#Types of Piles Surgery

[chiefdirector]

Crash | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

“Where is she?” Sargent Tim Bradford demanded as soon as he stepped off the elevator and into the reception area of the Hospital. Chen was behind him, trying to keep up as he weaved his way through the crowd towards the desk.

There had been a pile up on the freeway. Multiple casualties and even more injuries. In the rubble, Detective (Y/N) Bradford’s car lay. She had been on the radio to Tim and Sargent Grey when her car had been smashed into. He listened as she screamed and went silent.

When he and Chen arrived at the scene, she had already been carted away in an ambulance, with the firefighters and emergency rescue teams unsure whether or not she had been one of those to leave in a body bag.

“Where is she?!” He repeated as he got to the desk, ignoring the groaning and complaints of the people she shoved past. He barely clocked onto the bewildered expression of the receptionist as he spoke.”

“Sir, if this is about the accident you will have-“

“If you tell me to wait, I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice,” he snapped. Chen tried to pull him away and calm him down but he stood strong. “Where is (Y/N) Bradford. She should’ve been here.”

The receptionist looked quite shaken by his request but she still searched the name, hands trembling as she typed. “There is a (Y/N) Bradford but I don’t have a status on her condition. I can tell you when I get the report in. You’ll be the first to know.”

“Fine,” he snapped, moving away from the desk before he worked himself up anymore.

——————

Five hours had passed before he had heard anything.

Watching the waiting room clear out, he felt like he was going to lose his mind. One by one he saw happy reunion or heartbreak for everybody around him. The longer the Tim passed, the worse the outcome in the bottom of his stomach felt.

It was as if he couldn’t breathe. Not knowing if she was okay or not. So when the small receptionist approach him, it was as if air had been restored.

“Excuse me, officer.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have an update on (Y/N) Bradford.”

Tim whipped around immediately, pouring all of his focus into her words. “What? Where is she? Is she-“

“Ms. Bradford is currently being treated in the Trauma Unit. She had sustained severe injuries to her left arm. She had surgery to place some bolts to help align the bone.”

“She’ll be okay?” He breathed.

“Yes.” The receptionist paused, looking at the foreboding Sargent, recognising the look of love and worry in his eyes. “She’ll be okay. She’s been asking for someone named Tim. I’m assuming that’s you.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice wavering for the first time as the rush of relief flowed through him. Although he wouldn’t truly relax until he saw her. “Can I go see her?”

“Like I said, she’s been asking for you.”

——————

Despite being told she was awake doing well, Tim almost sprinted to her bedside, not believing anything until he saw her himself. It took every ounce of will power not to burst through the door. Stopping directly outside, he took a deep breath before entering.

Despite all the tubes, cannulas, and bandages, she still looked ethereal. He swore that even an angel couldn’t have looked as beautiful as her.

“Hi,” he breathed out, slowing making his way to her bedside. Once she was in reach, he leaned across to brush some hair out of her face. “How you doing sweetheart?”

“Sore.” She said, voice croaking from sleep. With much effort, she shuffled across the bed to beckon him to lay with her.

“I bet. I was real worried about you.”

She cooed slightly at his words. “Here I was thinking that the Sargent Tim Bradford was some unfeeling monster.”

“Not for you sweetheart. Not for you.”

Masterlist

@rookietrek

[loucifersbitch]

Buck walks through the automatic doors on autopilot and freezes. It hits him then that the last time he stood here, he was meeting Tommy for Maddie and Chim’s wedding. He had stood almost in this very spot and kissed his boyfriend who was covered in soot after fighting a wildfire all night and most of the day.

Now his boyfriend is somewhere else in the hospital, and Buck can’t kiss him or touch him, and his hands are shaking, and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

He turns toward the nearest bathroom and makes it into the stall just in time. He hasn’t eaten yet today, so he’s only throwing up bile mixed with panic and regret, but it’s just as bad.

It’s Hen who finds him, which -

“Why are you in the men’s room?” he asks, his voice weak and still creaky.

“I thought you might need a medical professional.” When Buck just looks at her, she continues with a sigh, “We could hear you in the waiting room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” That’s a little embarrassing. “Sorry. And thanks.”

He gratefully accepts the wet paper towel she hands him to wipe his face.

“Any news yet?”

“Not yet. They took him back for surgery, and it’ll probably be a few more hours before we hear. Bobby and Eddie are in the waiting room if there’s an update. Chim went to pick up Jee from daycare, but he’ll be back later with Maddie.”

Then she produces a water bottle from somewhere behind her.

“How long have I been in here?” Buck asks. Hen seems way too prepared for it to have been just a few minutes.

“About half an hour,” she says. “Actually closer to 45 minutes now.”

“Right.”

So time is still moving awkwardly. He can’t get his bearings. He feels untethered, like he’ll never be on solid ground again.

“Why don’t we get you up and out to a chair?” Hen asks gently. She’s not treating him with kid gloves, but she is being more careful than necessary.

He decides to accept it for the time being. Maybe he does need the softness in her voice and the kindness in her eyes right now.

“Yeah - yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Hen.”

She smiles with something like relief and then stands, offering Buck a hand up.

The waiting room is blessedly empty save for their morose party. Buck tries to sit down, but before he can, Hen is pulling at his turnout coat, trying to yank it off his shoulders. She manhandles the coat off and tosses it to Eddie who adds it to the growing pile of coats on an unused chair in the corner. He’s too tired to fight it or question it, plus it was getting heavy with all of the rain still soaked into the fabric. 

After that, Hen leaves to call Karen, and Ravi goes to get food for them all at a little cafe just up the road that they’ve come to know well. 

Buck sits between Bobby and Eddie, almost a mockery of them standing at the crash site, holding him up. Best not to think about it.

Eddie holds a phone in his hands that Buck recognizes, but it’s not Eddie’s phone. The screen is cracked at the upper corner, spider-webbing its way diagonally down the length of the glass.

“Is that -?” He can’t even bring himself to ask.

“It’s Tommy’s, yeah. A nurse brought out the personal items he had on him a while ago. I was going to see if he has any family in his contacts, but I don’t know his passcode.”

“Oh,” Buck swallows roughly, “it’s um - it’s my birthday. But,” he continues before Eddie types the digits, “he doesn’t have any family in his contacts. At least, not anyone he would want here.”

“Ah,” is all Eddie says before handing the phone over to Buck. He pockets it and tries to think about anything other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

He spends the next few minutes staring off into space thinking of nothing other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

“He’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Eddie says into the heavy silence.

“Eddie’s right,” Bobby adds. “His arm will be fine, and the cuts and scrapes will heal. He’ll be back up in the sky before you know it.”

Buck feels his stomach churn threateningly at the thought, but he does his best to nod and smile. 

When Ravi returns with food, Buck can’t handle the smell, let alone eating anything. But he tries. He can hear Tommy’s low voice in his head warning, “Evan, you need to eat something,” and that convinces him more than Eddie’s prodding.

When Karen shows up along with Chimney and Maddie, Buck feels the need to pull her and his sister off to the side.

He tries to keep his voice steady as he says, “I didn’t get it. Before, I mean. I didn’t get what it felt like to be on this side.” He’s oddly proud his voice only cracked once.

Maddie grabs his hand. “Buck, you’ve been on this side a lot of times. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the 118 isn’t very good at staying out of the hospital.”

He lets out a wet laugh.

“I think he means on the worried partner side of things,” Karen says. “You’ve never had someone you’re in a relationship with get injured like this before. Is that right?”

“Y-yeah.” He chuckles sardonically. “When I saw the helicopter - and his - his hand hanging out the window - I thought - he wasn’t moving, y’know? It took us so long to find him. We were too late. I thought -”

“You thought you’d lost him,” Maddie supplies. He can only nod. “Yep, welcome to the Worried Partners Club.”

“It sucks, but it’s worth it,” Karen adds.

Later, when Athena gets off shift, she arrives at the hospital bearing coffee for everyone. Buck nods gratefully when she hands him one, and the understanding look in her eyes nearly sets him off again. Although, he thinks he might be too dehydrated for tears by now.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” a voice calls from the doors leading to the OR.

Everyone looks up, but Buck is on his feet before the nurse finishes saying Tommy’s name. He feels people behind him, and the nurse’s eyes widen a bit at everyone gathering around, but Buck’s glad for them.

“He’s out of surgery. Everything went well. He’ll be in recovery for about an hour, but as soon as we get him in a room, you can see him.” 

The last part is directed toward Buck. Maybe he now looks like he’s part of the Worried Partners Club, but that’s fine. He’ll see Tommy soon. That’s what matters.

He catches the end of the nurse’s spiel as he says, “...still be under some sedation, so don’t expect much conversation.”

Buck nods, and the nurse leaves, and then Maddie is dragging him back to their chairs, handing him his coffee, and plopping down next to him to wait until they can see Tommy.

“He’s going to be insufferable,” Eddie says suddenly. He looks at Buck and says, “Remember that time he sprained his ankle while we were sparring? God, he was the worst patient.”

Buck genuinely laughs for the first time since they got the call. “He’s so stubborn, he wouldn’t even let me open doors for him. He just struggled to balance on his crutches so he could do it himself. He almost fell into the bushes twice outside the physical therapist’s office.”

Then everyone is laughing, a sense of lightness settling over Buck. He still doesn’t feel grounded or right necessarily, but laughing with his family helps.

They keep telling stories after that. Most of them are about Tommy, but some are stories or updates about kids or parents or a new recipe gone wrong. They all avoid the topic of work.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” It’s a different nurse this time, but she doesn’t blink an eye at the number of family Tommy has. “He’s resting in his room. You can go back to see him, but we ask that you keep it to 4 or 5 people at a time. He’s still pretty groggy and probably won’t remember what happened right away, so keep conversation simple.” Then she turns and starts walking down the hallway, not waiting or looking back to see if anyone follows.

Buck grabs Chim and Eddie and gestures at Bobby to come, too. At the last second he grabs Hen’s hand, and the five of them hurry to catch up with the nurse together.

“Breathe, Buck,” Hen whispers.

He can’t. Not yet.

part 1

part 2

part 4

[erodasfishtacos]

Boredom & Blind Dates [pt I]

summary: yn is a good friend, who's willing to go on a blind date so that her friend can try to pull the man of her dreams. the new bigshot doctor at the hospital she's works. the dinner isnt as charming as she hoped

word count: 5k

warnings: angst

author's note: hii! this was based off a request. the rest will be posted on patreon and there’s already another part up :)

You can subscribe for $3 USD a month here

+

Victoria was a friend that YN had made in college when they were both studying completely opposite majors but happened to be roomed in the same two-bed dorm.

They clicked instantly and just like their majors, they were also exact opposite in their personalities too but it somehow just meshed perfectly together.

Victoria was a social butterfly who did not have a fear of being the center of attention, going after whoever she wanted (and typically pulling them), and her confidence was impressive.

Despite how smart Victoria was, she had a tendency to come off a bit ditzy, and has been called an air-head more than twice in YN’s presence.

The boys in more prestigious majors like law and medicine usually didn’t find her carefree attitude as appealing.

While Tori snagged the frat boys, YN steered clear of them which worked because they had never once had a crush on the same man.

After graduation, it only made sense to move in together because Seattle was a ridiculously overpriced city but their job wages were competitive.

Victoria was a nurse, she worked on a surgery recovery wing, and complained about her job constantly because of the crabby patients and long hours.

YN worked behind a desk all day, very rarely having to interact with anyone but if she did - it was all virtual from home.

She was the head accountant for a social media marketing company which was a pretty high position for the few years of experience she had.

YN had always been serious, more mature for her age, and always excelled above everyone else in her grade.

It hadn’t been a surprise when she was valedictorian or made summa cum laude in her undergraduate and masters degree with ease.

YN didn’t party, didn’t love socializing out in clubs but would go when Victoria pressured her enough to do so, and it was fine.

YN had been so involved in establishing her career, creating a successful life, and making a name for herself that she didn’t have time for the things Victoria did.

Dating app hookups, one night stands from the bar, and casual flings that only lasted a few weeks was how Tori rolled.

Typically, at least once a month, she was bawling to YN about the latest dickhead who treated her like she was disposable but kept going for the same type.

YN had empathy to an extent, always uncorked the wine and half-listened to her rants about chivalry being dead while she was still thinking about an account she needed to work on because the deadline was coming up.

YN liked to think she lived vicariously through Victoria’s stories which worked for her because then she didn’t have to experience those things herself.

+

YN had been sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on the wide arm as she scrolled through work emails while catching up on her guilty pleasure reality show.

It was nearly ten at night but she was waiting for a reply from a customer with a time difference, work could sometimes be a whole day and night ordeal.

There was no question that YN was uptight, rarely - if ever relaxed, and did not have much time for anything other than what put a hefty sum in her bank account every two weeks.

Victoria tumbled through the front door in a way that is uniquely her - like a hurricane.

Her keys jingling, her water bottle bumping and sloshing water as she drops her purse on the floor unceremoniously with a chapstick rolling out.

She tosses all of her items in a messy pile on the ground with her bag, kicking off her tennis shoes, and nearly prances into the living room.

YN blinks over at her, the excitement of her arrival was a routine now, she no longer gets annoyed that her best friend makes an entrance like that each time.

“Babe, guess what,” Victoria squeals as she sits down right next to her on the couch, still in her magenta colored scrubs and her mascara smudged near her eyes.

“What?” YN replies as she mindlessly clicks refresh in her email, wishing for this message with the information she needs to appear.

“Our new Chief of Medicine started today! He was the head of neurology at another hospital. A literal brain surgeon which, of course I’ve met others but he’s like…the best of the best. They write news articles about him, his studies in medical journals, he’s a big deal,” Victoria is still excited as she nearly bounces in her spot, shaking YN’s laptop.

YN puts a hand up to make sure her computer doesn’t topple, still nonplussed as she looks at her friend, “What does this have to do with you? Is it just because he’s famous in the medical world?”

“No, he’s fucking gorgeous too. I didn’t think you were allowed to be as smart as he is while looking like he just walked off a runway during Paris Fashion Week,” Tori giggles as her cheeks go a bit pink, “He’s the hottest doctor I’ve ever seen.”

“Tori,” YN sighs, clicking her refresh again - nothing, “Again, what is this information leading to?”

“Well I bumped into him today, literally, in the hallway. We spoke briefly, he was polite but serious, and I felt like he was flirting with me. I feel like I have a chance with him,” Her roommate tells her, that same confidence present as ever that she can pull this big shot doctor.

“Good luck with that. I’m sure he’s married with kids,” YN replies somewhat dismissively, unamused that this is how her friend spends her time.

“Nope,” Tori quips back happily, “I googled him. He just made the New York Times list as one of the most eligible bachelors in medicine. Single as they come.”

“I thought you didn’t want to date someone who also worked in medicine,” YN reminds her, clicking refresh once again to no results.

“He’s the exception. If I could settle down with a fuckin neurosurgeon, chief medical officer like come on that would be my biggest achievement,” Victoria pulls out her cell phone, tapping across the screen.

And YN just…cannot relate.

YN only fell in love once.

Where she could fantasize about a life with that person, marriage, kids, a house but it was all fantasy as they were never official in that way.

