#or if it will be just eight separate shots of her on a hospital bed

[lucascsinclairs]

Max Mayfield in Stranger Things 2 | Chapter Nine: The Gate

"Told you. Zoomer."

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 8

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Smuttttttt. Horribly written smut.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-7 here

Chapter Eight

Translations: котёнок - Kitten; malyshka - baby; lyubov - love; dorogoya - darling; I probably missed some… I should have probably been doing this the entire time, no? Eh… My b.

A/N: Its uhhh.. My first time writing smut for the public so uh… be gentle pls? Lol. Lemme know how it went. Writing dialog and smut makes me cringe haha. This was also written while I was in the hospital. Is it bad that the 5 day stay was almost a vacation compared to life? Haha, living the dreeeaammm. Someone pls hit me with their car or something so I can go back and have 0 responsibilities for another week. Promise I won’t sue 😛

Once again, edited while floaty. Apparently that’s the only time I can get the motivation to open my laptop. In my defense, I’m currently in the middle of a move and starting a new job so pls forgive my laziness. I’m a tad overwhelmed. It’s finnnne. 

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During your time at the aquarium with Wanda, you hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. Logically, you knew it was around dinner time because you both had just eaten, but you didn't realize until you both entered the dimly lit cottage that it was so dark outside. Despite the long day you’d had, you weren't ready to go to bed just yet. Body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy, and you could tell it stemmed from Wanda's hand still holding onto your waist. Now that you were home, it would be socially acceptable for her to let you go, but instead, she chose to linger.

Never one to enjoy having others in your personal space, regardless of if you were touch starved, you were thrilled to discover that you didn't mind the witch being so close to you. In fact, the mere thought of being separated from her made your stomach roil with anxiety. Looking at the redhead next to you as you traversed the hallway towards your room for the evening, a new kind of craving overcame you. This one was different from the hunger you had experienced just before dinner, and you realized that you couldn't get enough of the witch’s touch and presence.

Reaching your shared room Wanda finally moves to separate from you, and as she heads opposite from you, her hand falling away, you make a split-second decision. Well. Decision was being generous. More accurately you allowed your impulses to take over, unable to think logically - you couldn’t let Wanda get too far. Not that there was anywhere for her to go in a bedroom you both shared, but your brain wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders at this time.

“Wait!” 

You don’t know what, or even if you were thinking, knowing only that in the scant few feet the witch was away from you, your whole world felt like it was collapsing. A lightly calloused hand shot out as you turned to grab her hand again, and in your exuberance, you accidentally ended up yanking the woman towards you. In an unexpected feat of grace surprising both of you, you managed to catch Wanda. Despite her velocity, you were able to use her momentum, spinning both of you. A small jolt of pain wracked through your bones as your back landed harshly against the smooth wall, with Wanda safely in your arms. Chests heaved for air, both of you having fully expected to collide, ending up in a heap on the floor.

After the initial surprise wore off, both women giggled, though neither made a move to separate. “What is it, Y/N?” the older woman asked. Amusement colored her gaze, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. You were still learning new facial expressions to this day. 

“I-” You started then stopped, trying to assemble your thoughts and determine just how vulnerable you were willing to be. “Thank you, Wanda. For today. For… everything. This was..” you trailed off, unable to find the words. “Everything.”

You hoped Wanda would understand what you meant by that even if you yourself weren’t quite sure just yet. What you were sure of is that you wanted to return to Wanda at least a fraction of the care and devotion she had shown you in all this time. You knew you didn’t want her to walk away, heart aching at the concept. What you didn’t know was what you wanted to do next, you hadn’t exactly gotten that far, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being apart from her.

The redhead’s gaze softened at your words. “You don’t need to thank me, lyubov. You deserve so much, and I just want you to be happy.” 

The words “with me” went unspoken, though she was dying to let them out. Instead, well-manicured hands lifted the tips of her fingers to gently push some fallen strands of your hair from  your face, as she studied you curiously. A feeling you both were on the precipice of something settled firmly within the witch’s chest. Wanda was fairly confident she knew exactly what that something was, but she wouldn’t plunge you into anything you weren’t yet ready to fall into.

Though certain in her assumptions, Wanda was unable to clearly read your surface thoughts. A jumbled mass of emotions, each thought no more than fleeting before another took its place, your mind was a whirlwind. The next steps had to be taken by you, and if you weren’t up for that yet, the redhead was content with where you both were at this moment. 

A palpable tension filled the air, conveying an unspoken awareness that something transformative was about to occur. Anticipation lingered in the atmosphere, creating a delicate blend of nervousness and excitement. There was an understated, magnetic attraction that drew you closer to Wanda. Completely unaware as you were, enthralled by the alluring softness of her lips which stoked a longing within you to know if they felt as velvety as they appeared, you were unconsciously learning forward.

It was a moment of breathless expectation, where time seemed to stretch. The world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the beauty of the impending inevitability. Eyes finally connecting with Wanda’s, a silent, mutual understanding was shared, and in that moment, you made a decision.

”May I…?” your voice a husky tremor, thick with emotion.

Never had Wanda found you more endearing than in that moment. Your innocent consideration that you would need to ask her permission after everything. As if she hadn't been waiting for this very moment for so long. As if this wasn’t what she had been waiting for since first discovering the Darkhold, and all the possibilities of a multiverse.

“Please, Y/N.” The witch’s reply was all but a breathy whisper.

As your lips and hers finally connected in a gentle, exploratory kiss, an electric current seemed to pass through their bodies, igniting a fire within your souls. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of all the emotions and desires that had been building between you both. Breaths mingled, blending together in a perfect harmony of passion and longing.

The softness of the kiss spoke volumes, revealing a depth of connection that you were certain words could never fully capture. A tender exchange, filled with a delicate balance of vulnerability and trust. Each touch, each movement of Wanda’s lips against yours, was deliberate, as if she was savoring every precious moment of this newfound intimacy with you.

With every passing second, the world around faded away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of pure bliss. Time seemed to stand still as you explored this uncharted territory together. A feeling as if something inside, you hadn’t known had been missing, was now perfectly slotted into place. Home.

When it came to kissing you, Wanda marveled at the stark contrasts between your Avenger variant, and you. While your other variant was self-assured, often taking command of a kiss with practiced skill, you, on the other hand, were gentle and tentative. It was evident that you were willing to let Wanda take the lead, which she found incredibly empowering, almost addictive. She knew she should probably take this first kiss slowly for you, however, your submissiveness was simply too delicious for her to pass up such an opportunity.

Long, slender fingers came to rest just under your jaw, firmly holding you close, Wanda using her body to press you harder against the wall, as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. A gasp escaped you at the length of the witch’s body pressed so intimately against you. Wanda, ever opportunistic, took advantage of your open mouth to deepen the kiss, her lithe tongue swiping softly at the seam of your lips in askance. 

You couldn’t even fathom a moment where you would ever deny Wanda this request, opening your mouth to grant her the access she desired. Her skillful tongue sensually slid against yours, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper from you. With a little coaxing Wanda was able to entice your tongues to engage in a seductive dance, leaving you breathless and heady. 

Eventually, the kiss broke, leaving both of you craving more. It had opened the door to a world of possibilities, and in that moment, everything changed. The bond between the pair of you had deepened more than you could know, and more than Wanda had hoped for. Despite initial reservations, your heart knew then you would follow Wanda anywhere, irrevocably tied to the witch forever. There was no one you wanted or trusted more.

While trying to catch your breath, no words were spoken. Taking this moment, your intrusive thoughts began creeping in because of course they were. Desperately you hoped the woman wouldn’t view the kiss as a mistake, praying that you measured up to your superhero counterpart. That you were truly what she had been looking for all this time, even if you weren’t anything special.

You would do anything to have her lips on yours again, and briefly a thought occurred to you that this woman could murder you, and you would probably thank her for the privilege. Therapy, maybe you should ask Wanda if she could get you in to see a therapist, because that wasn’t concerning at all. 

It wasn't in you to feel ashamed just then though, not when the very thought resonated in your soul. Gods, was this what you had been missing your entire life? And it had been right under your nose, for ages you had been unknowingly depriving yourself, hellbent on self-sabotage.

As you finally caught your breath, the witch gazed at you hungrily, causing a shiver to race down your spine.

"What do you want, detka?" Wanda asked, voice sultry. She tilted her head as if curious, but in reality, she was relishing in your disheveled appearance, eyes raking over your blown pupils, and kiss-swollen lips. So responsive for her, and this was only a kiss. Your first kiss with her, to be specific. Wanting to completely ruin you, it took every ounce of self-restraint for Wanda to wait for your answer instead.

Chest heaving, your brain struggled to pull together enough brain cells in order to provide her with an answer. When you finally spoke, your voice had a throaty quality you had never heard before.

”You. I want you.”

Green eyes, the color of jade, sparkled in such delight they could have practically illuminated the room with their vibrant glow. As you stared into her mesmerizing gaze, you got lost in her presence. Your mind was a myriad of thoughts, unable to focus on anything else. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, had a profound impact on you. As if the witch had cast a spell over you, weaving her magic effortlessly, and you willingly succumbed to her enchantment, eager to be under her captivating influence. 

A mischievous smile played upon her lips, adding an air of mystery to her already enchanting demeanor. The grin hinted at the hidden depths within her, the playful intentions that lied just beneath the surface. So, as Wanda’s mischievous smile lingered, you couldn't help but be drawn further into her web of enchantment, willingly surrendering yourself to the metaphorical spell she had cast.

"Oh, lyubov, will you let me ruin you?" she asked teasingly, her voice filled with impishness and a hint of excitement.

Swallowing nervously, you felt desire building deep within you. Your experiences in this matter were limited, but you trusted the former avenger all the same. Still, you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Wanda had in store for you would likely test your limits, even if you had no idea what those were yet. Eagerly, you nodded, ready to throw yourself headlong into this unknown, trusting the witch implicitly.

The moment her silky lips met yours once again, a hunger ignited within her, surprising both of you with its intensity and passion. Wanda pulled you close, her fingers curled in your hair, keeping you in place as she plundered your mouth. You could do little but let her lead the way, trying not to embarrass yourself with how much she was turning you on. Her sharp teeth tugged on your lower lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. A pitiful whine was barely restrained by you as Wanda lapped at the new wound she had caused.

Deciding to test your boundaries during the kiss, the redhead gently wrapped her other hand around your throat. Not tight enough to cut off your oxygen supply, but the pressure did restrict some of the blood flow to your brain, leaving you in a deliciously foggy haze. A breathy moan escaped you, which Wanda eagerly swallowed as you gladly ceded control of the kiss to her. Pride out the window, you were no longer capable of trying to withhold any sounds she could draw from you. Wanda found it delightful that so far you were proving to be the perfect little котёнок for her. The redhead eagerly anticipated discovering what other surprises you had in store for her.

The other hand not on your neck moved from your hair down to the first button of your shirt and hesitated. “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked, voice surprisingly soft for someone who currently had one of their hands wrapped around your neck.

Sluggish thoughts hazy with lust, you nodded with what would have probably counted as an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Having someone as gorgeous as Wanda in front of you, asking for your consent, you found you couldn’t be bothered by your eagerness. You were a simp, and you were fine with that. Anything to get more of Wanda touching you.

The former Avenger grinned, finding you utterly adorable. She was charmed by how needy you were for her. Unable to help but revel in the power dynamics between you, relishing the opportunity to challenge your blissed-out mind and watch as you struggled to comply with her demands. It was a delightful game for Wanda, and she was going to have fun training you.

Before she could continue though, the witch wanted you to be absolutely sure. Regardless of how long she had waited for you, if you weren’t truly ready, Wanda didn’t want to push you. She wanted all of you, everything you had to give, but if you still weren’t ready, weren’t sure, she could wait. Wanda would wait forever if she had to. 

 “Lyubov moya, if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, and I’ll stop immediately, okay? Full stop, I promise, and I won’t be upset with you.” she insisted, voice thick with longing as her nose grazed gently across yours in a reassuring manner. 

Even now, Wanda was always putting your safety and happiness as her top priority, endearing her evermore to you. How could you have ever doubted that this woman had anything but your best interests at heart? The purest of intentions?

Knowing it was a bit over dramatic, while you appreciated her reassurances, if the witch didn’t do something in the next few seconds, you felt like you might combust. Releasing a needy whine, you hoped to convey your desperation to Wanda who only chuckled at your behavior. 

“Relax, malyshka, I’ll take good care of you, I promise. But first, I need you to use your words, darling.” The hand on your throat easing its grip a little, allowing more blood to your brain, giving you back some of your intellectual capacity.

With Wanda’s body covering yours, you petulantly ground against her in the hopes of achieving any sort of friction, causing her lips to quirk upwards in an amused smirk. You weren’t going to get out of this until she had confirmation of your understanding, and if she happened to tease you into a petulant, writing mess in the process, well, that was just the cherry on top.

Giving in, you let out a keening whimper. “I understand Wands, please. Just touch me. Please!”

A wolfish grin overtook Wanda’s face at your begging. Green eyes locked with yours, and she could see the desire and longing in your eyes, mirroring her own. The way you looked at her, with a mixture of vulnerability and trust, made her heart flutter with a sense of joy and fulfillment. You were willing to surrender yourself to her guidance, to allow her to take the lead and shape you into the person she knew you could become. That kind of implicit trust and faith you had in her shot her arousal through the roof.

With each passing moment, Wanda's excitement grew, knowing that she had the opportunity to train and mold you into her perfect little котёнок. She relished the thought of all the fun games that lay ahead, confident in her ability to guide you towards your full potential. Your willingness to submit to her desires fueled her passion, making her all the more determined to own you completely. This power was the ultimate high, and she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it.

Her hand moved from your throat to wrap around your waist with a firm yet gentle grasp, pulling you closer to her in an undeniable display of ownership. The touch of her hand on your hip sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you that you had never experienced before. It was a possessiveness that transcended the boundaries of mere desire, a possessiveness that spoke volumes about the depth of her emotions for you.

Far from being suffocating, her dominance was a testament to the strength of your bond. A tangible manifestation of the passion that burned between the two of you, it was a flame that only grew stronger with each passing moment. Her assertive touch was a declaration, a proclamation of her utter devotion and fierce protectiveness towards you.

In that instant, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. A sensation that both thrilled and comforted you, it was a magnetic pull that drew you closer to her with each passing second. Feeling as if you were the center of her universe, the focus of her unfaltering attention, and you visibly preened under her attentiveness. Your hands which were clenching the bottom of her shirt held fast, unwilling to let her move more than a few inches away.

Now that she had your consent and had subtly established your place with her, Wanda's svelte hands returned to the task of unbuttoning your shirt. Unable to resist the allure of your lips for long, she passionately kissed you once again. As your lips moved against each other with a sensual rhythm, Wanda swiftly unbuttoned your shirt. Before you knew it, your shirt was completely undone, revealing your torso to her exploring hands. A shiver ran through your body as her slightly cool palm pressed against your abdomen for the very first time, the gravity of her body pressing you further into the wall. While you had felt her touch on your skin before, it had never been this intimate, this exhilarating.

As her hand glided over your bare skin, heat coursed through your body, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. The flames within you steadily stoked by every caress. Your breath hitched as her touch lingered, tracing delicate patterns along your abdomen.

Growing desperate you deepened the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her, moving from the hem of her shirt to tangle in her hair as you pull her closer. The magnitude of the moment was almost too much, feeling the desire consuming you from within.

Wanda's lips slid against yours with a fervent hunger. Her roving hands continued their journey, tracing every curve and contour of your torso with an almost reverent touch, sending pleasure coursing through your body. As your lips moved in perfect synchrony, heightening your senses, it left you yearning for more. The room was filled with a heady mix of desire and anticipation, as you both gave in to the draw of the moment..

Lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but give yourself completely to Wanda's touch. The way she explored every inch of your body with a delicate yet possessive hand left you breathless, craving more of her commanding aura. It was a dance of pleasure and surrender, a symphony of sensations that left you craving her touch like a drug. You had never needed anyone or anything as much as you needed Wanda to continue doing whatever she wanted to you.

As the kiss broke, both of you gasped for air. Wanda, still breathing heavily, leaned back to take in the sight of your newly revealed skin, her eyes darkening with want. Though never having been confident in your own body, often choosing to cover up, to hide in your self-consciousness, the way Wanda was looking at you now though left no doubt she liked what she saw. Yet still your insecurities plagued you, especially now that you were no longer covered up and there was nothing for you to hide behind.

The witch didn’t need to read your mind to know where your thoughts were going. The expression on your face, the way you tried to curl in on yourself made it plain. Voice thick with desire, Wanda needed to reassure you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Don’t ever let yourself believe otherwise.”

Though you didn’t truly believe her words, her tone and the way she held you like she couldn’t get enough was almost capable of convincing you in and of itself. You decided then that throwing yourself into this was the fastest way to get out of your head. Throwing caution to the wind, you slammed your lips against Wanda’s again, desperate for more of her.

Impatient, you couldn't resist the urge to guide Wanda's hands lower, craving for her to touch you more. Deft fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, sending a surge of pleasure  shooting through you, and tearing a quiet gasp from your mouth. Your body responded eagerly to her every caress, arching into her hands, silently begging for more. Emboldened by your response, Wanda's touch grew daring, her kisses to your neck pressing harder leaving red welts that would purple over by tomorrow. Her marks on you would tell all who you belonged to. Her fingers began exploring your body with a newfound confidence. The touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving you with the utter clarity that she wanted to mark every inch of you as her own, even the parts of you no one else would ever see.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, heavy with desire. Feeling the urgency building within you, your body pressed closer to Wanda's, seeking to ease some of the pressure within. Her touch was all at once overwhelming yet not enough.

Determined to elicit every delicious sound she could from you, one of Wanda's hands finally moved to your breast. Gently she cupped it while her thumb teased you by gliding around your areola, avoiding your hardened bud. She took great enjoyment in your whimpers and gasps as she teased you. If she had it her way, she would keep you like this, never giving you quite what you wanted. Wanda would ease you into that eventually though. For now, this was enough.

Eventually she had mercy on you, letting her thumb lightly graze across your nipple. A deep, throaty groan emanated from within you, your hips bucking against hers, unbidden. Taking the opportunity you had presented her with, Wanda slotted her knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure just where you needed it most. You whispered an exhaled curse as your head slumped forward onto the older woman’s shoulder. Your grip on her tightened, the urge to just rut against Wanda’s leg nearly overpowering what little was left of your rational mind.

Wanda could feel the subtle grinding of your hips against her leg, and she encouraged it, pressing harder each time you arched towards her. The witch grasped your hips firmly, helping to set your rhythm as you desperately sought more friction between the apex of your thighs.

For someone who hadn't even taken off their pants yet, you were surprisingly worked up, but you were far too focused on chasing your high to be overly concerned about it. Sensing how close you were, Wanda pulled away from you, calling forth a keening whine from you. The older woman chuckled softly at your desperation. Her raspy voice next to your ear made you shudder. 

"Patience, dorogoya, I don't want you to come just yet unless it's in my mouth or on my fingers."

Wholly unprepared for her words as you were, they almost single-handedly threatened to ruin the witch’s plans as you nearly came on the spot. Wanda was aware that you had likely never edged before, and while she should have shown some mercy, she found no enjoyment in that prospect. Her intention was to have you so drunk for her to the point where you would become a helpless, trembling wreck, willing to do anything she desired just to reach that peak. Then, she planned to repeatedly push you off that ledge so many times that you would be a boneless, quivering mess for her by the time she was done with you.

As her words hung in the air, you felt a mixture of anticipation and hesitation. This was a new territory for you, one that you weren't entirely sure of what you were getting into. But as you looked into Wanda's eyes, filled with desire and a touch of mischief, you couldn't deny your feelings. You wanted to experience everything she was willing to show you, to give yourself fully and trust in her to guide you through this journey of pleasure.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "I trust you, Wanda."

A smug smile played on Wanda's lips as she gently held your cheek. "Good," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it. Now, let’s take this to the bed.” She didn’t want your first time together to be rutting up against a wall.

Wanda grasped your hand, leading you the remainder of the distance to your shared bed. Once there the witch assisted you in removing the remnants of your clothes, gently pushing you backwards onto the bed. Before joining you, she took a moment to admire your naked body, as you looked up at her with a combination of desire and excitement. You were uncertain of her intentions, but the fact that you were willing to trust her filled Wanda's heart with joy.

With a gaze that could only be described as ravenous, she studied you and quietly uttered a curse. "Fucking exquisite" she husked, hoping to drive home her words from earlier.

Squirming under her intense gaze, you blushed deeply at her compliment. No one had ever called you that before, not in your entire life. The longer you laid there, alone under her scrutiny, the greater your need for Wanda grew. Before you could ask her to rejoin you, she was already removing her own clothes with purpose. You waited with bated breath, as Wanda revealed her body which you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Honestly, you thought it was a little unfair for someone to look so perfect. You felt absolutely privileged to be in this moment with her, that she had chosen you of all people to witness her glory. No one you had ever seen, in person or even on tv could compare. Wanda was a goddess, and you wanted to worship at her altar.

The redhead knew she was an attractive woman, but your loud thoughts were giving her quite the ego boost. She had you right where she wanted you, but Wanda would be damned if she allowed your self-deprecation to continue. There was not a single doubt in her mind that you were equally deserving to be here with her.

“Your thoughts are loud, malyshka.” She almost giggled at how red your face turned when she called you out, reminding you of her powers, and your gaze dropped.

 “While I’m flattered, darling, you need to know.” Wanda said with certainty as she began crawling up the bed towards you. Once she had crawled up the length of your body, the witch trailed her fingertips along your thigh, and up your torso to your face. Curling a graceful finger under your chin, she tilted your face upwards until you made eye contact.

“You are stunning, lyubov moya. There is no one else I would want to be here with right now. Not in the entire multiverse, believe me, I’ve looked. No one but you. Can you trust me on that, Y/N?”

Green eyes searched Y/E/C for any sign of lingering insecurity. With the witch looking at you so earnestly, your doubts faded into the background. They would likely never be completely silent, but in this moment, those thoughts were just white noise. Speaking was currently too difficult for you so instead you simply nodded at her words.

No longer able to hear your uncertainty as loudly, Wanda felt you were ready to continue. “Good, but just to make sure, I’m going to show you.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Wanda kissed you again. Her hand, which was previously under your chin, caressed down your chest and cupped your breast. She gave it a gentle squeeze, causing a soft sound to escape your throat.

As Wanda's touch re-ignited the flicker of pleasure within you, her lips and tongue traced a path of heated kisses down your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva behind. Her skilled hand continued to explore your body, evoking an oeuvre of gasps and moans. Eventually, her lips settled on one of the places you desired the most, enveloping your nipple.

