over your cheek. His voice softened dangerously.

—“I swear I won't hurt you, Y/N. I just… need you to understand that this is right. For both of us.”

He kissed you. It was slow, almost sweet, but filled with an intensity that made you tremble. It tasted of desperation. Of obsession.

When he managed to pull away, his lips were mere millimeters from yours.

—“Do you know what would hurt me more than dying on the battlefield?”— he whispered, staring at you. —“If you told me you'd never love me.”

He stood up, taking a deep breath, as if gathering strength.

—“Don't make me do something I don't want to do, Y/N… I don't want to have to take you away for you to understand that you're mine.”

Tears began to trickle down your cheeks. You tried to open the door again, but it was still locked.

—“Piers… this isn't love. This is sick. Let me go.”

He slowly shook his head.

—“I'm not going to let you go. Not when I know we can be happy. Not when I know how good we feel together. I'll prove it to you, Y/N… I promise.”

And with that, he started the car again. As they drove deeper into the darkness, your heart pounded, caught between the cold of fear and the suffocating heat of his obsession.

You knew that what had started as a mistake in a bar bathroom was turning into your worst nightmare.

The road seemed to swallow them up, winding and dark, flanked by trees swaying in the night wind. The silence in the car was so thick that every small sound—the engine, your breathing—felt like a scream.

Piers didn't look back at you as he drove. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Every so often, he mumbled things to himself, broken phrases, impossible to understand.

—"I'm not going to lose you... I'm not going to lose you like the others..."— he finally whispered, his voice cracking.

—"Piers, please, put me down..."— you begged, trembling. —“We can talk tomorrow. Let me go home.”

He looked at you again, with that almost pained expression, as if you were the one hurting him.

—“You don’t understand… I can’t let you go home. Not if it means you’re going to keep avoiding me, looking at me like I’m a monster. I’m not a monster!”

���“No… you’re not…”— you lied, your voice so low you could barely hear yourself.

—“Don’t lie to me!”— he roared.

He slammed on the brakes again, this time on a dirt shoulder. The car stopped in a place so isolated that all you could hear were crickets and the wind whispering through the trees.

Piers turned off the engine and stood still, his breathing ragged. For a second, you were afraid he might hit you… but instead, he lowered his head and covered his eyes with his hand, as if he were holding back tears.

—“I don't want to hurt you, Y/N… I swear I don't…”— he said, his voice breaking.

Very gently, you placed your hand on his forearm.

—“Piers… I know. But this… this is wrong. I'm scared. Let me go. Please.”

He flinched at your touch. When he raised his face, his eyes were wet and red.

—“You don't understand… I… I come into your house because I need to feel that you're okay. I need to make sure that no one is going to hurt you!”— His words tumbled out. —“You leave things lying around… your cat cries if you're late coming back… How do you expect me to stay calm knowing that you could leave one day and never come back?”

He began to laugh, almost hysterically.

—“And look at me… I'm here, like a fucking psychopath, kidnapping you because I don't know how else to make you understand that I care about you!”

—“Piers… I care about you, but this isn't love…” you whispered, your throat tight.

He shook his head, faster and faster.

—“Yes, it is. Of course it is! Love is protecting the person you love. It's making sure no one else touches them, that no one can take them away from you. Why do you think I got in the way of your missions? Because I couldn't bear to see you die!”

He leaned toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks. You felt his hot breath, mixed with the metallic scent of his sweat.

—“You don't understand, Y/N… I'm going crazy without you. If you're not with me… why the fuck do I want to keep fighting?”

He kissed you again, harder this time. When you tried to pull away, he held you even tighter. His tongue forced its way between your lips. You moaned, not in pleasure, but in pure terror.

When he finally pulled away, he was breathing heavily.

—“Let's go to my apartment, okay? We can talk there. I'll make you something warm. Maybe… maybe a bath. You're always cold after missions.”

You shook your head, tears streaming freely down your face.

—“I don't want to… Piers… please…”

His gaze hardened.

—“Don't tell me no, Y/N. I'm being patient. Don't make me lose my patience.”

He leaned back in his seat, started the engine again, and began to turn the car around in the middle of the road.

—“You'll understand. Sooner or later. Because I… I'm not giving up on you.”

As the car sped off into the darkness again, a chill ran down your spine. You felt like, at some point, something in Piers was going to snap completely. And you feared that, when it did, there would be no escape.

You couldn't let Piers keep driving you. You didn't know if you'd ever see daylight again if you made it to his apartment.

So you took a deep breath. And made a decision.

When he slowed down to round a bend, you yanked open your seatbelt and lunged for the door. You tried to force it open, slamming your elbow into the latch.

—"Y/N!"— Piers yelled, letting go of the steering wheel to grab you.

You struggled, clawing at his face, trying to push him away. His fingers closed around your wrist so tightly you felt something crunch. You cried out in pain, but you kept fighting.

—"Let me go, Piers!"— you sobbed, punching him in the shoulder.

Piers stopped you with ease. His strength was overwhelming. He had the training, the muscle mass, the reflexes. You were fast, yes, but you were tired, emotionally wounded, and terrified.

—“Don’t fucking make me do this!”— he roared.

With a sudden movement, he grabbed both of your arms and shoved you back into the seat. The impact knocked the wind out of you.

He gave you barely a second to breathe before leaning over you again. He grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks so you would look at him. His eyes were completely wild, glassy with tears.

—“Why are you doing this to me, Y/N?! I’m protecting you!”

—“You’re crazy, Piers!”— you screamed, your voice breaking. —“Let me go!”

He shook his head frantically.

—“Don’t say that! DON’T SAY THAT!”

You tried again to wriggle free, kicking him in the stomach. He groaned, but didn't let go. Instead, he held you tighter, so tight you felt the bone in your arm strain beneath his fingers.

—"Piers... you're hurting me..."— you whimpered, tears mixing with snot and saliva.

He didn't seem to hear you. He shook you violently.

—"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!"

And then it happened.

With a single blow of his hand, he slammed your head against the metal window frame. A dull sound echoed in your ears. Everything went fuzzy, blurry. The pain was like a white lightning bolt that cut off your consciousness.

You felt a warm liquid trickle down your temple. Your vision filled with black dots.

—"Shit... shit, shit, shit!"— you heard Piers' voice, as if coming from far away.

You felt him shaking your face, trying to keep you awake.

—"Don't go to sleep, Y/N! Fuck, don't do this to me!"

You wanted to respond, but all you managed was a small moan. Your body was limp, powerless. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

Piers began to sob as he wiped the blood from your forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.

—"I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to hurt you... You made me..."

He lifted you easily, as if you were dead weight. He settled you on his lap, holding you against his chest as the car remained stopped on the side of the road. You could feel his tears falling onto your hair.

—“I'm going to take you home… to my house. I'm going to take care of you, okay? You're going to be okay… I swear you're going to be okay…”— he murmured between sobs.

You could barely keep your eyes open. The world was spinning, fragmented into light and shadow.

—“…help me… someone…”— you managed to whisper, almost inaudible.

Piers kissed your bloodied forehead.

—“Shhh… don't say anything, princess. No one's going to separate us.”

He started the car again, stepping on the accelerator. As the road sped away beneath the wheels, you felt your consciousness fade, swallowed by the dark pit of shock and pain.

The last thing you saw before losing consciousness was Piers's reflection in the rearview mirror, his gaze completely shattered, repeating to himself:

—“Everything's going to be okay… everything's going to be okay…”

And then, darkness.

Continue in part 2... 😈

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I'M BACK!

Well, as always, your likes are welcome, and please reblog too. It would help me a lot.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Thank you so much for reading and supporting me.

Best regards. 🫠✨

[thegreymarveljedi]

Disobedient Girl

(Captain Rex x Reader)

Pulled from another previous draft, this is just straight porn. MINOR DNI! 18+ only.

Figured I’d do a little Rex appreciation post cause he’s my favourite Captain. I think he’s pretty hot.

(Divider by @pinkiemme )

Warnings: SMUTTTT, voyeurism, Captain! kink, sex toys (vibrator, butt plug, dildo), pet names, f! Masturbation, gagging, bondage, punishment, oral sex (f! And m! receiving), dirty talk, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, cream pie, cumplay, Rex is kinky af, aftercare, cuddles, FLUFFY

Words: 5.8K+

Today was a training and evaluation day. A very long, tiring, boring day of target practice, hand to hand combat evaluations and physicals for most of the 501st. Anakin had made sure that the 501st had a few extra days between missions especially after the last one that took a toll on the men.

In return, they had a day dedicated to training and physical examinations to ensure they were still in peek performance condition. Rex was walking around the training deck of the Resolute, watching as his brothers completed exercises and evaluations one after the other.

By the time their evaluations were over and training was finished for the day, the men were ready to hit the showers, all of them eager to wash off the sweat from their bodies. Rex stood with Anakin for a few minutes, going over a few charts and strategies before the Jedi bid Rex a farewell, congratulating him on a great session. Rex gave a nod in thanks, finishing off one more document before hooking his data pad to his hip, making his way over to where a handful of the torrent company were laughing.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Fives asked Jesse, wiping the sweat from his face and bringing his canter of water to his lips for a sip as Rex came toward the company. Rex tilted his head in slight confusion before his eyes darted about the training room, watching as his brothers began to make there way out. However, Rex couldn't see their civilian medic anywhere, your absence slightly concerning.

"I don't know," Jesse asked, his eyes also surveying the room before they settled on Rex, eyeing his elder brother with curiosity eyes, "Do you know where she is?"

Rex looked back to the group as all eyes now turned to him, each of his brothers having a different expression on their face. Fives looked smug as ever, knowing that the good captain and their medic had something going on. Jesse looked a little confused, genuinely wondering if she was okay. Hardcase was trying his best to conceal his laughter, seeming to know something that Rex and the rest of the company didn't. Tup and Dogma were quiet, just observing the tomfoolery of the company, neither of them fully understanding the dynamics yet as the two newest members.

"I don't know, she was here an hour ago," Rex said with a slight tilt of his head, voice smooth even as he began to slowly piece together what probably happened. You had seemed a little on edge this morning, stressed over the amount of work today would bring but Anakin had reassured you that he and Rex would both help out. There was one thing he could think of but Rex knew that you wouldn't disobey a direct order from him unless absolutely necessary...or were you going to be a bad girl today?

He was snapped out of thoughts by a firm grip on his shoulder, turning his gaze to Hardcase who smirked at the good captain, "I'm sure she just hiding from you, or she just got tired and went for a nap," he said, squeezing Rex's shoulder before hooking his arm around Fives, guiding the arc out the door.

The rest of the group shrugged, getting up to follow Fives and Jesse as left the training room to go and shower and get something to eat. Rex pondered on those thoughts for another moment before a sigh left his lips, walking back towards the barracks, taking a left turn instead of right to make his way to your room.

As Rex got closer, he could hear the faintest sounds of pleasure through the door even a few doors down the hall. He walked a little faster, a smirk playing in his lips as he came to a stop outside your door, the moaning becoming only slightly louder, but still muffled through the durasteel.

His smirk grew wider, his head handing down as her shook his head, 'I knew she wouldn't be able to wait," He chucked a bit at the thought, turning to make sure the coast was entirely clear before he lunched in the code for you door, watching it slide open quickly and quietly so that you werent alerted of his presence. The door slid closed behind him, the lock engaging with a small push of a button as Rex stood against it to watch you.