It was crushed and YN made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let herself dream like that again.

“Do you want to see a picture?” Victoria asks as she looks for an image to show.

As a stroke of luck, YN’s work phone starts buzzing, and it’s the client she was waiting for to email her, “I’m sure he’s as attractive as you say, Tor. I have to take this.”

Her friend mumbles something about her being in a relationship with work which is honestly not that far off at this point.

However, it gives her an excuse to lock herself in her office for a few hours to avoid the ideas of love, Victoria’s fantasy world, and think about nothing but numbers and percentages.

+

The next few weeks blend together for YN.

Every few days she actually catches up on her work.

Every few days Victoria recounts her very purposefully crafted run-ins with the chief medical officer to shoot her shot.

Victoria has always been forward, asking bluntly for what she wants but with such a seemingly intimidating man, she finally has met her match.

Her roommate deems the doctor as ‘playing hard to get’ but YN starts to wonder if she’s imagining the spark between them or if it’s truly there.

She talks about times where the doctor flat out ignores her in the hallway but brushes it off that he was extremely busy on a pressing issue.

But then there are times where he will pull her aside, gently by the wrist and ask her about how her day was going, and appear to be interested in her answers.

YN loved her friend but was wildly uninterested in these events, the only thing that kept her curiosity lingering was if she was actually going to snag the head of the biggest hospital in Seattle.

She doesn’t hear much for a week or two.

At least three months have passed since the doctor started.

And this finally appears to be a payoff when Victoria comes home with her usual hurricane routine of leaving a trail of her belongings as she comes through the front door.

“Oh my god, oh my god. Close your laptop and look at me!” Victoria announces dramatically as she rushes over to the couch, taking it upon herself to close the lid of YN’s work computer.

“Tori,” YN scolds with a grumble, she really didn’t appreciate it when her friend interrupted her work flow in the middle of her meticulously constructing a report.

“Hush,” She replies, brushing off her concerns, and patting YN’s thighs, “I need the absolute biggest, most massive favor from you ever. And I really need you to agree, I’ll owe you for eternity.”

This didn’t sound good.

YN blinks at her, expression still unamused as ever.

“Okay. I am going on a date with the chief,” Victoria squeals, high-pitched and loud, “But it’s a double-date, he was telling me he’s looking for a date for his friend. I offered you and he invited us all to dinner at The National.”

Fancy.

And YN tries to settle the itching annoyance at her friend offering her up without her approval but unfortunately it was a very Victoria-like thing to do.

Despite how uptight YN could be, she had a soft spot for her friend and would do anything within her to make her happy so instead of lecturing her about setting her up, YN agrees.

YN thinks about it as the days pass until the date, what’s stopping her from actually giving this a try?

The only information she received about her blind date was that he was also a doctor, orthopedics, and his name was Mitch.

YN dresses nicer than she had originally planned, in a form fitting black dress that shaped her chest phenomenally, making her smaller tits look full and lifted.

It also defined her backside well too, making it rounded and voluminous in a way that it normally didn’t look in her regular outfits.

YN hadn’t been with anyone in over a year, not even a casual hookup because she didn’t do those - she did commitment.

Maybe Mitch would be the one.

YN wasn’t one for magical thinking like her best friend but maybe this is what optimism was supposed to be like as opposed to her normal pessimist outlook.

Victoria dressed stunning as well, albeit a bit more revealing which was her go to, cut-outs along her ribs and the hem was nearly to her bum cheeks so she couldn’t bend over without revealing all of her bits and pieces.

YN was sure that the doctor she was pining after would take her home with her that night but she also knows Victoria is possibly looking at this to become serious.

It was all up in the air.

The National was a quiet restaurant, where business meetings were held and deals were made.

Everyone dressed in expensive outfits that made YN and Victoria’s seem a bit out of place but they blended in well enough.

Neither have been to the location before because it was reservation-only and you had to have enough of a name in Seattle to bother calling.

The fact that the chief was able to get them a table, at relatively short notice was flex in itself, showing off what clout he held in the community.

YN wasn’t impressed, per se, felt like it was a bit-show off but nevertheless it was a nice experience that she’d never likely have again after this night.

Victoria gives the hostess their name before they’re being guided towards the back of the restaurant, it lit dimly enough that it would be hard to see the menu.

As they arrive at the table, there’s two meticulous dressed men sit across from one another, both handsome in different ways.

However, one has a big smile and stands up whilst the other stays seated with a scowl that seems permanently etched on his face - light wrinkles to show for it.

The man who stands up reaches for YN’s hand, kissing the back of it, and introducing himself, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it all week, darling. I’m Mitch.”

“YN,” She replies even though he already knows, allowing the kiss and giving him a polite smile back as he pulls out her chair for her.

Victoria walks around the table, somewhat awkward as her date doesn’t get up or offer to move her chair out, only a curt, “Hello, Victoria. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Tori blushes easily, YN has to refrain from rolling her eyes at the interaction, she always fell for the rudest, douchey men on Earth.

This doctor was no different as he says back in his chair, shoulders broad, and back straight, head held high as he watches Mitch help YN in her seat.

“Thank you,” YN brushes her fingers against Mitch’s shoulder as he sits down, making eye contact with her date once again.

He had these sincere brown eyes, a shy smile, and his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail as he nods at her.

Mitch wasn’t her type, though she wasn’t picky, and was willing to give anyone a chance - he just wouldn’t be someone she would pick herself.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

“What’s good here?” YN asks Mitch as she opens her menu, it was a small list of entrees, most that YN had only seen on cooking shows or never even heard of.

“I haven’t been here. Styles here is a regular but that’s because he’s the big name ‘round here, well according to London Times - everywhere,” Mitch teases as he glances up at his friend.

Styles doesn’t even lift his lip in a half-smile, his eyes dart to YN before his friend, “The Steelhead Trout is good as is the Filet Migon.”

YN’s eyes trace back over the menu, heart seizing a bit as the numbers next to the entree - realizing that was the price was a bit of shell shock.

She knew that Mitch would pay for her but she felt guilty about ordering something that was well over a hundred and fifty dollars when she would never pay that for dinner herself.

“I think I’ll just get the thai salmon,” YN replies as she glances over, it was the cheapest option, not by much but still.

“There’s peanuts in the sauce,” The doctor tells her as he glances up from his own menu to look at YN.

YN brow furrows at him, lips turning down, and about to say something when he adds, “Victoria informed me that you have a severe peanut allergy and to choose a restaurant that could prepare your food properly.”

YN blinks to process before looking over to Victoria, “Thanks, Tor.”

“I’d rather not see freshman year thanksgiving happen again,” Victoria jokes but there is some real concern there from such a traumatic incident.

YN had accidentally come into contact with some type of nut that sent her into an anaphylactic shock.

They couldn’t find her epipen for a good two minutes until they did and were able to administer her medication until she could make it to the hospital.

Victoria had anxiety about food in their house for ages, paranoid about her own contact with the allergen, and always made sure everyone was aware of YN’s condition.

“I’ll get the filet then,” YN sighs, giving up on picking a cheap option as she closes her menu, and the waiter pours a red wine into her glass.

YN was not in the mood to drink, preferring to sip on her water instead as Victoria and Mitch emptied their first glass quickly.

Victoria’s date sipped more sophisticatedly on his, swirling it like a proper snob before taking a minuscule sip as if he was savoring it.

Mitch seemed very interested in YN, asking multiple questions about her work and personal life, he put an arm around the back of her chair which YN didn’t necessarily mind as they spoke.

From what YN could see, Victoria was not having as much luck with her date as their conversation appeared strained, her friend was doing ninety percent of the talking, and Harry was nodding with an expression of boredom.

After the soup and salads arrive, Mitch and Harry start to chat about something going on with the hospital protocols.

Victoria tries to add in, he doesn’t acknowledge her but Mitch does instead after an uncomfortable pause of silence between them.

YN stays quiet, unable to add anything, and after a moment, Mitch huffs out a laugh, “Enough work talk, we’re excluding YN.”

Harry raises his eyebrow at her, “Need to be the center of attention?”

“Hey,” Mitch frowns, rubbing at YN’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I’m sorry if I just-“

“You’re fine,” YN waves her hand dismissively, giving her friend’s date a displeased glance that Harry returns the scowl just like he’d been doing all night.

Victoria is oblivious, as she tends to be, and is much too focused on keeping her date’s attention to worry about anything else.

“What do you do for work?” Harry asks her, randomly cutting off a story that Victoria was telling about a patient that eloped recently.

“I’m a head accountant for a social media marketing company. What about you?” YN returns the question with sickeningly sweet politeness.

She felt like Harry was a pompous prick, taking pride in his rankings, education, and had a better than attitude that YN really felt was unappealing.

To act like she didn’t know shit about him was the perfect way to irritate him apparently.

It works.

The way his teeth clench together as the wrinkle between his brow deepens further, he straightens his suit jacket before leaning forward to appear casual.

“I’m the Chief Medical Officer of The Hospital of Seattle, a neurosurgeon specializing in spinal cord injury as well as stroke and trauma, I own three outpatient medical practices, as well as instruct other neurosurgeons on new techniques and equipment,” Harry boasts, to be fair, it was extremely impressive.

There was no doubt that the man sitting across from her was extremely intelligent, she’s probably never been around anyone as smart as him but it didn’t excuse his attitude.

You can be intelligent and humble at the same time.

Apparently Doctor Styles did not get the memo.

“That’s nice,” YN replies as she takes a very small sip of wine, even though she was impressed, it didn’t reflect in her bored tone.

Harry scoffs, sitting back, and licking the front of his teeth.

His eyebrow was raised as he repeated in disbelief, “That’s nice? Nothing else, huh?”

Victoria’s eyes dart nervously between the two, she grips Harry’s bicep, “I think it’s the most impressive thing I’ve heard. Not to mention the medical journals you wrote for or the volunteer work.”

YN tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, tampering down a smile at getting a reaction out of her friend’s date, just as she had hoped.

“S’really not as impressive when the person needs to flaunt their accomplishments so extravagantly,” YN shrugs as she puts down her wine glass, nonchalant as ever, and acting as if she was being casual.

Tori delivers a kick to her shin underneath the table, along with a scolding look for her to drop the attitude with Harry because it was ruining their date.

YN pulls back because she did feel guilty at getting into it with this doctor who Tori was trying to pull and she wasn’t increasing the chances with the snide comments.

Harry is about to respond, his ringed fingers clenched on the table, and there were tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of his suit that were very undoctorlike, “You know what I think-?”

“Uhm,” Mitch coughs awkwardly to break up the tension that was getting thick and cloying between everyone at the table, “Victoria, where did you get your nursing degree from?”

The conversation breaks off, Victoria and Mitch start chatting as YN and Harry remain pretty much silent throughout the appetizers.

Victoria is forward, trying to touch her date when possible.

A brush of his hand here, a squeeze of his bulky bicep there.

Though Harry doesn’t shrug her off, he also doesn’t return the favor at all.

He is nearly statuesque, unmoving, and able to sit very still for long amounts of time.

Of course, maybe that is overly obvious because of how all over the place her friend was at all times, unable to sit still for more than a few minutes without needing to adjust the way she’s sitting or fiddle with something on the table.

YN wonders if this whole thing was set up for Mitch and Harry just settled for being on a date with Victoria to help his friend out.

The thought hurt her to think about because she wanted better for her friend.

YN enjoyed having a job that paid her well, more than most people her age were making but it didn’t define who she was.

Doctor Styles seemed to be his entire job as his personality.

How boring.

When Harry manages to get the topic back onto a work issue, YN cannot help but let out a yawn that she very half-heartedly tries to cover with her hand because she could only hear so much about a spinal surgery before she’s zoning out.

Victoria is hanging onto his every word, asking questions, and being overly interested in a lackluster story in his monotone, deep voice that could honestly lull her to sleep because of how bleak and morbid he sounded.

However, when she yawns, no one at the table notices but Harry.

His eyes have darted over to her a few times while he’s been talking, almost to gauge her level of interest, and when she yawns, he visibly huffs before continuing - his words a bit more harsh and a flutter of annoyance twisting into his cadence.

YN had neglected her date during this whole time, in full honesty.

Victoria and Mitch seemed to have a great conversation.

When YN talked to Mitch, he was nice enough and easy to have a conversation with but his boss across the table was distracting and apparently felt the need to constantly be the center of attention even though that’s what he called YN out for. 

It’s rude, YN knows it is when she excuses herself to the bathroom mid-story, placing her napkin on the table before swinging her purse over her shoulder, and navigating into the dimly-lit restaurant towards the back.

YN goes into one of the many stalls, a larger bathroom, and sits down.

She didn’t have to go to the bathroom but she had just needed a break because…

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck?

YN would be crawling out the bathroom window if Victoria wasn’t with her.

YN hears the door open and she just knows it’s Victoria.

She is definitely going to give YN a piece of her mind for her attitude at the table and she really can’t blame her because she was not being on her best behavior admittedly.

When YN pushes open the stall, already starting her speech, “Tor, I know you’re probably pissed but -”

However, YN stops mid-setence when she sees that it was not Victoria standing across from her.

No, instead it was Harry, leaning back against the sinks with his arms crossed and a scowl worse than anything that he had displayed at the table across his face.

“Already dating again?” He asks unhappily, the slight crack of his deep drawl gives away the jealously laying behind those words, “That’s pretty fuckin’ rich, innit?”

“Don’t you dare,” YN hisses back, defensive and straightening up, “You don’t have any room to talk.”

“I have plenty,” Harry grits out, his gaze unwavering, his hand twitching like he wants to reach out, “You fucked everything up, not me.”

The awful thing is that YN wants him too.

“That’s not true,” YN murmurs softer, trying to keep the feisty edge in her voice but struggling.

The emotions that she was attempting to hold in at the table were much harder to bottle up when they were standing face-to-face like this.

“You like Mitch?” Harry ignores her rebuttal, his knuckles were white where they were gripping the kitchen sink, “Think he’s nice? Boyfriend material?”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” YN snaps back, finding her bravado a bit more.

“Come here,” Harry orders, voice quiet but sharp, demanding, and it sends a chill down her spine.

“Harry-” YN begins to argue but finds herself walking forward, her heart pounding hard enough that it hurts and her hands were shaking as she clung the strap of her purse as a lifeline as her heels clicked against the tile.

“C’mon, dove,” His voice is sweeter, more goading until she’s close enough to touch.

Her lips parted in nerves, excitement, dread.

His hand reaches out to curl around the nape of her neck, fingers lightly pressing into the sides of her throat and though it was gentle, it was possessive - rooted in the jealousy of what was going on tonight with their dates.

Harry brings her towards him by the hold he has on her, until her hands are laid on his chest, and he’s leaning down as he tilts her head up.

He brushes their lips together, once, twice, and on the third time, YN pulls back and takes a few steps away from him.

“You can’t just do that,” YN huffs, grabbing a tissue from the counter and dabbing at the corners of her eyes to prevent the tears from falling and ruining her makeup, “I’m on a date. You’re on a date. It isn’t fair to either of them.”

Harry laughs unhappily, shaking his head as pushes away from the sink, heading towards the door but before he leaves, he bites back, “I don’t think you have room to be talking about fair. You obviously don’t fuckin’ understand the concept of it. Pull yourself together before you come back out.”

