#they’ll force feed me medication

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 10: First Visit

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - First Visit - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan makes a trip down to the lower basement. As always, we open with a glimpse into the past.

“Now, now, you too… both feet on the floor,” Patton laughed, arms full and backing into the room and letting the door swing closed behind him. “No hanky-panky in the livingr—Jan!”

His tray dropped to the table with a clatter. Janus’s shirt was torn, the soft yellow plaid stained with a rusty red. Hands bandaged and eyes squeezed shut, he sat with his head tilted against the backrest. Lucas knelt on the cushion next to him, bright red blood seeping through the cloth he held to Janus' cheek.

Patton rushed to his other side. “What happened? Were we attacked? I didn’t hear the alarm, we—”

“It was the kid,” Lucas answered, a tremor in his jaw that quickly smoothed. Janus started to nod, then winced. “Shh, shh, shh, don’t move, love,” his voice once again calm and soothing. Dim orange light danced behind his lashes. “Don’t move, love,” he murmured, stroking Janus’ jaw with his other hand.

The crease in Janus’ brow softened and his whole body sank back into the couch. He hummed, low and content and a bit of his thoughts slipped past his control, caressing Patton's mind.

“Lukie,” he whispered, picking up another cloth from the coffee table and dabbing at the blood along Janus’ hairline. “Not so much.”

“Nothin’ compared to what I had to do to the kid.”

“What?” Patton snapped, eyes wide. With a glance up at Janus’ still-serene face, he forced his voice lower then glared at his brother. “What did you do to Re?”

“More than he deserved,” Lucas said, preternaturally calm with his gaze fixed on Janus’ face. He peeled back the edge of the cloth. “Look what he did to Jan.”

Blood pulsed along the edges of three jagged gashes stretched over Janus’ cheek and jaw. Other, smaller cuts and bruises covered his face and neck and the bandages on his hands had begun to weep red, as well. 

Patton pushed back Janus’ hair from his face, cooing gently when the pain seeped through Lucas’ control. “He needs stitches,” he said quietly, the issue of who caused him to need them closed. For now.

“Virge grabbed one of the kits for you before he went to go sit with the boys. Ro’s pissed.” Patton’s hand shook and Lucas tapped his fingers once, calming them. He left behind a smear of Janus’ blood. “Can you do it?”

“I…” Tearing his gaze from Janus’ wounds, Patton counted the piles of used gauze and cloth on the floor. “I don’t know, Lukie. They’re so deep. Maybe we should take him to the medical cent—”

“Please? You know what they’ll do to him. And then they’ll come after Re, too.” Lucas reached for his brother’s hand again but pulled away before touching his skin. “Will you take care of him for me?”

“Yeah,” Patton whispered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Yeah, okay.”

~

Logan cycled through each of HQ’s cameras, watching and waiting for each of the Mad Lads to retreat to their rooms for the night. The Prince didn’t leave his room, but V, Silvertongue, and Patton each separately visited him and stayed for a few minutes before heading off to their own rooms.

A little after midnight, HQ’s lighting shifted into night mode, a dim, golden glow from light strips embedded along the edges of the ceiling. Logan waited another hour before sliding back into his chair and making his way to the elevator, tablet resting on his lap. On the split screen, he’d opened the camera feeds to both ends of the hallway. One one side was the path to Silvertongue’s and Patton’s rooms; the other his, V’s and The Prince’s. He watched himself on the camera feed.

It would be obvious to anyone reviewing the tape where he was going and he almost didn’t stop. The memory The Muse’s hand pressed to the window drove him forward until he stopped in front the elevator and palmed it open.

The doors opened almost instantly, as though it had been waiting for him. He rolled in and pressed the button for the lower basement.

A tiny, cowardly part of his heart briefly hoped it wouldn’t work. That some protective measure might now block his access. That he’d have a flimsy excuse for not doing the right thing.