He finally concluded that you had left training early because you were feeling frustrated, in need of a release that he had promised to grant you after evaluation were over. However, it seemed as though you were too impatient to wait for him and instead, decided to pleasure yourself. It was something Rex had told you not to do but it seemed today that you wanted to be a disobedient girl which made the captain twitch almost happily.

He told you that after training and evaluations, he wanted you to go get all of your toys and put on your favourite lingerie, all under the guys of following one rule, 'Don't touch yourself till your captain gets there.'

By the look of things, you had obeyed him for the most part, gotten all your toys out including you vibratior, butt plug, and your favourite dildo. You had put on your favourite blue lingerie, the set that drove Rex wild, seeing you in his colours sending his blood pumping straight to his cock. But, you had failed to follow his number 1 rule and instead, chose to touch yourself. Now you were on your back in your bed, eyes closed and fingers playing with your clit while, -still unknown to you- Rex was leaning against the door watching. He waited to see if you'd notice him, his cock getting harder under his codpiece the more he watched.

You continued to moan Rex's name -while occasionally moaning his title, captain, something that had him, removing his codpiece the second it left your lips- as you played with yourself. Finally, after another couple minutes of watching you bring yourself close to the edge, he decided it was time to make his presence know.

"Well, well, well," Rex tsked, watching as your eyes shot open like saucer before quickly removing your hand from your clit. You looked at him in shock, not having heard him enter the room at all but soon, your expression turned to one of regret, knowing that you had gone against him.

You knew you were going to get punished for this and part of you was excited but nervous, "What did Captain say ad'ika?" He asked you in a low, husky voice walking over to the bed.

"Captain said not to touch myself," You said quietly, head hung and eyes downcast as you looked at your slick hands in your lap.

"And what did you do?" He asked, leaning over you and tilting your chin up so that your eyes meant.

"I touched myself," You said shyly, eyes remorseful as Rex nodded at you with a smirked adorning his lips, "Am I going to get punished captain?" You asked, even if you already knew the answer to that simple question.

He smirked at you, nodding his head agains as you looked at your hands once more, "Of course you're going to get punished baby girl, you disobey your captain," Rex said, moving away from you slightly, "Get your gag and the rope mesh'la," he instructed as he pick up the plug and vibrator you had bought on your last shore leave on Coruscant.

You nodded obediently, reaching over to the night stand and pulling out what he had asked for. The rope was standard with hints of silk to make sure there was no rope burn afterward. The gag was simple yes affective, a black ball with blue straps to secure it around your head.

"On your stomach baby," Rex ordered, as he picked up the ball gag, placing it in your mouth and securing it to the back of your head. He then proceeded to tie your arms behind your back, being gentle while still making sure the rope was tight enough. When the rope were secure, he slowly and teasingly slid two fingers down your spine, running them both between your asscheek before sliding them inside of your slick opening, pumping them in and out a few times. When rex removed his fingered, he refrained from licking them clean, instead, using them as lube for the butt plug in his other hand.

"Ass up mesh'la," He instructed devilishly, a groan falling from his lips as you followed orders like a good girl. Rex took a moment to tease the tight ring of muscle before you felt the plug make it's way inside, moaning at the mixed feelings of pain and pleasure.

He watched as your ass greedily swallow the plug, the royal blue jewel sitting snuggly between your cheeks once the plug was all the way inside you. Rex took his time admiring his handy work before taking hold of the vibrator, teasing it over your clit lightly before holding it your pussy lips.

"Now, I'm going to put this in that tight little pussy of yours, but you're not allowed to cum till I get back, understand?" Rex said as he teased your entrance with the vibrator a little more, putting the smallest amount more pressure on it, drawing a whimper from your throat.

You only nodded as Rex pushed the vibratior inside you, turning it on the lowest setting and using his fingers to move it around slightly. You moaned from behind the gag as the vibrator found its home inside you, the low vibrations teasing you and making you think of what's to come.

Rex stepped back a little, admiring the view of you tied up, ass in the air with a butt plug in your ass and a vibrator in your weeping pussy. He moved his hand down to stroke himself through his blacks, groaning at the thought that you were all his to enjoy. Rex moved back to the bed and sat down, manoeuvring you across his lap to give you your second punishment, "Count baby girl. Count how many times I smack your ass."

He barely gave you a chase to nod as his hand made contact with your behind firmly, feeling the heat blossoming from where his hand landed. You moaned lowly, counting muffled from behind the gag as Rex landed another one.

This continued till Rex had spanked you 15 times, your butt now red and heated but only added to the pleasure of the plug and the vibratior inside you.

"That's a good girl. You look so pretty with that in your pussy," Rex's cooed, moving back to your previous position on the bed, "Now remember no cumming till I get back. I'll bring you some food ok?"

You nodded slightly eyes closing to bask in the little simulation the vibrator offered, though those thoughts were interrupted as you moaned louder, feeling the vibrations spike. Rex had turned up the speed of the toy before he shoved your ass back down so you lay flat on the bed, legs already beginning to twitch. With that, Rex left you alone on your bed with the plug and vibratior inside you, simulating your body in a delicious way.

~Time Skip~

It had been half an hour since Rex had left the room, leaving you alone with your punishment. It was becoming harder by the second to refrain from cumming, the over sensitivity of your core growing with every passing moment. Between the vibratior and the plug it was hard, the sensations mounting into a flurry of pleasure almost bordering on pain. You were sweating, panting, moaning, and shaking all together, legs almost numb from the amount of will power you were exuding.

That's when the door opened to reveal Rex with a tray of food and a glass of canteen of water from the mess, a cheek smile on his face and his gaze fell upon your taut form. 

"Hey baby girl." he walked over and set the tray and water on the nights stand, eyes almost never leaving yours, "You doing okay?" He asked, running a hand up your leg then giving your ass a smack.

"Sis-seen!" You said from behind the gag, drool slipping out from the sides of your mouth. Rex chuckled at your continued count of spanks watching as your eyes were blown wide, legs clenched tightly to refrain from cumming undone and from letting the vibrator slip out.

"That's my good girl," He praised, scratching your scalp gently, sending a full body shiver coursing through you. He trailed his hand down your head to the strap of the gag, quickly undoing the strap and tossing it toward the fresher. Once it was off you gasped, drawing in the fresh air and licking your now semi dry lips. You were panting as you looked up a Rex with clouded (E/C) eyes, desperate to cum now that he had returned.

"C-captain, Please," you begged weakly, as the vibratior continued to simulate you, the feeling intense and almost unbearable.

"Please what ad'ika," Rex said teasingly. He clearly knew what you wanted but was being a little shit about. He wanted to hear you beg for it.

"PLEASE! Please sir let me cum I wanna cum so bad daddy, please!" You begged again, closing your eyes to try and hold on to what little control you had left.

"Okay mesh'la, since you asked so nicely," Rex said, moving onto the bed before manoeuvring you onto his lap just like he had done earlier.

"Ass up baby," Rex said and you obeyed, lift your butt in the air as much as you could in your position. Rex ever so slowly took hold the plug, slowly pulling it out and watching as your hole puckered and clenched around nothing. You whimpered at the loss of fullness, feeling somewhat empty now that the plug was gone.

"It's ok cyare," Rex cooed as he placed the plug on the night stand, running a soft hand along your ass before moving to the vibrator. Rex took hold of it but instead of pulling it out, he turned the speed up even higher and began thrusting it in and out of you, drawing a scream from your lips

"FUCK! Fuck that feels so good sir! PLEASE can I cum CAPTAIN please?" You cried out as Rex thrusted the vibratior deeper into you, pushing it as far as your body would take it.

Rex continued this for a bit till he leaned down to your ear and whispered your words of saving grace, "Cum for me."

You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, Rex quickly pulling the vibratior out of you and watching as your juices coated, the sheets, his thighs and yours, your core convulsing as a second orgasm ripped through you simultaneously. Your cunt fluttered around nothing, trying and failing to take something in to fill the void once more. Rex then put the vibratior down on the nights stand and untied your hand from behind your back, carefully rolling you around and pulling you to sit in his lap properly.

"That was so good mesh'la, you came some much," Rex praised you even more his arms circling you body as he began to massage your back and your arms. You smiled weakly and moved your arms to stretch above your head, feeling your shoulders pop slightly.

"Thank you sir," you said, eyes locking with Rex's as he continued to loosen your upper body, hands finding every knot and tense muscle he could. He smiled and gave your ass another light smack,  moving his hand away after to begin removing his vambraces.

"Seventeen," You said breathlessly making Rex chuckle, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through your hair, "That's my girl."

You smiled, sighing pleasantly as Rex continued to give you a massage to help you relax and recover from your punishment. You two stayed there for another few minutes, just basking in each other's presence. By now you had tucked your head Rex's neck as much as you could with his armour still on, hand gripping the lip of his chest plate.

"Captain?" You asked, tracing circles over Rex's chest where his heart rested beneath his armour and blacks. 

"Yes cyar'ika?" He replied, planting a sweet kiss to the top of your head, looking down at you with a smile.

"Can I pleasure you now?" You asked innocently, eyes meeting his as you moved away from his neck.

"Of course you can ad'ika," Rex said as he cupped your cheek. You leaned into his touch, turning to kiss his palm before your eyes met once more. You nodded and slid from his lap, carefully lowering yourself onto the floor to begin removing his leg armour. Rex watched as you meticulously removed his armour, placing it next to the bed in the order you knew he liked, being respectful of the plastoid used to protect the men.

Rex offered his assistance by removing his vambraces, gloves and rerebraces, moving up his arm until they were left covered by his blacks. He passed each piece to you, admiring how you took such good care of each piece. Once his legs were bare, you stood up, sliding your hands up his chest and finding the latches on his shoulders to remove his cuirass. Rex closed his eyes as you worked, enjoying being taken care of even if today was supposed to be about you.

Soon his armour had been removed, placed neatly in an orderly pile next to the bed. You moved back to him and hooked your thumbs wordlessly into the hem of his shirt, tugging the fabric up and off of his body to reveal his muscular torso. Your eyes stayed gazing at his chest for a moment before you moved onto Rex's bottom's, eyes locking with his as you silently asked for permission to remove them. The captain lifted his hips off the bed to give you room, pulling his black bottoms and standard issue boxers off in one smooth motion.

You took the time to fold his blacks and place them on top of his armour before turning back to Rex on your knees. You ran your hands up and down his powerful thighs, feeling how the muscles contracted under your touch. You kissed along his legs, making your way up to his throbbing cock, watching as it bobbed with his restraint not to pick you up and fuck you.

You smiled up at your captain before taking hold of his dick, giving it a few experimental pumps before licking from the base to the tip, taking him into your mouth slowly. You took your time swallowing him, eyes flickering up to his face to gage his expression.

Rex sat there in pure bliss, hand coming up to stroke your hair as you continued to suck him off, "That's feel so good ad'ika," he praised, threading his fingers in your hair as you took him deeper.

You sucked a little harder, pulling off only slightly to focus on his tip, lapping at the sensitive head. Rex threw his head back, grunting at how good it felt to have your mouth on him. His grip on your hair tightened, urging you to take more of him in your mouth once more. Soon you were deepthroating him, thanking the maker that you had no gag reflex to hinder your ability to bring Rex pleasure. You felt Rex's cock twitch inside your throat, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and suck a little harder.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum cyare," He moaned, both of his hand finding purchase in your hair as he flooded your mouth and throat with his cum. You took a deep breath through your nose, eyes closing as you sat on your knees and took his load.

"Such a good girl for me," he said huskily, pulling his dick from your mouth, watching as you quickly shut your mouth, eyeing him in a wordless gesture.