YN knows it immature, proves his point but gives him the middle finger before going back to dabbing at her eyes - fuck, she wishes she didn’t cry around him.

She wondered if it was worth sneaking out the window and facing the wrath of her friend later.

+

ahhhhhhh.

let me know your thoughts. this was difficult to write but im glad it turned out how i wanted it too! what do you predict?

😙😙😙

[crystallilytarot]

Your future partner's appearance. Choose an item!

It's a general reading, so it's possible that not everything will resonate with you, keep that in mind!

Pile 1

Quite tall, a little bit slender but they have broad shoulders. Masculine energy, even if it's not a male, they have this vibe, confident, and like a boss or a leader. For some of you, they can have some grey hair, but for others they dye their hair, can be some unique color too. Something red, can be a coat, jacket. Gold jewelry. Even if their face expression is mostly serious, they can be friendly, especially when they are with friends or family. They can have a scar, maybe from a surgery, but for some of you they have a tattoo, I feel not a very big one though.

Pile 2

They can be serious if they need to, but also an energetic, flirty type sometimes. They have a balanced body type, kinda like an hourglass figure. I think their legs can be muscular. They have a cold expression when they concentrate hard to do something. Their hands can be beautiful, you will like it. They have a sexy energy. I see something grey and light blue. They probably wear hats, caps, beanies often. Thick eyebrows and sometimes they have crazy hair, like when they wake up. Maybe they have a dog or something about pets are important here.

Pile 3

It's some nice, nurturing energy here. I feel summer, flowers, flowy dresses or a little bit oversized shirts from light texture. A little bit feels like a literal angel. They can be a foreigner. They have some very nice legs and feet. But if someone is messing with them, they will fight back, so don't let their looks fool you. They probably don't like to wear too tight clothes. I see different patterns, so I think they have some colorful clothes, maybe some bohemian accessories. They sit like they are a queen/king, something grateful about them.

[iamtired10]

home to you

pairing - wife!pham hanni x doctor!female reader

genre - fluffffffffff, FLUFF with soft angst

synopsis - life as a doctor is hectic, filled with constant emergencies and late nights. you come home late again, and this time, hanni's feelings of neglect hit harder than before.

warning - hanni cried, soft angst, feelings of neglect, busy life, kisses, again kisses, once again kisses, neck kiss, cheek kiss, lip kiss, 50% filled w kisses (my ass) and ur author is officially illiterate!

word count - i adore writing this kind of oneshot! there's smth sweet about married love. this oneshot reminds me of my own parents 😭🫶🏻 (pls request more of these types of fics, they fill my heart w joy ^^)

— requested!

the hospital was always busy.

patients coming in and out. doctors running from one case to another. and paperwork piling higher with each passing hour.

it wasn’t new to you; being a doctor meant long, unpredictable hours. but as the night dragged on, your mind was occupied by thoughts of home, of her.

pham hanni.

you let out a tired sigh as you entered the quiet apartment, the weight of another long day at the hospital pressing down on you.

you could feel the exhaustion in your bones, the endless hours of surgeries and patient consultations stealing away your energy.

but right now, there was something—or rather, someone—more important waiting for you.

the dim light in the living room was a clear sign that hanni hadn’t gone to bed yet.

it was well past midnight, and you knew she was likely upset.

you had promised to be home for dinner, but emergencies at the hospital had kept you late again.

the same story had played out more times than you cared to count.

and you knew she deserved better.

you quietly made your way to the bedroom, pushing the door open gently.

there she was, lying on the bed, facing away from the door. even in the dark, you could sense her frustration and hurt. her shoulders were slightly hunched, her body tense as she buried herself under the covers.

you knew she wasn’t asleep—she was sulking, and it broke your heart.

“honey…” you called softly, stepping into the room. she didn’t respond, but the slight stiffening of her body told you she heard.

you closed the door behind you and slipped out of your work clothes, changing into comfortable pjs.

with a quiet sigh, you slid into bed beside her, gently wrapping your arms around her waist, pulling her close against your chest.

she didn’t resist, but she didn’t lean into your touch either.

“hanni, i’m sorry,” you whispered into her ear, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “i didn’t mean to come home so late. you know how the hospital can get…”

that’s when you heard the soft sniffle.

“babe?” you turned her gently, and that’s when you saw it—the tears clinging to her lashes, her pouty lips trembling slightly.

your heart twisted at the sight.

“you always say that…” hanni’s voice was quiet, but the hurt was clear. “you always say the hospital was busy… but i’m busy missing you, y/n. every day... i wait for you. every night i wonder if you’ll come home on time, if we can have a proper meal together, just once…”

her voice broke, and more tears slipped down her cheeks. she tried to wipe them away quickly, but you were faster, gently brushing them away with your thumb. “and tonight, i waited… i made your favorite dinner, but it went cold. you didn’t even text me that you’d be late again…”

guilt hit you like a truck, and you pulled her even closer, pressing your forehead against hers. “i know, love. i’m so, so sorry.”

hanni let out a frustrated huff, her tears not stopping as she continued her rant. “i’m always here waiting, but it feels like i’m the only one who cares about spending time together. i know your job is important, but i’m important too, right?”

your heart shattered at her words.

of course she was important.

she was everything to you.

you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears on your lips.

“you’re the most important person in my life, hanni. i’m sorry if i made you feel like you weren’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “i’ve been so caught up in work, but that’s no excuse. i’ll do better. i promise.”

she sniffled again, her arms slowly wrapping around your neck as she pressed her forehead against your shoulder. “you always say that too…” she mumbled.

“i know,” you smiled softly, despite the ache in your chest. “but i’m serious this time, my babe. i’ll find a way. you’re the most important person in my life, and i don’t want you to feel like you’re second to anything. every second i’m away from you, i’m thinking about coming home to you,” you murmured against her skin. “and now that i’m here, all i want to do is make it up to you. so, can i?”

she blinked, you smiled softly in return, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. it was soft, gentle, and full of the love you wished you could express more often. when you pulled away, hanni’s eyes fluttered open, and you could see the tiniest bit of relief in her gaze.

“you’re so cheesy,” she mumbled, blushing slightly.

you chuckled quietly, brushing her hair back from her face. “sorry.”

she sighed softly, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “i just miss you,” she whispered. “i miss us.”

“i miss us too,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to her temple. “and i’ll make it up to you. starting tonight.”

she bit her lip, her pout still firmly in place, but she nodded slowly. “okay… but you better mean it.”

a soft laugh escaped your lips, and you gently cupped her face, leaning in to kiss her properly this time.

your lips met hers in a slow, tender kiss, full of the love and apologies you couldn’t put into words.

she melted into you, her hands slipping into your hair as she kissed you back, her frustration slowly being replaced by the warmth of your affection.

you broke the kiss only to plant more gentle kisses along her jawline, trailing down to her neck. she shivered under your touch, her soft breath hitching as your lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

“y/n…” she whispered, her voice breathy and soft. “that tickles…”

you hummed in response, trailing more kisses along her neck, your hands gently caressing her sides. “i love you,” you murmured against her skin. “i love everything about you.”

hanni squirmed slightly in your arms, a soft blush creeping up her neck. “you’re so cringy,” she mumbled, though you could hear the affection in her voice.

you chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “i’m only like this because i love you.”

she smiled, her eyes still a little red but much brighter now. “i love you too,” she whispered.

“i love you sooooo much, my hanni,” you whispered, leaning for more kisses. “you’re everything to me. everything.”

her hands tightened their grip in your hair, a soft whimper escaping her lips. “i love you sooooo much too,” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “just don’t keep making me wait…”

“i won’t,” you promised, your kisses growing more insistent now as you peppered her neck, her collarbone, and then back up to her lips. “i won’t ever make you feel like that again.”

hanni kissed you deeply in response, her lips parting slightly as you pressed into her, your tongues brushing softly against one another.

it was slow and sensual, a kiss that conveyed every unspoken apology and every bit of love you held for her.

you pulled her fully into your lap, holding her close as you continued to kiss her, your hands tracing soft patterns on her back, her waist, her hips. she clung to you as if she never wanted to let go, her earlier tears now replaced with soft sighs and gentle hums of contentment.

“and i’m sorry,” you whispered against her lips as you kissed her again, this time moving to her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids. “i’m sorry, i’m never letting you feel lonely again.”

she giggled softly, her arms tightening around your neck as she nuzzled into you. “you better keep this promise, doctor.”

you smiled, kissing her nose. “i will, i swear. i’ll spend every second i’m not at the hospital making sure you know how much i love you.”

hanni let out a happy sigh, her forehead resting against yours as she finally relaxed fully in your arms. “good. because i’m never letting you go either.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room being your soft breathing and the occasional flutter of kisses as you held each other close.

you whispered sweet nothings into her ear, telling her how much you adored her, how beautiful she was, how lucky you were to have her.

and every time, she’d blush and giggle, her earlier sadness long forgotten.

you spent the rest of the night just like that, tangled in each other’s arms, kissing, cuddling, and making up for lost time.

and for the first time in weeks, you both felt completely at peace.

a/n - single life hurts 💔 (pfft no, i have my hanni 😽)

[benevolentbones]

Can I request something where an unsub is going after trans people, and you're very nervous and try to get out of that case since you're a trans man. But no one knows you're trans so you can't get out of it without outing yourself which you don't wanna do so you have to go.

But the unsub captures you anyways and has you tied up naked when spencer kicks in the door and takes down the unsub and you're begging him bot to look but he's just really sweet and understanding and helps you explain to thw others why the unsub went after you?

please don’t tell | spencer reid x ftm!reader

warnings: !!!angst, graphic descriptions of murder, kidnapping, torture, derogatory remarks against transgender people, slurs, trans post top surgery reader. 16+

word count: 2k

a/n: thank you for your request, i hope you’re happy with it :) if you find these types of stories triggering please refrain from reading<3

“our unsub is targeting transgender males?” morgan quizzed, reading through the case file.

“yes. he is stalking them and kidnapping them, and then leaving their mutilated bodies in the forest around this area.” hotch pointed to a map that hung on the board beside him.

a cold sweat swept over you, your palms feeling clammy. you felt sick- like you might throw up any second. this case hit close to home, the unsub was kidnapping and murdering people like you.

“he has taken the lives of four trans men, their age range between twenty-one and thirty-four.” emily added, flipping another page.

jj strutted into the room, dropping a pile of pictures from the crime scenes. she spread them out across the mahogany table.

“our latest victim, was a twenty-six year old trans man, he was kidnapped outside of a gay bar just twenty miles from the dump site.” jj reported.

“the coroner states that the injuries here and here-“ jj pointed to large gashes along the chest area and stomach, “-were made prior to the death of our victim. the final injury that caused him to succumb was a gunshot wound.” she then pointed to another picture, a close up of the victims forehead.

“in 2014, the average life expectancy of transgender people ranged between thirty to thirty-five years of age, and in recent years the homicide rates have increased by 25%.” spencer added, listing off facts from his mind.

the taller man sat next to you, his posture slouched as he crossed one leg over another.

you felt yourself grow pale, your mind racking through all the facts you just heard spencer spill from his mouth. you could hear sounds from the team, more comments about the case, but you could not process what they were saying.

spencer noticed your distant state, you seemed off as you sat staring down at your hands placed on your lap. he leaned over to place a hand on your forearm, whispering over to you.

“you alright, y/n?” he questioned, you flinched at his touch, your eyes flickering up to his soft gaze. he could tell something was wrong, he just couldn’t quite place it. you nodded, flashing him a small smile.

none of the team were aware that you were trans, and you wanted to keep it that way. you knew they wouldn’t judge you, they were some of the most accepting people you’ve ever met. but you would rather stay incognito, it wasn’t their business.

“are there any connections between the victims aside from being trans?” emily questioned out loud.

penelope dropped a stack of paper onto the desk as she walked in, taking a seat opposite you.

“they all went to the same practice for their surgery and hormone referrals- the highland clinic.”

“it might be someone who has access to all of their files on hand- garcia?” hotch mumbled out.

“on it.” the blonde shot up, walking back to her office.

your stomach dropped, that’s the clinic you frequented. a wave of dizziness hit you, you lifted your hand to cup your forehead, using the other to steady yourself in your seat.

spencer’s eyebrows furrowed even more, studying your paling form. hotch picked up on spencer’s concern, turning his attention to you as the team continued to speak about the case.

“l/n. if you’re not feeling good i suggest you go home and rest.” hotch mumbled out towards you, spencer nodded in agreement.

"n-no i think i'm okay.."

hotch's stern gaze was all you needed to rethink your answer. "alright, i'll head home.."

you stood up, grounding your body by gripping the edge of the table. the room seemed to spin for a moment, and you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay upright. the concern etched on spencer's face made your heart ache.

as you made your way to the door, spencer quickly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "i'll walk you to your car." he offered, his voice soft but firm.

you nodded, grateful for his support. the two of you moved down the hallway in silence, the sounds of the bustling office fading into the background. when you reached the parking lot, spencer gently touched your arm, his touch warm and reassuring.

"are you sure you're okay to drive?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deception.

you managed a weak smile. "i'll be fine, spencer. just need to get home and rest."

he didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't push further. "call me if you need anything, okay?"

"i will.” you promised, getting into your car. as you drove away, you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in your stomach. the clinic being mentioned in the case was too much of a coincidence.

~

cold. all you could feel was something cold and hard pressed against your face. you blinked your eyes open, your eyes adjusting to the harsh ceiling lights.

you looked around, panic rising in your chest. the room was bare except for the chair you had fallen from, and a small table in the corner. the walls were made of concrete, the air damp and musty. the faint sound of dripping water echoed somewhere nearby, a constant reminder of your isolation.

you tried to move, but the ropes binding your wrists and ankles were tight, cutting into your skin with every attempt. your heart raced as you struggled to recall how you had ended up here. fragments of memory surfaced: the walk from your car, a shadowy figure, a sudden pain in the back of your head.

a door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. footsteps approached, deliberate and slow. a figure emerged from the shadows, his face obscured by a hood. he stopped a few feet away, his presence filling the room with a menacing aura.

"you're awake," the figure said, their voice low and chilling. "good."

you wriggle around again, trying to escape the binding but causing a sharp burning feeling around your wrists. that’s when you noticed you had been stripped of your clothes, leaving you in your underwear.

“what- what to do you want.” you managed to croak out, your voice hoarse, mouth dry.

the figure stepped closer, and you could finally make out the cold eyes staring back at you. "you," he spat, a sneer curling his lips. "you disgust me."

you recalled his features, dark blond hair, blue eyes- he was one of the nurses from the clinic.

your mind raced, trying to understand the source of his venom. "i don't even know you.” you said, frustration mixing with fear.

"don't play dumb," he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt. "people like you make me sick. thinking you can just change who you are. it's unnatural."

your blood ran cold as the realization hit you. you had faced prejudice before, but never like this. "please," you began, "i haven't done anything to you."

"haven't done anything?" he echoed, his laugh harsh and bitter. "you existing is enough. you're an affront to everything decent. it’s against gods will.”

he turned away for a moment, rummaging through something on the table, and returned with a small knife. the light glinted off its edge, making your stomach churn. "i’m going to fix this," he said, he voice eerily calm. "i'm going to fix you."

the blade hovered over your skin, and you flinched instinctively. "please, you don't have to do this," you pleaded, tears welling up in your eyes.