Once Wanda's lips closed around your hardened bud, a jolt of pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch your back in response. Her tongue teased and circled the sensitive bud, sending ecstasy pulsating through your veins. While Wanda continued to lavish attention on your aching nipple, her other hand trailed down your body, caressing and exploring every inch of your skin. The combination of her skilled touch and the intense pleasure coursing through your body made it difficult to think or focus on anything else. 

Her hand continued its exploration, gliding over your skin with a feather-light touch. Every brush of her fingertips, each flick of her tongue against you sent your arousal to new heights. Your senses were completely consumed by her, the world around you fading once again into a distant blur.

Completely at Wanda's mercy, you found yourself basking in her every touch and caress. The pleasure she was bestowing upon you was the best high you had ever felt, addictive and irresistible. Your mind was filled with a primal need, a craving for more of the pleasure that only she could provide.

Wanda switched breasts, moving to lavish attention on the other one ensuring it didn't feel neglected. Her hand continued to tease your flesh, raising goosebumps to form on your skin. 

Unable to sit still, your own hands came up to tangle themselves in the redhead’s hair. Head held firmly in place by you, Wanda's hand slid lower, exploring the wetness that had pooled between your thighs. Svelte fingers teased your entrance, and you gasped as the anticipation nearly undid you.  Back arched, begging for more, you whispered a “please!”

Helpless to deny your plea, Wanda's fingers dipped inside you, your slick allowing them to slide in with ease. You moaned lowly as she began to move her fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling and stroking against your most sensitive spots. The pleasure built within you, radiating through your body like an electric current.

Your hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer to you as your hips instinctively rocked against her hand, seeking deeper pleasure. Wanda matched your movements, her pace increasing, driving you closer to the edge. Her lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans as the pleasure consumed you.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the wet, almost obscene sound of her fingers moving inside you, and the symphony of your pleasure. Each stroke of her fingers sent you spiraling further into this rapturous euphoria, your body trembling with desire.

Lost in the carnality of the moment, you could feel the heat building within you, the pressure mounting until you were teetering on the edge. Sensing your imminent release, Wanda's fingers quickened their pace, driving you towards oblivion. Moans growing louder, they mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” She asked, voice dripping sweetly with lust, not letting up the pace even a little. The woman knew what she was doing to you, and couldn’t resist drawing it out just a bit. 

Beneath her, you squirmed and bucked in place, desperation eeking off you in waves. You hadn’t exactly had many partners to begin with, and you had certainly never been especially vocal with any of them. Wanda couldn't have you being all shy on her now though. She wanted to hear each and every sound she could possibly draw out of you as proof of how good she was making you feel, her fingers hitting that special spot deep inside of you that had always been just out of your own reach.

“Now dorogaya, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? If you can’t answer me then I guess I should stop.” Wanda slowed her pace and you all but wailed your frustration.

“Yes, yes I’m going to come. I’m so close, Wands, please don’t stop!”

Truthfully that should have been enough for her but sadistically she wanted to push your boundaries further still. She smirked at your pleas. 

“I won’t stop, Y/N, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”

You didn’t think you had ever been on such a precipice of euphoria before. It was right there if only Wanda would let you. Part of you wanted to ignore what she said and let yourself go, but the part of you that yearned to be good for her won out in the end. 

You begged pitifully. “Please Wanda, please let me come! I’ll be your good girl, please, just let me come!” You would say anything the woman wanted as long as she would let you finally finish.

It was positively sinful how your submission made Wanda feel. She wanted to experience you like this every day for the rest of your lives. The tremor of your voice as you begged, how quickly and completely you accepted her commands, it was positively sublime.

“Well when you beg so prettily for me, how can I resist? Be a good girl, Y/N - come for me.” Her fingers curled deliciously, mercilessly hitting your new favorite spot. 

With Wanda’s permission, the world shattered around you as your orgasm crashed over. Your body convulsed with exquisite hedonism, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Wanda's name were the only words from your mouth as you rode the high, your orgasm careening over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.

For Wanda, feeling your wet heat tighten around her fingers, practically refusing to allow her to pull back to even help you through your peak, was so perfect. You didn’t know it, but it was enough to make Wanda topple over the edge alongside you, her head dropping to the crook of your neck while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, struggling to bring you gently down from your high. 

As the aftershocks of your release subsided, Wanda gently withdrew her fingers, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. She held you close, her presence a comforting anchor as you came down from the heights of pleasure. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness after being so joyously full.

Breathless and sated, you nestled into her embrace, feeling a profound sense of contentment and connection. And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt that this was just the beginning of something beautiful between you both. You had made the decision to trust Wanda with your body, heart, and soul, and in this moment, everything felt so right.

Wanting to return the favor, and make Wanda feel as good as you did, but as you tried to shift in her embrace, the former avenger simply held you tighter. Feeling rejected, you wilted in her arms. Perhaps you had already failed to live up to her expectations, so much so that she didn’t even want you to touch her. How heartbreaking to have failed so soon, to never get the chance to prove yourself.

Voice soft, Wanda alleviates your fears. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight was all about you. Rest with me for a little while, detka, I just want to hold you. May I do that, Y/N?”

Murmuring a quiet assent, you settled into the comfort Wanda provided. You both laid there, basking in the intimacy you both had just shared, feeling content and happy. It wasn’t long until your eyes began to droop, signifying you were about to nod off.

Sensing how close you were to sleep, the witch gently roused you. She giggled at your grumblings for the disruption but insisted you both needed to clean up. Shaking your head, you whined as you tried to hold her in place with you, unwilling to let her go for any reason. Wanda  had to actively restrain herself from cooing at your adorable stubbornness.

“Come on now, it’ll be just a few minutes and then we can go back to sleep, okay darling?”

Petulantly you shook your head, and Wanda full on belly laughed, holding you tightly to her while she did so. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous.

Eventually, both of you calmed down, and Wanda pulled away from your embrace, mentioning that she would be right back. You let her go, but you pouted the entire time she was in the bathroom. After a few moments, you could hear the sink running, and then the witch returned to you with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand. With an unprecedented level of care, Wanda cleaned between your legs, removing any trace of the night's activities, while being mindful not to overstimulate you.

“There we go, detka. All clean. Let me just throw this in the sink, and we can go to sleep.”

Doing exactly as she had said, Wanda quickly returned, swiftly maneuvering her way into the cozy bed beside you. With a few gentle movements, she skillfully arranged the soft sheets to envelop both of you, creating a warm and comfortable cocoon.

Once she was finished setting up the sheets, you wasted no time in crawling back into her arms, burying your face into the divot where her neck and shoulder met. You felt like you had been through the wringer, but in the best way. When she had gotten up to clean you both, with her no longer being in your arms, your emotions had run all over the place. Now all you wanted was to be as physically close to the redhead as possible, to reassure yourself that she wasn’t abandoning you after such a vulnerable act.

Wanda was not at all opposed. Quite thrilled in fact, and as she held you, one hand came to gingerly trace random shapes along the side of your face, whispering nonsensical words of love and solace. Pillowy lips placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than in your entire life, you heard Wanda whisper in her native tongue. You were curious, but too far gone to ask her what she meant.

“я так люблю тебя, дорогая. (I love you so much, darling.) I promise I will always keep you safe, and I will never let you go.”

A/N 2: ... Why do I have a higher word count for a chapter with smut than any other chapter? .... Reasons. We're going with "reasons". So uhhh... yay? nay? Yeet myself off a cliff? Also if anyone wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

[musing-and-music]

Royai week 2023 fic recs

In honor of Royai week in the Fruits & Roots server, I chose to highlight some of my favorite Royai fics I gathered these past years (not many years, since I've been on AO3 for 2 years and a half only). Each day, I'll recommend a few fics in a particular setting

Day 1: Sleepless nights / Last words - Canon-compliant fics

Chaste Kisses by Pen_n_Notebook / @royaidaydreams, rated T

Roy and Riza kiss during difficult times in their lives. The kisses are soft and tender, reminding each other they are still alive, still beside each other, and more often than not, an apology for tragedies they could not prevent.

There's angst, there's fluff, there's so much tenderness!

Reminders of You by Poppy Pelican / @poppy-pelican, rated G

Riza hits her head and temporarily loses her memory. But oh my, her commanding officer is really good looking…

This is a fun one!

we speak the language/no one understands us by onelargecoffeepls / @onelargecoffeepls, rated T

Roy and Riza say "I love you" in many different ways. A Royai love languages fic.

Fluff and angst along with canon

Someone to Watch Over Me by nightofnyx8 / @nightofnyx8, rated T

To: Amestrian Military, Eastern Command To Whomever it May Concern: Please excuse Colonel Roy Mustang for the next three days. He is being forced to stay in the Eastern City Central Hospital as he cannot expect to lead an investigation two hours after being shot. For further information of his stupidity, please refer to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Signed, Dr. James Henry Kallen, MD

An outside POV on Roy Mustang, with some funny moments despite the canon events

Don’t Say ‘Farewell’ by goneadrift / @goneadrift, rated G

The rest of the team has already left the office, leaving her and the Colonel alone. Such a similar situation and yet tonight Riza can’t find comfort in the solitude of their office. She realizes that it is the last time they spend evening together like this and it is just wrong.

Mutual pining, light angst, and the upcoming threat of being separated make a great setting for a delicious fic!

The Royai Mixtape Drabbles by klainelynch / @klainelynch, rated T

Alexander Hamilton may have written 51 of The Federalist Papers in 6 months, but I wrote 47 fics in 3 weeks, so your move A. Ham

47 times where 100 words hit right where it should

When I least deserve it by herebedragons14 / @herebedragons14, rated G

Roy was staring at the ceiling from his hospital bed. At this point, he had memorized every little detail from the uneven texture of the faded white paint but he was glad for the alone time. According to his calculations, it should be around eight o'clock, based on how much time had passed since Havoc left for his therapy session and him not being back yet. He could fetch his watch to check, but he wasn’t sure of what drawer of the small nightstand it was in and it felt too much of a bother to search. There were more troublesome matters occupying his mind. Too much had happened the previous night and he was still digesting it. The homunculus, the possible involvement of the Central Command, Havoc’s injury, Riza’s defeated words… They should be considering themselves lucky for making it out alive, all of them, but how could he truly believe that when one of his men had ended up paralized from the hips down and he nearly lost the other one?

The days after the events of the Third Lab bring much introspection and hurt. But also comfort and promises

[renecdote]

oooh can i get buddie + "go back to sleep" (congrats on your milestone !!!)

Some 4x14 fic for you 💛

[Read on AO3]

Eddie hasn’t been sleeping well.

Buck hasn’t been sleeping too well, either, but Eddie is the one who got shot eight weeks ago, so—Eddie is the priority. Buck can deal with a few rough nights, a few days spent yawning into coffee, downtime at the station spent catching naps whenever he can. He has it almost down to a science now; he knows just how long to set his alarm for to avoid dreaming and wake up feeling rested, even if it’s only for a little while.

He was okay for a while. Well, he wasn’t okay first, but then Bobby made him take time off work, and Buck started seeing Dr. Copeland twice a week instead of once a fortnight, and he has a prescription for sleeping tablets but he only uses those as a last resort, and—the point is, Buck is coping. Sort of. He was coping well enough to go back to work two weeks ago, anyway, and he’s confident that wasn’t a rushed decision, even if the twenty-four hour shifts without Eddie kind of make him want to crawl out of his own skin.

Dr. Copeland says a little separation anxiety after seeing your best friend get shot in front of you isn’t abnormal.

Buck is just grateful she doesn’t call it codependency.

–––

(Six days after Eddie comes home from the hospital, Buck gets twenty minutes into a lunch date with Taylor before realising he can’t do it. Lunch. Dating. Whatever it is they are trying to do. No matter how much he likes her, no matter how much he wanted this a few weeks ago, it doesn’t feel fair to her now. Not when he always feels distracted, always preoccupied by Eddie, always too deep inside his own head to give her the attention she deserves.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I don’t—I don’t think this was a good idea.”

“Eating sushi?”

“Us.” Buck swallows, eyes dropping before he forces them back up. “I’m not sure I know how to be in a relationship right now. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “Eddie got shot, Taylor, and it kind of broke me. And I don’t—I don’t regret that we started this, I just think… maybe we started it a little too soon. I’m sorry.”

Taylor covers his hands with her own, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m not going to force you into something you’re not ready for.” There is a pause, weighted, before she adds, “I’m not sure I can wait for you.”

“I know,” he says, and what he means is I wouldn’t want you to. Not when she may be waiting forever. Not when he knows what that’s like and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“We’re still friends, right?” he asks.

Maybe there is too much vulnerability in his voice because Taylor’s smile is more gentle than he is used to seeing from her.

“Yeah,” she reassures him. “We’re still friends.”)

–––

(Two days after that, Eddie sits on the edge of his bed, looking confused while Buck rifles through his wardrobe, searching for clothes that are soft and comfortable and easy to put on with an injured shoulder. He is idly thinking about the laundry that needs to be done, how bad traffic might be on the way to Eddie’s doctor’s appointment, whether Bobby will bring over a dish of that pasta bake Eddie likes if Buck asks nicely enough.

He’s not expecting Eddie to say, “Why are you here?”

When Buck glances back at him, frowning, he adds,“I mean… You’ve got a girlfriend, but you’re still always here.”

“We broke up.”

Eddie looks like he doesn’t understand. It’s hard to tell how much of that is the painkillers he took not long ago, and how much is just… his unshakable believe that Buck is someone worth loving. Someone who people are crazy to walk away from.

Buck picks out a shirt and tosses it on the bed before standing in front of Eddie, close enough that he can start working on the buckle to loosen the sling. Eddie’s left hand comes to rest against the side of his leg, not really holding on, just—touching. Grounding himself, maybe, or grounding Buck.

Or maybe just wanting—needing?—the contact.

Buck’s voice comes out quiet when he says, “Being here is more important.”

You are more important.

Eddie looks a little bit like he is going to cry, but that’s probably just the painkillers making him emotional as well. He lets Buck help him out of his sling and into the shirt without a word, biting his lip against the pain. When a tear slips out and he quickly dashes it away, Buck pretends not to notice. He focuses on doing up the buttons that Eddie could probably manage one-handed and when he gets to the end, crouched on the floor so he doesn’t have to bend awkwardly, Eddie grabs his hand before he can stand. Buck looks up into his searching gaze, feeling strangely caught, not like a fly in a trap, but like a planet being pulled further into the orbit of a burning star.

“Yeah?” he says.

“You broke up with your girlfriend because of me?”

Eddie sounds—confused, more than anything. Something else, too, something that is a little wobbly and harder to read.

“No,” Buck replies, not entirely sure it’s the right answer. “I mean, not really. I just... You got shot, Eds.” And his voice cracks there, forcing him to stop and suck in a breath before his own eyes well with tears. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to have this conversation if he starts crying. “And I know—I know you’re going to be okay, I know that, I just—” I can’t stop reliving those moments that you almost weren’t “—I need to figure out how to be okay again, too, and it felt like too much to add a relationship to all of that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. There is something in his expression, something almost knowing, like he really does get it. But he just says, “Still, it must have been hard.”

Buck shrugs. It wasn’t, really, and that probably says more than he’s willing to examine right now—maybe more than he’ll ever be ready to admit.)

–––

(It’s coincidence, probably, that Eddie breaks up with Ana only a few short weeks later.)

–––

For the last two months, Buck’s routine has revolved around the Diazes. He has practically been living with them, even though neither he nor Eddie have said it out loud in those exact words. His therapy sessions have been scheduled around Eddie’s appointments; there are more of his clothes at Eddie’s house than his own apartment; he spent so many nights on the couch that his back was almost permanently aching, until Eddie sighed and said, “Just… come here, come sleep with me, you know the bed is big enough, and it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

Buck tried to argue that Eddie wasn’t injured when they shared a bed during quarantine, and he didn’t want to hurt him, and the couch was perfectly fine, and—

He should have saved his breath because he ended up in Eddie’s bed anyway. That night and most nights since.

So Buck knows that Eddie hasn’t been sleeping well, he has a front row seat to it, he just—doesn’t know what to do about it.

–––

(“It’s not something you can fix,” Maddie tells him, sounding too much like someone who is speaking from experience. “He’s talking to a therapist, right?”

Buck nods. He stares down into the tea she made him (after rolling her eyes and refusing to give him coffee after five pm), watching the surface ripple as he turns the mug by the handle, lining it up perfectly with a coffee stain on the table.

“I just wish I could help,” he says.

Maddie squeezes his hand. “I’m sure you’re helping more than you think.”

Buck doesn’t know about that. It just... feels like he could be doing more. Even if he’s not sure what exactly that might be.

He changes the subject and Maddie graciously doesn’t call him on it.)

–––

Being back at work has been an adjustment.

It’s actually been a bit of a nightmare, honestly, in both the literal and figurative sense. When Buck wakes up gasping, heart pounding, the taste of Eddie’s blood on his lips, he can’t just roll over and see that Eddie is okay. He never used to have a problem sleeping in the bunks, but now he finds himself dreading it. And it’s not just the nightmares, it’s the fact that he just… doesn’t sleep well without Eddie anymore. Even the nights he spends at his own apartment, on his own mattress—which is much more comfortable than Eddie’s mattress—he tosses and turns, waking up feeling more tired than when he went to sleep, even when his dreams aren’t unpleasant.

Buck is managing, though. He has to be. And if that means staying late at the Diaz house so he has an excuse not to go home, or forgetting about excuses entirely and heading straight there after his shifts instead of going back to his empty apartment—well. What matters is that it helps.

And maybe it’s selfish, but Buck thinks it’s helping Eddie too. He’s always grumpier on days when Buck hasn’t slept over, the shadows under his eyes always darker, his light a little bit dimmer. It could be a coincidence, it could be Buck reading into things that aren't there, but—what if it isn't?

–––

(Buck talks about it in therapy, sometimes, the way they go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed and wake up curled close together, like gravity itself has pulled them there. He talks about those times when he opens his eyes to sunlight and realises that they both slept through the night, that his dreams were almost pleasant, that Eddie’s must have been too because he smiles sleepily across the pillows, not looking so haunted in the morning light.

Sometimes Buck wonders if Eddie talks about it too. He wonders if he feels it.

And then he’ll wake up on another one of those mornings and Eddie will grumble and press closer, muttering five more minutes, and Buck doesn’t really have to wonder at all.)

–––

Two weeks—sixteen days—after starting work again, Buck sits in his jeep at the end of shift, eyes gritty and brain cloudy with exhaustion. He wants to go home, but he doesn't want to go home, and the feeling is so overwhelming he could cry.

Could, but doesn't, because he's still at the station, and everyone else from his shift has already left but there are still people around, and he's supposed to be okay, and—

It's not really a surprise that Buck finds himself at Eddie's place. He is quiet when he lets himself in, early enough that the house sits still and silent. A quick glance into Christopher’s room shows him to be fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach with one arm hanging off the side of the bed. It’s a Saturday, so at least they don’t have to worry about getting him up for school. Buck carefully pulls the door shut again and moves further down the hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboard outside the bathroom, being as quiet as he possibly can.

Half of his clothes are in a drawer in Eddie’s dresser. The rest are still in his suitcase, keeping up the pretense that he is packed up and ready to leave at any moment. Buck sets his work bag down quietly and digs out a loose t-shirt and the first pair of sweatpants his hands find. He is almost out of the room when—

“Buck?” mumbled, searching.

The sound of Eddie’s voice immediately makes Buck feel guilty. Waking Eddie is exactly what he was trying not to do.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, keeping his voice low, hoping it will keep Eddie from waking up any further. “Go back to sleep.”

Eddie hums, agreeable, but his eyes blink open, searching fuzzily until they find Buck’s face. “Coming to bed?”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, even though he was thinking about going out to sleep on the couch so he wouldn’t disturb Eddie getting into bed. That’s kind of a moot point now. “I’m just going to brush my teeth.”

Eddie grunts—a sound that seems to convey that the practice of good dental hygiene has personally offended him. It makes Buck smile.

“I won’t be long,” he promises.

When he comes back and climbs into bed, there are only inches between them. Eddie is on his back, shoulder and elbow elevated by a pillow, the angle tipping him slightly toward where Buck lies on his side. This close, he could reach out and touch the dark shadows under Eddie’s eyes, wish them away with a gentle caress of his fingers. Buck tucks his hands under his pillow instead.

“Sorry I woke you up,” he says quietly.

“’S’okay,” Eddie replies, and something in his voice makes it sound like I’m glad you did. “Wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

This side of the house faces north, so it doesn’t get direct morning or afternoon sun. It gets the sharp angles of the shadows instead, cascading shades of darkness that blur the edges of Eddie’s face. They blur a lot of other things, too, like the space between them and the lines of their relationship. Here, in the relative safety of Eddie’s bedroom, in the quiet hours while the rest of the world slowly wakes up, Buck can let himself think about all the things he doesn’t dare to dwell on in broad daylight.

–––

(He thinks about his heart bleeding out on that street.

He thinks about Eddie’s shoulders shaking as he cries against Buck’s chest after nightmares.

He thinks about his own nightmares.

And he thinks about how it might feel to wake up and have Eddie’s face be the first thing he sees every morning.)

–––

"Shift okay?" Eddie asks him.

"It was fine."

Except for the fact that we didn't get a single call all night but I still couldn't sleep.

Except for someone else in the space where you are supposed to be beside me.

Except for how much I missed you.

Buck swallows the words back. “Are you gonna go back to sleep?” he asks instead.

“Mm. You’re staying?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Buck isn’t entirely sure that Eddie means for that word to slip out. His eyes are already closed, the tension easing out of him. He shifts slightly and his hand falls into the open space between them, almost like he’s reaching for Buck. (Almost like he’s reaching across asphalt and blood.) If Buck were a stronger man, he might reach back and grab it, hold on tight and never let go. But this new normal they have settled into still feels too fragile. Sometimes Buck feels like if he even looks at it head on, it will crumble away, and he has already come too close to losing Eddie more than once; he’s not ready to put himself in a position where he might lose him again.

Only when Buck is sure that Eddie is asleep does he dare to cross those few inches between them. Fatigue is like lead in his bones, but he reaches up, fingers ghosting over the dark skin under Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s eyelashes flutter and he tips his head slightly, like he’s chasing the contact. Buck holds his breath for a moment, but Eddie doesn’t wake up. He just sighs and rubs his cheek against the pillow, rolling a little closer.