"Open," He ordered, groaning as you opened your mouth and showed him his juices that coated your mouth and throat. It was a filthy thing to enjoy the sight but Rex couldn't get enough of it, knowing that you were his and only his.

"Swallow," He growled, watching as you obeyed him, swallowing him cum and opening your mouth to show him that you did. Rex let pleased growl simmer in his throat, leaning down and planting a bruising kiss to your lips.

"Good girl," Rex praised as he brought you back onto his lap, arms circling you somewhat possessively even if he knew you were going anywhere. He began kissing, biting, sucking and licking your neck while grabbing your ass firmly in his hands, needing the soft yet muscular flesh in his large, warm palms.

You moaned as he took one of your breasts in his mouth, suck vigorously on your nipple like a hungry man. He moved his hands from your supple behind, running them up and down your back soothingly. Rex took a moment to bask in the feeling of you in his arms, mouth wrapped around one of your breasts and hands roaming your body as if you commit everything to memory once more.

He pulled away from your chest, gently laying you down on your back as he kissed down your body, worshipping your every curve and dip, every little scar or beauty mark he found. He kissed his way down until he reached your clit, looking up at you to take in your features. Sweat gleamed on your forehead, cheeks red and eyes shining and blown wide with lust, your lips caught between your teeth in anticipation for his next move. Rex licked his lips, taking one last moment to admire your beautiful body before abruptly leaning down, licking a long strip up you folds, sucking your lips into his mouth before moving on to your clit, a sharp, breathy, moan leaving your body.

"Mmmm, you taste so good ad'ika, so sweet," Rex said as he sucked harshly at your clit. All you could do was moan and buck your hips into his mouth, feeling over sensitive from his earlier punishment. Rex moved his mouth down to your abused hole, watching as it fluttered just from his hot breathe. He stuck his tongue out, licking from your entrance to your clit and back before dipping inside of you, a loud drawn out moan falling from your lips. He brought one of his hands up to rub rough circles on your clit.

"C-captain, I-I'm close," You moaned, stuttering as you bucked your hips into his mouth and hand, feeling your orgasm coming quickly.

"That's it cyar'ika, you like it when I devour your pussy don't you? You like when I play with your clit? You like when I shove my fingers inside you and pump them till you cum?" Rex said as he moved his fingers and tongue faster on your clit, moving his other hand down to your pussy lips and entering 3 fingers inside you making you scream. You threw your head back, neck strained slightly as your hands came down to Rex's wrist, trying to push him away from your over sensitive lips.

"Can I cum captain! Please captain can I!" You begged, panting and writhing about as his fingers even moved faster. His pace on your clit was blindingly fast as his fingers inside you moved with a speed akin to hyperspace, bringing stars to the front of your vision.

"Cum for your captain ad'ika, cover my fingers and tongue in your sweet juices," Rex said, pressing his fingers against your g-spot, tongue lapping at your clit aggressively. The action had you screaming as you came on his fingers and tongue, legs shaking and pussy clenching around his digits.

Rex pulled away from your lower half, chin covered in your sweet nectar as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean of your juices before moving back up your body, leaning down and kissing your lips. He hungrily nipped at your lips, giving you a taste of yourself which made your breath hitch. He pulled away all too soon, hand reaching down to give himself a few pumps, a deep groan leaving his lips.

"You taste so good mesh'la," Rex said as he lined himself up with your dripping core, cock weeping with the need to finally feel your warmth around him.

You laid there panting beneath him, staring into those amber eyes that you had seen on thousands of men. But Rex's were somehow different, with a touch more brown along the bottom of his iris and more depth to get lost in. You brought your hand up to his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek softly as you admired him. You moved down his body next, tracing the scars on his chest and his arms, many of which had long since healed and faded though a few new ones took there place, nothing major but still added to his collection of what you had dubbed his trophies of war. Your eyes trailed back up to Rex's, smiling up at the man you so luckily called your own.

"Even with all these scars you're still the most handsome man I've ever known. These scars just mean you're a warrior, someone who does whatever he can to protect his brothers, his family," You said as you looked up at him, bringing your hand back up to his face. You cupped his cheek again, just holding him there, the trance of lustful need broken for a moment in favour of soft blissful intimacy shared between soulmates.

Rex looked down at you with eyes to innocent for someone who had just dragged two powerful orgasms out of you. But soon his lips morphed into a gentle smile, not a smirk, or a cocky grin, but a really genuine smile. He leaned down, lips meeting yours in a gentle, loving kiss, lips soft as they fit together like puzzle pieces.

"Thank you," Rex said quietly, taking a moment to relish in the calm, intimate atmosphere that you two had created, greatful to have you in his arms. As he pulled away. You just smiled up at his and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You ready mesh'la?" Rex asked, his voice low and lustful, sending a tingle up your spine. All you could do was nod, hands coming up to grasp at what little hair his blonde buzz cut offered as your eyes rolled back, head fall back toward the mattress as Rex pushed inside of your awaiting walls.

"Mmm, Fuck captain, you're so big," You moaned at the pleasurable sensation, feeling entirely filled by the man above you. This wasn't your first time with Rex and it most certainly wouldn't be the last, but even after having the vibrator and Rex's finger give you two orgasms to stretch you open, he was still quite big.

"You like the feeling of my cock inside your pussy ad'ika, like how it's stretching you so much, you like it when fuck you," Rex spoke huskily to you, continuing to whisper dirty things as his hips finally rested flush against yours.

"Yes sir," you said breathlessly, feeling the air leave your lungs. It was then an idea popped into your head, a risky idea and could get you punished again but you wanted to push Rex, wanted to rile him up.

"Does my tight little pussy feel good around your cock captain? Does it milk your big cock well," you said confidently, wiggling your hips to emphasize, clenching your core to draw him in.

Rex was about to start thrusting though he stopped abruptly when he heard you say such vulgar things. Your actions coupled with your words drew a slight grunt from the captain, not having expected such display.  He looked up at you with dark, lustful eyes and for a moment, the confidence drained from your system, replaced by fear and doubt about your words.

Rex smirked, pulling almost all the way out of you, leaving just a sliver of his tip in to tease you. He stayed there for a moment, taking his time and letting you squirm, anticipating his next move just by looking in his eyes. You went to open your mouth, a snarky quip on the tip of your tongue, though before it could see the light of hyperspace, Rex slammed back into you, electing a scream from your lips instead.

"That's it baby girl, scream for your captain.  Scream my name as I pound into your pussy," Rex said as he drove his cock into you with quick, forceful thrusts, his filthy words making your hips buck and his name fall from your lips in a loud yell.

He thrusted into you without hesitation, hips slapping against your forcefully. You could feel your asscheeks bounce with every one of his thrusts, skin slapping against skin, heat blooming over your behind with how hard Rex pounded into you. You could feel your legs shake as Rex gripped your tights, pushing your legs into your chest for an even deeper angle.

The position had you keening, back arched in the heated pleasure you were receiving. Your hands gripped the sheet below you as Rex leaned over your body, nipping at your neck and listing to every moan and whimper you released. He groaned in your ear, thrusts never faltering in their haste to bring you to orgasm, his rhythm remain ing consistent and steadfast.

"Faster captain, Please!" You begged. You were a panting, moaning mess as Rex flipped you over onto your hands and knees, someone how maneuvering you so well that he didn't need to pull out. That realization flooded you with even more arousal, knowing that there must have been a part of him that didn't want to come out even to change positions.

"As you wish mesh'la," Rex said lowly, speeding up his pace as his grip on your hips tightened, using your love handles to his advantage. He leaned down and kissed your neck then moved to kiss your shoulder blades and down your back.

He moved his hands around your body till one was on your breasts, needing your mounds and pinching your nipples between his fingers as the other went down you pinch and rub your clit. You screamed at the over simulation of your body hips stuttering ever so slightly before you began to thrust your hips back to met Rex's brutal pace.

"I'm so close Rex," you moaned as you felt him pick up the pace, hips slammed into your ass with force that would surely leave bruises in their wake.

"Me too cyar'ika," Rex whispered in your ear as he sped up the movements of his hands, furiously rubbing your abused clit. You moaned loudly at the continued simulation, feeling your orgasm begin to run down you legs. Rex could feel it in the way you clenched around him, gripping his cock like vice as his thrusts became sloppy. He leaned down as best he could, lips finding your ear as he gave a teasing nip and a few words that took the breath right out of you.

"Cum for me." You screamed as your orgasm ripped through your body, arms shaking as they gave out beneath you. The movement caused your ass to hike up further, the new angle allowing Rex to thrust even further into your warmth.

You heard grunting from behind you, knowing that he was close to his end just from the way his breathing chanced. At that moment, you wanted to feel him cum, needed him to fill you, so you decided to push him over the edge.

"Please cum inside me with your big cock Captain, want you to fill me with your sweet cum, please," you begged desperately, wanting to feel every inch of him fill every crevice of your pussy. You looked back at him over your shoulder, forehead gleaming with sweat and eyes dilated almost beyond recognition. Rex stared at you before listening to the very low whimpered plea that left your lips.

"Please Captain."

Rex let out a loud grunt turned groan, hips stuttering as he released his seed deep within you, coating your inner wall in a creamy white. You moaned loudly, back arching at the sensation of being filled by your captain before collapsing on the bed, exhausted and ready to sleep.

Rex pulled out of you slowly, arms twitching with the sensation of just how tight you were even after your orgasm. He fell almost unceremoniously onto the bed next to you, a smirk pulling at his lips at your blissed out expression, pulling the covers over top of both of you, to rest just above your chest.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, gently pulling you into his chest, with a blissful smile on his face. He placed kisses to the top of your head and forehead, whispering sweet words in your ears and praising you for being such a good girl as you came down from cloud nine.

"Thank you, Rex," You said as you relaxed into his strong arms, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle. His smooth, warm skin was a comfort to you would never tire of, feeling him beneath you a treat in it own regard.

Rex smiled at your thanks, reaching one arm behind to grab the careen of water on the night stand. He brought it to your lips tentatively, encouraging you to sip slowly but drink as much as you could because of how much you'd exerted yourself. Once the water was finished her placed it back on the night stand in favour for a ration bar, following the same pattern and encouraging you to eat something. You did so without fuss, grateful for the nourishment after such events. Once the ration bar was gone, you snuggled up to Rex once more, kissing his chest just above his heart as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Sleep well ner Baar'ur'ika, you did so well for me," Rex said as he kissed the crown of your head. You smiled at the praise, feeling a full body shiver rack your shoulders, and not from the cold. Rex however, went the extra mile and pulled the blanket right up to your chin, bundling you in a cocoon of warmth from the blanket and himself.

All too soon, you were lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of Rex's chest, his breathing patterns even and his heart beat steady. Your heart beat a one, a perfect match fitting together.

Alrighty peeps, let me know what you think of this one! Any requests can be dropped in my ASK section or pm me! (Next story is scheduled for March 14th, 2025 drop a thumbs up if you would like to be tagged when it comes out!)

[lauraneedstochill]

shameless self promotion sunday

thank you sm for the tag @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💙 (I’m sorry this isn’t for HOTD!)