"shut up” he snapped, pressing the knife lightly against your skin, drawing a thin line of blood. the pain was sharp and immediate, but it was the hatred in their eyes that terrified you the most.

"i'm doing the world a favor," he said, a twisted smile forming on his lips. you realized with a sinking feeling that there would be no reasoning with them.

you shut your eyes tight, mentally preparing yourself for this to be your final moments.

a loud crash interrupted the kidnapper's twisted monologue. your eyes flew open to see the door bursting inward, splintering under the force of the impact. spencer reid stormed in, his expression a mix of determination and concern.

"fbi! drop the weapon!" he shouted, his voice authoritative and unwavering.

the kidnapper's smile faltered, but he didn't drop the weapon. instead, he turned it towards spencer. you could see the tension in spencer's stance, ready to react at any moment.

"i said, drop it!" spencer repeated, taking a cautious step forward.

the kidnapper hesitated, and in a swift, practiced move, spencer disarmed the man, knocking the weapon to the ground and subduing him with a quick, forceful maneuver. within seconds, the kidnapper was on the floor, restrained.

spencer glanced at you, his eyes softening with concern. "are you okay?" he asked gently, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"don't look at me," you whispered, your voice trembling. "please, don't look at me."

spencer nodded, respecting your wish. "it's okay," he said softly, turning his attention back to securing the kidnapper. "you're safe now. i promise."

spencer quickly shed his jacket, draping it around your shoulders. the fabric felt heavy and warm, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had settled deep in your bones.

"i need to unbind you," he mumbled gently. "i'm going to be careful. just hold still."

you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as spencer's hands worked quickly to free you from the restraints. his touch was light, deliberate, and you could feel the care in every movement. your wrists stinging as the rope slips from the raw skin.

once the ropes fell away, spencer helped you to your feet, his arm steadying you. "we're going to get you out of here," he assured you, his voice calm and soothing. he turned towards the door, raising his voice slightly. "hotch, hold on a minute. don't come in yet."

you could hear the muffled response from the hallway, but couldn't make out the words. spencer kept his gaze averted, respecting your request. "can you walk?" he asked, his tone filled with concern.

"i think so," you whispered, your legs shaky but functional. you slipped the jacket over your arms, clutching the fabric over your torso to hide your scars. you didn’t want the team to know.

"okay," spencer said, supporting you as you took tentative steps towards the door. "we're almost there. just a little bit more."

he guided you carefully, making sure to keep his body between you and the door as they moved. once outside the room, you saw hotch and the rest of the team waiting, their expressions a mix of relief and readiness.

"i've got him," spencer called out. "give us a moment."

hotch nodded, signaling the others to hold back. spencer stayed close, his presence a steady anchor as you moved further away from the nightmare you had just endured.

once you were a safe distance from the room, spencer finally looked at you, his eyes full of relief and care. he crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "i won't tell the team, unless you want me to." he promised. "i’ll tell them the kidnapper took the wrong victim. that this wasn't supposed to happen to you."

tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of fear, relief, and gratitude. spencer's words were a balm, a small comfort in the aftermath of the terror. "thank you." you whispered, your voice cracking.

spencer gently squeezed your shoulder, his touch reassuring. “i’m going to take care of you," he said softly. "you're safe now. let's get you out of here."

as he led you towards the waiting paramedics, you felt a fragile sense of hope begin to take root. spencer stayed by your side, guiding you through the chaos, ensuring you were never alone.

you fidgeted with your hands as the paramedics examined you, having now removed the jacket. spencer kept his gaze averted, but kept a calloused hand placed on your leg.

“i don’t think of you any different…i hope you know that.” he mumbled out, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“i still care about you the same. this changes nothing.”

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea @thedancingnerdmermaid @khxna @cynbx

[ohnoitsz1m]

Whatever. Combine Barney AU concepts. But also he's a furry because I just can't be bothered to draw people rn

Not by any means an original idea but I've seen so little of it and what IS around isn't very detailed or isn't finished so. I'll gladly add to the pile of unfinished stuff ^_^ I may not be good at keeping up with my AUs but I try to be thorough with them while I'm working on em

Okay continued rambling below final warning also there's a maskless combine down here so like .. HL:A spoilers and general body horror (?) below ↓

Anyways so. Barney is like. A figurehead. Of sorts. Very much a "hey look the combine is actually really great and basically your best bet at survival. We promise not to take away your humanity completely just let us do a little surgery and genetic modification it's totally okay we promise." Type deal. He exists for propaganda basically.

His mask is separated into different parts because well that's just how the design ended up. It's hard to translate shit to furry bodies T_T. The mask snaps together to make a fairly airtight seal since it is technically a respirator,,, but comes off in two pieces. External ears are lame you don't need em when you have a mask and implants that give you better hearing than any other member of your species. Stuff em in the mask they're not made for your comfort anyways.

He's got kind of a modified version of the Ordinal uniform because 1 I really like the HL:A Combine designs and 2 it was the easiest to make look like his Black Mesa uniform. Just for funzies

He's still "Barney" he just got his brain tampered with. And maybe a liiiittle extra stuff. It's fiine. But uh yeah he's lacking a lot of the visible modifications that the combine soldiers usually have because if this thing started trying to tell you how cool it is to join the combine nobody would listen.

So they had to compromise. A little. They let Barney have most of his personality and a good deal of his memories, juust modified to better suit their needs.

The How and the Why of this AU aren't quite set in stone yet but the basic gist of it is:

Barney initially joined Civil Protection early on as a double agent for the Resistance, buuuuut due to prolonged separation from the resistance, propaganda aaaand tampering with the food and water supply he started turning more to the other side. He was still working as a double agent but he started to get sloppy and became more sympathetic towards the combine. Eventually the Combine figured out what he was doing and fucked with his brain for funzies or whatever. Suddenly not only is the combine cracking down harder on rebel outposts, there's a new guy appearing in between breencasts!

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter fourteen (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Hux reels in the aftermath of the explosion

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; serious injuries; hurt/no comfort (yet); angst; medical settings and procedures; mention of throwing up; self-loathing; implied self-harm; memories of child abuse; brief suicidal ideation; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 3453

Author’s Note: alright I won't lie to you, this is a rough chapter. like I mentioned in my previous author's note, I did write this story with a narrative arc, so it is now time for the main conflict of the story, which is ultimately mostly just Hux versus his own fears and self-doubt. in this chapter, unfortunately, he's in a fragile mental space where he lets them win. however, I have counted, and there are only four (4) hurt/no comfort type chapters here, including this one (so only three after this). sorry to put us all through this, but we're establishing the stakes of the story, so that hopefully what comes after will feel even more rewarding. and if you like angst, then oh boy are these the chapters for you! thank you for (hopefully) sticking with me! I promise there is much lovely and sweet stuff (and more kisses!) to come! ☺️❤️‍🩹

oh and i should also mention to check out the warnings on this one! absolutely no worries if you would like to sit this one out since it does cover some tough topics ❤️‍🩹

Hux blinked his eyes open slowly, a sharp pain lingering in his head. He was met with the once-too-familiar ceiling of the med bay. No. This could not be happening again. Not after everything. The thought of being forced to start again made him feel physically ill. But as his senses returned to him, he realized this was not the same as before. Rather than the two medics looming above him, there was faint shouting in the distance, and he heard a rush of footsteps. He pushed himself into a sitting position, flinching instantly against a stinging pain in his arm. He was not in a private examination room in medical. Around him were other officers lying on cots, many with small, visible wounds on their bodies. Directly next to him was Hondrill, a layer of gauze wrapped around a bacta patch on her arm. Seeing the lieutenant brought everything back to Hux in a devastating rush. The memories hit him all at once with almost the same force as the blast, forcing him to lay back down to catch his breath. He sorted through the scattered images in his mind, trying to make sense of the chaos. Then, from the messy pile of remembrances came one screaming, terrifying thought: where were you?

He shoved himself upwards, ignoring the pain in his head and his arm as he threw himself from the cot. He was unsteady on his feet for a moment, wavering as the room went sideways. His momentary lapse in momentum allowed enough time for a medic to hurry over to him.

“General, please, you need to lay back down,” she insisted, hands up as though to catch him and deposit him back on the cot if he should fall. He did not intend to fall.

“Where’s the captain?” he asked, realizing that his voice came out hoarse.

“In surgery,” the medic responded bluntly, “now please lay down, sir.”

“In surgery?” Hux repeated the words, trying to make meaning of them. In surgery. Why the kriff were you in surgery? You couldn’t be in surgery. That would mean… that would mean something was seriously wrong. Hux braced himself against the edge of the cot. Bile rose in his throat, threatening to heave from his mouth. His chest was suddenly wracked with spasms. He fell to the cold floor, landing hard on his knees.

The medic was saying something into her comlink, but Hux wasn’t listening. He was barely feeling anything at all, not the pain in his body, not the bite of the hard floor. The only thing he could think about was the horrible, agonizing, all-consuming image of you in surgery. He hardly noticed when he was pulled from the ground and conveyed to a private exam room. Another medic came in, checked some things, and spoke to him, but Hux was utterly numb. It was only when Mitaka’s worried face appeared in his field of vision that he began to come back to himself.

“General?” Mitaka asked, his voice quavering. “Are—are you alright? The medics thought you might be in shock…”

Hux processed the question. He looked around. He and Mitaka were alone in the exam room, the lieutenant standing in front of him as he perched on the edge of the cot. You were in surgery.

“What happened?” Hux asked, his voice no less ragged than before. Mitaka hesitated.

“The inspection team is still completing their investigation, sir. They haven’t released any of their findings yet.” Hux could tell he was stalling, that he knew more than he was saying.

“But you know something – tell me.”

“General, I— The medics are worried that you are in great distress, and they told me that revealing any more information might worsen your emotional state.” Mitaka looked around nervously, almost as though a medic might enter at any time to see him disobeying their instructions. Hux could feel himself shaking. He grabbed Mitaka’s arm and the lieutenant’s attention instantly returned to him, his eyes wide with fear.

“Dopheld, you need to tell me what you know,” Hux pressed the words through his clenched teeth, ready to beg if he had to. Whether it was his rare use of Mitaka’s first name, his grip on the lieutenant’s forearm, or his desperate tone – perhaps even all three – Mitaka finally broke.

Hux listened in horror as Mitaka related what he knew of the incident. Either one of the droids had made a mistake, or the device was specifically designed to resist diffusion efforts. Regardless of cause, the explosive was detonated as you and Hux were boarding the shuttle. Hux had been thrown against one of the walls, sustaining a cut on one of his arms and significant bruising across his body. The droids were destroyed, but everyone else – even the team in the house – escaped with moderate injuries at worst. Except you. Hux buried his head in his hands. The back of the ship had crumpled with the force of the blast, and you had been caught beneath a piece of the metal frame. It had cut a deep gash up the length of one of your legs, breaking parts of the bone. Hux let out a shuddering breath, no longer able to keep himself sitting upright. He slid onto the floor, leaning against the cot. Mitaka almost stopped and called for a medic, but Hux demanded that he continue.

The rescue teams had pulled you from the wreckage as quickly as they could, but the blood loss had been severe. They rushed you to emergency surgery, where you had been ever since. No one had received an update for quite some time. Hux stared blankly at the floor, his mind painting horrifically vivid pictures of the scene. Almost without being conscious of doing so, his stomach began contracting and he threw up into a garbage receptacle that Mitaka had hurriedly retrieved. As he panted pathetically on the floor of the exam room, he wasn’t sure if he was dry heaving or sobbing or both.

He had been wrong when he woke up in the med bay. He desperately wanted to go back to the beginning. If it meant he hadn’t met you yet, hadn’t touched you, hadn’t kissed you, he could live with that. He would do everything again, a hundred times – a thousand times – if he needed to. He’d live in that cursed loop for the rest of his life if it would undo this. Anything but this. 

“General?” Mitaka finally asked again, now nearly on the verge of panic. “Please allow me to call a medic – you are very unwell.”

“I did this,” Hux whispered to no one, clenching his fists on the dark tile of the floor, letting the cold surface bite at his tensed knuckles. He had so many chances to do something differently – to make you leave. But he had been weak. Deep down, he hadn’t wanted you to go, had hated the idea of being parted from you – and you had suffered for it. 

“General, that’s—that’s not true,” confusion rattled in Mitaka’s voice, “you handled the situation well – no one could have anticipated this. In fact, the preliminary investigations are showing that the senator was the intended target of the attack – it’s not clear whether the perpetrators even knew there were First Order personnel in the area.” Mitaka’s words changed nothing. 

“I could have done better,” Hux muttered, digging his nails into his palms until he felt the familiar crescents of pain on his skin, “and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“General, I—” Mitaka’s words were cut off by the sound of the door whirring open.

“Lieutenant, may I speak with you?” An unfamiliar voice, likely that of a medic, drew Mitaka away from Hux’s huddled form. He was only too aware that he looked utterly pathetic, sprawled powerlessly across the floor. But even that thought was not enough for him to summon the energy to stand. 

Hux was conscious of the murmuring voices in the doorway, but he made no attempt to decipher them. His father was right: he was weak, he was a failure. He couldn’t even protect the one person in the galaxy that he truly cared for. That he truly loved. Hot tears leaked unbidden from his eyes. He was disgusted by them – disgusted by himself. He wanted to take a knife and cut himself open, to crawl out of his own skin. He deserved to be the one crushed under a pile of twisted metal; he would have given anything to take your place on the operating table, to take any pain you felt and multiply it by a hundred, absorbing it all into his own body even if – especially if – it broke him. Then maybe that would be just punishment for his failings. 

Mitaka reappeared beside him, looking significantly calmer. Hux couldn’t comprehend how that was possible when his whole world was in ten thousand jagged pieces, each one cutting him.

“General, that was the head medic,” Mitaka reported, “she says that the captain has come out of surgery and is still heavily sedated, but stable.”

Stable. Your condition was stable. More shuddering sobs broke through Hux’s body. Mitaka put an awkward hand on his shoulder, clearly trying to comfort him. If you were stable, Hux needed to be too. He pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“You may call a medic for me now, Lieutenant,” he told Mitaka, grasping for some semblance of authority in his tone. Mitaka let out a relieved breath.

“Yes, sir – thank you, sir.” He scampered quickly from the room. In the short moment that he was gone, Hux made the monumental effort to clamber back onto the cot. A general of the First Order couldn’t be found curled up on the floor like a frightened child. He needed to start thinking clearly again. He needed a new plan.

The door whizzed open again and Mitaka entered with another medic. She consulted her datapad and ran a series of tests. Hux complied with all her requests and answered each of her questions. She made efficient notes on all his responses. The head medic reentered and the two consulted briefly. The head medic then signed something on the datapad and spoke to Hux:

“Your vitals are looking mostly normal, General. I’ve cleared you for release to your quarters, but you will have required check-ins each cycle for the near future so that we can continue to monitor your condition. I’ve given Lieutenant Mitaka some painkillers for you. They will make you dizzy and tired, so I recommend waiting to take them until you reach your quarters. If you experience any new or worsening symptoms, contact us immediately.”