Instead the elevator doors closed with near-silent swoosh and he tucked the tablet between his thigh and the chair, too nervous to notice V’s door open on the security camera’s feed.

~

Fire from the gashes carved over his chest and face and legs seeped through the haze of meds Papa Bear had oh so carefully pumped him full of. Sprawled on his back, limbs splayed, Remus got a little relief and his mind wandered, tripping through the garden of sensations the breach had planted in his mind.

Behind his closed eyelids, the thick padded walls surrounding him faded and fell away.

Prickles of heat danced at his fingertips, palms rubbed over sweaty, calloused skin. Music and screams and laughter twisted in his ears. A lover’s whisper grazed his cheek and hands, hundreds of hands dragged and tickled and plucked at his skin.

A thousand scents filled the air, waves crashed against rocks and sunken cities, sunrise and sunset blinded him in their brilliance. Autumn leaves crunched and the ground shook beneath him.

Remus’ eyes shot open. The ground shook beneath him. Hands pressed flat against the floor, he listened and he felt, stretching his senses until they threatened to snap. Each breath roared, an ocean in his ears, so he held it, listening listening listening listening listening listening

Someone was coming. Papa Bear and Virge had already come. And Ro… his shadow stayed for a long, long time after the others went upstairs. Papa Bear had really wanted to lecture him for ripping up the carpet. Not all the way, he was way too kind for that. But Papa Bear still had that little flash even when he knew Remus didn’t really want to break anything. 

He had to follow the rules, and he tried, he really really tried, but he just had to get to the floor. So maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe Jannie would come. Maybe Jannie would come with the frown Remus could hear behind his mask, and the gentle hands and hold Remus could feel through the layers of gloves.

The floor jumped beneath his hands, warm and buzzy. The elevator doors closed. Someone was there, right out there in the hallway. How many breaths would it take for them to breathe the same air? Remus remembered and sucked in a lungful. It didn’t taste like Janus yet but it had to be him.

“Jannie, Jannie, Jannie, Jannie…”

He scrambled to the door, skin tugging under the butterfly stitches along his shoulder. Shadows played just outside the door. Someone was definitely there.

Crouched on the floor, Remus pressed his forehead to the cool window. Soft, dark blue eyes blinked back at him.

“It’s you!” he shouted through the fake glass.

The Machine flinched, his scarred, mangled fingers stuttering on a little joystick-looking thing on the side of his chair, but he didn’t roll back. He didn’t roll away. He stayed right there, staring back.

“Hello, Muse,” he mouthed, carefully, slowly, enunciating the syllables so Remus would understand him. Pained. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

The Machine’s jaw and neck and cheeks were stitched back together just like his, perfectly neat stitches drawing together the angry gashes dragged across either side of his face. Remus’ gaze dropped down to The Machine’s stump and what was remained of his hand.

The Machine’s nails were short and even, nothing like the torn bits of what Remus’ nails had been before this afternoon’s breach in his cocoon. Looking up again, his eyes followed the path of The Machine’s stitches and his hands came up to touch the matching paths along on his own face.

Remus grinned.

“It was an accident! And I hurt you,” he shouted through the window and pointed at The Machine’s face. “I’m sorry.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before The Machine rolled close enough to touch the window. Remus pressed his palm flat against the surface, watching a bit of heat fog the inches of plastic between them.

“Wanna come in?” Remus asked, rushed. Afraid he’d say no and leave. Afraid he’d say yes and it would hurt.

The Machine tilted his head, face scrunched like he needed to work out what Remus had said. “By the door, up there—” he tapped the window and pointed like he could draw a line from there to the door controls. If The Machine could work the elevator to get downstairs, he could probably get in here, too. At least Remus was pretty sure.

Understanding washed over The Machine’s face and Remus’s grin grew, stretching his stitches until he thought they might snap. He nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah right there,” he said, forcing slowness in his words and hoping… The Machine’s eyes slipped over the wall, across the panel, then back at him. His eyes were so big, big and round and a little teary, set high above sharp, sunken cheeks, stubble peeking through the stitches. Scarred flesh pulled taut over his bones, thin. Thin but flushed pink.