When Buck closes his own eyes, he doesn’t think about the distance between them. He doesn’t think about how natural it feels for his hand to rest right beside Eddie’s, their pinky fingers touching. He doesn’t think about how he’s probably going to wake up with his arm over Eddie’s waist and his face against his best friend’s shoulder. He doesn’t think about what it might be like to fall asleep like this every day for the rest of his life.

The only thing Buck is thinking about is how good it feels to see Eddie sleeping so peacefully.

It’s still true that Eddie hasn’t been sleeping well. And it’s true that Buck hasn’t been sleeping too well either. But together—together, they always sleep a little bit better. It’s not a solution, not really, but for now... For now, maybe it can be enough.

(When Buck dreams, he dreams of Eddie, but he doesn’t dream of blood.)

(He wonders, sometimes, whether Eddie ever dreams about him too.)

[therealvinelle]

What would happen if Katniss was stuck in a time loop from the beginning of Mockingjay to the end ?

I’m afraid I don’t remember Mockingjay well enough to give you an especially detailed answer to this one. I forgot Prim died while writing this. I’ll try, though.

Round one

Katniss finds herself thrown back through time, and she’s just tired. She’s been so much already, Mockingjay depleted her in every sense. At the end of the book she’s broken in a very irrevocable sense of the term. She just wants to retire with Peeta and be safe and left alone for the rest of her life. Waking up in a District 13, then, to find that Peeta is captive and being tortured all over again, Coin is alive, Snow is alive, and the Rebellion is back and she’s their figurehead... on its own, this is all bad enough, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke down completely.

But then she sees Prim again, Prim who is alive and healthy.

Finnick, too, is alive again. He’s a mess, just as he was originally, but he’s alive.

For them, Prim above all, Katniss can’t give up.

She pulls herself together, or tries to. She’s hollowed out after the events of Mockingjay, and to go through it all again? Unimaginable.

More, how is she actually going to save these people?

Prim wants to help people, she’s not going to agree to stay out of the Capitol when the invasion comes about.

Gale hates the Capitol with every fibre of his being, he’s not going to stop making weapons because Katniss told him people will get hurt. I think even if she laid out the scenario of «say that Prim goes to the Capitol to help and your bombs fucking kill her» he’d remain resolute - that’s not gonna happen, Katniss. (And even if he silently agrees there’s the possibility, this won’t change his mind. Prim will be a casualty of war, the important thing is to defeat the Capitol.) As for Finnick, he was pure bad luck. There was nothing Katniss could have done there, save for maybe keep him home. But if she does, someone else may die in his place.

But, Katniss isn’t going to sit back and say «yup, nothing I can do to save these two people I care about. See y’all in heaven, fellas». As she goes through the motions of Mockingjay, doing the photo-ops and listening to Finnick’s interview, Katniss comes to fear that there’s just no road ahead that will lead away from Rome. All she can do is tell Prim about Gale’s bombs and plead with her not to go in when the Capitol is invaded.

It’s no surprise, not really.

The Hunger Games is not about Katniss Everdeen the brave heroine taking up the mantle of revolution, it’s about Katniss the girl becoming a game piece in someone else’s chess match. And so, her prescience won’t make as much difference as it would someone like Harry Potter or Bella Swan, as her choices simply don’t matter all that much.

This is what she’s forced to realize.

Peeta is rescued, it’s easier and harder than last time. Easier because she knows what to expect, harder because she’s seeing him suffer all over again, just as original timeline Peeta was returning to himself.

The invasion of the Capitol comes around, and Katniss is no more able to save Finnick than she was last time.

Prim refused to stay behind. Then, seeing her fellow medics rush towards bombs she knows could go off at any second, and injured people lying helplessly nearby, she runs in hoping to stop her colleagues and maybe drag someone away from the scene before it all blows.

She fails, and Katniss watches her die all over again.

The time loop doesn’t stop there.

Katniss goes to see Snow, only to go through the motions, and then shoots Coin. There’s no point to any of this if she doesn’t still shoot Coin, right?

More broken than ever, Katniss returns to District 12 with Peeta.

She just wants to rest.

Round two

A part of Katniss isn’t even surprised.

Her sister is alive again, but not for long. Katniss almost wishes they could skip to the part where Prim is dead, just so that she wouldn’t be in this horrible limbo of wanting to save her sister but not knowing how.

This time, Katniss devotes all her energy to Prim.

She neglects all her other duties and relationships, everything else that mattered. She never develops her friendship with Finnick.

She’s going to save Prim.

She tells her about the time loop, about what will happen if Prim isn’t careful. Prim listens.

This time around, Peeta isn’t rescued, and when Katniss invades the Capitol he’s the one who kills her.

Maybe Prim survives this time around. She hopes so.

(This is the timeline where Finnick survives: with Annie never rescued from the Capitol, he never became well enough to participate in a military operation.)

Round three

Katniss tells Prim about the time loop again, leaving out what happened at the end of round two. She befriends Finnick and campaigns for Peeta to be rescued. On the night of the invasion, Prim tells her teammates what she learned about the bombs before they land in the Capitol, leaving out how she found out. She’s accused of espionage and leaking military grade secrets, and shot. Her body is left in the streets, and Katniss is told the Capitol did it.

Katniss suspects what happened, and she hopes she’s right, because the other option is that her interference did this, that Prim died because of something she did.

Finnick dies, of course, which tastes all the more bitter now that Katniss knows she saved him in one timeline.

She speaks with Snow, or more to the point she walks into his room of roses and says nothing.

She shoots Coin.

Round four

She kills Coin on the first chance she gets.

She’s swiftly executed.

Round five

She waits until the night of the Capitol invasion before killing Coin.

Again, she is executed.

Round six

She makes it all the way to Snow’s office. Prim and Finnick are dead again. Peeta, too, this time around.

She tells Snow about the time loops. He seems to think she’s lost her mind, but she doesn’t care. She asks him about poisons.

Round seven

Coin dies suddenly.

Things are better in some regards, but the invasion still happens. Once again Prim and Finnick die.

Round eight

Katniss has nothing more to give.

She spends the round in her hospital room, curled up in her bed and refusing to be disturbed by anyone who isn’t Prim or Finnick.

Round nine

She has nothing more to give this time either.

She tells Finnick everything, about the time loops, the bombs, and the invasion, and asks him to try to save Prim and himself.

Finnick dies pulling Prim away from the bombs, and Prim succumbs to her injuries shortly after.

At Snow’s execution, Snow is shot.

Round ten

Katniss tells Haymitch.

They still end up in Rome, with Finnick and Prim dead, only now Haymitch is dead too.

Round eleven

Katniss for the first time starts to wonder if maybe this has all been an elaborate torture brought on by the Capitol. Or maybe her own side, who knows.

Because, really, how does she know she hasn’t been hijacked?

Katniss starts telling the people around her that she knows they’re not real, and quickly gets herself locked up in a psychiatric cell.

Round twelve

Still convinced she’s been hijacked, Katniss quickly gets herself locked up in this timeline too.

Round thirteen

Katniss poisons Finnick, Peeta, and Prim, not much, but enough to force them to stay behind when the invasion happens.

This time it works.

They’re all safely at home, and Katniss knows the invasion well enough by now that survival isn’t as hard as it once was.

She shoots Coin, then returns to them after.

This time, Peeta can’t trust her again after this. Nor, for that matter, can Prim or Finnick. They still love her, but Prim chooses to take a job in District 3 a little too easily, and Finnick quickly becomes a friend who stays in touch nominally, but never visits. Peeta moves back to District 12 with her, but they live in separate houses and the intimacy and trust between them is now gone.

Katniss, for better and for worse, is alone now but surrounded by people.

There are no more time loops.

[bookishofalder]

Unexpected

Spencer x FEM!Reader

Summary: In which Spencer and the reader have too much fun together on New Year's Eve. Leaving them both questioning their friendship, and Spencer watching the reader's weird behaviour.

Warnings: TW-Pregnancy, brief smut, drinking, CM style crime scene, fainting, hospital, language, fluff and emotions. WC-3,882

A/N-Wrote something sweet and fluffy about our favourite Doctor. Prequel here.

Spencer was watching you. He could tell you hadn’t noticed, despite being a competent profiler yourself. Which was why he was becoming exceedingly concerned.

Something about you was...off.

He hadn’t pinpointed what, just that you had been acting different for about two weeks now. As your best friend, he knew you too well to simply brush it off. And while he was hesitant to ask you, he couldn’t help but watch you for signs, anything to give away what might be going on.

After New Year's Eve, a night the two of you had agreed what you had done together had been between two friends, who had been drinking and who were both entirely single. 

You had been the one to throw a party for bringing in the New Year, insisting on the entire team coming because you wanted to show off your beautiful condo, your tasteful decorating skills. Spencer spent a lot of time at your condo, often staying the night on your ridiculously comfortable couch, and so it was no surprise that he enjoyed indulging a little too much on beverages that night, and subsequently remained overnight.

It had surprised you both, when he had closed the door on Hotch and Rossi-that last two to leave the celebration-and the quiet he’d been craving for a while settled and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing to your head in an uncommonly affectionate display.

“You know, I think it’s customary to kiss someone when you ring in the New Year, (Y/N),” He had muttered, unthinking. The walls he built around his feelings for you, which extended beyond friendship, were thin-weakened by the alcohol.

Leaning your head back to meet his eyes, glassy and wide-eyed, you giggled, “I always thought that was silly, meant for couples to just show off how happily domestic they are!” You rolled your eyes, but you hadn’t moved out of his arms.

Spencer had cleared his throat, “It can be...friends, who care deeply, too.” He replied lamely.

And normally, this sort of conversation might have had you ruffling his hair before you moved away laughing. Not that he’d ever say anything like this if he was sober.

Instead, you had dropped your smile and something...different had glinted in your eyes before your tongue had wet your plump lips. That action had a strong effect; Spencer’s wall simply bursting open. He had pressed his lips to yours with a groan, gathering you closer in his arms. When you reacted in earnest to this, moaning softly, he lost every ounce of willpower to hold back, to stop.

But you had never asked to stop.

No, you had followed him down every path, eager and smiling, falling into bliss without hesitation. Spencer had never felt so whole, so safe. If it had been a movie, the viewers would have said it wasn’t sex, these two were making love.

But the alcohol, it had played its part in this crossing over the line, blatant disregard for the friendship you both cherished so immensely. It had aided the longing, the hidden feelings and tempted you both into relinquishing that control, that steady and routine pace of life.

Best friends fall in love. They make love. Then date, right?

Only that wasn’t the case here. You and Spencer had woken in the late morning hours of the first day of the year wrapped in one another’s arms. Naked, evidence of your activities abundant in your bedroom, on your skin where he had bite gently before laving his tongue to soothe. And you had looked at one another and tried to grip the slippery memories, bring them to the surface, but the alcohol had burned away too much of them...so you agreed, simultaneously, that these things can happen, that neither of you was upset and things could go back to normal.

It hadn’t even been awkward, and that was something that Spencer could never forget. Cuddled together, facing one another in your bed, you had simply talked. About the night, about how little you both remembered, about how you had both enjoyed it, how you loved one another as best friends should. He could have told you he was desperately in love with you, but he didn’t. You followed each other into an agreement that all was well, and nothing would ever come between you.

That had been over a month ago. Even with the limited memories, Spencer still replayed what he could in his mind over and over. The way you looked when your dress hit the floor, how you had let him lead, the expression on your face when you climbed into his lap and sunk onto him, taking every inch while his name spilled from your lips like a song. How it felt like the two of you were made for each other, your sloppy, lazy movements matching in the glow of too many vodka shots and margaritas. Blank spaces were there, but he did remember the moment you both reached your peak, together, moving your hips to meet and draw the feeling of oblivion out as long as you could.

He remembered saying he loved you. He just didn’t know if you had heard him.

Standing in the conference room of the Central Florida Police Department, on a case, Spencer was watching you from across the room. Listening as Hotch spoke, but his eyes assessing the way your hand move to the back of your neck as if you had a headache, the surprise in your face when you noticed you were sweating. You pulled a hairband from your pocket and secured your long locks into a casual ponytail.

Nothing had changed between Spencer and you since New Year's Eve. You still spent all of your free time together, still watched Doctor Who and went to bookshops for hours, shared a double room on cases. And yet, two weeks ago Spencer noticed small changes, things that as a profiler he knew not many would also notice, and yet still concerning. He couldn’t even pinpoint the cause, maybe that was why he was so focused on figuring you out. Because while you smiled at him the same, laughed with him, hugged him-you still didn’t seem yourself.

You had been having headaches more frequently, a little pucker between your brows appearing before you inevitably gave in and took Tylenol. You weren’t eating as much, but you were drinking a lot of water-that was something even Hotch had noticed, commenting one day when you had slipped back into a meeting with a refilled water bottle in hand. You had laughed it off, unbothered.

But Spencer had frowned, his suspicions rising.

There were more subtle changes as well, your skin had seemed clearer but your cheeks were always flushed. You had always been a good hugger, but you didn’t pull others as close to you as you usually would, occasionally wincing even when you thought no one was paying attention. The final straw that convinced him something was going on was your moods.

You had always been a very even-tempered person, especially at work. While you had strong emotions, you kept them at bay as needed. But he had counted exactly eight incidents where he saw your eyes fill with tears that did not warrant those reaction-emotional commercials or a kind word from Hotch on performance. You had blinked them back each time, just as surprised to find yourself crying as he was. And suddenly, you had a bit of a temper too, something that reared its ugly head in the forms of road rage, or impatience with local police staff. Morgan had joked that you were finally growing into your bossy side, but Spencer didn’t agree.

He just didn’t know what the hell was wrong with you. And he was afraid to upset you, to cross a line, if he asked you. You told him everything; whatever this was, he could wait for you to talk to him. At least, that’s what he constantly told himself.

“Thanks, Garcia, can you send-?” Hotch was saying, but Garcia cut him off with her usual cheeriness.

“Coordinates already sent to your phones, Garcia over and out!”

The line went dead and Hotch ended the call, tucking his phone into his pants, “Okay guys, gear up.”

Things moved at a regular pace after that, the team ready to bring in a dangerous unsub, who may or may not be at the house they were about to raid. Gearing up, Spencer and you were separated in different cars but teamed together once you were on location.

Standing in the mid-afternoon Florida heat was uncomfortable, the house they were surrounding had no trees, no shade to attempt to find reprieve. And based on the condition of the exterior, Spencer very much doubted this home had central A/C circulating fresh, cool air. You stood next to him in your vest, eyes focused on the house before you glanced up to meet his eyes, give him a gentle smile.

“Ready, doc?” You cheeked.

Spencer returned your smile, “Should be a good opportunity to see some of the potential beach houses we could rent for a vacation.” He gestured at the dilapidated bungalow. You giggled, lowering your head to press to his arm in an attempt to hide your silliness, keeping your voice low.

“Spence, there’s no beach here.”

“Then why in all the world is the street called Beach Street?” He deadpanned.

At this, you snorted, one hand gripping his arm now, trying your best to hide away from Hotch, who was still talking to the Sargent and hadn’t noticed the exchange. Spencer smiled, a rush of relief running through him every time you acted like yourself. He hoped he was just seeing things that weren’t there because of what had happened on New Year's Eve, his mind trying to torture him for it all getting so out of control. You were fine.

“Alright, let’s go!” Hotch barked, instantly snapping you both back into work mode.

Spencer had been right, unfortunately. You and he entered through the back door, which leads off the kitchen, and the house completely reeked. The steamy air simply swallowed you both when you stepped inside the dirty room, both on high alert and yet still trying not to focus on the smell, on the sound of flies.

Perhaps this was the first moment Spencer should have realized you were not, in fact, fine. But when you began to breathe steadily from your mouth next to him, he brushed it off-maybe it helped you keep your head clear in this cesspool of rotten, unkempt living.

When the main floor was cleared, silently, Hotch and Prentiss were the first to breach the basement. Climbing down the curved staircase carefully before you and Spencer and the rest of the team followed, then splitting off into groups to search the rooms. The basement was large, and it was a very uncommon thing to have a basement in this part of the world- which was one of the red flags they had spotted when narrowing down a geo-profile for the unsub.

Morgan and JJ were behind you and Spencer, watching your backs as you cleared the meagre laundry room, then the furnace room. Down a final hallway, one door stood unchecked, and you approached ahead of Spencer, kneeling for a moment to turn the knob quietly, allowing him and Morgan to burst in first and call for the man inside to freeze.

They had known this man was a butcher, a sadistic man who enjoyed cutting his victims up like it was an art. Walking into his kill room was like stepping into a preview of Hell itself, the dirty and blood-spattered surfaces nothing compared to the site of rotting flesh hanging from the ceiling, dripping fluids on the concrete floor while the butcher no doubt worked at the table that sat in the centre of the room. He was standing there now, hands raised, his latest victim already dead-for a while, it seemed-a yellow-stained smile that didn’t meet his eyes stretching his mottled face.

This was Spencer’s second clue that you weren’t fine. As you hiccuped next to him, catching his eyes as Morgan cuffed the butcher, JJ holding her gun stead on Spencer’s other side. He looked you over and you seemed to be biting something back, and he wondered if maybe you wanted to say something to the butcher, to call him a monster.

Only, then he saw the colour was draining from your cheeks. He could hear the others in the hall behind them, so he holstered his gun and turned to you, watching as you lowered your weapon.

Your hands were shaking.

“(Y/N)?”

You looked up at him now and Spencer immediately felt a shiver shoot down his back; your pupils were pin-pricks, your face now far too pale, but your expression was so devastating like you couldn’t understand what was happening.

“D-dizzy...” And then you fainted, your gun falling from your hands, and Spencer was catching you while screaming out for Hotch, for medics. He caught you and quickly raised you into his arms, knowing he needed to get you outside of this putrid basement, into fresher air. JJ and Hotch were right by his side as he sprinted outside, lowering you to the grass before seeking out your pulse. It was steady but slow and a little weak.

He was still saying your name but you weren’t waking up, and then the medics were there and they checked your eyes and you still didn’t wake up. Spencer didn’t realize he was groaning as if in pain, his mind running through the last two weeks and questioning every moment he had seen, every symptom he thought was related to what the two of you had done together.

Had he been so blinded that he missed a real condition? You were younger than Spencer by a few years, healthy and active. What hadn’t he seen?

At the hospital, what felt like hours passed but in reality was merely fifty minutes-minutes that Spencer spent pacing angrily, proclaiming his stupidity to his colleagues, unloading the burden of his worries on them when it now felt too late.

They knew they could say nothing to comfort him, and so none of them tried, they simply listened. Occasionally one of them would brush his arm as he passed, a small gesture of affection. Spencer barely noticed.

“(Y/F/N) family?” A young doctor called, and the entire BAU stood instantly, allowing Spencer to shoot forward. The doctor didn’t hesitate, “You must be the husband?”

Spencer didn’t even hear her, “Is she alright?” His voice sounded coarse, strained. He held his breath.

She gave a small smile, “Yes, she’s just being settled into her room. She’s suffered a bad case of...exhaustion and mixed with the conditions of the home you described to the medics on your way here, I’m not surprised she fainted. She’ll need to stay overnight, we’re going to get her fluids back up and monitor the-her heart rate, get some food into her. Mainly, she needs to rest. Once she’s released I expect I’ll be assigning her bed rest for a few weeks.”

Spencer didn’t remember the ambulance ride over, just that he had been the one to go, his eyes never leaving you, not until the door closed that led into the staff-only area of the hospital. Had he really told them of the house? “Can I please see her?”

The doctor patted his arm, “Of course, follow me.”

You already looked so much better, the flush back in your cheeks and a small smile on your face when Spencer appeared in the doorway, drinking in the sight of you alive and well and beautiful, so beautiful. You were left alone, the doctor closing the door as she left, and before you could speak Spencer launched himself across the room and gently pulled you into a hug, being mindful of the IV line. Your heart monitor spiked, a sound he was very happy to hear.

“Sweet girl,” He breathed, kissing your head, your cheek, your hand, “I’m so sorry, I knew something was off with you and now the doctor said it’s exhaustion and I missed the signs, I thought I was being idiotic and then you-“

“Spence,” You pressed your hands to his face, and he carefully sat down on the bed, leaning over you, “I’m okay, this isn’t your fault.” You were so sweet.

Spencer shook his head despite the kind and sincere expression on your face, “I should have mentioned that I thought you seemed weird, maybe we could have prevented this.”

You were shaking your head now, a funny smile on your face, “We couldn’t have prevented this. I mean...” You broke off, looking away as if searching for the words you wanted to say. Spencer brushed the hair from your forehead, waiting for you to speak. “When I said this isn’t your fault, well Spence, it kind of is?”

Spencer stared at you, entirely confused. Your words should have cut through him, but that smile on your face made no sense. He watched as you seemed to steel yourself. “(Y/N)? What is it?” He took your hands into his, concerned, and at a complete loss.

For a moment, you stared back into his eyes, an unreadable storm of emotions within them. You leaned back into your cushions, took a deep breath, “I want you to know, Spencer Reid-that I am so, so in love with you,” You never looked away as Spencer froze, his mouth popping open in surprise. “You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, but New Years Eve-what I can remember-was the best night of my life. I can’t stop thinking about you, I never could really but now that I know, w-what I do about you, how it feels to be with you, it’s like I can’t get you out of my head. I love you.”

You were so brave, he thought at that moment. You never broke your gaze, your hands squeezing his as you spoke, as you eviscerated Spencer entirely with your beautiful words. He gulped in air, but it wouldn’t reach his lungs. You had just told him you were in love with him...that you thought about him, about that night, just like he did of you. Never, ever did he think that was what you were going to say, that you could feel the same. Never.

“Oh, sweet girl,” He finally gasped, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss before pulling back slightly, “I should have told you that morning, when we woke up-I love you too, so much. I felt like we left that night with nothing, despite how it meant everything to me. You mean everything to me, (Y/N).”

Your eyes had filled with tears that now leaked down your cheeks, “Well, we didn’t leave that night with nothing...we...Spencer, I’m pregnant.” Your sentence rushed out and he felt the air evaporate within him, his entire body going rigid.

He just stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but you were giving him this knowing, somewhat empathetic look.

You weren’t kidding.

Like a tidal wave, his stupid genius brain finally pieced together all of your symptoms, the water, the appetite, sweating and headaches and the fucking mood swings. “I-(Y/N), how-?”

You laughed, not unkind as you reached up with one hand and cupped his cheek, “When two people love each other, they-“

Spencer cut off your joke, “No, I remember, you have an IUD.”

You sighed, still smiling, “They did a scan, looks like it’s not in place properly, which they said could happen. They removed it, today. And then they told me.”