Hux nodded in acknowledgement and both medics left the room. Hux pushed himself from the cot, still feeling far from normal. Sensations were slowly coming back to him: a dull pounding behind his eyes, a lingering pain in his arm. Exhaustion was draining away every ounce of energy left in his body. He pictured you lying on a cot in the intensive wing, sedated, probably bristling with tubes and bacta patches. It should have been him.

“General, please allow me to accompany you back to your quarters,” Mitaka insisted, still looking a bit worried.

“Yes – fine, Lieutenant.” Hux no longer had it in him to resist.

The trip through the Finalizer’s hallways was long and painful. Hux found himself unable to maintain his usual brisk pace, his injuries making themselves more evident with every step. It was not an entirely unusual feeling, Hux thought ruefully. He recalled academy inspections where he was required to stand straight and unmoving while the bruises from his father were an aching, ugly purple just underneath the fabric of his uniform, making each breath an ordeal. Then there were the shifts after another locker room pummeling from the other cadets, their bladed laughter still ringing in his ears as each place where his thin frame had found a metal corner forced him to suppress a grimace when he moved. Pain had settled in Hux’s body at a young age, a tiresome yet predictable companion that he never seemed able to shake.

When he reached his door, Mitaka handed him the small box of capsules the head medic had promised. Hux took them before blearily entering his credentials and watching the door slide open.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, sir?” Mitaka asked, worry still pulling at his features.

“I’ll be fine, Lieutenant. Thank you for your concern,” he replied wearily. He was about to enter his quarters when another thought occurred to him, and he turned to Mitaka again. “Not a word of what you witnessed to anyone else,” Hux demanded, trying to make his voice forceful, “not even to my other personal staff.” He had been a wreck – he knew that – and he had to try to contain the damage as much as possible. Even if there was other damage that he couldn’t mitigate, couldn’t undo. He was all too aware of that.

“Never, sir – you have my word.” It seemed that having witnessed his commanding officer in such a state had deeply affected Mitaka, as Hux was absolutely assured of his silence by the conviction in his words. He gave the lieutenant one last parting nod before he slipped into his quarters.

As soon as the door had whirred shut and locked, Hux fell back against it, sliding heavily to the floor. The container of painkillers slipped from his hand, and he kicked them away, sending them skidding across the smooth, dark floors. He couldn’t take them – he deserved to feel every ounce of pain in his body, every cut and abrasion and bruise. Even then it wouldn’t come close to what he knew you were experiencing.

He caught a little flash of color: the loth cat on his desk. Standing shakily, he moved toward it, picking it up and holding it delicately in his palm. He looked over the little purple flowers, the carefully carved legs and paws. He thought of you, a mess of crushed bone and metal. He caught himself on the edge of his desk, eyesight suddenly blurry from tears. He didn’t deserve this – he couldn’t touch anything that was beautiful without breaking it. Slowly pulling open the bottom desk drawer, he deposited the loth cat and your notes to him in the bottom. He could never destroy the things you had given him, but he also didn’t deserve to see them again. They were meant for someone else, someone good. 

Hux paced through his rooms, ending up on his bed, looking out the viewports into the ocean of stars beyond. It hadn’t taken him long to realize you were everywhere in his quarters. You were on the floor beside his desk, holding him while he fell apart in your arms; you were in his sleeping area, giving him tea and begging him to rest; you were at his table, laughing at something he said; you were on his couch, curled up against him and falling asleep in his embrace. And yet you weren’t. You were in the med bay, suffering because he had been too weak to protect you. You had been scared, had asked if you could stay with him, and it was because of him that you couldn’t be here. That you would never be in his quarters again. 

The realization was enough to steal the breath from his lungs. He had known it far down within himself, felt it like bone-deep ache of a childhood wound. He watched his tiny hand slip just beneath the surface of the waves, a dribble of blood from his nose landing in the water and dissolving in sickening swirls of red. The stone was still clutched in his fist, but he loosened his grip on it, watching the mesmerizing shine of it dance between his fingers one final time before he set it free. It tumbled in the frothy motion of the tide for a moment, winking happily at him before it disappeared into the dark grey depths of the water. He withdrew his empty hand.

Whatever he had felt the first time he had decided to set you free was nothing compared to this. He thought he had been in agony then, but now they would have to name a new, more excruciating type of pain just for him. He could have been locked in any torture cell in the galaxy, and it would have paled before what he was experiencing alone in his chambers. 

He had brought this upon himself – it was his penance and his punishment for his own weakness. If he had let you go the first time he resolved to do so, he wouldn’t have had to know. He had guessed at it, yes, and dreamed, but he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known the sunlight warmth of your touch, the golden sound of your laugh, the way you happily folded yourself into him, the way you kissed him with everything in you. The way you loved him. 

And now he knew. He had been foolish and weak and wouldn’t commit to what he always understood was better for you. He had given into the rush of the freefall, dragging you toward the ground with him until you had landed in a broken pile at his feet. He knew it was a consequence of letting you get too close to the wreck that was Armitage Hux – he was always going under and was bound to drown you in his wake. He had known this and had pulled you in anyway. So it was only fair that he had to know everything else. He deserved to be haunted by every smile, every touch, every memory. He deserved to live with the knowledge that he almost had everything, but that he had never been worthy to hold something so precious. 

Hux’s hands were weapons, and for the unforgivable crime of hurting you, they deserved to be forever empty. A tear fell into his open palm. When he looked out at the stars again, he found them smudged and blurry, a mess of light and darkness. With a shaky breath, he reached for his datapad.

Body wracked with silent sobs, he scrolled through a list of planets securely under First Order control. Planets that were far from him. He pulled up your personnel file, the sight of you in your identification image enough to make his heart seize in his chest. He could not be weak this time. With shaky fingers, he reassigned you, effective immediately upon your release by medical. He confirmed the reassignment, and when your file auto-refreshed, the system-generated message that appeared at the top punched a hole straight through his body: ‘requested personnel outside of jurisdictional control – no longer Finalizer crew member pending medical release.’ 

He had to close his eyes. He tried to calm his panicked breathing by telling himself that this was better. He would send you to a well-defended base. You could live in the sun and look at art and be happy, not be trapped in this black, feelingless hull with him. You could be safe. Maybe you’d even find someone who was far better for you than he was. The thought of seeing you laugh and smile for anyone else the way you did for him, the idea of anyone else touching you, holding you, kissing you, made him think he might throw up again, retching on his bed in spasms of anguished jealousy. He would have to live with that too, another punishment he deserved. He had relinquished any claim he had on you, the impersonal message at the top of your file had made that sickeningly official. He could only have you in the way that hurt the most: in the private knowledge that you were everything he had ever wanted, but could never have deserved.

He cast the datapad into the darkness, unable to stop his entire body from shaking. He dug around in the drawer of his bedside table, fishing for the hidden supply of sleeping pills that he rarely used. He almost regretted that he hadn’t stashed enough for a fatal dose. He swallowed them, waiting to fall into the oblivion of a dreamless sleep. As they began to take effect, he begged any power that would listen to let him go back to the beginning, to reset the clock again. He wished with all the energy left in his battered body that he would wake up in medical again, having just fainted from his injection. He would do everything better next time – he would let you go.

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt. 5 ]

Authors Note: forgive me for how late this is. It wasn’t intentional and I had meant to get it out sooner. But I’m running on caffeine, bitterness of my breakup, and whatever’s left of the chemicals my ADHD meds gave me before i ran out so . . . 🧍🏻‍♀️

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART SIX

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has found you and it is time to bring you home. The Black Lotus as a threat has been eliminated but her employer has not — which leaves more of a mess to clean up later. But that could wait . . . Natasha did not think she could bare to part from you for a moment.

Content Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional turmoil, aftermath of torture, medical treatment [ r!recieving ], Rio makes an appearance then dips, early symptoms of PTSD [ r ], cuddling, injuries, anxiety attacks, outward expressions of reassurance, love, and safety [ Nat —> R ], Natasha has some sort of mental disassociation about coffee when it’s actually about almost losing R.

Word Count: TBA, but shorter than the others. Sorry fellas.

5 . . . 4

“She’s crashing!”

“Blood type is —“

“We need to restart her heart!”

1 . . . 2

Electricity jolting through you and echoing into your ribcage, reaching the organ that pumps life giving blood into your veins.

“I will debrief when my partner isn’t lying on the table bleeding out!”

3 . . .

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three.

Something warm envelops you and you knew nothing but the radiating heat within whatever surrounded you. You did not feel as though you were within your own body anymore, but a spectator to what was being done to save your life.

It changes someone when, you decide, when they have to see their own body lay prone upon the surgery table split open and stitched back together, blood soaking into surgical gloves as wires and tubes kept you somewhat alive.

It was ironic in a way — watching yourself get a blood transfer as you bled almost as quickly as they gave back.

No wonder you were near death. Death?

A feminine form joins you at your side with a ghostly silence, arms folded in front of themselves. They wore a ragged dark green hood that went with silky emerald robes, brushing the floor of the surgical room but didn’t seem to collect dirt or mess.

Waves of cold floated from her and yet — yet you had this primal urge to stay very still.

Like prey attempting to keep itself hidden form a narrow-sighted predator in the brush.

“You’re lucky,” the being finally said, voice echoing in the room. No attention was brought to either of you by your team of nurses and surgeons who worked around you. One of your monitors wailed.

“I think I see myself about to die,” you retort, but it’s sort of an accepted stance on the matter. What can you do? You’re in no state to stop them.

“No,” mused the feminine voice, laughter cold and brutal in the bitterness echoing its edges. “No, you’re about to live. Yet another that I am unable to reclaim.” A pause. “Perhaps it is just not your time.”

“Who can know?” you asked, unflinching as one of the nurses throws another blood soaked rag into the growing pile. “I suppose only gods and celestials.”

“Oh, sweet thing. Not even they know until it is their time.” A chill crept up the back of your neck, the hairs standing up. You turned, expecting to find the being there, but they were now by your head at the surgery table. “But I do.”

“What are you?” you asked as they slowly crossed the threshold of the surgery room in a way that was inhuman. 

“Guess. I’ll give you three.” They were more amused by the entire situation than they were annoyed, apparently. She started humming a soft tune as she circled the doctors and nurses surrounding your body.

You watched them further and tried to think, but the tune of their humming was like a throbbing to your soul.

‘nothing satisfies but your soul.’

‘well I am Death, and none can excel.’

You began to open your mouth, but even doing so had resulted in nothing of value.

They did look up at you, though, like they heard whatever you had wanted to say and allowed a smile to curl at their lips, finger going to their lips.

They lifted a dagger and pressed the tip delicately against your forehead as one of the nurses brushed a hand over the spot at the same time.

When you finally managed to catch a glimpse of their face, all you saw was a skull.

You feel so heavy, brain foggy and mouth full of cotton. But you were waking, you think. Or perhaps dying was like waking from the worst nap ever imaginable.

There was an annoying beeping somewhere on your left side that was nagging at your brain. You wanted it to stop — did Natasha forget to turn the alarm off when she woke up early? You’d kill her for it.

But trying to reach your arm up was met with no success. You could hardly find energy to wiggle your fingers even though you threw effort into it.

Then warmth danced across the back of your hand and the sound of screeching on floor. A chair, maybe. Yes.

“Oh, my love.” Natasha, your lovely Natasha. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Open your eyes? That was a simple ask for one such as you, the great apprentice of Tony Stark. Yet as you made the attempt, you were sure your eyelids were glued shut and were met with a sting when you blinked them open slowly.

It hurt — oh everything hurt. The light was much to bright and blinded you instantly, the edges of your retinas felt like they burned, and the watering that begun was like boiling water.

“You’re doing great, just keep trying,” Natasha coaxed gently, stroking your hair with a heavier hand than you’d like.

“Lights,” you moaned out, squeezing your eyes shut again and turning your face toward the darker section of the room.

“Okay, yeah. They’re not on a bright setting but if you need them off, yeah.” You heard her scrambling and moving around the room, and the pressure on your head lightened after a few seconds.

“Try now?” she murmured from farther away.

You slowly turned your head back and hesitated. You were in so much pain already — why did she insist on adding to it?

Still you made the attempt, blinking slowly open until you saw only the lights coming from outside of the window and cracked door outside of your room. It was considerably less harsh and you didn’t feel like vomiting as much.

“Gnarly.”

Natasha let out a large breath she had apparently been holding. “Gnarly,” she repeated as she retraced her steps back to you.

“I think I died.”

“If you did, sweetheart, I’m glad you didn’t stay dead,” your girlfriend said with conviction. Your hand was scooped into both of hers as she sat back into the chair at your side and pressed her lips against your palm. “So glad.”

“There was a skeleton woman there.”

Natasha releases a shocked, watery laugh. She squeezed your hand so tight you were sure she was doing it for herself rather than for you. “Oh yeah? Was she hot at least?”

You tried to shuffle through your memory of being around your own body, of the cold woman who had you wanting to run away. But that was a fading moment of time and it was fading fast. You hardly even seemed to remember that it was a memory at all.

“I don’t know. Probably not as hot as you,” you decided to respond, eyes hazily flicking to her face. Natasha was crying, lips still pressed to your skin, hair in the messiest updo you’ve ever seen the perfectionist don.

When she didn’t give you anything else in words, you used your free hand to try and get some movement back. Wiggled your fingers and dug them into the hospital grade blanket covering your body, feeling again.

Wetness collected on the back of your hand and you blinked. “You’re leaking on me.”

She sniffled loudly and moved her head up, turning to wipe her nose on her upper arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It was a joke, but at least you leaked on both of us now.”

Natasha didn’t laugh, so you stopped trying to create more humor. A high pitched, one beep signal from the machinery alerted you both to glance over.

“It’s just the automatic dispensary of your painkillers. It’s fine.” She set your hand down and started wiping at her face. You wished she wouldn’t — Natasha was the only thing keeping you believe you were truly alive right now and not in some purgatory hell.

“You almost died.”

You blinked sleepily at her. Her jaw was clenched tight and her knuckles were so white with how she clenched her fists together, chin resting on them.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp. Because what else can you say? You wouldn’t do it again? You’ll do better?

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Natasha whispers, “I want — I need you to get out of this. You were almost gone, you couldn’t even . . .”

It’s a fickle thing, the brain. It’ll do what it has to do to protect itself and the host — the body — and in doing so may create a lapse of memory, a struggle to recall certain things of importance.

And then those things may crop up later in life and cause a whole shit ton of trouble.

You don’t remember much of what happened — you remembered the woman, the dark room, feeling cold and tired. You don’t remember Nat finding you, or anything beyond some hushed voices of the woman as she spoke to you during your captivity.

In the end wouldn’t that be the better result? Your trauma would be limited even if the damage done to your body told an entirely different, more profound story that you couldn’t remember and maybe wanted to make the decision not to.

Whatever had happened to you — you knew it was severe. You knew it paid a hefty price from your entire being. But the look on Natasha’s face and the blacked out corners of your memory that are just as unreachable as your body is broken, it tells a story of its own and you never want to read it again.