He looked warm.

“Go on, try it!”

~

Memory echoed back the full sound of The Muse’s voice through the reinforced door and Logan sat, near frozen in his chair. Quick, too quick to forgive the pain he'd caused him, The Muse pointed out the door’s controls and smiled, hope in his eyes.

Logan looked back at him, gaze lingering on the evidence of his the hurt he'd cause. Would he hurt him again with his presence? If even The Muse's own brother couldn’t visit without harm, and his… his well, whatever Silvertongue was to him… Even Logan could see they were immeasurably close. If even Silvertongue, for all his power, all his control, had to limit his visits.

Perhaps, being a Powerless could be… beneficial. In this context, at least.

Logan’s concern for The Muse pushed aside everything else. His fear of being caught, his creeping exhaustion, even his reluctance to leave behind his chair. He rolled closer to the controls and stretched, the tiny grace of living in a right-handed world finally making his life easier. A bit, at least.

He was still inches from the panel when orange lights flashed along the ceiling, casting The Muse’s face in a flickering warm glow. He said something, a word Logan couldn’t make out, on the other side of the window and he nodded, stabbing a finger toward the elevator. “Go!” he mouthed, clearly.

“I—” Logan felt the pull of the alarm. If he got upstairs and into his suit maybe the others would take him along this time. He could prove his value to the team instead of…

The Muse stared at him, palm pressed hard against the window, skin paled and flattened with the pressure. Logan matched his pose, hand to hand with reinforced plastisteel between them. “I’ll come back!” he shouted as though that would make The Muse hear his sincerity.

The Muse nodded, eyes watering above a shaky grin as he clawed at the window between them. “Please…”

Before he could change his mind, Logan rolled backward and shot into the waiting elevator.

V was waiting for him, tablet in hand.

“I—” Logan began as the elevator doors hissed shut behind him

“Yeah, I saw the video feed,” he said, quiet. He tapped the screen and it went dark. The elevator opened on the main level and Logan followed V’s gaze toward the common room as he slid out ahead of him. “Suit up, Tin Man,” V said. “Time you met Hesper.”

[villain-sympathizer]

Headcanons for the PLF leaders X a Reader who needs to be reminded to eat?

absolutely!! as someone who also struggles with remembering to eat, i feel this lmao

since theres a ton of 'leaders' in the PLF im going to just do the ones I know more about for this! if theres anyone you want added just let me know!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

»»—— Reminding Their Partner To Eat ——««

[Characters: Tomura Shigaraki, Re-Destro, Skeptic]

[Contents: ⚠Mentions/implications of eating disorders⚠ (not the main topic, though), talk of medications, spoilers for the manga/upcoming S6]

────── ･ ｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

Shigaraki:

I think he and Skeptic are also guilty of this, but not in the same way, yknow?

For Tomura, it's for so many reasons, depending on the arc. At first, it was because he was so focused on gaming and trying to form a proper league; then, it was because he and the League were without a proper base/home and none of them were able to get proper food; then, it was fighting a giant mountain-like monster of a man for months; and finally, it was the struggle with his surgery and the AFO possession.

But, even if he doesn't take care of himself as much as he should, he's not considered a leader and a grand commander for nothing!

While he doesn't remind himself to eat, he absolutely reminds his partner. No matter the reason for why they forget to eat, or don't choose to eat, he will make a reminder on his own phone to remind THEM, not even himself.

Like I said, I see him as the kind of guy to share his own rations in order to make sure the rest of the League is fed well enough, especially his significant other.

They’re part of the family now, and that means they’ll be treated with the upmost care!

Sometimes, if he KNOWS they didn’t eat yet, he’ll go as far as to take a meal to them personally. Take out, home cooked, made by a hired chef – doesn’t matter, he’s hauling that meal for two right up to them himself.