Spencer could feel himself choking up, emotions swirling around, overwhelming him. And yet, he could see that even though he hadn’t responded to the news yet, you remained unbothered because you just understood him so well. Understood that it took time for some things to sink in for him. Your thumb brushed softly across his cheek, your other hand still squeezing his, keeping him grounded.

“You’re pregnant.” He said it aloud, stated it, then felt himself brighten, “You’re pregnant with our baby.” He didn’t realize the wetness on his face was his tears, not until you wiped at them with your thumb, now beaming at him.

“I’m pregnant with our baby-it’s been almost five weeks, so it’s still very early, but because I didn’t think, I didn’t realize-“ You broke off then, joy quickly turned to sadness.  “They said that everything looks just fine, that I just overdid it and now that I know I can start doing, all of the stuff you do for this, but I feel so stupid. I thought I was experiencing physical reactions to the stress and guilt I felt for what we did, for almost ruining-“

Spencer cut in, “No, no sweet girl, this isn’t your fault, you aren’t stupid-you’re perfect.” He refused to let you blame yourself, “And most people who aren’t trying to get pregnant don’t notice those symptoms for what they are right away. It’s entirely normal that you assumed what you did, it’s what I thought too.”

At this, you locked your eyes to his again, frowning, “How could we both be so ridiculous?”

Spencer laughed, taking your head into his hand and hugging you to his chest, “I can’t believe this, I really can’t.” His mind was swirling, so many thoughts rushing forward as he holds you close. Knowing you felt the same had his heart soaring already. But you were going to have his baby, be a mother. He was going to be a father.

Your arms snaked up to circle his neck, where you tucked your head, pulling him from his thoughts “I know we weren’t expecting this...I just need you to know-“

“I think I should move in.”

You jerked back from Spencer in surprise, eyes comically wide, “You want to move in?” You were smiling at him. He looked at you closely, holding your gaze.

“I’m there all the time anyway, and if you’re carrying my baby then I have a lot of responsibility now, I understand if you aren’t ready. But I’d like to take care of you, both of you. And I never want to come home to a place where you don’t live, (Y/N).”

You were fully crying now, cute sniffles surrounding your reply, “Yes, Spe-Spencer, you can move in, I’d love that.”

He hugged you again, and the two of you sat together in a state of complete content. Spencer had never been happier in his life, and he knew that even though he could barely remember the best night of his life, he was going to cherish it forever knowing that it led to this, the best day of his life he was never going to forget.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

PREQUEL

[haechanniesunflowers]

"I promise"

A Bang Chan scenario

A/N: mentions of pregnancy and labour, blood and childbirth, angst, fluff

After Stray Kids' contact expired with JYP, the boys went their separate ways but were still very close with one another. Minho became a choreographer, Felix, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Seungmin signed with other companies for solo promotions. 3racha became full time producers under a different company, all 8 of them were doing very well.

Chan got married, the couple was living happily in an apartment. He set up a studio on one of the rooms so he could spend more time with her. Chan really did care about his wife but his 3racha signed a project with a sequel to a blockbuster movie and they were working on the songs for it.

"Chris I can't believe you forgot again!" y/n yelled at him. She was at her wit's end with him, she was eight months pregnant and wanted Chan to be a part of it for the final months, he promised he would take her to see her gynecologist two week ago but he was busy producing music and completely forgot. They rescheduled twice but he forgot both times. She called him several times, but he didn't hear it ringing. Now he came home, tired and upset that he completely forgot about his wife and unborn child, yet again.

"I'm not even going to say I'm sorry. I messed up big time and I'm embarrassed." he spoke.

"what do you want me to do about it?" she replied.

Chan didn't have the words to tell her how upset he was with himself. He let her down again and again and she had to go through the last months of her pregnancy alone.

"do you even know we’re having a child? I'm scared Christopher. Will you keep this up after the baby is born too? I can't have my child grow up longing for his father. I understand you love your work but if you love it to the extent you're forgetting about important things, why did you get me pregnant? Why did you want to bring a child in this world? For me to go through it alone? Will you even be there when I'm in labour?" y/n let her frustration out, with hot tears streaming down her face.

Chan came to hold her face but she backed away. He gave her space to cool down and opted to sleep on the couch.

For the next two weeks she she avoided him and did things in her own, she went to the gynecologist alone, and got food for herself from the store. Chan saw her entering the apartment with bags of food in her hand. It broke his heart that she was doing things for herself in the cold weather, and he wanted to make amends. He walked towards her and grabbed the bags from her hand, earning a warning glare from her.

"don't overburden yourself sweetheart" he said. She gave him the bags and went straight to their bedroom. He was right, she was overburdening herself but it was his fault. Coming out of the shower, she got into an oversized t shirt and pajama bottoms, and snuggled into the comforter. Chan stood at the threshold of the door, looking at her with soft eyes as she was facing away from him.

"can I lay beside you?" he began. Y/n missed him too much but he had to learn his lesson.

"no."

Chan felt helpless, he walked inside and knelt beside her side of the bed, facing her.

"I just want to say that I'm really sorry for being ignorant and making you go through these months alone but I promise you I will be there for you when you need me." he spoke and gently kissed her forehead, which she didn't back away from. Y/N closed her eyes, signalling Chan that she was about to sleep so he went out to sleep on the couch again.

At around 2 in the morning, y/n woke up to pain in her abdomen and lower back. It was intense and painful and she clutched the comforter. When it was over she was panting lightly. Her gynecologist told her about cramps near child birth. She got out of bed to drink a glass of cranberry juice. Looking around the house, there was no sign of her husband.

"where did he go?" she mumbled. Y/N went to check his studio and to her surprise he wasn't there either. She started to get annoyed and worried so she called Jisung to ask him if he knew.

"yeah noona he's in the company's studio with us, wait I'll pass him the phone." he answered and handed the phone to Chan, who didn't know how to explain himself.

"you're unbelievable" was all she said and hung up the phone. Chan gave the phone back to Jisung and excused himself saying y/n was asking him to come back home. The other two agreed to finish up with the lyrics.

Chan let himself in through the front door and saw y/n sitting on the couch, slightly bent forward and clutching the cushion. She looked towards him and her expression changed to an annoyed one. Getting up, she walked towards the bedroom but was stopped by Chan, who pulled her by her arm.

"what is your problem?" he inquired.

"nothing, let go of my arm."

"no, what are you trying to prove. You have been ignoring me for two weeks now, you don't even let me near you and you're doing things you're not allowed to do. Then when I'm not around, you suddenly have a problem and want me back, for what? When you're perfectly fine on your own and not speaking to me, what do you want me to do? Sit around all day? Doing what you want me to do? And be okay with with your attitude?" Chan blurted out in anger. Y/N pulled her arm out of his grip.

"I didn't call you back, I only asked Jisung where you were. And you're saying it like I made this child on my own against your will so I shouldn't expect anything for you. If that's how you felt then you should've told me from the start, I wouldn't have depended on you even in the slightest." she said and walked away, lying in bed and crying. Chan understood how hard it was for her but he had a huge thing going on and had to give time to that too. He put his headphones on and lied on the couch.

Y/n yelped in pain as she propped herself on one arm, the other one clutching her baby bump. The pain was excruciating and she couldn't even let out a scream. It was too much that tears welled up in her eyes. She looked around for her phone but she left it in the kitchen. Then she saw the time, it was 8:40 in the morning and Chan probably left for work. Squirming out of bed, she used the walls for support to walk out of the room and saw Chan sleeping on the couch with his headphones on.

"Ch-Chris" she breathed, he didn't seem to hear her since he didn't move.

"oh my God" she whined, clutching her abdomen, "Chris!" she cried. His eyes shot open and he looked to where she stood, bent forward.

"y/n? What's wrong?" he asked and hurriedly walked towards her, and saw her tear stained face, evidently in pain. He wasted no time and took her to the hospital.

The nurse told them she was going into labour and got everything ready. It was happening so fast, Chan stood there, watching his wife trying to push their child out, into the world. He was in awe of her. The scenario gave him goosebumps as we witnessed the moment. His whole world came crashing down, however, when the doctor revealed that y/n was losing blood and the baby wasn't coming out so they had to perform an emergency C-section. He was told to leave the operation theatre and wait outside.

So he stood outside and waited for any kind of news. In that mom he regretted how he treated y/n, for not spending more time with her, for letting her go through the pregnancy with him seldom by her side, for the argument he started the previous night. He was worried for her, he realized how important she was to him and he needed her. In a state of helplessness, he prayed for her wellbeing, for her to stay with him.

20 minutes later, the longest 20 minutes of his life, the nurse came out, holding a baby, wrapped in a small blanket.

"congratulations it's a healthy baby boy" she spoke and put the baby in his arms.

It felt unreal and surreal. He watched the baby, his baby, squirm in his arms, nuzzling towards his warm chest. His heart felt like iit would explode.

"how is my wife?" he immediately asked.

"she's unconscious from the anesthesia, we're shifting her to the ward, you can see her then." she answered and left.

Chan felt light headed. He didn't expect to become a father in the morning, when he went to sleep the previous night.

He went inside the room y/n was in, she laid there, little sedated but conscious. She looked towards Chan and smiled warmly. He walked to her and handed her their son for skin to skin. They looked at him with so much love in their eyes.

"our son, y/n" he spoke in a hushed voice, to not scare the child nuzzling himself into his mother's skin.

"I love him so much" y/n admitted.

"I'm so sorry. I don't have the words to express how sorry I am. You mean everything to me and I was wrong to not pay attention to you when you needed me. I won't let that happen again. I am going to protect you and our son, I promise." Chan stated.

"forget about that Chris, you promised me you would be there when I needed you and you were. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't home. I know you will keep your promise. I love you."

"I love you too."

[morganaspendragonss]

Hello 🥰 Whump fic idea :)TK lands in the hospital, again. But this time they're serious, serious injuries, he is under a respirator, he is not breathing on his own, the doctors do not give him much chance of survival, they even advise it would be the best to prepare for the worst and say goodbye, just in case. Owen calls Gwen, she's arriving the same day with Enzo and baby junior. When in the hospital they find out how it happened and that it's mostly Owen's fault (I don't know, for example, he allowed Tk to enter the unstable building to tend to the patient, or whether he made someone else angry and this person unloaded it on TK, or Owen decided to do something reckless and TK wanted to save him or it is The arson situation from 2x12 so Gwyn arrives pregnant, without a baby of course), Gwyn slaps him twice and Enzo punches him right in the nose, breaking it, for risking TK's life. Fortunately, despite the bad prognosis, TK wakes up, but after he took his sweet time being in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 3: the meetings for those in my wake

thanks for the prompt! i really loved writing this one though i need to confess to toning it down a little? idk but with the way it was going it didn't feel right to have enzo break owen's nose. i hope you still like it!

ao3 | 3.3k | major character injury, coma, angst with a happy ending

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news.

TK got in a fight.

TK overdosed.

TK was shot, he’s in the hospital.

Over and over, until the first words out of her mouth whenever Owen’s name flashed up on her screen were, What’s wrong?

Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas. Gwyn suspects it’s partly TK’s influence—he’s been more than enthusiastic in getting to know his baby brother, and Isaac has latched onto TK despite only seeing him in person every few months or so. But they’ve talked as well, she and Owen, and they really are doing better. They’re almost like friends now, which is why Gwyn thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Owen?” Gwyn repeats, louder this time, her heart leaping into her throat. She sits down heavily on the sofa as she waits for Owen’s response; there’s only one thing that could make him cry like that, and tears prick at Gwyn’s eyes as she imagines TK hurt again, or worse.

“Gwyn,” Owen eventually manages to gasp out, voice wrecked. “Gwyn, it’s TK. He’s… You need to get here. You need— It’s not like last time. They don’t know if he’s going to— They don’t think— It’s bad. Really bad.”

Owen breaks off, crying harder, and Gwyn claps a hand to her mouth. She remembers well how devastated he’d been when he called about the gunshot, but this a whole other level. Gwyn’s head spins with the potential implications of that and she finds her breath coming in sharp gasps, but it’s Owen’s next words that knocks it from her altogether.

“They think we should say goodbye.”

The rest of the story comes haltingly—someone got angry after his son couldn’t be saved on a call, he came to the firehouse, he attacked TK—but Gwyn barely hears it. Her boy is in the hospital again and this time…this time he might not be coming home. She can’t understand it; she spoke to him just two days ago, they made plans for he and Carlos to visit for Isaac’s birthday, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn,” Owen finishes. She feels a flash of that age-old urge to scream at him, but she fights it off, not wanting to wake Isaac.

“I’ll be on the first flight over,” she promises, then ends the call, sliding off the couch to the floor. Her phone falls from limp fingers and harsh sobs tear from her throat, muffled by the press of her fist against her mouth.

Enzo finds her there an hour later and immediately takes her in his arms, not complaining about her tears soaking his shirt. When she tells him what happened, he insists on joining her, and Gwyn allows herself to take that shred of comfort and run with it.

She thinks it’s the only comfort she’s likely to get right now.

The next flight isn’t until morning, so Gwyn spends a sleepless night packing and unpacking their suitcases and making phone calls with the firm and her clients to cancel everything for the foreseeable. She has the brief, terrible thought about whether she should pack funeral attire, which almost sends her into a panic attack as reality hits her all over again.

Enzo saves her from it, gently guiding her to bed, but not before she packs the clothes anyway.

Isaac seems to pick up on her mood when they’re hurrying out of the house, remaining mostly quiet aside from the odd question about where they’re going. He perks up considerably when he finds out they’re heading to Austin, babbling about seeing TK, and Gwyn has to blink hard to keep from crying again. Enzo reaches over to take her hand, and he barely lets go until they’re landing in Austin.

*

The entrance to the ICU looms before her, and Gwyn feels stuck. There had been a part of her, still, that had hoped to find TK miraculously awake and on the mend, like the last time she had made this trip. She doesn’t want to believe that he’s here, hurt, maybe dying.

But he is, and she’s forcefully reminded of that fact when a kind-looking nurse approaches her hesitantly.

“Ma’am? Can I help you?”

Gwyn blinks at her, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “I, um. I’m here to see my son. TK Strand.” She pauses, then shakes her head, cursing herself internally. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

The nurse’s entire demeanour changes, a sympathetic smile taking over her face. “This way.” She leads Gwyn through the ICU, then points at a door near the end of the corridor. “Tyler’s room is just there. I promise, we’re doing everything we can for him.”

Gwyn nods absently, her gaze stuck on the door the nurse had indicated. She walks forward slowly, the room seeming to get further and further away until, suddenly, she’s standing on the threshold, and she sees her son.

TK is barely visible, his face half-obscured by the ventilator, half by bruises, and heavy gauze covers his forehead. His arms, resting limply at his sides, are littered with scrapes, and if Gwyn squints, she can just about make out more bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown.

She’d thought that seeing him would make it all real, but she feels separate from everything somehow, only one thought going through her mind on repeat.

This is not my son.

A quiet whisper draws her attention to the figure sitting at TK’s side. Gwyn has to suppress a gasp as she takes in Carlos’s appearance; she hasn’t seen him in person since the wedding last year, and his pale face and red-rimmed eyes cut a stark contrast to that day. He hasn’t noticed her yet, wholly fixated on TK, one hand gently stroking the tufts of hair poking out above the bandage. His lips move and Gwyn knows she should walk away, but instead she finds herself leaning closer, straining to hear Carlos’s words.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s saying. “I know you’re fighting and I know you’re going to try as hard as you can to come back to us—believe me, Ty, I am praying every day to see those pretty green eyes of yours open again. But I—I want you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. If it gets too hard, if you need to let go, you can. I already miss you like crazy and I really, really, don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, but the thing I can’t stand more than that is the idea of you suffering.

“Come back if you can, but if someday you find you can’t, remember that I love you and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

Carlos sniffs and ducks his head to place a gentle, lingering kiss on TK’s cheekbone. It’s such a tender, intimate moment, but it quickly shatters when Carlos looks up and spots her, his eyes going wide. “Gwyn. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.”

She waves him off, willing herself to finally step into the room. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Carlos nods, giving her a small, sad smile, which Gwyn does her best to return. She pulls up another chair and sinks into it, reaching out to take TK’s hand. She’s startled by the coolness of his skin, and more tears burn in the back of her eyes.

“What did the doctors say?” she asks, clearing her throat and twisting her body towards Carlos, though her eyes never leave TK.

“That it was a miracle he made it through surgery,” Carlos says, sighing wearily. “Eight stab wounds, too much blood loss, damage to his organs, broken ribs—that’s all bad enough, but they’re most worried about his brain. He took at least two blows to the head, and add that to the fact he wasn’t breathing for a good few minutes… They keep saying not to speculate, but we all know the odds here.”

Carlos’s voice breaks and Gwyn reaches out to comfort him, feeling sick to her stomach at the revelation. Why anyone would do this to her boy, she can’t comprehend; she finds herself both wanting answers and feeling unable to take any more.

Owen chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, looking every bit as wrecked as he sounded on the phone. “Gwyn,” he says roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Carlos moves as if to give them privacy, but Gwyn shakes her head at him, cutting off his protests before he can even get them out. “You stay with him, Carlos,” she tells him. “We’ll talk in the hall.”

They head to a quiet spot not too far from TK’s room, and Gwyn turns to face Owen, holding her arms. “What the hell happened, Owen? Why is our son lying in there, not even breathing on his own?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Owen’s face. “I told you—”

“No, you didn’t.” Gwyn clenches her jaw, staring him down. “You said he’d been attacked, not that some maniac had used him as their personal punching bag.”

A few more seconds pass before Owen relents, sighing. “There was a call,” he starts, voice heavy with sorrow. “A car accident; dad and his kid were trapped inside. We got the dad out but the son was stuck pretty good. It took a long time to free him and by then it was too late—EMS did their best, but he was gone.

“The dad went ballistic, screaming at all of us, but especially at TK. We don’t really know why, but it was probably a convenience thing; TK had been the one to break the news, he was the closest person—the guy wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. He threatened him, tried to hit him—the cops had to arrest him eventually, but you know TK. He refused to press charges, said that the dad was just in shock and that he understood.”

Gwyn smiles a little at that; her son has always been too forgiving for his own good. It’s never come back to hurt him this badly before, though.

Owen pauses, throat bobbing as he seems to work up to the next part. His voice is quiet, and he seems reluctant to meet Gwyn’s eyes. “He showed up at the firehouse a week later—the dad, I mean. He said he wanted to apologise and, I swear, Gwyn, he really did seem genuine. None of us wanted to let him near TK, but ultimately it was TK’s decision. They went round the side of the house to talk; when neither of them came back after twenty minutes, we went looking.

“By that time, the guy was gone, and TK was…” He stops and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He could barely breathe. Tommy and Nancy did what they could and they got him here quickly, but we have no idea how long he’d been like that before we found him.”

Gwyn’s head snaps up, a white-hot anger flashing through her. “I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “You left our son alone with a man who had already threatened him for twenty minutes, Owen.”

Owen frowns. “I told you, he seemed genuine. And TK—”

Gwyn can’t help it; she slaps him. “Don’t you dare,” she grounds out, crowding into Owen’s space. “Don’t you dare act like this was his fault.”

“I wasn’t—”

Her arm moves on instinct, but before she can connect again, a hand closes around her wrist. Gwyn turns to find Enzo staring at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Gwyn, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from Owen, freeing herself from Enzo’s grasp. “What’s going on,” she responds tightly, “is that he is part of the reason why my son is half-dead in there.”

Enzo gapes between them. “What?”

She ignores the question, needing to focus on anything else to keep her anger from overwhelming her. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s with Grace and Judd, they offered to babysit so I could come here. What—”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupts. “What is he doing here? I figured he’d stay in New York with the kid.”

“Isaac is TK’s brother, Owen,” Gwyn says, turning on him again. “And Enzo has just as much right to be here as any of us; he was more of a father to TK than you were sometimes.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Him? You’re joking, right?”

Gwyn isn’t sure what happens next, who starts it, but soon they’re all yelling, insults and accusations flying around the ward. There’s a furious nurse heading their way, but before she can say anything, another voice cuts through the argument, quiet and trembling but still somehow powerful.

“Get out,” Carlos says. “All of you.”

They all turn to him, Gwyn’s lips parting in shock. Owen takes a step towards him, holding his hands out in a gesture that’s probably meant to be pacifying.

“Carlos—”

“I mean it, Owen,” he snaps, harsher than Gwyn has ever heard him before. “You all screaming at each other is the last thing any of us needs, least of all TK. The only person to blame in all this is the guy who attacked him, and he’s already in custody; he’ll get what’s coming to him. If TK—” Carlos breaks off, clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, before breathing out shakily and looking back up at them. “If anything changes, I’ll call you, I promise. But you can’t be here right now. Go, please.”

Carlos doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and going back into TK’s room, reassuming his position next to the bed. Gwyn watches him for a second, nodding when Enzo pointedly takes her elbow.

“He’s right,” she says, directed at Owen. “We should go.”

Owen glares, gearing up to argue again, but he must think better of it as he suddenly slumps, all the energy draining out of him. “Right,” he mutters. “Right.”

They file slowly out of the ICU, closely watched by the hard eyes of the nurse from before. Gwyn spares one last look before forcing herself forwards; if getting here was hard, walking away is a thousand times worse.

*

Three weeks pass with no change and, crucially, no improvement. Gwyn spends more time with Carlos than she ever has before, and she hates that it’s her son being comatose that has brought the two of them closer. A tentative peace exists between her and Owen and she knows—truly, she knows—that the attack wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have stopped it.

But she can’t help but be angry that, once again, her son was seriously hurt and she wasn’t around.

She takes Isaac to see TK once, when the worst of the bruises have faded a little. She worries that he’ll be scared, and he does seem to hesitate when they reach the room; in truth, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to bring him at all, but he’d kept asking about TK and she’d found herself helpless to do anything but acquiesce.

They still haven’t told him what’s going on. No-one knows how to. All Isaac knows is that TK is a little hurt and he needs rest, and even that knowledge seems to upset him.

Once he gets used to the sight, Isaac stretches his hands out to the bed. “TK,” he says simply, looking pleadingly up at Gwyn.

She hugs him close, trying to smile for him. “TK’s asleep, sweetie,” she explains. “He needs rest.”

“When wake up?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

*

Three weeks pass, and the doctors start talking about options and next steps. It’s obvious what that’s code for—they want to pull the plug. They’re told to take all the time they need to discuss it but, ultimately, the decision will be Carlos’s, as TK’s husband and next of kin.

Gwyn knows what choice he’s going to make; it’s the same one she, or anyone else in his position, would make.

That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, for any of them.

Gwyn finds him in the hallway, bent over with his head in his hands. She goes over and quietly sits in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back.