I’ve never posted snippets of anything because I edit all my fics way too many times (and my inner perfectionist is never satisfied). BUT here’s a little sneak peek of part 2 of “Can’t pretend”. I actually like it, so maybe some of you will too ♡

As long as Abbot can remember, he’s always managed to stand out. He was unruly as a kid, flouting authority and speaking out against injustice. He got teased for his skin sprinkled with freckles, for curls that turned auburn in the sun; he was hated for his inability to yield. The same attitude got him into the army, the same relentlessness helped him push through the combat training — in ten weeks, some men were broken and remolded to fit in; but not Jack. He was resilient and fast and competent — with first aid, hand grenades and rifles, during the obstacle course and field exercises; he joked that it felt like a summer camp. It also felt like the perfect place for him, and the medic training only strengthened his resolve. He didn’t seek attention, but he attracted people with his biting humour and his never-fading perseverance. And he believed he could withstand it all. Then he got deployed to hotspots, to places where the earth under his feet was scorched by blasts, heat dizzying, pulse throbbing in his head. And he watched as the villages were flattened to the ground, vehicles made of steel reduced to wrecks, and half of the things he’d learnt before were proven useless. It left him hardened, but it didn’t break him. Because somehow Jack always knew the way and the right words, because if he could save a life a day, it was all worth it. But then came the war zones, and those weren’t about saving as much as they were about survival: on battlefields, in trenches, on desert wastelands that stretched on for miles, sand swirling in the air, legs heavy with fatigue, skin slick with sweat. And death tore people limb from limb, never a negotiator but a butcher, only allowing Jack to dig more graves. Those years flayed him of his assurance and his ardour, and he was knocked down, beaten, maimed, his body scarred and heart shattered, the damage that seemed irreparable, pain that left so many soldiers hopeless. But Jack got right back up.

(if any of my mutuals also write for “The Pitt”, please take this as an opportunity to share your sneak peeks 🌸 and tag me!)

[feralferrule]

Saturday’s Child, chapter 2

Word count: 4200-ish

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Fic overview: Bad Batch modern AU. Echo/OC this is part of the Hunter and the Librarian universe by @clonethirstingisreal in which the Batch brothers live together, raising Omega.

OC Althea is a university student with a medical delivery job. Echo is a combat veteran who volunteers at the VA hospital where they meet.

Warnings: some mild fantasizing and voyeurism, some sexually suggestive dialogue but only if you reallly read between the lines, you know? Mentions of body differences, amputated limbs, disability. A touch of unnamed mental health issues. Teeny tiny bit of swearing. Super tame so far

Notes: I’m calling Echo’s amputated limbs his arm and legs in narration. There are differences in opinion on what to refer to an amputated limb by in clinical and in casual conversation. Echo will have his own opinion and that will be a conversation in a future chapter. I want to be as sensitive to amputees and to veterans’ trauma as I can in this fic since it takes place in our normal world.

So there’s all sorts of head cannons over exactly what kind of limb differences Echo has. I’m going with bilateral through the knee amputation using the Mazet technique which he had to have after his below the knee amputations from the field needed revision. (IED explosion injury) This would give him the limb shape, mechanical knees and muscle functionality similar to what we see in the show. Basically, he has a full length femur on both sides and functional hip muscles. This is a rare approach for amputation and I’m not completely sure why, but it seems like more people would benefit from TKA amputation than get the chance to. He also is amputated above the elbow on his right. He has a variety of prosthetics for running, walking, everyday arm and hand needs and for athletic and weight training.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

Omega’s excited chattering carried up to Tech as he left his room and made his way down the stairs. Half way down he was able to hear her more clearly.

“She showed me how to do everything for free. I don't have to buy a thing and definitely not one of those expensive kits. She’s going to come over Sunday and see the final results. Oh hey, Tech, I was just telling them about Allie.” Tech raised his eyebrows and straightened his glasses, looking around at the guys. “It was Tech’s idea for her to come to our Super Bowl party.”

Hunter, Wrecker and Echo were in the kitchen and Omega had all her craft supplies spread out across the big dining table. She was gluing pieces of foam together. Tech looked at Echo who seemed somewhat disinterested and a little unsure about the collection of junk and craft supplies falling off the kitchen table.

“Well I’m going to take a shower next,” announced Wrecker.

Hunter's hair was towel dry and hung in damp coils. “Do you think Allie will be coming with a parent or on her own?” he asked both Omega and Tech.

Omega seemed confused and opened her mouth to answer.

“Omega, your glue is spilling out and about to run onto the floor,” Tech interjected before Omega could divulge more details.

“Oh woops,” Omega picked up the glue bottle and Echo handed her a paper towel.

“I’m going to go for a run, blow off steam,” said Echo, eying the glue. As Wrecker helped Omega he went to a closet by the back door and pulled out his running blades. He sat on the floor and swapped out his regular walking legs for the blades. Then changed his hybrid bionic arm with its fingers and harness for his exercise arm with the clamp for weights and bars at the end. “Tech would you be able to see why my left knee wants to bend too quickly? It’s been giving me grief today.”

“I would be happy to,” said Tech taking the leg and looking at the joint. “I’ll plug it into my desktop and run a diagnostic.”

“Thank you.” Echo left out the back door and they could hear the tap tap tap of his blades across the deck and down its ramp to the driveway side of the house.

Tech turned around, bringing the prosthetic to the table. Hunter was picking up a stack of foam pieces that fell on the floor. “Meg, why don’t you get something to put this all in, it can’t stay here taking up the table,” Hunter said.

“Can I set the card table up in my room and make it in there?”

“Yeah that’s a better idea.”

The sound of the shower and Wrecker humming a tune carried from the downstairs bathroom. Tech set the prosthetic down on the table as Omega gathered everything up and ran it upstairs.

“Hunter, what was Omega just telling you about the woman we met at the store?”

“Woman? Allie is an adult?”

“Yes and her name is Althea. I have reason to believe that she is the very Althea that Echo is smitten with. When we got home I looked up the logo on her uniform and it is a medical courier company.”

A bemused look spread on Hunter’s face and he shook his head. “And you invited her over? Sounds like something out of Omega’s playbook. She’s drawn you into her ways,” he chuckled.

Tech cracks a smile, “If it is indeed her I didn’t want to get Echo’s hopes up. I was going to have Omega keep her visit a surprise.”

“Well I think Echo and Wrecker both assumed she’s a kid named Allie like I did. But yeah let’s just let it go for now, she might not even be the same person. And- if she does show up it could be because she likes you.” Hunter raised an eyebrow.

“That -had not occurred to me.” Tech said bringing his hand up to his chin and rubbing his stubble.

*************

Echo raised his arms above his head as the endorphins washed through him. He’d slowed to a walk to cool down after running a few laps around the block and park nearby. He walked up the driveway around to the back of the house and up the ramp to the back deck. He was feeling a lot better and his cycling thoughts and insecurities had subsided. He picked up the little bowl for the stray cat that comes around off the table by the grill and took it inside, setting it in the sink to wash after he got cleaned up.

Tech came downstairs with his leg, having heard him enter and shuffle around.

“I have adjusted your knee and I think you will feel an improvement in its performance.”

“Thanks Tech, appreciate it,” Echo said as he took the leg from him. He really did appreciate Tech, usually guys had to make an appointment with the prosthetists and sometimes leave the prosthetic with them. Echo knew he was lucky to have Tech who had hacked the prosthetic’s code to be able to work on it. He grabbed his other leg where it was in the closet and took them into the downstairs bathroom to begin his shower routine.

This bathroom had a large walk-in shower with a glass front and door. There was a shower head way up high for Wrecker and a hand held shower head in a mounting lower on the wall and grab bars set where Echo could reach them while on a shower chair. The stall was still wet from Wrecker’s shower but he had not used the chair and put it back in so it was dry. Echo set his walking legs next to the shower door along with a towel, stripped out of his sweaty workout clothes and stuffed them in a hamper. He sat on the shower chair and removed his running blades and peeled the Setting them aside, he then worked on his arm and pulled the arm prosthesis and liner off and added them to the collection of legs. He turned on the shower and held it away from himself till the water ran warm. He took a little longer in the shower than usual, letting the angst and frustration of the day melt away.

After his shower he put his prosthetics back on and wrapped his towel around his waist. He pulled a meal he’d prepped the day before out of the fridge. He considered what he’d write in the note to Althea as it warmed up in the microwave. He washed the cat’s bowl, filled it with catfood and set it out back. It was really cold now, the cat wasn’t out there waiting like she usually would be. He worried a little for her.

After scarfing his food and washing up he set about looking for some paper to write the note. He found an old spiral notebook with crunched corners and some linty post it notes. These weren’t anything very nice to give to Althea, so he decided to go upstairs to ask Omega. The stairs were a lot easier to climb than last time thanks to Tech’s expertise with his knee. He stoped in his room and threw on some shorts and a t shirt, then went and knocked on Omega’s door.

“Come in!” She piped, turning down her music she was playing.

Echo opened her door and leaned in. She had all the craft supplies spread out across their card table and her floor. A tablet of Tech’s was propped up and a video of someone assembling a model was playing on it with the volume turned down. The pop music that she liked was playing on a portable speaker he recognized as being Wrecker’s.

“Hi Echo! Do you feel better after your run?”

“Yeah a lot better, thanks. So how’s this all going?” He waved his prosthetic hand at the craft explosion.

“Great, I’ve got the base done and went out and found these little sticks, they’ll be trees.”

“Do you need any help with any of it?”

“Well, later I might need you to hold the taller pieces while I fit it all together, but not right now.”

“Ok just let me know. Hey do you have any, like, blank cards or stationary?”

She stopped her glueing, “Ummm… oh yeah, here.” She went over to her desk drawer and pulled out a pack of notecards. She handed them to Echo, “these don’t say anything inside, and I have thank you cards too.”

Echo filed through the pack,“Blank is what I need.” The cards were all different. Some had animals, some flowers, rainbows and other cute little drawings.

“What's it for?” Omega asked.

“There’s… someone at work I want to give a card to,” he said, trying to decide which card would be appropriate.

“A girl?” asked Omega, picking up on his smidge of awkwardness.

He glanced at her then down at the cards again. “Well yeah. I want to give her my phone number but don’t want to just put it on a sticky note.”

Omega’s eyes lit up with delight at helping her brother with some social engineering. She stood up and took the cards. “Do you know if she likes cats or dogs?”

“No,” he said slowly.

“Ok let’s not use one of those. These are kind of babyish,” Omega started setting the cards she determined to be inappropriate down on the desk. “How about flowers or a sun?”

Echo liked the sun card and it gave him an idea. “I’ll take this one,” he said, pulling it out of the stack Omega had fanned out in her hands.

“Don’t forget the envelope.”

“Thanks, Meg,” Echo said.

“No problem, good luck!” She turned back to her project leaving the cards on her desk.

Echo took the card to his room. He pulled a book off of one of his shelves and found a pen. He sat on his bed with the book as a lap desk and wrote a short note in the card with his cell number then tucked the card into the envelope. Closing his eyes he imagined kissing her as he licked the envelope’s glue. He sealed it down, smoothing the envelope with his fingers, wondering if she felt as soft as she looked. He sighed and set the card down on his nightstand. The amber bottles of pills rattled in his nightstands drawer as he pulled it out. He threw his night time meds in his mouth with a swig of the water bottle he keeps by his bed. It wasn’t very late and he could hear the tv downstairs so he went down to spend time with whoever was watching. But mainly to keep his mind off getting his hopes up and to distract it from spiraling into dark thoughts about his lack of worth.

*********

Althea hustled across the hospital lobby. The service entrance she usually used was still blocked off for repairs so she had parked on the other side of the building. This meant it took more time for deliveries at the VA which she thought she factored into her schedule, but she still seemed to be running late.

Echo rounded a corner with an elderly patient in a wheelchair heading for the transport vans in front of the hospital.