“I’m going to get through this,” you vowed in the quietest voice. Your throat still hurt, and your tongue was dry. “We both are. You and I. Me and you.”

“I haven’t tried a new flavor in weeks,” the redhead confessed, leaning closer until she lay half down in your lap. Exposed and vulnerable, yet she allowed it here and now. “Losing you destroyed what it meant to try and be kind to myself, to step outside of a box that contains my comforts and my knows. I couldn’t risk getting hurt if I didn’t try at all.”

You lifted a weak hand, covered in IV’s and monitors, then dropped it non-gracefully into her hair and stroked.

“Are we . . . Talking about coffee? Right now?”

Natasha leaned into your hand, the weight of it, as though begging for it to never leave.

You obliged and kept the pressure, adding to it as you carded your sore fingers through the tresses of hair that were loose enough in the bun she had. You were tempted to undo it entirely, but your fingers may not work well enough and you were growing sleepier by the second with the release of medication.

“I didn’t sleep well without you, and I cancelled the reservation to that Thai place you’d been begging me to try. I couldn’t do it without you,” she blurted out. You paused, fingers dug into her scalp.

“Did you get your money back from the short notice seating?”

“No,” Natasha said dully, and you sighed. “I forgot about it until the night of and they texted the reminder of the time.”

“I always tell you to put reminders on top of reminders in your calendar.”

Natasha whines in response.

“Natasha,” you slurred out, determined to stay awake long enough despite the drugs clawing at your nervous system, “this isn’t about any of that, is it?”

“No, Mayshka,” she whispered so softly you nearly asked her to repeat herself, “I find that I can’t — I can’t do anything new or scary without you by my side. I am one of the most powerful spies in the world and I have defeated likes bigger than most will ever have to face.” A pause, and you wanted so terribly to reach your entire body down and curl over her, “But before you I did not feel human nor did I think I had the need to. I knew what I knew and had what I had. You unravel the worst of me and find that scared part of Natasha that I’ve tried so long to bury away and make her apart of me again. And without you I’m not entirely sure how I can manage it. Because you make me brave. You make me feel again.”

“No,” you murmured, putting enough pressure down so she was forced to lift her head and meet her gaze. “Nat, you met me because you were doing those things. Getting out of your comfort zone, and trying to unravel what you think is the worst of you. Don’t you get it? You were already doing it.”

“With one thing — at one place.” Her chin rested on your clavicle and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “You did what Clint and Steve couldn’t quicker, easier — and all of it . . .”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off effectively. She didn’t need to have a spiral right now — because that’s what this was turning into and Natasha needed to understand that your role in her life was not changing because of this. “I love you and we’re making it out, do you hear me? If your fear is that I’ll walk away then you can let that go right now.”

She stared at you, blinking the tears down even though some escaped. “I love you too, but sweetheart none of what you said after that was legible.”

It didn’t matter, you were out.

Doctor Cho was a woman of terrifying excellence and extraordinary character. You had never met her in person beforehand — a fact you proudly wore like a pin due to your incredible safety standards in the lab.

But once you started becoming more alert over the next few days, you managed to stay awake long enough for you to meet her at her daily check-ins.

This time your babysitter was Tony. You almost vomited your breakfast on him when he came to relieve Natasha so she could get some rest and TLC at the Compound. You would never protest her actually agreeing to go and take care of herself, but Tony, as deeply as you adored him as your boss and the man you’ve come to see as a friend, would not stop talking.

He had brought one of his miniature holographs and had removed your bedside table, “Oh sure, I was entirely done with my food, Tony,” you said as he wheeled it to the end of your bed, food still half eaten and fork still lifted in the air and in your hand.

He placed the gadget on the table and began fiddling with the settings before pulling up blueprints.

Specifically, your blueprints. Of the project you’d been so busy with for the last two years that it had taken its own team to continue progress on.

These looked different than your designs however, and the math was not correct in the corner of your work.

“Tony,” you started, patience ebbing by the second, “did you steal my project?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his eyebrows shooting into his slicked up hairline as he crossed his arms and glared at you, “I was bored one evening —“

“— you don’t get bored —“

“ — and I found your project. And I should have, I admit, placed more interest in it with how often you helped me with my arts and crafts.” He rubbed his goatee, then snapped his fingers and started playing around with the holographic designs now activated. “I figured out why your prototypes weren’t working out.”

“Oh, gee,” you said glumly. “What did I miss?”

“It’s not that you missed anything, my young apprentice.” He started zooming into one of the corners of the blueprint. “Do you check your work?”

“Multiple times. Daily.”

“Are you sure?”

You squinted at him. “Yes.”

“Wonderful to hear, because you didn’t on this occasion of this design.” He pulled up the mathematics and pointed to your work. “It’s one of your first ones, and I think you’ve been grazing over it instead of going back to it.”

You trailed your eyes over each mathematical equation, and when you saw the mistake you made you groaned loudly. “Fuck.”

“Not a problem!” Tony replied cheerfully. “I fixed the math, thus fixing your big issue of not producing the right product. When you return to work, there will be the correct blueprints and a 3D printer ready to create a prototype.”

“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid,” you said, again glumly. “Natasha has informed me that my return to any sort of work is forbidden until Cho signs off on it. Strictly.”

Tony rubbed his goatee again, contemplating. “I can perhaps talk her into allowing you to work from home?”

“That may actually be great. I fear I may go insane if I have nothing to do for six weeks outside of my physical therapy and checkups.”

“Bah.” Tony waved his hand at you as he turned off the hologram and pocketed it, flopping down on the visitors chair next to your bed. “You’ll be right as rain under Cho’s careful guidance.”

“You’d know?” you needled, quirking a brow at him.

He shrugged. “Avengers get hurt.”

You fell asleep sometime into his visit, waking up to Natasha having replaced him once more. She had scooted the chair next to the bed closer than Tony had had it and was reading through some paperwork. She wore a green jacket and her hair was done in a braid down her shoulder.

“Wow, I may go blind from just how pretty you are.”

Natasha let the page in between her fingers drift back down as she looked up and rolled her eyes, ensuring you saw such action. “And I may just cry from how low hanging fruit that was. Even for you. No, especially for you.”

“Leave her alone,” a deeply accented voice drawled from your left, startling you a greater deal than you expected, “she’s likely maintained some brain damage after Stark’s prattling today.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Just Yelena, unfortunately,” Natasha corrected, throwing the paperwork on top of her bag next to the chair as she leaned over to fix your wires after they nearly ripped from your skin.

The blonde in question was leaning against the windowsill, nearly shadowed out from the dipping sunlight and staring at you with a smirk on her face. “Oops.”

“Oops,” you mocked, Russian accent pronounced.

“Twist the IV, Nat,” Yelena says without looking away from you, “make it hurt.”

“Don’t you have some American politicians to terrorize or something?”

“Ha.” Her nose wrinkled in amusement as she pushed herself off and walked closer to you before collapsing at the end of your feet.

“Yelena,” Natasha scolded, though it went ignored. “Get off the bed.”

“Yeah, get off the bed.” You stared at her as Natasha flicked your wrist. “Ow.”

“You’re encouraging her. Enough. Both of you. I need you in almost an entire piece if we want to get you home, and that means Yelena shouldn’t be riling you up,” your girlfriend expressed, shooting daggered glares at the younger of the two.

Who proceeded to throw her hands up like she did nothing wrong in the slightest. “I am entertainment. For funnies.”

“You’re loads of funnies,” you agreed, smile rising up on your face. Natasha grabbed your chin and turned you to her. “And you’re so pretty.”

“She’s dosed,” Natasha concluded, releasing your chin after you leaned in for a kiss. “That’s why she’s entertaining you right now.”

Yelena seemed to find this aspect to be incredibly enticing, and she started trying to ask you questions about weird things like Kate’s favorite bar, and where she liked to go on dates, and —

“Yelena.” Natasha’s tone was sharp. “Stay and turn on the television, and watch it, or leave. I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.” Yelena frowned at the redhead but skulked over to the free chair, away from you, and requested you turn on the TV.

The three of you watched the television in silence for about thirty minutes when Yelena asked you, “Did you tell them anything about Natasha?”

Natasha was silent, but you could have sworn you heard her inhale a sharp breath from your right.

“I don’t remember a lot,” you admitted to the blonde, finding the courage to look her in the eye. You found an intensity there of a sort — not angry or cold, but curious and questioning. “But I remember that I never said a word about Nat. I refused at every turn.”

Yelena flexes her fingers behind her head, then turned her gaze back to the television and was seemingly satisfied with that answer.

Natasha, however, was not.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you give her what she wanted, if it could have saved your life?”

“Well, I signed an NDA,” you started casually, glancing over to gauge her reaction. When she didn’t give you the response you sought, you close your eyes. “Natasha, why the fuck would I give you up? Explain to me in simple terms, like I’m stupid.”

“I’m not going to insult your intelligence,” she quietly answered, in that dangerous tone you knew from her. “But if she asked you for something — it could have —“

“She was going to kill me anyway,” you said. “She even said she wanted to do it sooner. But my torture — as it was — was prolonged so that you’d have a better chance at getting to me. Seeing the damage. Reacting to it.”

“She wanted to do it sooner,” Natasha echoed, cold.

“She mentioned an employer. I don’t remember much of that conversation,” you said with guilt seeping into your tone, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Natasha enveloped your hand in hers and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Don’t be sorry. Nothing you went through is your fault, or worth and apology from your end.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed, still unconvinced. “That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for what I couldn’t stop her from doing.”

“That’s my line,” Natasha scolded, shaking her head. “But you’re sweet.”

“Get a room,” Yelena muttered good-naturedly.

“We’re . . . We’re in my room.”

“I never asked,” you said tiredly once you got out of the hospital. “Did the cats . . . They’re okay?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” Natasha said as she drove you home, hand on your thigh, or your hand, or leg. Touching you was more common than it had been before you were taken and tortured. She couldn’t seem to let herself let you go. “They both managed to hide under the bed — though Sam got his hands mangled when he tried to grab them.”

“Oh no.” You smiled a little. “We should write him a card.”

“I think that would piss him off more, honestly.”

Natasha and r will return in part six

PART SIX

[badninken]

um, first of all, good luck with the next 100 or something episodes without zoro or law, but chopper is there to provide you emergency support! 🦌

now for the ask, I'm curious about what it's like knowing a character from fic. did the characters, like law, meet your expectations, is there any part of canon story, or law's character, that surprised you? is there something you didn't expect would be canon but it ended up being canon?

That sounds like something to have on in the background while I tackle my mounting pile of art obligations...

Good questions! I barely had any expectations on the series in general so I'll focus on Law.

Law met my expectations but not in the way I expected him to, if that makes sense. The first big difference is that he's much softer than I imagined, which isn't strange considering the dark and gritty nature of the type of fanfic I tend to read. I knew he'd be good and kind deep down but I thought it would be way deeper down and covered by a much harsher surface. I'm actually surprised he wasn't played up as more of a creepy villainous figure when first introduced, considering the potential of The Surgeon of Death thing. This brief crazy-eyed look as he's about to do surgery on Luffy is pretty much as far as that went,

because that handover of hearts did not make him look intimidating at all. He's just a little guy with a yellow submarine and a fluffy fur hat and A BOX FULL OF BEATING HEARTS.

Trafalgar Law has HOPE! Big surprise. Maybe it's because he's always stuck in really awful situations when I read about him but I didn't expect him to be a character with any sort of hope for a better future. In the actual series he comes in strong with his goal to stand up against and ultimately destroy the established systems of oppressive power and he's already got plans! For all the reluctance he has when it comes to blending in with the Straw Hats, he sure seems to admire them a lot and he puts so much faith in them. The way he time and time again risks his life to make sure they can get away safe from the botched plans of Dressrosa is kind of heartbreaking to watch because I don't think they ever realize the extent of that (and he would never let them know)

HE IS POWERFUL AS FUCK!

This is one of the sexiest thing I've seen a fav character do. I never pick my favorites based on their "power level" (I don't pick them at all they just attach themselves to my mind) but I want them to be skilled and confident and able to fight. I knew he was all that, but I knew very little about his abilities and had no idea he could do THAT. What a rush to see.

Law's childhood was a mystery I was trying to crack the entire time while watching. I only had re-imagined modern AU glimpses of it + fan art to go on. I knew his parents were doctors and that he had a younger sister and that they were all dead in some tragedy that involved a disease. I was certain that he came from a snowy place considering how much of the fan art of him as a kid is set in winter environments. A piece of fan art that I really really love (please help me find the artist) has little Law reading a book with "Drum Island" on it so when the Straw Hats came to Drum Island and they started talking about doctors and stuff I was certain there would be a Law connection there. I was fooled!

And I was not prepared for the horrors of Flevance.

I still don't know how to comment on this so I won't.

I wasn't prepared for the beginning of Cora and Law's relationship either. I'm glad I accidentally read a comment somewhere mentioning that Cora hit the kids or I would have been shocked and horrified. I love that he's introduced as a villain though because he really looks good as one, and then he turns out to be the absolute best.

Finally getting to see their story unfold in the correct order felt so good even though it hurt the entire time. I knew how Cora would die but I didn't know when.

Just from fan art I couldn't be sure if Law was with Cora before going to Doflamingo or if it was the other way around. I had many theories and versions in my head of how things fit together and for a while I thought this scene might be Cora helping Law escape whatever tragedy befell his family and that Law ended up with the Donquixote pirates after.

Having a bunch of puzzle pieces of spoilers didn't help me figure out what the whole picture would look like until I saw it for myself and it was a very rewarding experience. I haven't been disappointed in anything, except that I'll always want more than I get.

Okay time to take care of those art obligations baaaiiii.....

[foli-vora]

First of all

(I am sure I started following for the Dave/Marcus series)

With Javier Peña can I get F reader and

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” and “You’re so fucking cute.”

A medium amount of filth if possible

Ah my love! Thank you so much! You're such an amazing light in this fandom, and we love and appreciate you so much! Thank you for sending in a request! I don't know what happened but it got a bit out of hand and super soft and a bit angsty lmao, but I hope you still enjoy and the medium amount of filth still hits right! ❤️

before my eyes

javier pena x f!reader

word count: 3k warnings: idk i feel like this is a mess but i'm going with it, neighbour!javi, swearing, smoking, SOFTNESS, smidgen of angst, mention of injury/gunshot wounds/surgery, SMUT 18+ ONLY: oral sex (f), unprotected p in v

“Shit,” you curse, watching the box in your hands give way to the contents within.

The bottom gives out, your belongings spilling down the stairway, and you heave a sigh of impatience. Sweat slicks your skin, causing the flow of your dress to cling to you as you bend to try and find some semblance of organisation to the unexpected chaos thrust upon you. 

“Let me help,” a voice says from the top of the stairs, and you turn to watch the newcomer jog softly down the steps and duck to gather some of your things.

“Thanks,” you murmur, heat washing under your cheeks, “this is just what I need.”

Of course the attractive man living in your building has to catch you in a moment of mayhem. Javier, as he had previously introduced himself the day before, gives you a small smile, the yellow tinted sunglasses covering his eyes sliding down the curved bridge of his nose.

“Not having the best day?” 

“It could be better,” you reply dryly.