There’s a long silence before Carlos sniffs and turns to her, his face the picture of devastation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, Gwyn,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to just give up on him like that?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not giving up on him, Carlos. You’re letting him go.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

“None of us do.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s Gwyn that breaks it first. “Listen, Carlos, I know this is hard. God knows I wish none of us were even here. But we are, and we have to do what’s best for everyone, including TK.”

“I know that,” Carlos admits. “I just don’t want to lose him.” He closes his eyes and leans into Gwyn, allowing her to wrap him in a hug. “I wish we had more time.”

Gwyn’s heart breaks all over again, and she squeezes his shaking shoulders. “We’ve got time,” she says, though she knows that’s not what he meant. “As much as you need.”

The sob she’s answered with tells her there’s not enough time in the world for Carlos to say goodbye to TK.

*

The call comes in the middle of the night. Dread pools in Gwyn’s gut as she accepts it and lifts the phone to her ear, her hands trembling.

“Owen?”

“Gwyn. TK, he—he woke up. It was only for a few seconds, but he woke up, Gwyn. The doctors said it was a miracle; they think he might actually recover.”

Gwyn gasps, a sob crawling up her throat as the news sinks in. It’s everything she’s been praying for ever since that first call, and all she can think about now is getting to TK.

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen,” she says. She ends the calls and raises her hands to her face, wiping away the tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Maybe this nightmare is finally coming to an end.

*

TK is off getting tests when Gwyn arrives, but she’s finally allowed back in the room an hour later, Carlos and Owen on her heels. The ventilator has been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his eyes are open—barely to slits, but Gwyn doesn’t care. TK is awake and alive, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as she’s in the chair by the bed, she reaches out for him, her touch feather-light as she strokes his cheek. “My brave boy,” she whispers wetly. “My brave, brave boy.”

TK’s head rolls on the pillow so he’s facing her and he mumbles something that’s probably meant to be a greeting, but the words jumble together and come out as gibberish.

Gwyn thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

They’ve all been briefed about the risks of brain damage and all the potential lasting consequences which could impact the rest of TK’s life. But right now, as she holds TK’s hand with Carlos on his other side and Owen at her back, Gwyn chooses to take solace in the constant rise and fall of TK’s chest and the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

There’ll be enough time for worry later; for now, her son is alive, and Gwyn can’t think of anything else that's more important.

[wri0thesley]

May I request some La Squadra childhood headcanons (upbringing/family/habits/demeanor) :)) Maybe Mista and Abbacchio too if it’s not too much trouble since we already saw a bit of baby Bruno and it made me so curious about the other two! I always imagined Abbacchio to be a bit of a teacher’s pet as a kid lol. Your writing brings me life tysm!!!!

warnings for abusive family, human experimentation, misogyny, illness, hospitals, death, etc! 

Risotto’s family did not care much about him. He’s the middle child of five - they grew up in a rural part of Sicily, in a house that used to be a farmhouse but was merely a house by the time Risotto came along (aside from a flock of chickens constantly in the gardens). He had a traditional Italian family full of people - various aunts, uncles and cousins - but his cousin was his favourite, seeing in Risotto’s quiet nature something similar to his own. Risotto was uncomfortable with there being too many people around and found his home life cramped and uncomfortable and loud. At the local village school he was often hunted out for games of sport (his height and muscle growing in at an early age), but he shied away from making friends, not sure how to handle himself around people who shouted and laughed, envying his siblings for everything seeming so natural. He often stayed with the cousin, and it’s through them he discovered metal music and his now signature look. His parents didn’t have time for him, but his cousin always did, becoming a makeshift father figure where Risotto’s failed. He grew very attached, and as we know, his cousins death hit him hard. 

Formaggio grew up with a single father; his mother simply disappeared in the middle of the night and he never heard from her again. He was always loud, brash and cocky - his father was much the same way. They moved around from place to place, his father taking odd jobs to sustain them and never really getting the hang of them. His father was fairly young and a perpetual teenager, and Formaggio was much the same way. Despite living in occasional poverty, he always had a smile and he and his father were close to one another. He did not really make friends - other children were aware of his unwashed clothes, the fact his lunch was not made as neatly as theirs, the fact that his address was a one-bedroom apartment on the bad side of town - so he turned to acting out and violence, gaining a reputation as a Badly Behaved Child. His father fell into Passione in the need to support his son, and like father like son, Formaggio followed in his footsteps at fourteen (finding a camaraderie and sense of responsibility he never had at school and subsequently just stopping going there). 

Illuso got into Passione for the money and the power. He was an only child and he had a nice upbringing, honestly - he just found himself not special at anything, and he desperately wanted to be. He flitted from hobby to hobby and interest to interest; he was clever and he noticed things, and neither of his parents really knew how to deal with their sharp-tongued child. He was a bit of a bully at school, but not the kind that is ever found out - Illuso’s bullying was quieter than that, whispered words and rumours that never seemed to find their way back to him. He was well-acquainted with blackmail before he turned sixteen. He knew how to sniff out weaknesses in other people - he was always surrounded by people, but it was a lottery as to whether they liked Illuso or whether they just didn’t want to be on his wrong side. Always willing to volunteer for things, too confident for his own good - eventually, he stopped caring about being ‘special’ at something, and just worked on being the ‘best around him’. 

Melone’s backstory can be found here. Both of his parents were academics and lecturers in genetic science, and he’s the eldest child by eight years. His family moved around rather a lot. He has two younger sets of twins as siblings; one set of boys, and one set of girls. Growing up, his parents considered him less interesting and a little slow - he turned to science and genetics as a way to get their attention and praise; despite the fact he showed a natural affinity for it, by this time, they were far more interested in experimenting on their younger children and Melone was ignored. His nature is curious and insistent - he learnt to insist or to be ignored. He had to look after his younger siblings a lot growing up; they were home-schooled where he was not, and the strange separation of them and him and all of the children at school (Melone not quite fitting into either group) meant that he always seemed just a little off. 

Prosciutto is a mafia man through and through. His family are entrenched in old bloodlines and uninvestigated deaths - unfortunately, though, they are a family that had somewhat fallen from grace by Prosciutto’s birth. The definition of faded glamour and keeping up appearances; rooms in a big, drafty old house that have an old bed and a falling apart dressing table. His father always talked to him about how it was his and his brothers’ job to keep the bloodline going - a traditional chauvinist of a man. His mother was very quiet and pretty; she encouraged him to small interests like old music and fashion, but was always silent around her husband. He grew up knowing his life was expendable. Youngest son of two; his elder brother died within months of finally being given his assignment within Passione and honestly, Prosciutto knows his father would rather he have died. A quiet little boy who did not make friends (he had a tutor) and had too much of the weight of the world on his shoulders in the knowledge of how many of his mother’s jewels were pasteboard, where the guns were kept, and just how many people he saw regularly were murderers. At his assignment at sixteen, Prosciutto had to learn exactly how to blend in, because many of the mafiosos he was suddenly surrounded by did not appreciate what they saw as his superiority. 

Pesci was an only child of a single mother; his father passed away when he was young. He was rather sickly growing up, and it made his mother indulgent - despite growing up fairly middle class, he never wanted for anything, and they lived well beyond their means. His mother fussed over him, always afraid that he was going to have a relapse into his childhood illness - very much a child wrapped in cotton wool. It gave him his own complex about taking risks; he didn’t want to get hurt. He didn’t want to be rejected by other children. He was slow at his schoolwork but devoted to his mother, and other children saw him as a prime target to bully. He was kicked around a lot at school and it eventually made him too easy to subdue when he suddenly filled out and shot up and became a threat; found himself, too often, a henchman to more articulate, meaner children. Grateful to be accepted, he went along with the flow, despite feeling in the very core of his gut that he was disgusted by them. He ended up in Passione because his mother needed medical treatment and in trying to sort it out realised just how much debt they were in.

Ghiaccio just had a normal run-of-the-mill described as ‘average’ by everyone upbringing - both of his parents, an only child, a mother with a professional job, middle-class. His father was partially deaf - in my experience, people with deaf parents either speak very loudly or very quietly, and Ghiaccio has gone for the former. He learnt LIS at a very early age, and it’s part of the reason he can be so anal about pronunciation and language as a whole - he’s utterly fascinated by it, and that fascination started in early childhood. His parents were also indulgent of him, but having a younger brother meant that he didn’t get the full brunt of that indulgence - his brother was a little more of a ‘rough and tumble’ boy. He liked football and weights, and when he took up a sport Ghiaccio’s parents decided Ghiaccio should learn to do something too and asked him what he thought - they were surprised when he said ice skating, but figured he would go into ice hockey or something. He didn’t. For a while, he was fairly well-known in the competitive figure skating under eighteens circuit. It gave him two things; one, a competitive need to win and be good at things (and a propensity to tantrum when he lost) and two, a taste for flashy, expensive things (have you seen this man’s car). His parents eventually didn’t know how to deal with his arrogance, and he fell into Passione based on a ‘sponsor’ he ended up embroiled with at nineteen when his parents didn’t want to fund his ‘hobby’ anymore (they kept pouring resources into his younger brother, of course - Ghiaccio always felt a bit like they didn’t take him seriously). He left ice skating competitively behind, but he couldn’t leave behind the nice things or the anger issues he accrued. 

I’ve written about Sorbet and Gelato’s childhood/backstory here! But a brief, shorter version:

Gelato had a loving family and a privileged upbringing. Always enough money, always enough to eat - an only child, who perhaps was a little rowdy at school but whomst his parents were very proud of. Both of them were traditional types; thinks a man should be strong, should be the real driving force of all relationships - they were extremely proud of him going into the army. Cleverer than people tend to give him credit for, sharp-eyed, a constant humming need to be doing something with his hands. 

Sorbet was orphaned at a young age in a house fire and taken in by a church orphanage. He’s quiet but equally clever; his cleverness tends to be a little less in your face. He was a comforting presence to other people and took care of the younger boys (even now, he feels a sense of duty to some of La Squadra) - being low-voiced, soothing and commanding. He spent a lot of time reading. The church orphanage was poor; Sorbet has learnt to appreciate luxury where Gelato takes it for granted and it’s part of the reason he’s so concerned with finances even in his forties. 

Abbacchio grew up in a houseful of women. His father left when he was still young; he was . . . not a nice man, and Abbacchio has vague memories of his mother carefully applying concealer over black eyes. It’s part of the reason Abbacchio became a police officer - knowing that he was still out there, not paying for what he’d done . . . Abbacchio wanted to ensure other people did not go through it. He had a little sister (by six years) who adored him, and his grandmother (who had once been an opera singer and still had a touch of that old-time glamour). He was fairly well off; at least, after he and his mother went to live with her mother again. His grandmother was EXTREMELY indulgent of her serious pretty-eyed grandson (his affinity for opera comes from her) who wanted so hard to be a Good Man. He was made fun of as a child for being a teacher’s pet and a nerd, you’re right - he adopted being a goth and dressing like that fairly early in his life. Nobody was going to threaten to punch him in leather and black lipstick, he thought - and nobody, too, needed to know that his CD player was blasting Monteverdi and not heavy metal. 

Mista was the only child of an unreliable mother and a father who left when he was four (he kept very vaguely in touch; Mista has three little sisters who he sees occasionally but keeps quiet about his employ to. After the events of VA, he’s established a fund for each of them, but he wasn’t really permitted to see them much growing up). Even after his parents leaving and his neighbour’s loss of an eye (and the subsequent setting in of his fear of the number four), he was an easy-going child who made friends easily and smiled at all and sundry; he was never particularly book-clever, but he was good-natured and had many friends. His mother’s lack of reliability meant that he became very fond of simple things other people took for granted - when she died, he was sad, but his life did not change much. He’d already learnt to fend for himself when it came to food and the like; often coming home to an empty house and simply making do. (The lack of food in the house is part of the reason he gained such an affinity for things he saw as luxuries like wines and cheeses). He learnt to use his dark eyes and charming smile and warm nature to win sleepovers with schoolfriends and evening meals with their parents. Always a little bit behind his peers in having cool gadgets or interesting stories, Mista was content just to have a simple life and good health. 

[sgtbradfords]

"Sorry, were you sleeping ?" with Chenford ?

Love your writing

Thank you for the prompt anon, I hope you enjoy! :)

Tim Bradford’s Thursday shift had been one of the longest he had experienced in a while. Not that it was a hectic night, especially for a Thursday but it all started after he had dismissed his officers on the nightshift to hit the streets.

“Hey Sarge, got a second?” Officer Amelia Hatch asked as she walked to the front of the room, the room clearing out as everyone went their own way. “That kid from that domestic the other night, can I contact the school, see if she will talk to me or maybe the guidance counselor?”

Tim sighed, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, the kid doesn’t need to be bottling that shit up.”

“I think she would have talked to me the other night, but the mother pulled her away before I could ask any questions.”

Tim took a second to think before giving her advice, his lips forming a thin line, “Swing by the elementary school near their address tomorrow after shift, see if that’s where she attends and go from there. But Hatch, don’t blame yourself if she has no intentions of talking now.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer told him before walking away.

Tim had a pile of paperwork in the metal basket on his corner of his desk that grows by the minute that he knew he needed to get a start on, but being a man of few habits, he had gotten in the habit of visiting booking just after the start of the shift.

“Evening Luke, any regulars in yet?” He asked the intake officer who was typing away at the computer behind the counter.

“Not yet Bradford. But there is a full moon and a bad batch of drugs going around.” The officer spoke, never looking up.

Being the nightshift Sergeant of the Mid-Wilshire prescient of the LAPD, Tim had gotten to know his fair share of regulars, the junkies, druggies, and the few prostitutes that frequented one of the three holding cells.

“Great.” He mumbled under his breath. When you work in law enforcement, you always keep track of the moon cycle, the brighter and full phased the moon was, the crazier everyone got. Though it is not a proven fact, it is just a well-known fact that you learn comes with the job. “Let’s get those in, processed out soon, the quicker the better.”

“Wreck on I-10, van’s stuck in traffic. According to radio traffic they should be here within the next thirty or so minutes.”

Tim was about to thank the officer for keeping him updated when a loud disturbance stopped him, the door of the garage flying open.

“I didn’t do shit, you motherfucker!” yelled the man that was being escorted through the door.

The Sergeant moved closer to assist, the man fighting the two officers every step of the way.

“Harper, you good?” Tim asked, grabbing onto the other man’s upper arm.

“Fine. Found this one defacing the side of the church on Harrison Avenue, drunker than a skunk.” She told him as she secured him to the bench.

“You bitch, I told you I had to piss! You can’t prove nothin’.”

Nyla rolled her eyes. “There’s footage on the camera in the alley and on my vest.”

“You fuckin’ lyin bitch.”

“Enough.” Tim glared. “Get him booked, then throw him in the drunk tank to sober up.”

Nyla nodded as Tim walked away, heading back to his office.

He sat down behind his desk, keeping an ear open on the scanner that sat in the corner of the bookshelf in his office. He picked up the reports, reading them one by one as he began sorting through the pile in the basket, checking, filling, and signing the reports filled out by his officers. The report in his hand was particularly captivating when the shaky voice of Officer Hunt came over the radio.

‘7-Adam-22. Shots fired at my location. Suspect gave chase but is now in custody. Roll back-up and EMS.’

Tim stood, grabbing the keys for his shop out of the top drawer of his desk. The rest of the evening was spent documenting the crime scene and making reports before he headed to the hospital, checking on the suspect and now patient, the man getting stitched after cutting his leg while hopping over a fence. Tim made it back to the station thirty minutes after his shift was intended to end, preforming the daily maintenance on the shop before he made his way inside, heading for the office of the day shift’s Sergeant, Wade Grey. He brought the other man up to speed, filling him in on what occurred overnight, by the time he was done updating his fellow superior it was well past eight in the morning and Tim was dead on his feet.

Tim hastily went to the locker room, changing out of his uniform and back into his normal clothes before heading out of the department. He was lucky that he only lived twenty-three minutes away (on a good day) from the department and for a Friday morning, his commute was harmless besides the lingering effects of the morning rush hour traffic.

He pulled the vehicle in, parking his truck in the drive, reaching over for his duffle bag from the passenger seat before he exited the extended cab. He pulled the ring of keys from his front right pocket, unlocking the wooden door as he made his way inside, disabling the alarm system before reengaging the security system as he kicked off his shoes. The silence of the house had always been strangely comforting, the quietness enveloping him as his sock clad feet padded through the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom. He tiredly stripped of the clothes, throwing them into the hamper before he walked back out into the bedroom, blindly grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs from the top drawer of the dresser, sliding them on before he pulled the covers back and falling into bed.

He stretched out, laying on his stomach, an arm under the pillow and one over his head, sleep claiming him within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, the comfort of the memory foam mattress with the coolness of the multitude of pillows creating the perfect combination.

The dream he was having was one he wanted to stay in forever, the scene his dreaming brain had concocted was perfect, the sunset hitting the woman in front of him, casting her in the hues it was projecting.

“Lucy, I-“

Lucy smiled as she stepped forward, moving towards him. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She grinned, staring at him the sounds of the ocean before them began fading into the background as she leaned in, the buzzing in his ears growing louder.

“What the hell?” he mumbled in his dream as the image began to dissipate.

The buzzing of his phone bringing his sleep addled brain back to reality. There were only four people that could get past his do not disturb settings, and out of the four of them he could immediately eliminate two.

“Hello.” He grumbled into the phone, sitting up as he let out a yawn.

“Tim! You are not going to believe this. Wait- shit.“ she said as the sound of shuffling came through the receiver. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No I wasn- actually yeah, I was.”

He could picture Lucy grimacing on the other end. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I forgot that you worked last night, and that tonight is your night off. I got my days mixed up. I’m just- I’ll just hang up now.”

“Lucy.” He sighed, laying back onto his pillows. “What did you need?”

“It’s not important, I can just tell you tonight wh-“

“Luce, I’m awake now, might as well tell me.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitated as he grunted on the other end. “Ok, so remember me telling you about that high-speed chase we had the other day on I-10? The whole thing is about to get weirder…”

Tim grunted, listening as she continued in her story, her voice becoming softer and softer the longer she spoke and before he knew it, he had fallen back asleep, lulled by the sound of her voice.

“Tim? Babe?” she asked, smiling when she heard the even breaths and soft snore coming from the other end. She ended the call, placing her phone back into her pocket as she made a mental note to make it up to him when she seen him after shift tonight.

Working on two separate shifts and trying to maintain a relationship was difficult, sometimes they would call the other, forgetting that they were likely asleep. Other times, one of them would stay awake for the other, long after their shift had ended, just to catch up. Tim and Lucy have always been a different couple but when all the pieces fall into place, it makes the perfect puzzle.

[riseandfxll]

Retribution, Chapter Eight

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven

Summary - Hailey gets shot while off-duty in a seemingly random attack, but what the intelligence unit uncovers while she’s in the hospital fighting for her life will change everything.

Sincerest apologies for the year long hiatus (if you can call it that). Another apology for the questionable writing - I haven’t written anything besides research assignments for over a year, so I’m a bit rusty, however I lost my tiny little mind over 8x03 & 8x04, so this was me trying to cope. 

[also posted on ff.net and ao3] & as always, story is not beta read (we die like men)

Jay was right, as per usual; the night had dragged on for so long that Hailey was almost certain the universe was messing with her. Even through the exhaustion plaguing every cell in her body, she felt content, Jay was still pressed up against her side in the hospital bed, slowing her heart rate and calming her electrified nerves as the pair continued flipping through the seemingly endless collage of faces that made up Hailey Upton’s career in the police force. It was something that the detective wouldn’t have been able to do with any other person, the memories of hard cases and victims that she had pushed so far down now threatening to escape. 

By the time the sun had risen the pair had been able to put together a list of nine names that were potential suspects. Criminals that Hailey had once locked away to keep innocent people safe, who now walked free once more. Jay was the first to lift the fog that had settled over the room, “I’ll call Vought, let him know we have potential names.” He told her, reluctantly swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Try get some sleep, yeah?” Jay placed a kiss between her eyebrows, smoothing down her rumpled hair before leaving the room.

Hailey sat in the quiet of her hospital room, the sounds of the machines connected to her by the wires that were still connected to her body echoed through the bare room. In the midst of all the chaos, Kim had managed to bring Hailey her go-bag, which now sat discarded in the corner waiting to be opened. She wouldn’t mind changing into her own clothes, instead of being stuck in a hospital gown that left everything on show for all to see. 

Taking in a deep breath, Hailey pushed herself up the bed, sitting up properly for the first time in almost 24 hours. Holding back a wince, she pushed the bedsheets back until they only covered her feet and ever so carefully manoeuvred her legs off the side of the bed, still trying to fight the persistent pain shooting through her body. Her feet just touching the floor as the door swung open, the fluorescent lights from the hallway barging into the room, along with Jay.

Jay reached her side in a matter of seconds, “What’s wrong? Why are you up? Do you need something?” his hands bracing her, moving to lie her back down.

She pushed his hands back off her, grabbing his shoulder to stay upright on the bed, “well I was trying to get some fresh clothes from my go bag,” she answered, “but I guess now that you’re back you can grab it for me.” She smirked at him playfully, pointing towards the black duffle on the floor.

Jay took a step back, turning in the direction of the bag before picking it up and placing it on one of the chairs. “There should be a button up flannel and a pair of sweats in there,” Hailey told her partner, “hopefully the buttons will make it easier to put on,” she continued, wincing as she tried to roll her right shoulder, even with the meds the doctors had given her, the pain was almost unbearable. 

“You really shouldn’t be moving, Hailey, you need rest.” He told her, putting the flannel and sweats on the bed beside his injured partner. 

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression that your brother was the doctor in the family,” Hailey snorted, a smile taking over her face. 

Jay made a face at her, “At least let me get the nurse to come and help you.” 

“They’re busy Jay, I’m not going to make them come all the way here just to help me put some clothes on.” Reaching for the clothes as she spoke, a wince escaping her lips as she tried and failed to swallow it back down. 

Jay took a step closer to the bed and taking the clothes from where Hailey had failed to retrieve them from and discarded the sweats on the side table before unfolding the shirt, “fine, if you won’t let them help you, at least let me.” His eyes met hers, searching for her response, “unless that’s too weird… or I can call Kim If you want?”

The smile crept back onto her lips as she watched her usually well-spoken and stoic partner fumble and stutter over the words. “It’s fine Jay, I don’t mind you helping me. And besides, it’s 5:30 in the morning. Do you want Kim to murder you?” Hailey joked, receiving a huff of laughter in reply. Kim Burgess was a lot of things, but a morning person, she was not. 

Hailey watched as Jay seemed to be contemplating how to go about dressing her, “let’s start with the sweats, yeah?” she offered, the words bringing jay back from his thoughts.