“You should have seen us. None of my guys had ever been outside of their little farm towns and now they were surrounded by the deepest darkest jungle you ever saw.” Echo listened to the man recollect from his service days, but he stopped paying attention. Althea was just across the way and coming closer. He could tell she was headed for an exit out back and who knows when he’d see her again. He told himself now or never.

“Sir, can I step away for a moment? There’s someone I need to talk to over there.”

“Well ok, son, just don’t be too long, I need to catch that shuttle,” the man said crankily. Echo parked him next to a wall and set the brake on the chair. Then he made a beeline for Althea who was bringing her phone up to her ear. She had a short conversation that ended with her saying “hello, hello?” She ended the call.

“The signal back here is really bad,” Echo said.

She looked up quickly and smiled nervously as he approached, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He was already quite close to her. He had an expectant expression and rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand.

“I am sorry that I was such a jerk on Monday, I-“

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it as the call dropped again. She looked back up at him and gave him a kind expression. He seemed to be more anxious.

“I won’t keep you from your work, I just wanted to give you this.” He handed her a small envelope, which she took and looked back up at him questioningly. Her phone buzzed again, a text this time. “Have- have a good day,” Echo said in a rush and went back to his patient who had been watching the interaction with interest. She

She tucked his note away in her jacket’s inside pocket as the old veteran craned his neck to look at her while Echo pushed him toward the front exit of the hospital. She hurried out to the back to get a better signal and call dispatch back since that’s what the text said to do.

**********

Althea got home and kicked off her shoes and set her lunch bag down on her little kitchen counter. Her place was a tiny studio converted from a detached garage. It had a little kitchen and bathroom with a tub. The entry door was just off the deck that wrapped around the main house where the landlord lived. A privacy fence wrapped around the property. It felt safe and cozy and like better times- she’d lived here before when she first went to college.

She was mentally worn out from all the bad traffic that day and just wanted to veg out instead of study. She decided to do some laundry and wash her work clothes so she changed into sweats and went through her pockets. Oh yeah- the little card Echo gave me, she thought. She’d totally forgotten about it with how stressful the afternoon had been. She set the jacket in the laundry bushel, sat on her little couch with the card and had a look at it.

It was smaller than a cellphone. The envelope was yellow and it felt like it was sealed with care. She reached over to her work table for the scissors she left there and used them as a letter opener instead of ripping into the thing like it was a bill. The card inside had an illustration of a sun on it. She opened it and saw a short note and a phone number:

“You make my days brighter. I hope I can brighten yours, too. There’s a Super Bowl party at my house this weekend if you’d like to come over, or we can get that coffee.

-Echo”

She sat there feeling overwhelmed with how sweet this was and how all his awkwardness really was just him liking her. She felt her heart flutter a little and pictured his face, the beanie he always wore, the way he carried himself. His voice. Her guarded heart felt totally vulnerable suddenly. She took a deep breath and looked at the sun on the card. Golden like Echo’s fascinating eyes. She took the card over to her dresser and set it on top with all her special keepsakes and crystals and little feathers and sea glass. Her crow’s nest of shiny objects. It felt like it belonged there, no one had ever written her anything like that before. She decided she’d text him later when she found the words. Picking up the bushel she headed outside to the laundry room off the breezeway behind her studio.

********

It was between classes and Althea sat in the cold sunshine sipping a coffee trying to snap out of her fatigue. She had stayed up really late studying for one class’s test and reviewing material before another’s lecture. And there was a lab she had to work on. It was one of those days when it all piles up. She’d not had a chance to decide what she would text Echo so after her test she got out her phone and opened the photo app. She’d taken a picture of the inside of the card and a picture of it displayed on her dresser. She dialed in the number in the text app and started typing what she hoped didn’t sound too silly or eager or cringy.

Hi Echo it’s Althea🙂

Thank you for the card, I really like it. It is so sweet of you. And thank you for the invite but I already made plans this Sunday

She read it a few times, took a deep breath and hit send. Why was this so hard? It was about time for her lecture class so she went in to pick a seat. Half way through, her phone buzzed. She peaked at it and saw it was Echo.

Hi Althea😃 That’s ok, no worries

She checked her phone again after class and there weren’t any new messages so she texted him back.

How about that coffee?

He texted right back this time

Yeah let me know when you get your schedule and we can coordinate

Ok🙂 bye gotta go to work now

She looked at her calendar on her phone and saw that there weren’t any big assignments or tests next week so she decided that she'd let Echo know that her evenings were pretty free. Just later- she had to get going and couldn’t spend any more time on her phone. She pocketed her phone and hoped Echo didn’t feel bad, but had to throw her uniform on to pick up a late run to a fairly remote location and back to a large hospital lab across town. Some sort of refrigerated sample had to get there quickly.

************

Echo let the conversation go and slid his blades’s sockets onto his legs to head out for a run to clear his head. He’d checked his phone a million times since he’d given her the note. Althea seemed sweet but his mind wouldn’t stop telling him that she was just being nice and wasn't going to follow up with him. He knew that it was just his demons talking but he needed to pound some pavement to really drown them out. Hunter and Crosshair could tell he was extra bothered by something and exchanged a concerned look before Cross left for work.

******

It was Friday. Even though she never really had a weekend because she used them to study and she picked up delivery routes, she still felt a little more relaxed. She had just finished an equipment delivery to the VA’s orthopedic department and was pushing the empty hand cart down a hall and out to the lobby when she saw Echo. He was crouched down giving a child in a wheelchair a high five. The kid was beaming and clearly thought Echo was so cool. Althea felt like she could melt from the confident and caring manner Echo was treating that little boy. She didn’t want to interrupt them so she went around the long way past the cafe. She could hear Echo’s strong deep voice over the other noises around her.

“You’re doing great, keep up the good work. I’ll see you back here when your leg arrives and help you get fitted.”

He exchanged some words a little quieter with the boy’s parents shaking their hands. She was thinking about approaching him as the family made to leave when she heard her name behind her. It was Kix. He introduced himself last time she’d seen him there, a former corpsman now a paramedic. He was fit and handsome and seemed to know it.

“Hey, Althea, how’re you doing?” Kix asks, looking her up and down.

“Oh you know, busy with work and school.” She starts to step away with her cart.

He reaches out and lightly grasps her arm, letting it linger there. “Hey I was wondering if you wanted to go to a Super Bowl party. My brother’s going too, he’s a firefighter.”

Althea could tell he thought that would be impressive. She pulled away from his touch glancing over at Echo. She couldn’t tell but it looked like he was turning his head away from looking at her. “Oh wow you boys are all so brave.” She smiled at Kix and quickly added, “I have a prior engagement for Super Bowl, sorry.”

Kix plays off her rejection, “Yeah it’s late in the game I should have asked you earlier.”

Her work device buzzed in her hand and she took the opportunity to smile apologeticly and say, “Gotta go, have a good weekend.” She turns fully around looking for Echo in the spot he’d been standing with the family, but he was gone.

**********

Echo saw Trace as he stomped out of the hospital to go home. Trace looked at him with concern, taking in the sour aura radiating off his friend. Echo looked down at him and heaved a sigh. He noticed Trace’s arm was out of the sling and he was wheeling himself around on his own.

“That bad?” asked Trace.

Echo glanced over to the ambulance parked outside of the ER. “How can I compete with that?”

Trace followed Echo’s line of sight and saw another paramedic clap Kix on the shoulder as they walked over to the ambulance holding paper coffee cups. “Compete? You mean with Kix- oooooh. What’d he do? He after your girl?”

“Seems so,” Echo said bitterly. “Had his hands on her, telling her about his firefighter brother,” he added, rolling his eyes.

Trace’s eyes widened and he looked down shaking his head, “Dude.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, “Ah man I'm sorry, I remember you telling me about them. So did she seem to like him?”

“I didn’t stick around to find out. The worst part was he invited her out for Super Bowl, and he’s supposed to come to my place for it.”

Trace shook his head, laughing, “Sheeeeit, mang that’s- I don’t know, that’s awkward as hell, man. But she’s already busy, right? They won’t be showing up with her. Look, Echo, hey,” he wheeled closer and reached up to tap Echo’s elbow. “Turn off the thoughts, go for a run.”

“Yeah you're right,” Echo said as he rubbed his temple with his fingers.

“I gotta go in for PT, but I’ll see you Sunday, probably before halftime.”

“Alright, see you when you get there,” Echo said stepping away. He paused, “Trace?”

Trace stopped wheeling and spun around a little, “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Trace nodded and turned to head into the hospital. Echo squinted in the afternoon light and decided running and a harder workout were in order today.

*******

The sun was low in the sky that afternoon as she drove to her last delivery at a dialysis center near the craft store and library. Friday rush hour was in full swing. As she made her way down the boulevard that bordered the neighborhood with the library she saw someone jogging on prosthetic blades. He was facing away from her wearing a ball cap that had the bill curved down on the sides. And he was across the wide busy street. She couldn’t make out his face but could tell he also had a prosthetic arm on his right side. Is that Echo?? she wondered.

She made the delivery and decided to cut through the neighborhood to end her day quicker and avoid the heavy traffic on the main roads.

As she slowed down for a stop next to a park with play equipment and noticed someone hanging from the horizontal bars. Doing chin ups. With one arm- no with two but one was black and technical-looking, ending in a fitting that was clamped to the horizontal bar. And he was wearing running blades. She slowed down to stop at a stop sign. It’s definitely Echo she realized and idled at the intersection staring. His muscles rippled through his tight, sweat soaked compression shirt and bike shorts. Ohhhh. He’s very fit, she noticed, her eyes trailing from his shoulders to his tight butt and thighs- Someone honked behind her and she jumped then drove away hoping he didn’t notice her.

That night at home the loneliness started to bother her. The relief of being on her own had been wearing off over time and she was starting to feel very isolated. She had her study group but hadn’t made much connection with any of them beyond superficial friendship. They were all super busy as well. And younger- enough to feel less of a camaraderie with them. People on her route came and went. Is this just how it’s going to be? Super busy with school, work then more school, more work, a career, work work work, always going going? Everyone doing the same, just busy busy busy like a bee hive all buzzing around past each other?

She picked up the sun card Echo gave her and opened it. She ran a finger over the ink inside and read the words again. Was Echo lonely, too? She doubted it since he seemed to have connections and community at the VA and he probably lived with other people. She got ready for bed and instead of her usual doom scrolling she just stared at the little sun card and thought about Echo, his body strong, if broken, holding her. She thought about taking care of him, helping him, texting him, but what would she say? She didn’t really know him. Her mind was yelling about fear and promises of love that hid selfishness and meanness. She put the card under her pillow, set her alarm, snuggled an extra pillow and tried to sleep.

@adamime

[magnoliasforyourmedic]

"Band-Aid Bandits" - Easy Company's Medics

Edwin Pepping and Albert "Al" Mampre were the self-proclaimed "Band-Aid Bandits."

When the regiment formed a medical detachment, Colonel Sink asked Mampre if he would like to be a medic. Mampre said yes and joined with Pepping. The two developed a knack for obtaining anything they needed without going through proper channels, calling themselves the “Band-Aid Bandits.” Both men considered medical training similar to what they learned in the Boy Scouts. The main difference: the medic candidates practiced giving shots to oranges. “I never ran into an orange in combat,” Mampre mused."

After Mampre and Pepping received their medical certifications, the regiment assigned a new lieutenant to toughen up the medics. He started off by teaching them to properly salute. In retaliation for the senseless exercise, Mampre lit a can of photo film on fire in his barracks. As smoke filled the room, Mampre ran outside to the lieutenant, shouting, “They’re trying to kill us!” The lieutenant went into the barrack and threw the burning can outside, telling Mampre, “I don’t think you’re gonna get killed.” 