The plumbing in your apartment is weak at best, with a few leaks springing from the pipes beneath the sink in your kitchen and bathroom. Not to mention the shot to shit AC unit, leaving the humid Colombian air to fill every inch of every room.

“I could come and take a look,” Javier says, making a neat pile of books before sweeping them up into his arms and following you the rest of the way to your door. “I’m no plumber, but I could fiddle around with the pipes at least. I know a guy who could come out for the AC.”

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to have a tool set laying around,” you tease lightly, shifting the barely fixed box onto your hip to push open your door.

Javier grins, “You’re right—I don’t, but I have been taught a thing or two. I’m sure the Hillbilly’ll have something I could use. I can come tonight, if you want?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble—”

“You’re not—I offered.”

It may not have been any trouble for him to come over, but he certainly was trouble himself, you had quickly come to learn. The feelings he invokes in you is something you hadn’t quite felt before. He makes his desire obvious, unashamed with his light flirtations that never fail to bring butterflies flying right up your throat.

As a thank you for fixing your leaky pipes, you cook. Your first proper meal in your new apartment, and in wonderful company, too. Who'd have thought your new move would bring you here? 

Dinner is filled with easy conversation, and he expertly dodges any and all questions relating to his work. You know that he works with Steve, your new neighbour Connie’s husband, and you know by her that Steve works for the DEA.

You don’t mention work again for the night. He stays longer than you had originally expected, content to share a glass of bourbon on your couch and listen to the soft music falling from your record player.

The evening ends with no more than a kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your lips, and your heart thunders in your chest when he remains close enough to feel his breath wash over your lips.

For a second, you find yourself wanting, hoping that he’d close those last few centimetres and grace you with the feeling of his lips over yours…

… but no.

Instead, he turns, leaving with a dangerously charming, almost teasing, smile and a quiet goodnight.

Trouble, indeed.

Weeks pass before you see him again for more than a few seconds alone or without the company of Steve and Connie, striding into the building late at night and running an anxious hand through his hair. A tough day, you assume. He would have plenty with his line of work.

You make your presence known and smile softly at him, still clad in your party dress from a night out with new friends.

“Not having the best day?” You ask gently, leaning against the railing of the stairs as the effects of the alcohol in your system bring a hazy swirl to the edges of your vision.

He stops, playing with his keys between his fingers before giving a shrug, “It could be better.”

Your stomach tightens and flips with his low rasp. The attraction is undeniable, and you’d been questioned viciously by Connie in regards to the looks you and Javier would share, or the energy that would fill the room whenever you two were close. You’d had no answers at the time, putting it down to merely a simple crush that would pass soon.

Something in your mind said differently though, that this felt like more, deeper than a silly little crush that would fade away after a few months. You hope he shares the same sentiment, but with the choices and certain circumstances he would put himself in for his job and gathering intel, you started to doubt more and more that that would happen. 

“Want me to help with that?”

It’s the remnants of various fruity cocktails bringing forth a small wave of flirty confidence. Usually you would never be so upfront, but you don’t find yourself regretting the words as soon as they pierce the air. You want it, with every inch of you.

He thinks it over for a long moment, his eyes dragging over your body with an obvious shine of desire and admiring your flattering choice of attire, but instead a slight curl pulls at the corners of his lips and your heart thuds harder and faster in your chest.

“Maybe another night, when you can actually remember me in the morning,” he teases deeply, smiling wider when you give a breathy chuckle. “You need help getting in?”

“No, I’ve got it. Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight, corazón.”

That's new.

You struggle to get rid of the smile curling your lips, even long after you wave him goodbye and tuck yourself into bed. His voice lingers, images flash behind your lids as you try to sleep.

He drives you crazy.

He fills your thoughts every moment of the day—his face, his eyes, his smile. His voice would linger in your ears, the low rasp of it keeping your nerves electrified.

You look for him in the entryway coming home, you listen out for his comings and goings through your thin front door. Sometimes you even catch yourself having a little peek through your peephole when you hear him and Steve, watching as he runs a hand through his hair and ever so slightly looks towards your door before vanishing. 

It’s one night you both happen to arrive home at the same time, the humidity of Colombia sticking to your skin but relieved with the breeze that blows through the streets. He lingers, seemingly happy to chat while you fiddle with the straps of your handbag.

“You want a drink?”

The question is a welcome surprise, and you merely nod in answer, unable to quite force the words out your mouth.

His apartment is… Javier. It’s minimal, no signs of being truly lived in with photographs and knick knacks like the ones that fill your walls and tables, but the air filling it is comfortable and cosy, the music that falls from his record player familiar and calming.

Conversation flows easily.

He’s tired, the bags hanging softly beneath his eyes showing that work has been extra hard on him the last few weeks. You love that he looks relaxed with you, sinking into his couch with his head leaning comfortably on the back as it rolls to face you.

He smiles at your ramblings, laughs quietly at your stories, the crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes hitting somewhere deep in your chest. 

You don’t even realise you fall asleep until later in the night.

You wake only a few hours later, hazy and slightly confused by your surroundings, but instantly soften at the heavy breaths that fall into your ears. He’s asleep next to you, still cradling the half nursed glass of whiskey in his hands. His head rests just beside yours, his lips barely parted and breath washing past your face as you watch him for a long minute.

He needs rest. Carefully, you extract yourself from the couch and gently place your own glass on the coffee table before draping him in the coloured crochet blanket hanging just beside him and pressing a tender kiss of goodnight to his forehead.

It wakes him, his eyes half open when you pull away to leave and the sheer force of his gaze keeps you from moving away any further. He watches you quietly, his dark sleep filled eyes roaming your face before he leans up and catches your lips with his own and steals the breath from your lungs.

He moves slowly, hands roaming your legs and hips before cupping your ass and pulling you down until your knees sink into the cushions beside his hips. You settle in his lap easily, muscles loosening with each curl of his tongue along yours until you’re practically melting at his touch. 

Everything feels right.

Every moment, every kiss, every touch… God, he knows what he’s doing. He devotes his energy to you, uncaring about meeting his own end and instead selfish with the time he spends on your body. He studies it all—what makes your breath hitch, what makes your legs shake, what makes your fingers tighten and tug at his hair.

You savour every sharp exhale and groan that falls from his lips. It's not long until you're spread out on his couch, watching with wide eyes as he tugs at your underwear and throws the soaked cotton over his shoulder with a lazy smirk that radiates trouble.

He loses himself between your thighs, dress haphazardly shoved up and out of the way so he’s free to devour you as he wishes, his tongue rolling and circling over your clit and diving into the weeping entrance of your cunt until you’re breathless and incoherent.

He brings you up and over the edge again and again, until you physically think you can’t possibly give him any more, only to have him force yet another out of your system with his low rumble sinking into your ears.

So good for me, look at you. Let me feel you, so fucking good. Give it to me, come on now, corazón—

You’re bent over the arm of the couch when he finally gets sick of the dress still clinging to your frame, fingers unforgiving as they wrench the dress up and off your body, freeing your skin to his hungry touch.

They roam at their leisure, cupping the soft swell of your tits and pinching your hardened nipples until you squirm against the solid feel of him pressed up against your ass.

He ruts into you without abandon, cock hitting just that bit too far and blessing you with the sharp twinge of pain alongside the blissful feel of him dragging against your walls and you're seeing stars, clinging to the cushions as a means to keep your head straight and not lose yourself to the overwhelming ecstasy threatening to have you passing out.

He cums with his lips on your neck, mouth hot and heavy against your sweat slicked skin as he pants into the curve on your shoulder, before pressing one simple final kiss there. He lingers, pressed tightly against you and crowding you into the firm arm of the couch as he softens within you, his cum trailing a slow, hot path down the inside of your thigh.

You curl into the reassuring hand to rub along your back as you sink shakily back to sit down. You smile shyly when he reappears with a warm cloth, lazily sliding it across your skin and softly cupping it against your tender cunt to calm the ache there.

It’s intimate, the sheer closeness of the action bringing your heart to beat at the base of your throat.

Surprisingly, he asks you to stay, and your heart doesn’t calm until exhaustion claims you after your head meets his pillow, the familiar scent of his cologne and the faint traces of cigarettes clinging to the soft cotton. 

It’s a slow development. 

The next time, he comes to you, knocking on your door in the middle of the night and you let him in without a word. You cuddle into the leftover warmth on your bed long after he leaves for his own apartment to head to work, the ghost of his lips moving over your body following you for the rest of the day.

The time after, it’s his place again, but this time, he cooks. It’s the first time it feels like something more than sex, but it goes unaddressed.

You talk and talk, you learn about his father, his life before Colombia. You admit to finding your life lacking, forever wishing for something more than the mundane ‘find a husband and settle down’ expectations struck upon you.

There’s something there, lingering behind the way you take each other apart.

It follows his touch, oozes from the kisses you pepper each other with. It feels nice, it feels so right. You feel comfortable in his bed, completely nude and not at all bothering to hide any part of you. It feels normal, natural even, when he lays beside you and throws out random topics of conversation with his lips around a cigarette, occasionally offering it to you and chuckling warmly when you’d attempt to inhale the harsh tobacco. You’re both unperturbed by the silence that would sometimes follow.

And that feeling never disappears, it only grows as the weeks go on.

You know you have strong feelings for him one morning when you feel him press a tender kiss of goodbye to your forehead while you’re still half asleep. It has your heart quickening, something soft and sweet and warm curling around your chest. You bathe in the glow of it. 

But it would be addressed later—you’d hate to potentially ruin whatever you have building with him by speaking on your feelings too quickly.

And then, one fateful day, it happens. It all comes crashing down around you and for the first time, you worry you'll never be able to speak the words to him.

The steady beep of the machine is somewhat comforting in the chill of the room. You barely notice it, too consumed with watching the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the light blanket covering his body. Steady, they had said, after the surgery they had rushed him into.

It hadn’t been expected, the phone call during the morning of another seemingly normal work day. Steve had sounded nervous, a first for your neighbour. He hadn’t been able to give you all the details, all you knew was that it was bad.

Shot. A bullet in his side and one in his chest. 

You had flown to the hospital, rushed in with his name falling in rushed pleas and they had shown you to the waiting room to await a doctor for more information. Steve was there, Connie, too. She had doted on you, guided you to a close seat and ordered her husband to get you a drink, a snack, anything.

Hours went by, and soon a man appeared, kindly reassuring you he had made it through with minimal issues, and was now in recovery. You were beside him within an hour.

He was warm to the touch, his pulse thrumming softly under your fingers as you had gently cradled his hand. He had remained motionless at the tender kiss you had pressed to his forehead, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he remained in the bliss of a hopefully painless sleep.

And you hadn’t moved since. Steve had left after some gentle pressing from Connie, and you had reassured him you’d call the moment he awoke. He had gripped Javi’s fingers softly, giving him one final look of worry, before turning and leaving under the arm of his wife.

Nurses come and go, checking his IV and doing their routine of observations, never worrying about their findings and erasing any of your lingering fear with a warm smile. They bring you coffee as the day bleeds into night, keeping you fed with cold hospital sandwiches and the occasional packet of sweet biscuits. 

You just want him to wake.

It’s normal, they say. Just give him time.

“Javi,” you murmur softly, leaning forward to brush his hair back for the thousandth time, “I know you need some time to get your strength back, and that’s fine, but just so you know—if you don’t wake up, and you die? I will kill you.”

As you expected, he stays silent, but you still smile, lingering to brush your fingers down his cheek softly before settling back in your seat. Your hands wrap around the arm resting in front of you, and you rest to press your cheek on his warm skin, content to watch him sleeping and losing yourself to dreams sometime into the night, too.

It’s a slight pressure on your temple that gently pries you out of dreamy darkness. It moves, sliding along your skin softly before disappearing and returning to where you’d first felt it. Fingers, you realise hazily, recognising the feel of someone stroking your face.

Your eyes flutter open, immediately to be met with a pair of tired dark eyes seemingly content in watching you. Javi.

Startled, you sit up and reach to call for the nurse, only to stop at the raspy voice that tells you to calm down.

“They already know,” Javi says quietly, throat dry and raw. “They just didn’t want to wake you.”

You turn for the jug of water and pour some into the little plastic cup, carefully plucking the straw from the table and holding it at his lips. He drinks slowly, humming from the relief of the cool liquid filling his mouth.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” he replies dryly, lips twitching at the corners.

“Idiot,” you snark around a grin, returning the cup to the table and linking your fingers through his. “No, really, how are you?”

He sighs, head rolling on the pillow so he can look at you better, “I’m doing okay, corazón.”

You nod, tongue running along your lips as you take reassurance from his words. He’s okay.

You tighten your fingers through his and take a small breath to calm the anxiety in your system, unaware you’re crying until you hear him breathe your name. You mumble an apology, almost embarrassed by the stream of tears, but it’s soon muffled by his hospital gown as he gently pulls you to him.

Carefully, you rest your head on one side of his chest, mindful of the thick bandaging on the other and warm at the arms that come to rest over your back.

Admitting feelings can wait. For now, you’re content to just rest in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart under your ear.

“You know,” Javi murmurs against the top of your head, “you’re really fucking cute when you snore.”

“I do not snore!”

-

Yeah this was a mess but I'm into it nonetheless lmao.

I haven't updated my taglists yet soz x

taglist 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

[twizzie-lairs]

Hazbin Hotel OC - Nia

All about my Hazbin Hotel OC - Nia!

General Info:

Nia died/arrived in hell a few years before Alastor first manifested in Hell.

She was a fan of Alastor's radio show when she was alive.

Nia was acquainted with Mimzy as well, as she was her neighbor.

She's typically very timid and shy unless provoked.

Backstory:

(TW: Some graphic descriptions of violence)

Even when she was alive, she always preferred to work in the background and usually shied away from the spotlight.

Because of this, she never really got in trouble and was generally a pretty goody-two-shoes type of person.

Nia didn't have many enemies, but a few people had it out for her because she wanted to abide by the rules and wouldn't bend the rules for them.

Her naive nature and typically strong moral compass snapped when she received the news that her mother had died due to complications in surgery when she went to pick up her mother from the hospital. It was a surgery that was supposed to be fairly low stakes and that didn't even require her mother to stay the night at the hospital.

Nia knew something was wrong, that there had to be foul play involved. She could feel it in her gut.

Fueled by grief and anger, she pretended to storm out of the hospital. But in reality, she went around to the back of the building and snuck in undetected where she hid for hours until it was night time.

After activity had quieted down for the evening/night, Nia came out of her hiding spot and eventually found the nurses' office where their schedules were. She mathematically combed through all the information she could without being caught, making mental note of which nurses had been scheduled to assist with her mother's operation earlier that day. Luckily for her, the head surgeon's name was right there too. And he just so happened to be in another surgery/operation right now.

Not wasting another minute, Nia made her way to the operating room- stopping in some other office and storage rooms along the way to gather some things she could use as makeshift weapons.

At this point Nia's breathing had turned into hyperventilating, eyes shaking and dilated. She would get her revenge on the people who took away the last living family member she had.

So, Nia burst into the operating room and got sent into a crazed-animal-like state after seeing the scene that greeted her.