“Okay, yeah,” he replied, still not sounding completely sure of the situation. He rolled the legs of the grey pants up and crouched down in front of her. This definitely wasn’t what she imagined when she had thought about the detective on his knees in front of her, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t slightly enjoy it. Hailey helped line her first foot up with one of the pant legs, doing the same with the next, holding in a shiver as she felt her partners thumbs brush against her calves.

Jay slid the pants up Hailey’s legs, holding his breath as he felt her skin against his fingers. “Do you want to, uh, try stand up for a second?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Hailey only nodded, not wanting her voice to betray how Jay’s touch made her feel. How it made her react. She took his hand to steady herself, his callused hands rough but comforting against her hands, she felt safe with him. When they were together, it was as if none of the things that lurked in the shadows could get her. 

She braced her other hand against his shoulder as she let’s her feet touch the floor, feeling the cool of linoleum even through her socks as Jay began sliding the sweatpants up her legs, the warmth of the fabric a stark contrast to the cool of his touch.

He felt his heart start to race as he slid the pants up her thighs and under the stiff fabric of her hospital gown, listening to her breath become heavier, and the weight of her hands on his shoulders become more obvious as she fought to keep upright. Allowing his fingers to brush against the soft skin of her thighs as he started to stand; pulling the waistband over her hips to sit on waist, allowing his hands to rest over the fabric. 

Hailey lifted her head, her eyes meeting the intoxicating green of Jay’s, a slight smile toying on her lips as she whispered, “you know, if this whole detective thing doesn’t work out, you’d make a pretty decent nurse.” 

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he spoke, a laugh escaping from his throat, “good to know, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” Now it was his turn to lose his breath as he felt one of her hands slide from his shoulder to cup his jaw, a finger running over the slight stubble he’d let grow. 

“Hailey…” he breathed, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice. God, he was absolute putty in her hands and she’d barely even touched him. 

Hailey’s breathing was equally as shaky as she smiled at him, still moving her thumb against his cheek.

Tears threatened to fall as he returned her smile, “I was so scared, Hails, I-I don’t know what I would have done if you had died…” this time he didn’t try to hide the emotion in his voice as he spoke, “I thought I’d lost you.” 

She used her hand to guide him down, his lips meeting hers. The kiss was soft, as if to say “I’m right here, Jay. I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt her own tears fall down her cheeks as they finally separated, giving him a small smile as their eyes met once more. “You know, this was the first time someone has put more clothes on me before kissing me.” 

Jay choked out a laugh “I guess I’m just not like the other guys then” he spoke, his words full of the humour and comfort that is always there when they’re together, bringing his lips back down to hers to kiss her once more.

[equustenebris]

New drabble time! The Mad Ducktor falls off the top of the Money Bin, but things don't go as expected when he drags himself to the hospital.

Bill is apparently the name I’m giving Gyro's unseen sibling, Newton's father. It was meant to be a temporary placeholder name for me but I guess it's stuck, so this is me committing to it. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, so car-cans have an official English name, coco-no-nos, but that is not happening lmao. I try to use the official English names wherever possible, but I prefer "car-can" so much more that I'm keeping it.

This was supposed to be a really short drabble aksjfnsb IT GOT AWAY FROM ME

for Whumptober 2021

Eight. Coughing Up a Lung

Prompt - pneumothorax

He staggered back into his hideout, gasping for breath, holding his aching side. Well, that little escapade could have gone better. The tumble he had taken from the top of the Money Bin, courtesy of Mr. McDuck, was a lot longer drop than it looked like from the ground. Fortunately, nothing was majorly injured -- except maybe his ego.

So the direct approach worked about as well as his broken shrink ray, which is to say, not at all. Clearly, next time he needed to do a lot more field testing before he showed up at his nemesis's with a new invention. Having a Plan B couldn't hurt either, lest he get unceremoniously shot off the side of the Money Bin again. He was beginning to understand how Magica still hadn't swiped the Dime despite literal magic at her fingertips; that old man was fierce, and an excellent shot with that salt-loaded blunderbuss.

He closed his eyes, slumping into his desk chair with a miserable groan. Well. He might be covered in bruises, but at least he had managed to escape before the Duck Avenger showed up, so there was that. Small favors.

He winced, carefully tugging off his cape and gloves, not exactly eager to see the damage. His coat followed, admittedly more difficult to remove with the searing burn in his side. He bristled suddenly, seized by a coughing fit. Oh, how his lungs ached -- having to make a fast getaway all the way back to his hideout in the shipping district from Killmotor Hill was definitely not his idea of fun.

He managed to finally peel off his jumpsuit, carefully lifting his undershirt to get a better look. He winced, flinching. His entire left side was already smattered in deep, large bruises and scrapes, feathers speckled with dried blood. It looked bad, he supposed, but nothing a long epsom soak couldn't take care of, and a few days' rest.

He abruptly doubled over, fitfully coughing again, each little movement sending sharp pain tearing through his side. Worryingly, when he finally managed to soothe the tickling in his chest, he struggled to catch his breath. For a few moments he just gasped, each breath laborious, like sucking air through a straw. Maybe it was just the pain? Maybe he bruised the lung? Can you bruise a lung? (Despite the play on words for his villainous title, he was an inventor, not a doctor.)

The pain only seemed to be getting worse. He struggled to his feet, figuring maybe he could start a bath now to help soothe himself, but only made it a few steps before he was seized by another coughing spell, covering his beak with his hand. This time, however, when he finally managed to catch his breath, his palm sparkled with bright red blood.

"Oh...no," he managed breathlessly, dread sinking through his stomach. So yes, he was not a doctor -- but clearly he was going to need one.

---

"Gyro Gearloose?"

He struggled to his feet, following the nurse to the ER bed. Somehow, he had managed to pull on his other self's familiar clothes, and more or less pinned down his head feathers for the blond wig. Breathing was getting more difficult by the minute, but he couldn't exactly go to the hospital as the Mad Ducktor, so his thrown-together Gyro disguise would have to do. Fortunately, the staff was already pretty familiar with Gyro after all of his mishaps in the lab, and didn't ask him for the ID he didn't have. Small favors -- that were rapidly growing smaller in light of the circumstances.

He groaned, lying back on the bed, preparing for the long, mind-numbing wait for the doctor. The long, painful wait, breathing like someone had a weight set on his chest. He closed his eyes, just trying to rest in the meantime, drowsily drifting in and out of sleep as he shivered under the thin, scratchy sheet.

It wasn't long, however, before he was roused by an extremely familiar voice out in the hallway. "Uh, let's not tell your dad about this one, okay?"

"Yeah, Uncle, I think that's probably a good idea... It doesn't hurt that bad, though."

"Yeah, but we should still get it checked out. I'm sorry, Newton. I can see there's still a few bugs to work out!"

He startled awake, heart suddenly slamming in his chest. Here?! Of all the places in all the city, Gyro Gearloose had to be here?! He panted breathlessly, panic rising, sweat beginning to prickle down the back of his neck. He was a wanted criminal, and if Gyro or any of the staff found out about his little deception, his goose was cooked. But what exactly was he supposed to do?

"Hey, Uncle...why are you listed on the board?"

"Hmm?"

"Under the list of patients, look, it says 'Gyro Gearloose' Shouldn't it be my name? Oh, no, wait, there's 'Newton Gearloose' already over on that side..."

"What?"

"Yeah. Do you think you're on there by mistake? Someone should probably tell them."

The Ducktor squeezed his eyes shut, just struggling for breath. Well, come what may, there was certainly nothing he could do about it now.

There was a soft rustling at the curtain separating the Ducktor from the rest of the emergency room. Gyro gave a warning shh to his nephew, then pulled it back, peeking in. The Ducktor met his eyes, wanting to call to him, wanting to say anything, but the air he had to speak with was suddenly gone; he started coughing again, ending the fit with a pained yelp.

Newton made a murmur of confusion, but Gyro quickly slipped inside and pulled the curtain shut behind him. "What are you doing here?!" he demanded, hissed in a low whisper.

The Ducktor wanted to respond to that with some snarky quip, some aggressive hey, captain obvious remark -- but as he struggled for air, he just shook his head, eyes pleading. "I can’t breathe," he whispered back, clutching the sheets.

Gyro's face abruptly softened, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility that his evil counterpart might be at the hospital for a reason. "Are you sick?"

He shook his head, trying to keep his voice low and words short. "I fell," he gasped, grasping his side to illustrate. He decided it was probably for the best that he not share why he fell, or from where.

"Uncle?" Newton attempted to pull back the curtain, but Gyro quickly pinched it shut.

"Just wait, Newton." He turned back to the Ducktor with an uncertain sneer. "He's got a burn on his arm we're getting checked out. A...bit of a mishap with a new invention of mine." He frowned, looking the Ducktor over, considering, then quickly fluffed up his head feathers and took off his button-down, untucking his T-shirt underneath to attempt to change his appearance. "Okay, Gyro. If you can promise me you're not planning to hurt anybody, then Bill and Newton will go wait to see the doctor."

The Ducktor gave a short, breathless laugh, stunned at this sudden change of fortune, and Gyro's unexpected generosity. "Not hurting anyone," he gasped, trying to suppress another cough, "just -- need help."

Gyro nodded, frowning, and slipped out of the curtain and back to Newton, shirt over his arm. "C'mon, Newton, just -- call me Dad for now. I’ll explain later..."

He closed his eyes again, resting back against the hospital bed with a pained wheeze. Not so small favors.

---

Nearly three hours later, he stumbled out of the emergency room, limping, the one pain pill they gave him barely blunting the searing ache. A collapsed lung, they said, but not bad enough to warrant any treatment except waiting and watching. Try to rest and try not to cough. As he began dragging himself on the long journey back to his hideout, badly suppressing another coughing fit, he wondered how exactly he'd be able to do either of those things.

He was so distracted by the pain, he didn't immediately recognize the car that had pulled up beside him at the edge of the hospital parking lot. Hesitantly, Gyro rolled down the window, peeking his head out. "...do you need a ride?" he asked, concern knitting his brow.

As much as he wanted to say no, he found himself already eagerly tugging open the back door. "Yes," he gasped, still struggling for air, "the shipping district."

Gyro frowned to himself, stealing a glance to the anxious-looking Newton squirming in the passenger seat. It had been a long time since he'd gotten to see his nephew. He'd certainly grown. The Ducktor thought he heard his other self mumble something like I hope I don't regret this as he began driving, but he was far too caught up in the elation of not having to walk to care.

Newton peered back at him over the seat, looking uncertain. The Ducktor sat back, just trying to rest.

"...are you the Mad Ducktor?"

He opened his eyes and refocused, trying to concentrate through the pain medication haze. "Yes."

"Oh." He paused for a moment, contemplative. "...are you okay?"

"Collapsed lung," the Ducktor wheezed, "and a fractured rib. Apparently, I’ll be fine."

"Mm." Newton held up his bandaged arm for the Ducktor to see, grinning awkwardly. "Second degree burn. But I should be healed before Dad comes back next month."

The Ducktor smirked tiredly and nodded, turning his attention back to Gyro. "Go left at the light."

"Do you need any help?" Gyro asked, glancing up into the rear view. The Ducktor sat back, grimacing.

"No," he said finally, shaking his head. "You've done enough. Drop me off here."

"Here? But we're in the middle of nowhere!"

"I’m not leading you to my hideout, Gyro," he rasped. "I’ll walk the rest of the way."

Gyro reluctantly pulled over, parking under a hazy streetlight. "Are you sure?"

But the Ducktor was already out of the car, up on the sidewalk. He went to respond, but ended up in a coughing fit instead, leaning on the car for support, tissues he swiped from the hospital held to his beak. Finally, he managed to gasp a few labored breaths. "I'll be fine."

Gyro looked less than convinced, eyeing the blood-speckled tissues clutched in his hand. "...really, I don’t have to tell the Duck Avenger anything about this."

"Can’t risk it," he muttered, straightening up. "Go take the kid home, it's late."

"...I could take a car-can."

"I'm not doing that to you," he snapped, patience wearing thin. "Just go home."

Gyro paused for several moments, clearly reluctant. Finally, he sighed. "...okay, fine, okay. If you're sure."

"It was nice meeting you," Newton called from the passenger seat, so innocent and genuine that the Ducktor couldn't help but give a breathless laugh.

"Nice 'meeting' you too. Take care of that arm."

"I will."

"Say hi to Bill for me."

"Don’t do that," Gyro warned, looking from Newton back to the Ducktor. "We're going to keep this a secret, okay? Just between us three." He pulled the car out of park, frowning worriedly. "...if you need help with anything, I can help you, all right? Just ask."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, sweetheart," he said, gesturing dismissively. "I’ll make do alone. I always do."

Gyro frowned, hands on the steering wheel. "You might be evil, but you're still a person. You shouldn't have to make do alone." He sat back against the seat, eyeing him up and down. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

"Darling, it's almost like you care."

"I do," he snapped, blurting it out without thinking. There was an aching pause between them before Gyro finally turned away, staring straight ahead though the windshield. "...go get some rest."

"Hm. You too," the Ducktor told him, straightening up and giving the roof of the car a soft couple of slaps. "Thanks for the ride."

"Yeah."

He watched them pull away, waiting for the car to disappear over the horizon before he finally started walking, taking slow, drudging steps back to his hideout. He was ready for a nice warm bath, his bed...and the rest of the long night, all alone. He winced, more than just his lungs and bruises suddenly aching.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Breathe - Chapter Three

After the biggest meeting of her career, Y/N went for a drink and met him. Dean Winchester, the handsome bartender at The Shop, who managed to say all of the right things to soften her hard shell. Was it possible that Y/N was wrong all of this time? Had she spent the better part of 2 decades focusing on her career when there was one man in a city of 18 million that could make her feel more alive than any job ever could? Will she be able to slow down long enough to let herself fall in love with a man that was never a part of the plan? After years of holding her breath, will she finally let herself breathe again?

This story is written for my beautiful and talented friend and beta @dean-winchesters-bacon, thanks for always inspiring me and supporting my whims. Love you always.

Banner by the talented @talesmaniac89

Chapter Three

Her

Y/N woke up groggy with a pressure on the inside of her skull threatening to crack her head open and spill everything out. Her temples throbbed insistently and a wave of nausea hit her as soon as she opened her eyes. The gloomy, dark skies hid the sun from bleeding in through the open curtains, but it still felt too bright for her hangover. Everything felt slow and sluggish, like she was trying to walk under water. 

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and a streak of mascara darkened her skin. She rarely forgot to take off her makeup, and she knew her skin would punish her for it later. She yawned and squinted at the window. She didn’t usually leave her black out curtains up… in fact, she never opened them. 

There are moments that are subtle, brief and fleeting like the first flake of snow of the season. Sometimes they go completely unnoticed and unremembered. Other moments are big, grand, powerful enough to move mountains and change a person’s life forever.

As Y/N looked around the apartment, her surroundings coming together like a puzzle that finally clicked together seamlessly, she experienced one of those astronomical, mounting moving moments. 

This was not her apartment.

“The fuck…” 

Quickly orienting herself, she tried to find any kind of identifying information to tell her where she ended up and who she may have gone home with. It was not like her to be so reckless. 

The apartment was tidy, but, by the simple decor and smell of the sheets she was able to discern that the apartment definitely belonged to a man. She pinched the bridge of her nose to quiet an oncoming headache. She didn’t even remember a man from the night before that she could’ve gone home with. Oh how the mighty have fallen, she thought solemnly. 

She glanced under the blanket that was hiding her bottom half, happy to find that she still had her dress and panties in place. She had to admit, though, that the situation was confusing. She didn’t have sex last night, that she was fairly sure of, but in that case… Why was she in a strangers apartment? It didn’t make any sense. 

She slipped out of bed, finding her heels resting neatly on the floor next to the bed, placed with care. 

Who would take her home and just tuck her into bed? That was something a friend did, or a boyfriend. Her stomach twisted as Sam’s face flashed in her mind. His kind hazel eyes wrinkling at the edges as he smiled at her. He would take care of her in that way without question, and that thought terrified her. She’d avoided his apartment for so long for that exact reason. She couldn’t risk him getting the wrong idea. 

She picked up her shoes, not wanting to risk clicking on the hardwood floors and alerting the mystery man. As she poked her head around the room separator she was hit with the smell of cooking. Her mouth watered immediately at the savory smell of meat sizzling on the stove and something sweet that she couldn't quite place. Y/N did not cook. Her kitchen was purely aesthetic. She wouldn't even know how to turn her oven on, let alone use it, so the smells were new and warming. If the food tasted as good as it smelled, she may have a reason not to sneak out after all. Her stomach growled in agreement, and she resisted the urge to shush it. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said, gruffly and familiar. Her eyes followed the sound of the voice and caught his green eyes from across the apartment. 

The bartender! You went home with the goddamn bartender?! You’re better than this, Y/N. You aren’t twenty anymore. 

“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, her voice strained and awkward. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his eyebrow quirked in response. “I’m almost done with breakfast. Do you have time to have a seat?” 

She shifted her weight awkwardly. The mix of her own vulnerability, the smell of bacon grease, a hangover, and how undeniably attractive he was had her reeling. The answer should’ve been no immediately. She had enough problems without adding a man to the mix, but yet there she was, considering it. 

“You good, Y/N?” 

The sound of her name snapped her out in an instant. Her shoulders rolled back, and her grip tightened on her heels. “I’m fine. I should get going.”

“Big day?” he asked, his eyes flashing with something mischievous. 

“Every day is a big day if you make it big.” 

“That sounds exhausting.” He pulled a pan off the stove. “Do you ever have days where you do nothing?” 

She squinted at him. This guy is kidding, right? “That doesn’t sound very productive.” 

“So I guess that’s a no,” he said with a chuckle. “You should try it. No plans. Just relax and go with the flow.” 

“Don’t you have to plan to have a day like that? So it’s not really without a plan.”

“You got me there.” Dean laughed, crossing his arms. “Do you always plan out your own days?” 

“Yes. What kind of question is that?” 

“I was just wonderin’ if you ever let anyone else plan things for you.” He shrugged. 

“Absolutely not.” 

He walked toward her, his height overcoming her as he approached. He wore a pair of jeans, socked feet, and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His hair was messy from sleep, but his eyes were wide, awake, and engaged. “Are you afraid to lose control?” 

“No.” Yes. 

“Let me plan a day for you, Y/N.” His voice was silky and thick like honey, tickling her cheeks as he brushed her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, feeling taken aback from his sudden intensity. She half expected her skin to catch fire from the electricity bouncing between their chests to the beat of her racing heart. 

“Dean I…” 

“Hey, before you say anything hear me out,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. Her lips pressed together, giving him only a moment to make his case - which was more than she allowed most people. “I know you’ve got all the reasons in the world to say no. You don’t know me, you have no reason to trust me, but you’re a professional. I can see that, hell anyone can see it just by lookin’ at you. Y/N, you should know that there is risk in the world, and you could miss out on some of the best things in life if you don’t take it. Someone took a chance on you once, didn’t they?” 

He was breathing heavily, obviously a little worked up, and the sight of his body twisted up in ragged breaths sent a chill up her spine. The risk he was talking about was not the same thing as her job, as law school, as every tough case she had ever taken. He was out of line trying to make it seem like they were even on the same plane of reality. Even though she knew all of that, she still found herself wanting the impossible, the outrageous. 

“Take a risk on me, Y/N.”

She wanted a life that could move mountains. She always had. She wanted to say yes. 

Dean

Later

“Hold up, hold up. You’re going on a date?” 

Dean shrugged, running his fingers through his hair in the bathroom mirror, unable to keep one spot from sticking straight up. “I don’t know if it’s a date or not. I’m just gonna give her some fun. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” 

“So it is a date.” 

“Sammy, you need to relax,” Dean said, waving his younger, half brother away. Dean’s parents had divorced after he was born, and a year later Dean’s mom fell in love with Sam’s dad, and the boys had been together ever since. “My romantic life isn’t your concern.” 

“Sure it is,” Sam said with a laugh, sitting on Dean’s bed. He moved the room divider when he’d entered the apartment to give himself somewhere comfortable to sit, and was currently lounging across the large mattress. “I don’t want you to die alone.” 

“Nobody is dyin’.” 

“We are all dying, Dean. Technically.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“I don’t see your point,” Sam said with a frown, his eyebrows coming together. 

“How’s mom?” 

“She’d like to see you.” 

Dean exhaled sharply from his nose. He didn’t see Mary nearly enough. She lived out in New Jersey and it still felt like a betrayal to his dad going out to visit her frequently. Plus, he spent most of his days in The Shop. There was always an excuse, even though none of them seemed good enough. “Miss her too.” 

“You should call her.” 

Dean poked his head out of the bathroom to eye his brother. “I don’t need a lecture, Sammy.” 

“Hey you asked.” His brother was quiet for a beat before sitting up. “So… I got the case.” 

“What?! Why didn’t you lead with that! I would’ve taken the night off to take you out to celebrate. This is huge news!”

“Wait, you’re going to work? I thought you were going on a date?”

Dean shrugged, “She said I could have her time Sunday morning. From eight to ten thirty.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You want to go out with someone that stringent?” 

Dean shoulders lifted again, “Guess so.” He walked out and sat next to his brother. “But this isn’t about me. I’m really proud of you, brother. You’ve worked really hard for this.” 

Sam’s cheeks reddened a bit, and he reached behind his head, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Thanks. I’ve really been trying, and I’m excited for the opportunity. I know they’re taking a chance on me and it means a lot.” 

“They’re making the right choice, Sammy. You’re damn good at your job. It’s too late for me to get a replacement, but come by, and I’ll get you dinner and drinks on the house.” 

“I’ll just ride with you then. We can split a cab.” 

Dean grinned at his brother, squeezing his shoulder. “You got it, kid.” 

He could still see little Sammy with his bright eyes staring up at him. He had all of these grand dreams that were so big. For a while he wanted to be president, and Dean believed that he could do it. Sam had the heart and the drive to do anything he put his mind to, maybe that was the draw Dean  had to Y/N. She reminded him of the same fire he saw in his brother. 

“What about the woman you’re talking to?” 

Sam let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I dunno Dean. She might hate me.” 

“She’d be stupid to hate you, kid. You’re a goddamned catch.” He slid his wallet and phone in his pocket, and offered a hand to Sammy so he could pull him up. “Fight for her. That’s all you can do.” 

His little brother looked up at him knowingly and nodded, clasping their hands together. He pulled Sam up, looking up at his younger brother who towered over him by at least three inches. “I will,” Sam agreed, “I’ll fight for her. 

“Good. Now let's go get you a drink.” 

“Or five.”