...

While the training honed the men’s physical skills, it stimulated voracious appetites. One day, Mampre and his fellow medics caught the smell of fresh muffins wafting from the cook house. They found the tray of muffins and grabbed it, but not before the cooks grabbed the other end. The tug of war ended when the Military Police showed up and took down everyone’s names. “One guy said his name was ‘John Smith,’” explained Mampre, “another said ‘Terpin Hydrate,’ which means cough syrup.” Later, Mampre and his comrades snatched a line of milk bottles laid out for the battalion’s officers. “We were growing boys,” he defended, “we needed them.” The medics drank more than milk. They often drove to local watering holes in an ambulance. Mampre would sit up front with the driver and Captain Samuel “Shifty” Feiler, the dentist, between them. When they reached the bar, someone would shout, “Last one out buys!” and everyone poured out. Mampre and the driver made sure they opened their doors last, ensuring Feiler, stuck in the middle, paid.

Despite the intense training, the medics managed small rebellions. One medic, a cook, smuggled some local girls into a stable. Mampre and Lieutenant (Dr.) Jackson Neavles, the battalion surgeon, went to the stable where Neavles ordered the cook out. When he didn’t respond, they threw in colored smoke grenades. The girls ran out crying, their faces streaked with colors. “Those girls had to walk back to Swindon [about five miles away] like that,” said Mampre. The cook, on the other hand, refused to come out. Other medics had their own way of doing things. They dyed their hair with medicinal peroxide, turning them all blond or shades of red. When their hair grew back, leaving them with dual hair color, their British hosts did a double take. “They thought it was all the rage back in the U.S.,” said Mampre." 

...

Mampre also returned to his Band-Aid Bandit ways. He and some medics decided to steal an armoire from the upper story of an officers’ barracks. Mampre attached ropes to the armoire and was lowering it out a window when a lieutenant walked up and asked, “What are you doing?” Mampre told him he was trying to haul the armoire up to the room. Seeing that Mampre was about to be yanked out the window, the lieutenant told him to lower it and departed. Mampre and his buddies had a new armoire. 

...

In need of a shower, Mampre went into the officers’ shower but, while he was showering, an officer came in and asked, “Lieutenant?” When Mampre didn’t answer, the officer asked, “Captain?” Mampre finished, wrapped himself in a towel, and as he left said, “No. Staff Sergeant, but I’m clean.”

While there he saw some washing machines in crates. He “borrowed” one and had his fellow medics dig a square into the ground to hide it. The medics looked cleaner than the rest of the regiment. “Colonel Sink was wondering what was going on,” he said.

[happy-beeeps]

Hello there! My request is this: the reader wants to learn hand-to-hand combat but has a crush on Hunter and doesn’t know how to ask him. Omega helps the reader and the reader gets what she wants. On the first day of training she trips and lands on top of Hunter and fluff or smut happens. Up to you :)

hahahahaha heyyyyyy I'm so sorry this is so late. In good news, it got away from me and turned into 4k words of the softest smut I've written!!! I am in love with this man!!!!

(also if you're asking yourself if I was inspired by the top gun volleyball scene the answer is yes I was and no I won't apologize for it.)

Take My Breath Away

pairing: Hunter x f!reader

WC: 4k

MINORS DNI 18+ BELOW CUT

Warnings: p in v sex, fingering, first time, feelings confession, awkward reader

Summary: When Omega convinces Hunter to finally train you in combat, things don't go to plan... or do they?

You’re leering, you know it. You really can’t help it, your spot inside the Marauder has left you with a perfectly obscured view to watch the training exercises happening outside. There’s a box of medical supplies in your lap while you stare through the front viewport, watching Hunter and Tech team up against Echo and Wrecker as they practice hand-to-hand perfectly in your view. 

Hunter has long forgone his long sleeve black shirt, his tattoos on full display as his skin bakes in the sun. It is hot, you supposed, but you assumed nearly every midday on Jakku got this warm. They’re all in various states of undress, grappling with each other with the kind of joyful fighting that reminds you of the village boys and their games back home. 

Sweat beads roll off his chest in a slight pattern, and you can see through the viewport that he’s used his bandana as a makeshift tie, pulling his hair up into some kind of knot on the top of his head. Echo has gotten Tech into some kind of hold, and the latter is thrashing against him trying to wiggle his way out. Hunter, however, is practically glistening as he shoots Wrecker a grin while they circle one another, until his legs push against the coarse sand outside and he lunges for his younger brother’s legs. He must’ve gotten Wreck with an element of surprise because the larger clone actually tumbles a bit, his center of gravity thrown off. You can’t hear them from inside the ship, but from the looks on their faces you can tell they’re laughing. Echo seems to have succeeded in locking Tech down, and the four of them exchange shakes and smirks–and move to repeat the game. 

Happiness looks good on him.

“Why are you watching Hunter again?” Omega’s small, but chipper, voice startles you from your daydream (something involving Hunter and his back that you’ll never tell.)

“Nothing! I’m not, not even watching him,” you stumble, trying desperately to make yourself look busy with the box in front of you. “I’ve gotta keep an eye on his injuries Meg, that's all.”

“But I thought you said he’d be better three rotations ago?”

She’s caught you now, and your face grows hot with the realization. “Well, yeah, of course. But still, as a medic, it’s my job to keep an eye on you all.”

You move to stand and ruffle her hair, toting the box on your hip as you move to go back to the med closet. You suppose you’ve done enough gawking for today.

“Are you red because you’re embarrassed about something?”

Now this makes you stop in your tracks. You whip your head to turn and face the young girl, who’s mouth smiles innocently at you while her eyes smirk knowingly. Kriff. You knew you shouldn't have let her start watching romcoms. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” you start, still making your way to the closet while Omega follows closely behind. “I just don’t know any combat, so I’m watching to learn, it’s just embarrassing not to know.”

Nice. Good save. You’ll pat yourself on the back for that one later. 

“Oh, that makes sense.” Is all you get from Omega, before you’re met with the sound of her feet moving down the walkway. You’re left alone with your thoughts, idylly shuffling supplies around the closet, delving back to your daydream. Minutes pass like this, in quiet peace, before a rough, masculine voice snaps you back to reality.

“Hey,” Hunter starts, leaning against the doorframe that separates the main cabin from the armory and med closet. He’s not shirtless anymore, instead wearing a mockingly thin white tank top that’s becoming less and less opaque the more his chest is pressed against it. “Omega said you wanted to learn some moves?”

Sure enough, Omega stands behind Hunter, arms crossed proudly as she looks between the two of you. “She’s important Hunter, she has to learn!” The younger girl shouts, and Hunter smiles down at her.

“Sure she is. That’s why I’m gonna teach her,” he looks up at you now with questioning eyes, “that is, if you’re interested? Tech is gonna bring Echo and Wrecker on a supply run for a few hours, so you don’t have to worry about them?”

“Y-yeah, that sounds great.” Maker, is that stumbling voice yours? This is getting worse by the minute.

“Hunter, can I go with? Tech said the market is no worse than Mos Eisley, and you let me go there, Wrecker already said he’d watch me!” Omega pleads with her big brother, pulling at his fingers in a subtle gesture to lead the two of you outdoors. 

“Sure, Meg. If it’s fine with them, it’s fine with me.”

* * *

Your body aches, your joints cracking with each move. You’ve barely even begun the training, merely the warmups Hunter has put you through in this scorching heat has gotten you coated in your own layer of sweat. He moved through each warm up with ease, and finished his last stretch lazily, leaning his weight on his back leg and placing his hands firmly on his hips. It took nearly everything in you not to stare at him, his shirt back on but replaced by a mockingly thin white tank top that grew less opaque with every passing moment.

“Thought you said you wanted to learn?” His voice brought you back out of your daydream, reminding you exactly why you were standing here. You had gone this long without him really knowing your feelings, aside from the simple flirtation the two of you shared to pass the time. One afternoon wouldn’t kill you.

“Thought you said we’d start slow,” you grumble in reply, moving to face him with an agitated determination.

He doesn’t give you a verbal response, merely moving to stand behind you, placing his hands and your shoulders before reaching them across to grab your wrists. “I’m gonna put you in the first stance,” he says, moving his hands, and your wrists, up to a blocking motion before kicking one of his feet between your legs. With gentle, albeit rough, taps to each foot, your legs slowly shuffled wider apart, granting you more stability on the sandy terrain. The motion of him slowly spreading your legs open, however, had the complete opposite effect, and your stomach dropped nearly to your toes as your chest flutters with warmth. This was exactly why you hadn’t asked for help in the first place.

“Looks good,” he started, moving back to face you. “Now, when you punch, you’re not just pushing your fist out, right? You’re punching with your whole arm, try hitting my hand.”

“But, I don’t want to hurt you!” You sputtered, and his lazy, easy smile returned.

“Trust me, you won’t.”

You pass nearly an hour like this, moving to punch Hunter with as much force as you could muster, and him blocking you with ease. It’s not that you were weak by any means, you wouldn’t have lasted as the Batch’s medic if you were, but this kind of strength was foreign to you. You were slipping, growing more tired by the moment. Your punches slowly falter. Finally, as the heat and the exertion caught up to you, your legs followed the swing of your arm, sending you toppling your whole weight onto Hunter.

He too must’ve begun feeling the heat, as his normally subvert reflexes failed him. Your weight and his surprise sent the two of you toppling onto the sand, his arms reaching to cup your elbows, carefully guiding you to land on his chest. The sweat on both of your skin made the two of you sticky, and your thin shirt did little to hide the flush of your chest as you pressed against his toned body. Hunter also seemed to be responding to the moment, his eyes opening and closing rapidly, his chest rising and falling with increasing speed.

Maker. You hadn’t thought about how awful you must’ve smelled.

“I’m sorry Hunter, I’m sure I smell-“

“Great,” he gritted out, you assumed his tone was dripping in sarcasm. Your wince must not have garnered the response he was hoping for, and his eyes widened in panic. “No, no, I mean it. Kriff, that’s not what I meant.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s warm out here, don’t mention it,” you shook awkwardly, moving to push off of him. Instead, Hunter’s grip on the backs of your arms tightened to hold you in place.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, “you’ve been driving me crazy all day.”

You blink in surprise as that warm feeling from before returns, and you resist the urge to press yourself against him even further. 

“What, just because I’m a slow learner?” you blush and shake your head, trying to hide your face from the intensity of his stare, and the overbearing Jakku sun.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“That,” he removes one hand from its spot on your arm to tug your chin back at him, his eyes falling to your lips for the briefest moment before coming back to yours, “hide from me.”

Your response is quiet, timid. “Because you don’t mean it.”

“Why would you think that? We’ve kind of been toeing around it for weeks now.”

You’re sputtering now, “I thought you were joking.”

“I don’t joke when it comes to you,” something akin to hurt flashes across his eyes, and his grip on your arms loosens slightly. Kriff. You’re losing him now, and the panic that settles in your chest takes over before your brain can properly think its way out of it.

You’re fully pressing your breasts against him now, relenting the rest of your weight onto him as your arms snake their way to his face and you pull him towards you before he has a chance to feel any more hurt at your expense. Your lips crash to his in a kiss that’s equal parts full of reassurance and want, and he molds against you quickly. Whatever doubt and hurt he might’ve felt a moment ago is replaced by something darker, something needier.