Her mother's body was cut up in pieces on the operating table, nurses and doctors alike laughing amongst themselves while seemingly dividing up piles of money - a maniacal scream escaped Nia's throat as she flung herself onto the head surgeon that wore the nametag of the doctor who operated on her mother just earlier that day- slicing and stabbing him wherever she could with the needles from the sewing kit she found in one of the office rooms just a few minutes prior.

Nia was in such a crazed state that she didn't care, or maybe didn't even notice, that she was also hurting herself in the process while mutilating the now-already-dead surgeon that killed her mother. Another thing Nia didn't notice was that the rest of the staff in the room had fled.

it wasn't long before many boots could heard rushing toward the operating room. The police burst open, equipped with riot shields and guns pointed at Nia. But she didn't notice, she was too busy still stabbing and slicing the shredded and hole-y corpse.

The last thing Nia heard were many indiscernible shouts in her direction before a sharp pain pierced through her skull, making her lose all consciousness before her body fell with a thud upon the cold tiles of the operating room floor.

Then she woke up in Hell, memories of that night hazy.

She went back to her normally quiet and shy self but found herself more susceptible to outbursts that usually ended with carnage and bloodshed in some form.

Whenever she came to after one of those outbursts, she would only have a vague recollection of what had happened.

Later on, the hazy memories of the night she died would become clear again after she had started staying at the Hazbin Hotel, and that's how she would end up piecing together why her appearance in Hell and demon form looked the way they did.

[hajiimes]

purple hydrangeas

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki au warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, and hospitals word count: 1.4k author's note: if this looks familiar at all that's cuz it's a repost from my previous blog (also hajiimes) from like 2-3 years ago lolol !! i revamped it and am reposting it here :D i'm sorry i was gone for so long it's been a wild time lol

masterlist

There’s a tickle in your throat and pain in your lungs. It’s been there for quite a while, so long that you’ve already forgotten what it felt like without the petals clogging up your lungs. You look at him, so unreadable, so unreachable . No one had told you that falling in love would hurt so much. 

It’s silly, you tell yourself. Childish. Dumb. Foolish. First love, a deadly fate. 

Suna Rintarou sits to your left in school and you cast glances at him whenever you’re sure that he’s paying more attention to doodling in his notebook than you. In your observations, you learn that Suna Rintarou dog-ears the pages of his textbooks to save his spot. You learn that he chews on the eraser at the end of his pencil when he thinks, leaving small indents in it when he pulls away to write. You learn that more often than not, Suna spends class time drumming his fingers on his desk, idly staring out the window instead of paying attention to the board. 

Suna isn’t the type to forget any pens or pencils, but he always forgets to bring extra paper. You couldn’t count the number of times he’d leaned over the aisle separating the two of you to ask for a sheet of paper, to which you’d happily obliged every time—always willing to lend a helping hand. Those reluctant smiles he sent you out of gratitude always seemed to brighten your day.

Honestly, it’s no surprise that you developed Hanahaki. 

He makes small jokes under his breath about classwork, little quips he doesn’t think anyone can hear. He offers you a pen whenever you forget one, accompanied with a small note stating ‘Give it back when you’re done’ wrapped around it. You end up keeping those notes, stuffing them between spare pages of your textbooks and notebooks. 

Suna is a boy of few words, but when he speaks you find yourself hooked on every one of them. Your friends call it puppy love. They call it a little kid’s crush. They tell you that in a month you’ll forget all about it and move on to some other guy. 

You don’t tell them that you probably won’t make it another month. 

The coughing fits become more and more frequent, each one right after the other. They get worse during school, during those hours when you’re near him. Purple petals litter your desk and pile into your hands, but you just discard them into your school bag with reckless abandon. 

Your friends approach you to ask if you’re okay. An easy, practiced smile stretches across your face and you wave them off like nothing is wrong. You tell them as much, you just have bad allergies! Nobody mentions that it’s not allergy season. You think it’s either out of mercy or pity that they leave you alone after that. 

Sometimes you think you can see Suna looking at you during class when you’re trying to discretely spit petals in cupped hands, but you always brush it off as a trick of the light. You think you can feel his eyes on you when you’re talking to your friends, watching as you carefully place your hands over the stray petals you forgot to brush off the desk. You smile and wave off your friends’ concerns like you always do. 

He never speaks up, never says anything about how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Suna goes on with his life like nothing is wrong, pretending he doesn’t see you cough up purple petals into your hands out of the corner of his eye during third-period math. He pretends that he doesn’t see you each day in his peripherals, too preoccupied with your own impending demise to worry about the functions written out on the whiteboard. 

Even though things have changed so drastically for you, Suna stays the same.

You learn that he mumbles out the words when he’s reading something. You learns that he bounces his leg underneath the desk when you’re taking a test. You learns that he’s quiet, but that doesn’t mean he’s shy. When his friend—Miya Osamu, from the volleyball team—is around, he’s much more talkative than usual. You learn that he drops his bag on his desk loudly every day to wake himself up in the morning, the slamming of the books in the bag waking you up in turn.

It’s cruel, you think to yourself in those selfish moments you allow yourself to consider him between the last toll of the school bell and the beginning of club activities, watching as Suna packs his schoolbag and slings it carelessly over his shoulder. He spares you one single glance, his lips a flat line as he makes a beeline past his peers lingering at their desks and heads out the classroom door. You watch Suna walk away like he always does, sparing you a single merciful glance as you dump the last of the school day’s purple hydrangeas into the trash. It’s cruel that he doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

It’s getting worse. 

Your parents beg you to tell them who it is, and how they can stop it from happening. They offer to switch your school, to pull you from club activities, to move prefectures if it helps. Your mom begs you to consider surgery; she pleads that you’re too young to die like this. You don’t care—you would rather die in love than live without it. 

Each day you live with the disease is a day your body grows weaker and weaker. Your body runs cold and your head feels heavy every moment you has to hold it up. Your teachers, luckily, are merciful. They don’t say anything when you rest your head in class—they know your situation all too well. You can feel the pitying glances they send you during breaks and passing periods, their stares burning into the back of your head. 

It comes upon you suddenly, like a summer storm, during history class. Bile and flowers rest in your throat and, without a word, you excuse youself to the bathroom—just barely making it there in time.

Flowers bloom in your lungs, growing more and more until the petals fill your throat and spill out of your mouth. It hurts, you want to scream out, It hurts so much, but when you opens your mouth to speak, petals fall out in red, bloody clumps in lieu of words. You clutch at your throat and squeeze, hard, in a futile attempt to force the flowers out. 

It doesn’t work.

They find you in the second-floor school bathroom three minutes later. Petals surround you like a halo and, if it weren’t for the blood on your lips and the odd placement, one might think it’s some sort of art project. 

You remember what happened in flashes. You’re rushed to the hospital. The doctors call your parents. You’re rushed into the operating room. You fall asleep, Suna’s name on his lips. 

The flowers inside of your lungs are gone when you wakes, but a dull throbbing sits in their place. There are no flowers in the hospital room, no bouquets—something you find yourself grateful for. It’s funny somehow, the caution in which the people around you treat those silly little blossoms. It’s almost laughable, the way your family acts like you’ll break at the mere sight of a petal. Like you’re fragile.

It’s not long before you’re cleared to return to school, cleared to return to your fifth-row seat. People crowd you before class, each one asking if you’re okay, how the surgery was, and what it was like to have the disease. You wave them off with an easy smile, only saying that you’re glad to be back. 

There’s a boy who sits to your left. He holds his pencil tightly in his hand, plump pink lips wrapped around the end as he chews lightly on the eraser. His leg bounces with deep-rooted anxiety whenever you glance over at him. 

In the transition between second and third period, he passes a note with the words ‘Welcome Back’ written on it in hurried chicken scratch. You think it’s meant to be a joke. 

When you look up at the boy, you finally notice that his gray-brown eyes are watching you. You raise your eyebrows, watching as the corners of his lips turn upwards—an offering of the smallest of smiles. This classmate is familiar somehow, a creeping presence in the back of your mind. A gap in memory that should be filled, a cavity in your heart. You know that you’ve met before—it’s obvious in the way he’s looking at you. 

For some reason, you can’t remember his name.

[acrylicqueen]

Please Help

My wife and I are under a lot of financial stress. She is the only one able to work right now thanks to my chronic illnesses, and my medical expenses are piling up. I desperately need another surgery to deal with my endometriosis, but we hardly have enough money for rent and food

Anything you can give would be greatly appreciated

Thank you

Venmo:

PayPal:

[blobbyblogsdraws]

After I’ve been inspired by the dog shifters! Au by @tame-the-lion-writes.I could imagine an underverse Au where all the sanses are animals, Cino would care for them for the most part in like a zoo cafe, or a rescue shelter that takes in all types of animals, I would call it ZOO!VERSE, (if you have any other ideas for the name tell me please I really want to name this cooler.)

Like Nightmare and the bad sanses are canines, like a wolf pack, like rescues that meant they couldn’t live in the wild like injuries or lack of pack when they are dependent on having one.

Nightmare being the alpha or leader, a mix between a black British Columbia and dire wolf and he would be very wild, having a missing eye and would be a blackish color with few scars here and there. Dust would be a Northern Rocky Mountain and Red wolf, along with Horror and Killer. The difference is that Dust has whiter fur on his head, and a dustier fur in total. Horror is very big, and has visible injuries on his skull, so he’s missing his left ear and his right eye is fully blind, just a white eye. Lastly I would just cannon that killer got sick or something or ate some type of drug that caused his eyes to be permanently dilated to the point where you can’t see his eye whites.

They all seem to stick together and trust each other deeply, from the forms it seems each of them were all found with Nightmare at some point. Which is how the pack formed, Cino taking in Nightmare and Dream and finding the wolf walking around with a new visitor that seemed to climb the fences every week. Soon came Dust when Cino spotted him lurking around the sanctuary’s fences and saw how Nightmare occasionally brings him food to eat from the others bowls.

And Horror was taken in after being found with a jagged pile impaled onto his head. After surgery he still never managed to grow his fur back on the left side of his head, but during the healing process Cino decided to take him in after he showed signs of improvement and social development with the bad sanses.

Error of all people would be a tuxedo cat, two blue hue like marks on his cheeks as he pawed at anyone who dared get close to him. He doesn’t seem to enjoy being there and chooses to stay due to the food and bed.

Ask me anything and I’ll post more,

[mercilesskit]

The Lost Guardian Lore

——————————————————————

Update: “Hunter” is no longer considered an mobian, due from being killed and revived throughout his life, especially amount of times his trauma keeps adding into his piles, slowly drifting into pure insanity, he sure does have friends and a family, but it wasn’t enough for him no matter how many times his friends tried to save him, trying to get “Knuckles” back once he was, but it only prevails no matter how hard the heroes try, “Hunter” could never be the same again, or be rehabilitated even therapy doesn’t save him, “Hunter” has gone through even more torture and pain, especially being upgraded and experimented on, with robotic parts just a little, at this point there’s no saving Hunter from his enteral hell of misery, and being used and manipulated numerous times, and history repeats itself, eventually “Hunter” is starting to embrace it what he is, a (**Monster**, **Man Eating beast**, **A Demon**) “Hunter” has given up completely ever going back to normal, “Starved” made sure that’s whatever he has done to knuckles, he could never turn back, so “Hunter” would be even more aggressive and dangerous then he ever could be, no matter how much“Hunter” wants happiness, he’ll never receive it, after all no one wants to be friends with a **Monster**.

**Hunter’s Lost Control**: Whenever he loses control of himself, he’s gonna black out, let his instincts take over, and start a bloodshed massacre throughout the forest, killing and devouring anything he could lay his eyes on, while enjoying what he has done, doesn’t even feel shame or guilt, “Hunter” has finally **accepted** his fate as an true **apex predator** throughout mobius, starved has finally succeeded, “Hunter” is most prized possession for starved, his greatest creation and achievement, hell “Hunter” doesn’t even act like “Knuckles” whatsoever, i suppose the beloved master emerald guardian everyone once loved as a hero, has finally disappeared, there’s no signs of him ever returning, “Hunter” is also half mindless, yet somehow “Hunter” still has little bit of humanity within him, just challenging to reach for it, not only that whenever he’s in this mindless state, he’ll act crazed and deranged.

What’s more messed up is, “Knuckles” was only **13** years of age, when he first been captured, been molded, altered, through starved’s vision, “Knuckles” didn’t grow up properly, he was molded into adult’s body, with a mindset of a child, everything that’s happened to him, was forced upon him. **The Experimentation**: Knuckles statues, underworks of creating an perfect weapon, code name: Hunter, “Knuckles” has been kept under surveillance for over a year, conducting experiments, research, studying on few wild life of nature, **Father nature**: most cruelest thing ever to exist, “**The Doctor**” had his henchman captured types of predators to apex predators, of the nature and its ecosystem, occasionally getting DNAS of dangerous animals, **Ground,** **Sky,** **Oceans,** **Blood,** **Senses** **Great senses of hearing,** **And lastly it’s abilities,** doesn’t matter what wild animal is it, as long it has their qualities, “**Starved**” always has his medical tools and surgery knowledge, “Knuckles” had his limbs removed, molding them something more of an adult, had his eyes, stomach, occasionally bones, replaced with something much more durable and stronger, “Knuckles” had his arms, legs, stomach cut open and snitched back together, **Starved** also had to cut his veins and muscles, to perfect it into his vision, when that’s done, he snitched them back together, “Knuckles’s” stomach has been replaced with hyena’s digestive system, so he wouldn’t ever get sick or diseases when consuming raw flesh and bones, especially the organs, Eyes has been replaced of a wolf, including great senses of smell, strength of a grizzly bear.

Serums And Mixers: All the serums are made each differently, it can cause bad sides effects when consumed, “Knuckles” had to drank and syringes placed upon him, against his will, especially amount of **vials,** **Test tubes,** **Beaker,** and lastly **Flask** been used with various of DNAS, unknown mixers, and substances, sometimes drugs being used.

**Daily Routine**: “Knuckles” has to gone all throughly being cut open torn apart, forced to drink unknown substances and mixers, a lot of blood work and tests, even being electrocuted, snitched, sometimes going through starvation experiments, so the instincts and primitive urges could be activated, throughout his DNA and blood stream into his brain.

The experiments would continue to conduct, and continuously being manipulated by those who wants to use him as a tool, “Hunter” doesn’t even know what the hell is his purpose nor know how to live just like anyone else, all he can do is continue traveling to other universes, waiting for something to happen, doesn’t even have a place to stay, “Hunter” mostly acts like an actual wild rabid animal, he cannot eat anything, other then meat, flesh, blood, and bones, starved made sure “Hunter” would get sick or painful starvation if he ever decides to eat normally just like everyone else, his instincts is even more deadly mainly he relays and lets his instincts guide him, throughout his whole life, at this rate living is just never ending torture for him, whenever he dies and goes to hell, that’s his only salvation, Paradise lastly freedom, meaning “Hunter” can do anything what he wants and how this is beneficial for him considering he’s a masochist, finds a thrill of continuing being punished so harshly.

**Hunter’s Personality**: Stoic, straight forward type, can be extremely brutally honest, apathetic, a total jerk and a ||dick||, he would be extremely rude and insulting for those he isn’t familiar with, takes a lot of time and patience for “Hunter” to open up for anyone.