“Or five.” 

Her

“Give me your hand.” 

Y/N raised her eyebrow before offering her palm. 

The fiery red head in front of her consisted of her one guilty pleasure in this world. Rowena McCloud. The self proclaimed witch was cheaper than a therapist any day of the week, and she provided tea leaves that were usually the only thing, other than two fingers of whiskey, that put Y/N to sleep after a long, stressful day. 

Rowena ran her long manicured nails along the lines of Y/N’s palms. “You’ve met someone.” 

Here she goes again. Why did I even come here? Y/N asked herself every time that she came to the tea shop for a visit. Why did she come? She knew the answer, but saying it out loud was too fucking pathetic for words. 

She had no friends, and her relationship with her mother was strained at best. So who else was she supposed to talk to about her issues? She could always ignore them, but that was like cutting wires at random, just hoping the one she was cutting wasn’t the trip wire that would explode her entire life. Bottling up emotions caused frown lines and acne break-outs, and she was too damn old for pimples. So she’d ended up with a Scottish witch examining her love line a little too closely. 

“Have not.” 

“Oh come on, Y/N, you have.” Her green eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s, her red painted lips curled into an ornery smirk. “I can tell. You’re flushed. What’s his name.” 

“There is no him.”

“Fine. Then what’s her name.” 

Y/N pulled her hand away and crossed her arms in annoyance. “Give me a break, Rowena.”

“I cannot, I'm afraid, but I can make you tea.” 

“Fine.” She couldn’t help but smile as the woman turned away. Even twenty-plus years her senior, they still meshed well together. She looked at her as a second mother, or even better, a friend. If she knew how to have those, of course. 

“Why did you come here?” 

“I didn’t get the promotion.” 

“Ah.” 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Y/N said, a bite to her words. “I deserved it.” 

“Of course you did,” Rowena said smoothly as she poured a dark, steeped liquid into the small tea cup. “But you’ll have something better.” 

“If you say love I’m going to come across this table and smack you.”

The witch laughed at that, the skin crinkling around her eyes in amusement. “I was going to say sex.” 

“I am having sex,” she said with a huff. 

“Not sex that you enjoy.” 

It was a bold statement. A bold statement that Y/N wasn’t confident that she could disagree with. She thought she enjoyed it, but she never had anything outside of other meaningless connections to compare it to. She’d never wanted more, though. Her one love was her job and that’s how it was always supposed to be. At least before her job royally fucked her. Maybe it was time she started thinking about herself, instead of the firm. 

“I enjoy sleeping with him.” 

“You hesitated, love. It’s mighty okay to be unsatisfied. Well, it isn’t okay, but it’s normal. You don’t have to stand for it.” 

She waved Rowena off dismissively, “It’s fine.” 

Rowena shook her head, her deep red curls bouncing. “Oh sweetie. It shouldn't be fine. It should be electric, hot, passionate. You aren’t living your best life if your sex is just fine.” Her green eyes flashed as she grinned. “You must’ve not slept with him yet, or you wouldn’t be so casual.” 

“You’re obsessed.” 

“Aren’t you? You said yes to him, after all.”

“I had to get him off my back. He was persistent. He wouldn’t take no as an answer.” 

Take a risk on me, Y/N.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.” Rowena tapped the lip of the cup with her index finger. “It’s all in the leaves.” 

Y/N looked down into the cup that she hadn’t even noticed she’d been sipping. The mushed, wet leaves were at the bottom of her cup, and maybe she just had it on the mind or maybe Rowena was right and magic was in the air, but she could’ve sworn that they looked just like a heart. Lumpy, misshapen, but like one nonetheless. 

Dean

Part of Dean worried that she wouldn’t show. That would be his luck. Maybe he would deserve it after being a little too intense. Take a chance on me. Who the fuck did he think he was? He didn’t normally come off that strong. 

She wouldn’t let him pick her up. “What if you’re a serial killer?” Evidently he hadn’t earned her trust yet, even though he was a perfect gentleman the night before. “A woman can’t be too safe, Dean.” He liked the way she said his name. She sounded annoyed, but amused at the same time. She couldn’t quite keep up the unimpressed expression. He made it a personal goal to make her smile more than she frowned. She’d look amazing with laugh lines. Everyone should have them. 

Lisa often complained about the lines on her face, and she painted makeup over them to hide the creases and curves. Dean had loved them. They told the story of her life. Laugh lines showed a long, happy life full of laughter and joy. He could never understand why she would want to hide them. It was beyond him. 

He was meeting Y/N in front of the restaurant.  He held two disposable cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other, leaning against the building. He watched people stroll past. They weren’t watching their surroundings, constantly staring straight forward. That was the downside to New York City, no one was interested in the now. All they cared about was the next thing. He supposed it made sense that no one stopped to smell the roses in a city made of steel and concrete. There were no flowers to smell, only exhaust. 

Dean, on the other hand, believed in things that were beautiful. There was always something good to see.

In front of him, a woman bundled her baby in a ball of blue, fluffy blanket to keep him protected from the autumn chill. A man jogged with his dog, whose tongue was out, having the time of his life. A man in a suit, who kissed a woman goodbye as he stepped out of a cab. And her. 

Y/N stood across the street, fumbling around her purse for something. He could see her eyebrows furrow even from that distance. She wore a pair of black pants tucked into black boots and a long burgundy sweater. A curl fell into her eye, the rest of her hair tucked into a wide-brimmed hat. She looked different than she had the day before, and he took note of everything about her to add to his mental collection right next to the way she looked first thing in the morning, how she looked when she was angry, and the way her voice sounded when she was drunk. He was excited to learn all he could about her. What was her favorite food? What was her ideal temperature? How did she like her coffee? 

He wanted to know her, even with the high probability that she would hurt him. He figured that pain was something, and something had to be better than the emptiness he’d been feeling. Pain at least meant that he was still alive. 

—————————————

Chapter Four

Masterlist

Read on A03 Here

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[all1e23]

Code Date Night [One-Shot]

Summary: Sparks ruin date night. 

Warnings:  A little bit of angst. Lots of fluff. Sweet, protective Bucky.  

A/N:   A new Astrophile drabble! YAY!  As a warning, Bucky is injured on the job in case that’s a trigger for anyone. No death. There is a bit of angst, but it’s still Astrophile fluff. It takes place roughly 5/6 years after the epilogue. Write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me if you like it. If you have not read the series Astrophile, THERE WLL BE MAJOR SPOILERS.  

Catch up on the series here!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!*

Bucky leans forward in the back of the truck, adjusting his boots. His feet are killing him, and he just wants to be off this damn job. The love he has for his career and his brother runs deep, but he’s so ready to get home and see his wife. That is something he never thought he would say. He’s always loved work more than most things in his life, but here he is desperate to get back to the station so he can see his girl. He settles in next to Steve and continues to hum the same tune he has been humming for the last several turns. He pulls his hair into a tight bun at the base of his neck and continues humming. In just under eight hours, his shift will be over, and he will be holding his sweet Beck.

The tune repeats once more from the start, and the moment it finishes, Bucky glances at the men around him. 

“Okay, what’s it from?” 

Steve leans his head back against his seat and fires off a guess without any real pause to consider the melody. “Flintstones?” 

Clint tears his eyes from the road for a split second and sets Sam with a flat look. “Flinstones? What the hell? Sam, you need to sit down and teach your husband a thing or two.” 

Sam chuckles and sends a Steve wink who promptly blushes at the gesture.

“It’s Happy Days.” Sam glances at Bucky for conformation. “Right? Happy Days?” 

Bucky chuckles and leans forward to give him a high five. Same dumb game every shift. They have to do something to pass the time when things are less than exciting, and it never fails to end the same way. Steve never guesses right, Clint makes fun of him, and Sam wins.

“Yeah, it’s been stuck in my head since yesterday morning. It’s on all night on that rerun channel, and the twins have decided four in the morning’ means it’s time to get up.” 

“Let’s be real. You get up that early, or is Y/n getting up?” Sam asks with a snort, disbelief, and humor filling his words. 

“Screw off. I’m gettin’ up. I get up every time my babies cry, punk. What about you? You get up with Stevie over here?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. This happens every shift. Every damn day. “Of course, Sam wakes up when I do, Buck.” 

“Damn right, but we are kind of passed that stage, dumbass.” Bucky lurches forward and knocks his helmet off his head. Sam whips his gloves into the backseat catching Bucky on the side of his head. Bucky jumps ahead, but Steve grabs him by the back of the jacket and jerks him back into his seat.

“Hey, guys…” Clint shouts over their scuffle. “As fun as this round was, we got a real problem coming up on the right.” 

Steve leans forward to see a thick cloud of black smoke rolling out of the windows of a small four-story apartment building. The bronzed painted wood paneling on the outside of the broken windows is quickly turning black from the flames burning through the wood framing. Steve sits back and gives Sam an order before slipping his helmet on.  

“Call it in. I’ve got a feeling this one is going to be ugly.” 

By the time the truck came to a stop, the windows on the fourth floor had shattered. Bucky and Sam rushed in to pull out as many people as they could. The bottom two floors were cleared, the tenants could feel the heat before it ever reached them. Even with his gear, Bucky could feel it. Sam took the third floor, and Bucky ventured up to the fourth, pulling out a woman in her late forties who was trapped in her bedroom thanks to a fallen beam.

Steve waited for their all-clear before he breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was out, and they could focus on putting the fire out, not carrying out bodies. 

Steve made eye contact with Sam and shouted over the noise surrounding them, “Get that redline in here! We can get it under control before it spreads any further.”  

The woman Bucky had pulled out of the flame is sitting on a stretcher, fighting against the EMTs and clawing to get to Bucky. She kept shouting about going back in, and Bucky tried five or six times to tell her there was no way anyone could go back in now until they got the flames under control.  

“I don’t know what you’re saying with that mask on! My kitty is in there!" 

Bucky yanks his breath mask off in frustration and tosses to Clint standing nearby. He is not in the mood. He’s already running late for date night, and all he wants to do is get a shower, eat some damn pasta, and make love to his wife on the one night his kids spend at Aunt Natasha’s. 

Now he’s got to deal with a fire that the Gods had to dump in their laps.

As much as he would love to save this woman’s cat. They can’t go back in. All they can do now is put out the remaining flames and go in once it was safe. 

"Ma'am, I understand but–" 

"Mom?!" 

The unit looks up and sees a little girl about nine standing on the fire escape, and the woman’s voice catches Bucky’s ear. "I told you! My kitty! She was hiding in one of the cupboards!" 

"Shit.” Steve steps back from the truck. “Get the ladder!“ 

There isn’t enough time. Bucky shakes his head and makes a run for the fire escape on the side of the building. He Jerks the rickety metal ladder down and starts to climb up to meet the little girl. She is frozen from fear, and he wouldn’t leave her up there all alone and scared like that. He can hear Steve ordering him to back off, but he can’t. What if it was Orion? Or his sweet little Cassie trapped up there? He can’t just stand on the ground and watch. 

"Buck! Watch out for the–" 

——–

“He climbed up the fire escape to help the nine-year-old girl down before the building collapsed. The heat had cracked the window she climbed out of, so he covered her with his jacket before moving her to a safer floor. Flashover shattered the window, and that’s when he got the burn to his left shoulder and upper arm. There was a lot of smoke covering them for a good minute. Not sure how much he took in.” 

“Okay,” the emergency room doctor sighs and glances up at Steve. “We’ve got it from here. We can notify his family if you don’t–” 

“No.” Steve’s voice cuts through the room, and he attempts to soften it. “I’ll call. We are family– I’ll handle it. He’s in my company.” 

The doctor nods. He understands. He deals with injured emergency servicemen and women more than he would like, so he understands Steve wants to be the one to make the call. They are a family in the way none of the hospital staff could understand. He leaves Steve to make the call and makes his way back to where Bucky is fighting against the heavy sedation they pumped into him. Steve doesn’t waste another second and heads for the elevator, but Sam catches his wrist before he can get far and pulls him back just a step or two. 

"Where are you going?” His voice is soft and warm. He’s speaking as a husband, not a member of Steve’s company.

Steve gives his partner’s hand a squeeze and pulls his arm free of the shorter man’s grip. “It’s Tuesday. That’s their date night. I’m not going to call her in the middle of the restaurant and tell her what happened. It’s not far from here. I’ll tell her in person.” 

Sam doesn’t try to argue with him; just simply nods. Once Steve’s made up his mind about something, there is no changing it. He watches Steve go and then turns his attention back to Bucky, watching through the glass wall that separated them. 

"BP is good. His vitals are stable despite the injuries and smoke inhalation.”

The words coming from the blond nurse on Bucky’s right sound far away and almost muffled. As if his head was underwater, or the way Leo sounds from under his Spider-Man mask. For some reason, Bucky can’t work out, she continues trying to talk to him despite his drowning. The white lights flashing over his eyes make him wince, and his eyes focus on the room around him. He quickly recognizes where he is. He’s in the hospital, and that means… No, this isn’t good. Bucky has to get up and get out of this bed right now.

He has somewhere to be and someone he can’t let down. He can’t let her down like this.

Bucky groans and tugs at the tubes in his nose as he struggles to sit up. His left arm burns, but he ignores it. There is a pinch every time he tries to move his shoulder to pull out the IV. It doesn’t matter. He has somewhere to be. A gentle hand lands on his chest, “Lieutenant Barnes. You have to sit back for me and keep that in your nose. We need you breathing clean air.”

With the weight of the hand and whatever medication they gave him, he is too weak to push back against their gentle urging. Bucky falls back against the bed, but he continues to try to pull the sheets off his leg to climb out of the cold hard bed – nothing like his bed at home, it’s warm and soft and filled with the people he loves most. He wants his bed, not this sad excuse for one. 

“You don’t understand. I got a date– My wife–”

“We can call your wife and let her know. I’m sure she will understand. You can go on your date another night.” The kind-looking nurse on his life cuts in.

Bucky shakes his head rather quickly, making his head spin and tugs at the plastic tube in his nose again. He can feel his chest tightening at the thought of Y/n, his Beck, sitting alone waiting for him to show up. He needs to make sure she is okay.

“No, you don’t understand. My wife wrote it on the calendar. We have a calendar in our kitchen and, and she wrote it down for tonight. She– she wrote in pen, okay? I can’t not show up. I can’t.”

“Mr. Barnes–”

“I promised my wife I wouldn’t–” He takes a deep breath and repeats, forcing his panic down. “She wrote it in pen.”

——–

Y/n glances at her watch once more and drums her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. She’s not nervous. Bucky is only forty-five minutes late. The large glass door at the front of the dark restaurant swings open, she sits up straighter, and a small smile starts to curl up the corners of her mouth until she realizes it’s no one she knows. It’s certainly not the man she’s eagerly waiting on. She huffs out a breath and slouches back down in her seat, grabbing her phone to check for any missed texts – not that there will be, that phone hasn’t left her hand all night. 

She takes a picture of her nearly empty glass of pinot noir and sends it to Bucky with a small warning following the image, I’m on my second glass. If you don’t get here soon, I might have to find someone else to take me home. They both know she would never, but they tease each other and the foundation they’ve built all of this isn’t shaken by something that silly. It’s one of the things she loves most about their relationship. She’s never had that before, but she likes it, and she likes that it’s with Bucky.

No reply. No phone call, and it doesn’t look like he has seen the picture she sent. Her thumb hovers over Steve’s number, but she quickly talks herself out of it. This is getting silly. She doesn’t need to be that wife, the one that calls the second her husband is late and makes a fool of herself. Bucky said he would be there, and he will. He would never let her down, it’s not in him – his heart would never let him do anything to hurt her. 

Everything is fine. He’s just late. She isn’t worried in the least. It’s perfectly normal for him to be a little late every now and then. Only three weeks ago, he had picked up an extra shift out of nowhere, making up for someone on day shift that needed to trade out. It’s part of the job, and she knows that. It’s not like Bucky is an accountant, working a simple nine to five and home at the same time every night without question. She knew that going in and saw it several times with Nat and Orion before she even met Bucky.

There is nothing to be concerned about. He’s merely running late and will be there soon. He promised, and he always keeps his promises. 

She is not worried.

A tingle runs down her spine, giving her goosebumps and causing her to look up only to find Steve strolling towards her. The sight of the blond makes her breathe a sigh of relief. If Steve is here picking up dinner, everything is fine, and Bucky will be there in no time. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Y/n asks, forcing a relaxed smile despite the way her heart is pounding in her chest. “Picking up dinner?” 

“No, Y/n. I’m not here for dinner.” Steve holds out his hand for hers and nods towards the exit, gesturing for her to get up and follow him. “I called Nat, and she said she would sleep at your place tonight with the kids and take them to school the next few days.” 

“W-what?”

Her heart sinks into her stomach, and her fingers instantly start to tremble. There’s a buzzing in her ears that won’t go away with a few shakes of her head like she hoped they would. Steve’s gaze doesn’t leave her, but he’s not giving anything away; his face is utterly blank. Whatever he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to do it here, in front of a restaurant full of people and that makes her stomach churn even more. She hesitantly reaches up to take the hand that Steve is holding out for her.

“Why does Nat– Steve, please… Where is Bucky?“

The panic seeping out from her chest is starting to slip into her voice. She can’t help it. Steve came to get her, her husband is for all intents and purposes missing, and he never ignores her calls like this. Something is wrong. Steve squeezes his fingers around hers and pulls her up. His arm tightens around her waist to keep her on her feet.

Just in case. 

"Steve… Where is he?”

The crack in Steve’s demeanor tells her everything she needs to know before he gets a word out. Bucky’s hurt. He’s not making it to date night. Calendar and pen could do nothing to change that. 

“He’s at the Brooklyn Methodist. He’s going to be okay, but we need to get you there.” 

——–

“Mr. Barnes. For the love of–”

A deep sigh leaves the young nurse attending Bucky’s bedside, and it sounds as if she wants to throw her scrubs in the bin and never come back. It’s late nearing the end of her shift, and Bucky isn’t exactly the easiest of patients at the moment. “I know you’re upset. We’ve called home for you four times. The quicker we get you patched up, the quicker you can get out of here and back to her.”

“I have to see my wife now. Not in’a couple of days. She, She can’t go through that again. I know this sounds crazy, and I am sorry I am being a pain in the ass, but she wrote it friggin’ pen! Just give me the paper to sign that says I’m refusing care–” 

“I don’t think so, Lieutenant Barnes.” Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of her voice, and his whole body relaxes at the sight of Y/n standing in the doorway, she’s not smiling, probably because of what she just heard, but she’s wearing that little red number he loves so much. It’s the one that falls off her shoulders and hugs every inch of her body, and it’s really got him regretting missing date night.

“You’re not going anywhere, and you’re going to let them do whatever they need to.” 

Bucky glances up to see the nurse smirking at how quickly he settles back against the pillow because his wife told him to. That might bother him if Y/n wasn’t walking around the slightly uncomfortable hospital bed and taking his right hand in hers. She regards his left arm, carefully. There’s no hint of what she feels, which is unusual for her. Bucky can nearly always tell what she’s thinking because she wears every emotion right there in those pretty eyes. If you just look close enough you can see everything that’s written on her heart.

The white bandage, littered with splotches of yellow and light red, is wrapped around his bicep and extendeds up his shoulder spreading towards his chest, and her eyes trace every inch of it. The stretch of the injury explains the lack of a shirt on her husband. Whatever happened though left the tattoo on his arm untouched and she breathes a sigh of relief, not only would that hurt Bucky, it would break Ori’s heart to see it gone from her father’s arm. Y/n’s hand finds its way into his hair, and she gives a gentle tug until his head falls against her chest.

“Beck,” Bucky whispers, whimpers, really, but no one is going to call attention to it. The way he’s clinging to her is for a husband and wife only, and those left in the room take the hint. Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, and he takes a deep breath before whispering against her skin, “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t– I tried to get there.”

Y/n’s hands freeze in his hair while he babbles on about missing ‘it’ and apologizing for hurting her. She can’t work out why he is apologizing until she hears him say, I know I promised and you wrote in pen and ‘m sorry I made you worry.  Bucky, her sweet December, is lying in bed with what could very well be third-degree burns on his arm, and he’s concerned about pens, past hurts, and the promise he made to never leave a similar scar on her heart. 

All he cares about is the damage done to her.

“It’s alright,” She assures him with a simple kiss to the top of his head, his temple, and his cheek, right over the stray tear that slipped out before he could force it back. "We can do it another night. There are plenty of empty spaces on the calendar.” 

"But–" 

"I’ll draw an arrow to a new night. In pen.” She sinks down next to him on the stiff bed and leans her forehead against his. “I don’t care what night we do date night as long as you’re the one I’m meeting.” 

“You better not be meetin’ anyone else,” Bucky whispers in her ear. There is a hint of playful teasing in his voice, and it makes her grin. He is attempting to quell her unvoiced fears and give her back some of her equilibrium in the wake of what could have been their end, and she loves him for it. 

“I hear you had two glasses of wine tonight and were lookin’ for someone to take you home tonight? Whaddya say you come home with me darlin’?” 

“Mmm.” She considers the offer with a soft giggle and pecks his lip softly. 

“That can be arranged, handsome. Let the doctors give you a once over and make sure you’re okay, then I’ll let you take me home, December.” 

“Whatever you want, Beck.” 

——–

Four days it’s been since Bucky was admitted to the hospital. Four days since he’s been allowed to sleep in his own bed or be able to really hold his wife. It has been four tortuously long days since he’s seen his kids and Bucky won’t make it another day without seeing their sweet faces. 

Y/n wanted to bring them in, but the first few days he was in a lot of pain, and he didn’t want them to see him like that. It’s not something his kid should ever have to see. Ori was old enough to understand it was a burn and that he got injured on the job but that she meant she understood. Bucky is worried if she knows all the details, she will panic every time he leaves for work, and she may be that much closer to being a full-blown teenager, but she’s still his baby, and she should get to be a kid, worry-free for as long as she can. 

As for the twins, they wouldn’t fully understand, but he didn’t want them to be scared of him. He was hooked up to a lot of machines, and he didn’t want them to have nightmares. It was better to wait. 

Thankfully, today was the day. Bucky gets to go home, and Uncle Steve dropped all three troublemakers off about twenty minutes ago. Cassie and Leo ran straight for his bed and climbed up on his lap to smother him in hugs and kisses, which he happily accepted and returned. Orion, though, she hung back with Y/n at the foot of the bed, holding her mother’s hand and avoiding Bucky’s gaze. 

He really hates it, not because she’s choosing her mom over him or something as petty and trivial as that. Orion chooses Y/n over him more often than not, and he’s okay with it, loves it in fact, but she’s avoiding him because she’s scared and upset, and he hates that he’s the cause of ache in his daughter. 