Hunter adjusts you on top of him easily, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. When you pull away from the kiss you watch as he brings your legs tighter around his waist and, with little struggle, manages to stand up against the sand, never dropping you from your perch.

You try not to go faint at the way his leg muscles tense beneath the rolled up cuffs of his pants as he lifts the two of you from the ground with ease. Hunter has always been scrappy, never as much bulk as Wrecker but easily the second largest of his brothers. Echo used to joke that what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle mass.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning in to him, placing needy open mouth kisses along the curve of his neck, the sharp edges of his jaw. He groaned at your touch, his steps quickening towards the Marauder. There’s a break as he fidgets with the controls to lower the ramp and it starts its painstakingly slow descent. In a fit of impatience, Hunter has your back pressed against the side of the ship and moves to kiss you again, this time it’s bruising and impatient. He’s been wanting this just as long as you, you realize. Whatever the door the two of you just opened isn’t going to be easily shut.

He’s methodical with the way he kisses you, but his hands are anything but. He pulls teasing tugs at your lower lip, slowly parts your mouth with his tongue–like he’s testing something. 

“Hunter,” you beg, turning your head from him in a feeble gesture to get him to notice that the ramp has lowered.

“I’ve just wanted to kiss you for so long,” he admits, a tenderness in his eyes that your stomach doing backflips, “I don’t think I can ever stop.”

He walks to the two of you up the ramp of the ship before setting you down gently in the hull. You’re staring up at him now, his hands resting on the small of your back, keeping you close.

“You tell me what’s too much cyar’ika. I’ll take whatever part of you you’ll give me.”

“All, all of me. I’m not afraid.” You murmur, pressing yourself against him before leaning to loop your arms around his neck.

He meets you halfway to kiss you, albeit gentler than before, before turning you and moving you backwards with small steps. You know this ship like the back of your hand, even backwards and with your eyes closed, and you can tell from the way he’s moving you that you’re moving towards his quarters.

“We can go to my room?” You ask, breathless. They had graciously turned the small medbay into a space for your quarters, of sorts. You had a larger bed than any member of the batch, with the caveat that your roommates were small surgical machines and overflow boxes of bacta. 

“No, want you in my bed, if that’s ok?” 

You nodded while he continued to guide you towards the rest of the batch’s quarters, your vision becoming shaded from the darkness of the room. You were grateful now that Hunter’s bunk was on the bottom, as the backs of your legs bumped into the mattress.

He laid you down on the mattress and quickly stretched across you, giving you full freedom to remove your arms from his neck and let them roam against the broad expanse of his back. His kisses met your neck almost as soon as he settled on the mattress, and from the way his teeth nipped at the soft skin, you knew you’d be littered with marks.

Whatever. You’re sure they’d pick up on it eventually. 

Your thoughts were interrupted as Hunter pulled you up towards him, using the space to pull your shirt off and discard it on the floor, leaving you in the thin cottony breastband you’d picked specifically because it was too hot to even think about something better. You, in turn, pulled at the hem of the thin white tank top, and he smirked at you as he moved back, pulling it up over his head. There was enough space between the bunks for him to sit comfortably upright, and you moved forward to meet him, bringing his hands to your waist.

“It’s too hot for all these layers.”

If he was surprised he barely showed it, raising an eyebrow before moving to unfasten your breastband, leaving the two of you bare from the waist up.

“Mesh’la, I can’t… I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t.” You smiled, leaning back on his mattress, watching his form cage you in.

His response was immediate, falling closer to you and moving his kisses farther down your neck before moving to bring his mouth to your breast, now bare to him. His lips dragged over your newly exposed flesh, before his tongue flattened over the stiff peak of your nipple.

He wasted no time in palming your other breast, and the briefest glance you got of your skin beneath his inked fingers was enough to elicit the smallest of whimpers from your mouth. He paused from his work on your nipple to glance up at you, before sending a devilish grin as his hand removed itself from your chest and made small movements towards your thighs. With a quick and decisive movement he placed his hand just on the squishy flesh of your inner thigh, before hooking a finger around the seam of your panties and shifting them down.

You jostled a bit to help them come off and Hunter surged to kiss you again, his breath warm and inviting on your mouth. In an instant you let out a soft gasp as his fingers began to move towards your folds, before he slowly pushed two fingers into your heat. 

The feeling of being filled in any capacity by him immediately sent warmth flooding to every corner of your body, and you bucked your hips against him as he moved his fingers in a delicious hooking motion, pulling you closer and closer to oblivion with each movement.

“So warm for me, so wet.” He grumbled against your neck, and your hands threaded through his hair, desperate to keep his body against yours.

“Hunter, need you, now.”

“Shh,” he murmured, moving faster, and a twisting in your feeling in your gut suddenly struck, along with the realization that you were quickly approaching an orgasm. “Come for me first, princess. Need to make you feel good first.”

His words and motions combined sent that first orgasm crashing over you fast, the tips of your fingers and the lower half of your body shaking in pleasure while he took his sweet time, coaxing every bit of your oblivion out of you in slow, melodic motions. When you had come back down to earth, he pulled his hand from you before bringing it to his mouth, bringing his fingers to his mouth and tasting you finally.

“Next time you’re finishing on my tongue,” he groaned, head thrown back. You took his momentary distraction to pull at the band of his boxers, already eyeing the deliciously thick silhouette of his hard length pressing against the fabric.

“Hunterrr,” you whined, leaning up and pressing kisses from his collarbone down his chest, before deciding you couldn’t take it anymore and plunging your hand into his boxers, running your hand up and down the velvety skin of his shaft. You paused at the tip, running your fingers over it and collecting the precum already leaking out.

“Need to learn some patience,” he groaned, before shifting to pull the last offending article of clothing off, and pressing you firmly, and softly to the mattress. With his boxers gone you could see him now. He was big, bigger than any man you’d been with before, and prettier too. The inky black markings of his tattoos led down his whole torso, pausing just at the start of his shaft. It was one of the few spots on his body where you could admire every inch of tanned, warm skin.

Hunter moved down to kiss you, this one sweet and short, running a hand down your core to collect some of the mess he’d already made of you, before running it along his length. He leaned back and looked at you, his eyes warming with a fondness that suddenly had you feeling more naked now than you had this entire time. 

“You take my breath away,” he murmured in a voice dripping with an emotion you weren’t bold enough to try and name, before picking up one of your legs and easily tossing it over your shoulder. “You’ve been my dream this whole time. Wanna make sure you’re ready.”

“Hunter,” you paused, reaching a hand up to his cheek, “if you don’t fuck me now, I’m going to go catatonic.”

His laugh had your leg shaking, and he rolled his eyes, “remind me to fuck some manners into you next time.”

Without any more pretense you felt his tip surge past your walls, stretching you out deliciously and giving a sense of satisfaction greater than anything you’d felt before. He pushed farther before bottoming out and nudging just right against that spot you’d always struggled to reach. The same one that had you tossing one arm over your eyes and another grasping at nothing out of pure bliss. His name breathed past your lips like a prayer, and you felt him shiver a bit at it.

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He moaned, starting his thrusts at a slow, manageable pace. You felt one of his hands slide up the sheets on his mattress before sliding and weaving his fingers between yours. “Don’t hide from me.” He whispered, and you brought your arm down, placing it firmly on the bicep he was using to support himself against you.

He felt fucking amazing. You had met a guy in an alley on Coruscant who tried to sell you deathsticks once, and you felt like you had to go back and tell him he was wrong. There had to be a better high. Being fucked into your pillows by Hunter while he held your hand and whispered to you had to be better. You weren’t a scientist (ok, maybe you were) but this had to be the best feeling a human being could feel.

Hunter’s pace quickened, and soon the cabin was filled with the sickeningly sweet sound of skin slapping against skin, his hips snapping against you. His senses must’ve made him perfectly attuned to how you were feeling, any shift in pleasure, any barely audible moan. His hand had removed itself from yours, instead holding your wrist and pressing you firmly into the bed in a move that felt more possessive and dominant than threatening.

“You’re mine.” You had moaned without realizing it, and his pace picked up again. A twisting, numbing feeling began to blossom in your core and Hunter brought your leg down, surging forward to kiss you as he fucked you farther into oblivion.

“You’re my girl, you’ve always been my girl.” He groaned into your neck before pulling back. “Just been waiting for you to realize it. I wanna hear you say it.”

“You’re mine, I’m yours.” You groaned, his hips bucking up and nudging again and again into that spot. His hand removed itself from your wrist and you used the newfound freedom to rake your hands down your back, sending moans of pleasure out of Hunter.

“I’m all yours princess,” he groaned, “so sweet, so soft for me. Fuck, so tight.”

His praise and words and breakneck speed had you hitting your orgasm like a brick wall, turning you from head to toe in a shivering, gasping mess as your walls clenched around him. You gripped his hair in a desperate attempt to tether yourself to something corporeal as he fucked you through it, his own pace becoming quick and sloppy.

“‘M close, where,” was all he was able to rasp out.

“In, ‘s okay.” Was the closest thing you had to a response. You’d tell him about your implant later.

In an instant, he was groaning into your neck, his hips slapping against yours sending you nearly into sensory overload, before you felt his warmth against you. For a moment after he barely moved, just breathed against you as if he couldn’t imagine this had actually happened. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, you running a hand along his back and through his hair as he pressed sweet kisses along your neck, likely trying to soften the purple marks you were certain he had left.

“Lemme get you cleaned up,” he whispered, as if careful not to scare the moment away. He pulled back from you slowly, before reaching to tug his pants back on and heading to the fresher. He was only gone for a few moments, returning with a warm, wet rag that he lovingly dashed between your legs and a pair of clean shorts from your quarters and one of his shirts.

“Thought you might want something comfortable.” He said as he passed it to you, and you quickly changed into it, relishing into how the shirt smelled so distinctly of him.

You moved to sit up but he toppled in bed next to you before you could. His bunk was small, barely enough space for the two of you, so he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest.

“Don’t go. Meant what I said.”

You blushed as you shimmied to turn your face to him. “Which part?”

“All of it. I’ve always wanted you. Not just for, you know,” he stumbled, seeming suddenly embarrassed.

“Sex?”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna complain about that part,” he winked, before pulling you into him again, resting his head on top of yours. “I want to… care for you. In every way. You really take my breath away, always have.” He pressed a kiss against your hair, and you pressed closer to him in return.

“Then you’ll have me. For as long as I’m here and then some.” 

The two of you stayed like this into the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms, tangled limb to limb. Soon enough the lull of his heart had drifted you into sleep, and he did his best to shield you from the prying eyes and loud noises of the rest of the Batchers as they returned from the market, just as he swore to himself that he’d shield you from anything that threatened to take you from them, from him.

His girl he had said. And he had meant it.

[shellbells-things]

(Trying again..)

I’ve been seeing things on X(Twitter) about how the 5th Artillery Unit is going to be participating in some training.

Interestingly(🙄), most people are just mentioning Jimin (not the one I screenshot though). I assume they are doing that because he is their focus, but it might also be because they want to push the narrative that JK and Jimin are separated. Sigh…..The post below is from the 5th Division website. Notice that it says THE ENTIRE UNIT will be busy preparing for the training. ENTIRE means ALL.

This is basically a simulation of a real combat situation. W@r Games, if you will. In real life comb@t, the entire unit would deploy, so I am assuming it would be the same for training. This typically would include artillery experts, medical doctors, kitchen staff, logistic specialist, mechanics, etc. The unit needs to have all of its moving parts there to train together. Out in the field during a w@rtime scenario, they have to know how to treat injuries, how to provide food for the unit under less than stellar circumstances, how to manage supplies, plan military campaigns based on in-the-moment intel, and so on. Participants must study and prepare for the training camp ahead of deployment, then they deploy and the war scenario is played out on every level. Every military has these types of deployments/trainings. Most of the time, the people who participate in these exercise really enjoy it, as it gives them the opportunity to put all of their training to the test. I hope Jikook finds some fun in their training!

[middlenamesage]

MARS, the planet of ACTION: What type of exercise Mars in each sign makes me think of

Note: this is not necessarily advice about exercise to consider based on your Mars sign. So many things in the chart and the individual’s life will tweak the picture. Being that I’m a 6th house Mars who’s making it a goal lately to exercise daily (or most-daily😆) because I see the benefits for my mental and physical health of having intentional physical activity in my routine, this is just my musings on the type of exercise that comes to mind first/strongest when thinking about the archetypes of each sign. ✨

Mars in Aries- lifting weights/strength training 🏋️‍♀️ Mars at home! I thought about maybe also going with martial arts for this one! ❤️‍🔥 Mars/Aries does have a strong purpose for defense. As the first sign in the zodiac, Aries’ archetype is also that of a straightforward, more simple and direct energy. To simply get buff seems like quite the way to pay tribute to this potent combined yang energy! 💪

Mars in Taurus- Yoga 🧘🏽‍♂️ Taurus needs something at a bit slower of a physical pace, and the very conscientious attention yoga places on your relationship with your body is very Taurus/2nd house. Plus every Taurus rising I’ve ever known has been into meditation and/or yoga. 🤷‍♀️ Always looking for the calmest ways to do things! 🧘‍♀️

Mars in Gemini- Running 🏃🏻‍♀️ idk this just seems like a flighty Mars sign! 🏃‍♂️🚀💨

Mars in Cancer- In-home exercise, regardless of type, is what immediately comes to mind! Maybe a really pimped out Mars in Cancer would have an in-home pool.💧😂 🏊‍♀️🏠

Mars in Leo- Dancing! 💃🏻🕺🏼This is my Mars sign and never been a dancer, so this goes to show how I’m just thinking about the archetypes of the signs. But the Sun’s gotta shine/will get noticed 🌞 and dancing also is so highly CREATIVE. ♌️

Mars in Virgo- Gymnastics 🤸🏿‍♀️ I’m just so impressed with the precision♍️ in the routines of gymnasts. Perhaps Pilates is another example, that’s a little more common place. I personally avoid any exercise that requires attention to precise detail as it gets my Mars worked up in a bad way😤… so more power to anyone who’s built to like this type of exercise!

Mars in Libra- Ballet 🩰 The pure archetype of Libra is grace. Enough said.

Mars in Scorpio- whichever combat sport or martial art is the slyest. 😂 Mars at home I think could be quite motivated to be fighting somebody; but Scorpio’s gonna be concerned with technique, not in it to make a big bold scene. 🤺

Mars in Sagittarius- Hiking 🥾🌄🌲 Or biking! 🚴🏻‍♀️ The sign built for exploring. Hiking is always an adventure. You never quite know what you’ll see even when you’re hiking nature trails you’ve hiked before. And it tends to be a popular activity when visiting new places. ✈️

Mars in Capricorn- Climbing 🧗🏽‍♂️ Climbing has an obvious association with Capricorn. 🐐🌄 And Caps could always use inspiration to reach some pinnacle! 🙏 Also, fun fact, Saturn is the planet that rules the skeletal system and muscles in medical astrology. 🩻 Climbing works basically every muscle in your body!

Mars in Aquarius- some eccentric aerial sport. 😂 I don’t know much about anything in this area, I just know something that’s done in the air 🌬️ and something that’s unusual makes me think of Aquarius! ♒️

Mars in Pisces- Swimming 🏊‍♀️ I’m giving the final water💧sign, the one most like the vastness of the whole ocean, this official association with swimming. Related fun fact: my Piscean🌞 grandmother was the one who taught me how to swim (and was very delighted to do it). 💙

Bonus thoughts, from a Mars conjunct Venus: it’s really worth considering exercise that puts you in nature if you too have this conjunction, or Venus in harmonious aspect with Mars!🌲🌷 On this note, I’d think of Mars-Mercury being suited for things that are also exercise for the mind, Mars-Sun being suited for daytime outside exercise, Mars-Moon being a good fit for nighttime exercise, and exercise in new places or that doesn’t follow a set routine being suited for Mars-Jupiter!

[arcandoria]

OC Tag Game

tagged by @ronqueesha, thank you friend! tagging, no pressure: @baldursghaik @otherpigeon @themumblingmouse and @rellanas

YORATH INGELLVAR

— General

Name: Yorath Ingellvar

Alias: Yori was Yorath's nickname before Veilguard. Varric nicknamed them "Rook", and it stuck. Formally, they're only referred to as Ingellvar.

Gender: Transmasc, Nonbinary (they/them)

Age: 28 (9:24 Dragon)

Spoken Language: Nevarran and Common. People assume they know elvish, but aside from a few words for funerary rites, they barely understand the language.

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: Mourn Watcher. As non-mage, Yori participates in logistics for the protection of both Watchers and Undead, and works in active guardian duty.

— Favorite...

Color: White, which some make fun of. Gold, which most find cliché.

Entertainment: Yorath enjoys hanging out at taverns to hear bards and other live music, but it's only when they start dating Emmrich that this expands. Emmrich takes them to all sorts of arts and crafts and lectures you can imagine, and they actually have a lot of fun.

Pastime: Yori genuinely enjoys heavy exercise to keep their body active and mind focused. But sometimes, a good ol' book is enough.

Food: Garlic Bread. With bacon, if possible!

Drink: Yori drinks everything, but lamely their favorite drink is just good ol' plain water. Maybe with a squeeze of lemon.

— Have they...

Passed University: Yes. Even though they were born in the Mourn Watch, Yori underwent through the full education system, plus special specialization classes for non-mages. They were just getting ready to start their Master's before the Battle of the Banners and Veilguard happened.

Had Sex: Yes! Yori had a pretty active life by their early 20s but slowed things down considerably. By Veilguard, Emmrich is their first in a while.

Had Sex in Public: Most if it, in fact. Yori never had the fanciest quarters and the urge often came about while doing physical training with fellow combatants, so most of the time, it was in the communal showers or the barracks.

Got Tattoos: Those were the first body modifications Yori engaged with before getting comfortable with medically transitioning. They have both full sleeves and a back tattoo.

Got Piercings: None. As front line defense, Yori tries to minimize accessories that might pose a weakness, or are uncomfortable under armor.

Got Scarred: Again, as warrior, hard not to. Yori's most defining scars though are the one on their nose gained as a child stumbling about the Necropolis, the top surgery scars, and a huge gash across their chest, gained during the Battle of the Banners.

Had a Broken Heart: Not really. Yori's single serious relationship before Emmrich ended quite amicably and she still is, in fact, Yorath's best friend. No broken heart needed.

— Are they...

A Cuddler: Yes! Yorath hasn't had much physical affection throughout their life and very much enjoys so.

Scared Easily: Not at all. Being able to stay collected is not just a Mourn Watch mandatory trait, but also just a side effect of the job.

Jealous Easily: Easily? No. They definitely have their bouts, specially with their self-esteem not being the greatest at times, but thankfully that's where Emmrich's experience comes in handy and he knows just the gestures and words to keep Yori reassured. Yori is not overbearing through his jealous fits, too, which helps everyone stay mature and positive.

Trustworthy: Absolutely. Yori has not a lying bone in them, and in general was just... raised to be like this. It was one of the main reasons Varric took an interest in them for leading the Veilguard.

— Family...

Siblings: Yori wouldn't know about biological siblings, and were raised pretty much alone amidst the Watchers. So no siblings, biological or otherwise.

Parents: Yorath is a crypt baby, and has no idea who their parents were. Evidently, both were elves, but other than that no one has any idea.

Children: Manfred! Jokes aside, Yori's lifestyle doesn't quite leave room for kids. I feel like if Emmrich ever expressed wanting to be a father, they'd consider it (and would suggest adoption, though I don't think Yori has dysphoria in this area and would also give child bearing a go if they decided on it).

Pets: Not really. Yorath sometimes aids other Watchers responsible for caring for the flesh-eating beetles in the Necropolis, and they love cats and dogs, but being around Assan was the closest experience they had with pets.

[chbnews]

Weekly News 02/03/2025-08/03/2025

Join the CHB News Discord!

Camp Announcements:

- Chiron is holding a mandatory training exercise in the arena on Monday. It will include sword fighting, archery, spear fighting, how to use shields in combat, and basic medical knowledge.

- There have been reports of a giant scorpion roaming in the woods. Remember to use the Buddy system and don’t fight it if you can’t win!

- Mr. D is allowing campers one day of outside food and drink. However, please be mindful of littering and NO ALCOHOL. Punishment for both of these is decided by Mr. D.

- The game of the week is: Capture the Flag! We will be following the usual team lineups!

Camper Updates:

- Will and Nico are urging people to stop messing with Stygian iron if you are not an underworld kid.

- The dryads found the two Tyche kids that went missing… a few weeks ago. They’re alive! And healthy! They’ll be recovering in the infirmary.

- An Ares camper has been teamed up with an Iris and a Nemesis camper for a small quest! Good luck to them!

- A new camper has arrived, but is still unclaimed. They’ll be staying in the Hermes cabin until then! Welcome to camp!

Game Winnings:

- The Athena, Hermes, and Nike cabins have won the scavenger hunt!

- The Hypnos cabin, in a twist of all things we knew, won the boogie boarding contest at the beach.

- The Apollo cabin won the jump rope competition held by the Nike cabin!

Upcoming Events:

- “Do You Want to Build an Automaton?”, hosted by the Hephaestus cabin, Monday afternoon at the forges.

- “Does This Monster Want to Eat Me?”, hosted by the Athena and Hermes cabins in the amphitheater, Monday evening.

- “Poisonous Plants, and Dangerous Herbs”, hosted by the Demeter and Apollo cabins in the Big House, Tuesday afternoon.

- “Camp Spa Day!”, hosted by the Hebe cabin at the Hebe cabin, all through Wednesday.

- “So, You Got Magic? How to Counter Spells!” hosted by the Hecate and Tyche cabins in the Amphitheater Thursday night.

- “Cooking Class with Cabin 4” hosted by the Demeter cabin, in the Big House, Friday afternoon.

Camp Gossip:

- The Hecate and the Aphrodite cabins are feuding over makeup products. Some reports say it’s actually gotten to the point of hexes… 😬

- A certain group of Apollo kids keep singing songs from ‘Epic: The Musical’ during activities. (Personally, I vibe with it, but I saw the look on that Nemesis kid’s face when he missed his volleyball hit… lol)

- Apparently there was a feud between the lake’s naiads and the Poseidon cabin. A Hypnos kid got caught in the crossfire and ended up completely drenched.

- A certain, unnamed Dionysus kid was caught selling “mystery juice” in empty water bottles. As it turns out, it’s just very, VERY sugary koolaid.

- Blue raspberry lollipops are now in stock in the infirmary! (Please don’t take this as an invite to get injured or sick…)

Weekly Question:

“If Camp Half-Blood opened a restaurant and you could pick any dish to have on the menu, what dish would it be?” (Desserts count!)

Last Week’s Question:

“If you could turn into any animal at will, which animal would you choose?”

Camper Answers:

“An alligator,” - Casey, Aphrodite Cabin

“A bear!” - Jude, Apollo Cabin