Once they get home, they will have to talk, just him and his comet, but for now, he keeps it light for the twins. 

“What have you two been doin’ without me? Drivin’ your uncles and sister crazy?” Asked Bucky, forced humor therein his voice that only Y/n catches. 

Cassie doesn’t say anything. She curls into Bucky’s right side, under his arm, and hides her face in his shirt. She was scared, still is. She’s been terrified since Uncle Steve picked her up from Aunt Nattie’s and said daddy was sick at the hospital, so she would have to stay at their house till he got better. She cried the last three nights in a row and slept in her uncle’s bed, snuggled between them. 

Leo isn’t oblivious to what’s going on around him. He is just as upset, but he doesn’t show his feelings as quickly as Cassie does. He tries to be strong for his mama and sisters – just like his daddy does! So, he sits on Bucky’s lap and nods, “I slept with sissy and Oviver at Uncle Stevie’s house." 

"There’s an ‘L’ in Oliver, buddy. You slept with sissy, you said?” Bucky questions, and his eyes shift to Orion, who is trying her hardest not to cry and scare the twins any more than they already are. 

“You’ve got a pretty awesome big sister, huh?” 

Leo nods and beams at Orion, who gives him a small smile back. 

Bucky raises his left arm, ignores the burning on his chest, and ushers her over with a wave of his hand. Orion didn’t have to be told twice. She dashes over and snuggles into his left side, careful of the bandage on his chest and arm. It isn’t anything too serious. Second-degree burns that may not even leave a scar, and he gets to be home with the kids for two or three weeks until it heals fully. Bucky is thankful it’s nothing compared to what it could have been because he could have been so much worse. 

Still, he knows it looks pretty scary to his kids. 

“Okay, you three know I’m alright, don’t ya?” Bucky places a kiss on Ori’s forehead and the top of Cassie’s head. He motions for Leo to lean in and when the four-year-old does Bucky’s lips land right in the middle of his forehead, making him giggle.

There is a muffled yeah from his girls, and Leo nods hesitantly. Bucky sighs and catches Y/n’s eye, silently begging for help. She’s better at this, better at the whole words thing. As much as he tries, Bucky isn’t as good as Beck – regardless of what she thinks. Cassie looks up at Bucky and tugs his shirt, grabbing his attention. 

“Daddy?” The small voice coming from his side makes him drop Y/n’s gaze, and he finds Cassie staring up at him wide-eyed and curious. 

“Yeah, stardust?” 

“Your arm hurts?” 

Bucky shakes his head and gives his shoulder a couple of shrugs to prove his point. There is a little bit of pain if he keeps it in motion, but Cassie didn’t need those details. She just needs to know her daddy is okay and all good for their nightly cuddle sessions. 

“A little bit, baby. It’s just a little burn, but as long as I keep it clean and wrapped up, it will be alright. I promise I’m okay. Just need rest and cuddles from my babies, and I’ll be right as rain.” 

She nods seemingly approving of the answer and then pipes up again, “Can we all cuddles in bed tonight?" 

Leo appears to like the idea because he scoots further up Bucky and lays his head on Bucky’s stomach. Ori glances between her parents, waiting for what she clearly hopes is a yes. Bucky catches Y/n’s eye and grins. She grins right back and shrugs just light enough for Bucky to spot but not the kids. 

“Of course.” Y/n says with a smile and a wink for Ori. “I always want you three snuggled up with us. We might need to invest in a bigger bed, though, with our two little bed hogs.” 

Bucky chuckles and tightens his arms around his kids. “Nah, we will be fine, Beck. Just gotta cuddle real close, and everything will be just fine.”

[presumenothing]

Would you ever write uhhhhh Wrath!Riza AU?

your brain, anon. i like it

-

aqua regia (for destruction, ice) // AO3

Not all that burns is fire. 

(Or: Riza becomes Wrath.)

-

i. 

In another world Riza Hawkeye might have asked the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle on her back, might have looked at those scars in the mirror and pretended they could lift any of the weight from her shoulders.

In this world that is the least dangerous of everything Wrath carries: a stone at her core red as her eye behind the rifle scope, as hands complicit in plans to burn up this country tearing the heavens from their sky.

She cannot walk away from death as easily as Lust or Envy can, but when the elixir had slid into her veins Riza had burned from the inside and Wrath had walked away with that fire still in her veins, always searing beneath skin that she doubts mortal flame can scar.

(“Now hold still, dear girl,” the scientist had said, gold tooth gleaming dull in lab-light, “it’ll hurt worse if you struggle,” and Riza had remembered Berthold Hawkeye saying the same thing to Wrath at ten and fifteen and eighteen, red on her skin red underneath red burning its way into her heart, and it had been a lie then too.)

.

ii.

Wrath is angry at everyone and everything at once; furious at the ones who had found a cadet with steady hands and steadier soul and saw fit to unmake that, at herself, at those who knew how blood-drenched this country was and kept painting it anyway. The first time she had seen Roy Mustang again she would have snapped his neck clean in half if not for the knowledge of how valuable State Alchemists were in the chessboard of this country.

(That, and her own distaste for the heat of blood over her own hands. Riza has heard enough from Father and the other homunculi to surmise that the previous incarnations of Wrath had loved blood like the edge of a blade freshly sharpened on diamond.

But she is a sniper – the best markswoman Amestris has ever seen, even before they gave her an eye that could see through anything. Why else would they have chosen her?)

She is the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, hell and its woman scorned all in one, and she makes it known in constellations of bullets and impossible shots, precise and deadly as any alchemist’s array.

Riza had been angry too, when she had let herself be, but hers is a cold ire, locked beneath glaciers and the burn of frostbite.

Wrath makes no such pretences. Wrath answers to a dead woman’s name, and Officer – Lieutenant – Major Hawkeye holds her anger boiling right under the surface, scalds her hands in it and fires the next shot.

.

iii.

Roy Mustang holds her at a careful arm’s length.

It might’ve been offensive if it weren’t so ironic. He of all humans should know what it means to hold flame in your hands: let one weakness slip and fire would burn it right through like so much dry grass.

Then again, maybe it’s that same familiarity that breeds wariness. Riza would hardly know. Fury is not the absence of fear, but in her case it’s fairly close anyway.

Either way, it’s the same distance that prevents Mustang from recognising Wrath’s work in doctoring the Elric brothers’ documents a whole two decades older. 

He decides to take Havoc with him, citing something about the persuasion of fellow Easterners; Riza remains in East Command and doesn’t wonder how he will react to finding out that the alchemists he is looking to enlist as human weapons are just barely a third his age.

Not even half of hers, unless you counted the several years since she had become Wrath. 

Company for you, Riza thinks none too quietly, and Wrath bristles, shoving her away to wrest back control.

(Riza lets her. This is exactly the duty she’d been assigned – locating potential sacrifices among the State Alchemists and beyond, so there’s not even any insubordination for Wrath to report, even if she won’t realise until much later how spot on she’d been to find one who’d already been through the Gate.

For now she listens to the Flame Alchemist’s empty-handed return from Resembool, hears him say with seemingly unwarranted certainty I saw the fire in his eyes, and this time she does wonder how he can notice that yet miss the same thing in hers.

Riza knows what she sees in the mirror, after all, even if she always has one eye hidden behind a false lens and swept fringe.)

.

iv.

Wrath, unsurprisingly, finds the Fullmetal Alchemist an absolute riot. 

Eight pints of unrefined rage wrapped in red with the volume cranked up to fifty percent past maximum, and if you had asked anyone at all to name one person in this room who might be the personification of fury itself – well.

Edward Elric gets angry in a way that neither of them know how to be. Riza runs cold where Wrath veers hot, but it’s always controlled, the reins another line in the delicate balance between them; in contrast Edward is an explosion, angry and incandescent with it, and sometimes Riza almost wishes they were like that too.

(No you don’t, Wrath mutters over the scratch of a pen.

Riza blinks and sighs, blacking out a line of expletives about Hakuro and the latest shitshow he’d thrown at them; homunculi weren’t much for paperwork. It’d make some things easier, you have to admit. He gets things done.

Like getting himself nearly killed three separate times in a week, ooh, aren’t you supposed to be babysitting the sacrifices, Wrath? I’d like to see them doing it–

Riza doesn’t sigh again, but it’s close.)

Neither of them feel particularly bad about keeping silent over the Elrics’ search when she’s sitting right here, but on Riza’s part it’s mostly because she’s seen enough to be certain that Edward at least would never use a Philosopher’s Stone if he learned what had gone into its making.

Wrath is just looking forward to the day he does find out. Now that’ll be something to watch.

.

v.

She meets Greed walking down a hallway one afternoon, nodding cordially at the flurry of salutes as he passes each of his people.

Wrath doesn’t miss a beat with her own salute. “Your Excellency.”

“At ease, Major,” the Fuhrer replies with a wave of his hand, but he slows down anyway. “I hear young Elric has made some – acquaintances, shall we say, from Xing with exceptional sensing capabilities. He does collect the most interesting people. I’m impressed.”

“Fullmetal doesn’t take kindly to being called young, sir,” Riza says. “I did hear the same, but I haven’t had the chance of meeting them yet.”

(Not for the first time, she wonders why they had thought it a good idea to put Amestris and all that it represents in Greed’s hands. If humans are possessions to be had, what stopped him from deciding that he’d rather keep it all for himself in the end?)

The Fuhrer smiles, benign as any lethal poison. “Let me know if you’d like some time back in the East, I’m sure your grandfather would enjoy a visit too.”

“I have my duties here, and I’m afraid I’m not much of a chess player. It would only bore General Grumman.”

Wrath’s hands do not tense at her sides, but only because they’re both too disciplined for that. Her aim is every bit as true as his swords, and she might not be able to die and walk away unscathed but neither can Greed; how dare he, Riza thinks.

How dare he, Wrath seethes in agreement, and perhaps it’s time to let some things slip to the Elrics after all.

(She is angry at them, for taking this entire plan one-and-a-half steps closer to fruition, but Riza is angry at everyone; this is just par for the course.

The difference is that she is even angrier for them. Riza barely remembers her mother, and if Berthold had still been alive Wrath would have killed him anyway, so she cannot honestly say that she understands the Elrics in that regard.

But Edward rages at the universe demanding equivalency from it while Alphonse aims cuttingly sharp remarks and wonders about his humanity in the next breath. They would be furious if they knew, anger burning hot and frigid cold, and she is Wrath and Riza Hawkeye and both and neither – this, she understands.)

.

.

+1.

“There was something I’d wanted to ask of you, after Ishval, if – things had been different,” Mustang finishes blindly in more ways than the literal, and it’s irritating what a production he can make out of not saying if I hadn’t mistrusted you.

Riza’s fringe is properly out of her eyes for the first time in years, not that he can see it, and she’d walked away from the Promised Day essentially unscathed but the Philosopher’s Stone is gone now along with Wrath; if she did ask the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle after regaining his eyesight it would even scar over properly.

She won’t. She knows she won’t. 

Wrath had known it too. Riza still hasn’t quite parsed the jumbled impressions of those last moments, but above all of it there had been mirth. Amusement, because they had both looked at Riza’s soul unfolding around them and recognised the anger there that was hers. Had always been, only shut away and sunk deep in ice. 

If she has any fire in her veins now it is only proverbial, but she is still the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, and there’s more than enough left to burn the next person who tries to lay hands on her.

She looks at Roy Mustang now and continues to not snap his neck because he might be the best hope for this sorry excuse of a country, and anyway if she strangled an injured man in his hospital bed Wrath would laugh at her from another plane and say told you so, he had it coming.

“I’d rather you continue not asking it, Colonel,” Riza says, controlled as ever, but the anger is her own and she relishes the cold-hot burn of it. “I was Wrath, sir, consider yourself lucky that I didn’t let my finger slip on the trigger anytime during Ishval.”

Mustang winces, like he’d managed to avoid consciously putting it together until this point. “I suppose that, ah, rather answers it anyway. So that’s a no to supporting my bid for presidency?”

“That depends on your plans. Which you can tell me about after I’ve returned from my month’s worth of personal leave,” she adds pointedly, and turns to go instead of adding that Greed’s not exactly a high bar to beat anyway. “Have a speedy recovery, sir. Good day.”

Mustang’s expression as the door closes suggests that he’s actually okay with having a second-in-command that has been angry at him for years, and she’s… not sure what to do with that, really, but maybe she can work with it. Maybe.

(Fury is not the absence of fear, nor a dearth of kindness; the Elrics are proof enough of that. Riza knows what she saw in the mirror this morning, familiar and foreign all at once, and she’ll just have to figure out the rest from there.

Perhaps she’ll drop by Resembool and stay for a bit. She’s not angry at anyone there, not anymore – it might be a nice change of pace for once.)

.

.

.

EDIT: NOW WITH ART FROM ART

(more fics here)

oh boy. this was literally stream of consciousness on my part with even less planning than usual, impossible as that sounds – all i knew i wanted was for wrath!riza to be much more like greed!ling than wrath!bradley, because otherwise what would be the point. 

but then even as i was writing i realised how many people riza would have reason to be angry at, justified or otherwise: roy for the whole flame alchemy thing, the elrics for getting into this mess, even grumman for leaving her with berthold if he’d even suspected what was going on (and for the record, wrath would 100% killed berthold on riza’s behalf if he hadn’t already been dead)

and then i dithered on how to finish this (and indeed whether to finish it at all, i was tempted to throw hands after the second to third sections) but then my three brain cells summarily went GIVE RIZA HAWKEYE AGENCY GIVE IT BACK TO HER and fuck yeah i agreed. so here we are. in this verse roy never asks her the whole “guard my back but also shoot me if i go wrong” thing, because it’d just be… utterly ridiculous, in context, and also it’s possible that riza ends up leaving the military entirely or goes to support olivier for fuhrer instead. wrath would certainly appreciate the hell outta that

anyway this is a mess and probably the most ooc riza i have ever written but i hope y’all enjoyed it anyway

title notes: aqua regia aka regal water, a nitric/hydrochloric acide mixture so named by alchemists for dissolving noble metals like gold + a bit cribbed straight off robert frost

[pulaasul]

Digimon  Adventure: Taichi and Yamato’s Last Adventure.

A Last Evolution Kizuna Review.

----------

Let’s continue my way of reviewing with dubbing the movie’s title in a way that completely summarizes what we saw. Like Avengers: Iron Grid for Endgame or Avengers: Thanos the Movie for Infinity War or even Ms. Marvel: Grand Theft Vers.

This time its

デジモンアドベンチャー LAST EVOLUTION 絆 -  Dejimon Adobenchā LAST EVOLUTION Kizuna ] Digimon Adventure: Last Evolution – Kizuna (Last Evolution – Bonds ).

I dub this movie as

[デジモンアドベンチャー :  太一 とヤマト の 最後のアドベンチャー - Dejimon adobenchā: Taichi to Yamato no saigo no adobenchā ] – Digimon  Adventure: Taichi and Yamato’s Last Adventure.

TL:DR – I love this movie for its pros but I have a lot of issues with this movie. I give this a 7.5/10 rating.

----------

 I guess, art style is as good as any to start the review for this animated movie. Frankly speaking, I did not like Digimon Adventure Tri’s art style. To me the art style looked like trying too hard for it to look modern with its weird angle shots and weird incorporation of rigid and angled lines.

The bolded outlines on every characters, especially during the digivolution sequences looked really jarring. It’s not deal breaking mind you, it just seemed like there was more focus on how to “modernize” the art style from the one used during Adventure 01’s first run.

Last Evolution Kizuna’s art style on the other hand was a neat blend between the 01-02 and Tri art styles with a dash of modernity and realism.

No oversized feet, head, and/or hands here folks.

Animation-wise. From what I have watched, I haven’t noticed any animation errors, like the derp face when characters are shown far from the supposed camera.

And there’s no jiggle physics.

So there’s that.

Plotwise…

Let’s see.

The movie is chuck-full of references from the first Digimon Movie, whether you saw the dubbed or original Japanese version. The very first scene we’re introduced to the Chosens was a Parrotmon appearing in the city and wreaking havoc in the immediate area.

That doesn’t mean that the ensuing battle didn’t cause destruction.

Angemon – Takeru – Angewomon – Hikari – Taichi and Agumon – Greymon – Garurumon – Yamato.

This was the order of how we were introduced to the Chosen Children and their Digimons.

This first scenes in the movie teases the viewers of what to expect in the whole movie

But…

---------

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

under the cut.

----------

That never came to fruition.

The promotion of the movie teased the viewers of everyone’s involvement in the movie. The 02 kids being combined in one trailer, while the others having their separate trailers, implied that the 02 kids had minor roles or outright non-entities in the movie.

 Here’s the worst part.

Sora doesn’t want to battle. She did literally nothing (wasn’t even put into a coma)

Joe and Mimi are busy with their jobs and occupation.

Takeru had more involvement but he shared the same fate as Hikari, getting kidnapped and going into a coma.

You’d think that they were going to have some more focus in the movie considering they were the first human characters we see on screen.

While Koushiro did go into a coma, he had more involvement in how things went through as opposed to the other members of the original eight chosen children

Really, Sora was demoted to a few cameos in the movie while the others, barring Koushirou, had glorified cameos where they get to join the fight.

Why do you think I dubbed this movie as Taichi’s and Yamato’s Last Adventure? The focus of the plot is more on the two of them, like really, they are the only characters who were given a huge amount of screen time and development.

----------

The conflict was good on paper, it had potential. But man its execution was sloppy. I get the stagnation of life as people grow into adults, especially in the Japanese workspace. (Sacrifice literally everything for the sake of work, work and more work.)

But man it was really sloppy.

Agumon’s and Gabumon’s disappearance was nothing but tragedy for tragedy’s sake.

----------

Let’s get to the positive side of things.

I love the fact that both Taichi and Yamato were doing amateur detective work, which was how the 02 peepz got involved.

I love how involved the 02 cast in the movie were. We were introduced to them on a ramen date between Ken and Daisuke and Iori. (We all know Iori’s the third wheel in this :p) In fact I loved how they were on foreign soil using the Digital Gate loophole to bypass customs and embassies.

The ramen date happened in New York if I’m not mistaken.

I also love the irony of “Justice! Do Good! Future Lawyer” Iori was the one who used Armadimon to bypass the security system. 

I love the fact that while Yamato and Taichi were battling the tragic – I will save you – villain, the 02 kids were in the real world holding down the fort.

Granted that they were fighting in New York, they were still shown to fight the army of digimon, saving the younger chosen children.

I learned to love the movie despite its issues, but the issues are still there. They do hampered my enjoyment of the movie, but I learned to look at the silver lining and take what I can get.

But in media we consume, we should also look at them with a critical eye. We should critique it and not bash it.

There’s line that separates both.

With my grievances out of the way, here are my suggestions on how the movie should’ve been imo

Fair warning, that these suggestions don’t really change the plot we were given, but rather its sowing seeds for a potential sequel that could “fix”, for lack of better term, the plot threads in this movie, like the adults shouldn’t have Digimon bit 

(Really all I’m remembering is Persona: Trinity Soul’s BS of Adults can’t have a Persona.)

With the warning out of the way, here are my suggestions.

The opening should’ve showed the other Chosen Children that’s not Yamato, Taichi, Takeru and Hikari fighting Digimon in their immediate areas with Koushiro guiding them. While Sora is shown doing flower arrangements.

With Hikari’s and Takeru’s kidnapping, they should’ve showed us how they were captured, while I have no problems with the reveal of their kidnapping, I think it would’ve been dramatic had we were shown how they were captured then cut to Yamato and Taichi going to their respective siblings while on the phone with Koushiro who can be seen looking at the images of Takeru and Hikari tied up on a chair.

I would even suggest that the image be on one window while his Digimon work would be shown on another window to foreshadow the things to come.

For the 02 peepz. While I don’t have a single ounce of problem with their involvement. I think it could do better.

Daisuke sees a child very close to being captured he catapulted himself and got taken instead, resulting in his loss of consciousness, which made Paildramon fade slowly but surely. (The form the Digimon takes what form they were when they disappeared.). Ken tries to rush to Daisuke’s aid but Miyako holds him back. A shockwave forces her to let go of him and rush towards Daisuke, but gets captured in the process, which resulted in him losing consciousness and Paildramon fading away.

Cue Omegamon with Taichi and Yamato vs. Paildramon, brainwashed Daisuke and Ken and Eosmon.

Then the nostalgic whistle happens.

It’s not enough to snap Daisuke and Ken (considering they don’t know its significance unlike the Original 8 chosen) but it does snap the others back to reality.

Cue Digivolving to Ultimate (Lilimon, Zudomon, Magna Angemon, AlturKabuterimon and Angewomon.) They fight Paildramon, who they fought to standstill.

Meanwhile, Hikari and Takeru work on trying to snap both Daisuke and Ken out of their brainwashed states with minimal successes.

Daisuke flickers back and forth from his state but Ken is rooted firmly in his brainwashing.

Sooner or later Hikari and Takeru became successful in snapping both Ken and Daisuke from the stupor they were in and joins the fight against Eosmon.

They made quick work of the clones but are powerless against the golden Digivolved Eosmon, reverting back to their child forms.

Cue in the new forms of Agumon and Gabumon.

Gennai has sowed this seed when he met with Taichi. The scene where Agumon and Garurumon digivolved into those new forms, the rings bars on their digivices should’ve been added. It showed that both Taichi and Yamato still had room to grow and don’t stagnate.

The scene cuts to Sora, hugging Biyomon while clutching her Digivice showing only one bar.

They won the fight.

As soon as the last of the memories were shown, we cut back to Sora crying as the last bits of Biyomon’s data disappeared.

Cut back to the fight, as Yamato and Taichi uses their digivices towards the villain, and that act subtracts the circular bars on their digivices to one bar.

The end scene happens, with Daisuke and Ken waking up from the streets, while the others wake up on their hospital beds.

The ending goes the same, but a credit scene shows an OG broken digivice glowing.

Overall, I give the movie a 7.5 rating, considering my grievances towards the movie. Don’t get me wrong, I like the movie, but there were a lot of cons that needed to be addressed, including the adults don’t have Digimon bit.

In fact, 7.5 is a little higher, its because of my love for the 02 kids that this was bumped above Endgame, solely for my bias towards Daisuke and the others.

And I reiterate, the “changes” I suggested are more on sowing the seeds for a potential sequel that still ties in the 02 epilogue.

Which is still deemed canon, considering the Ramen dates, Yamato and Taichi’s school, even Sora’s future occupation is still in place. Heck we’ve even seen the beginnings of both Koushiro’s and Joe’s 02 epilogue occupations.