If they try and refuse, saying he didn’t have to do that for them and they could get their own food, he’ll insist. But he’ll insist in that “I’m not giving up until you shove this in your mouth” kind of way, because he knows they’ll just end up forgetting again.

Lots of reminder texts that are just “eat”, or the occasional “consume”.

Unfortunately, he’s unable to check in with them much after the PLF arc, and almost never at all when AFO takes over his body.

Though, he’ll always have those off-hand thoughts of ‘I hope they ate today’ or ‘I wonder if the League is making sure they’re okay’. It confuses the fuck out of AFO but he can’t get them to stop.

Calls them his 'tomagatchi' with how often it feels like he's checking in on them, but if they don't like it, he'll stop.

Re-Destro:

Now this man, he's the PERFECT perfect partner for this out off all the PLF folks, honestly.

He's such an observant, caring person towards everyone he's close to, and that goes double for his partner.

Absolute dad material with how much he wants to make sure everyone is taken care of, both physically and mentally, so he checks in with all his loved ones and asks if everything's okay.

With his lover, and any family member honestly, he didn't even need to be told that they need reminders. Every time he sees them it's the typical check-in: "Hello, dearest. Have you eaten recently? Drank any water? You seem a little tired, have you been sleeping well?"

Like seriously, everyone calls him overbearing, but little do they realize it's actually helpful. Oh, maybe they should eat something... and they were a bit restless last night...

If his partner has appetite issues because of medication, then he's sure to feed them before they take their medication, or at least before it kicks in.

And if it's because they refuse to eat for mental health reasons? Well, then they can expect all the loving words Rikiya has in his arsenal. No insecurity will be spared from his reassurances.

He won't force them to eat in that case, but he will gently urge them to take a set amount of bites. Baby steps, as he'd say.

Skeptic:

Just like Shigaraki, he's also someone who needs to be reminded himself to do even the basic human functions. Like sleeping.

Now, he's an incredibly focused man, and his partner will rarely ever see him during the work week unless they or Tomo himself seek each other out.

But since having a partner, he's gotten better at taking care of the both of them. It's kinda like how someone with depression will adopt a pet so that they have a reason to care for someone else, y'know?

Makes sure to contact them during his lunch breaks, which he actually takes now, and either checks in to see if they've eaten - or even going out of his way to join them for lunch.

If his partner works for him/along side him, then you bet your ass he's marching over to their area and announcing that the two of them are going on break.

If they tell him, or if he realizes that they need reminders, then expect some kind of reminder in every source of media that you have. Texts, emails, DMs of every social media - hell, they could open up an account they haven't touched in years and find hundreds of messages reminding them to eat and drink water.

But, it's also going to be a two-way street when it comes to our boy Tomo: his partner is going to have to remind him to eat or sleep as well.

It's a strange back and forth of hypocritical advice, yet it somehow works for the both of them.

[unsuspectingfish]

Most of the side effects of this new medication have started to level out, but the one that seems to keep getting worse is the loss of appetite, only it’s not in the sense that I’m just never hungry, it’s in the sense that, when I am hungry, I take like 2-4 bites of my food and I suddenly feel like I’ve eaten an entire Thanksgiving dinner, complete with seconds. I’m hoping this’ll eventually level out, too, because I’m concerned that, if it doesn’t get, they’ll decide to take me off the medication, and I genuinely can’t express how much worse that would be than me having to force feed myself for the rest of my life. Like, I genuinely did not know it was possible to go this long without feeling like you’re dying and/or wanting to die. I’ll completely overhaul my diet to get the maximum amount of calories into each bite if that’s what it takes.

[happymediumclub]

In Defense of Spreading Holiday Cheer Fear

Low-stakes ways to feed your inner villain during the happiest time of the year

By Happy Medium Club’s resident Scorpio, Samirah 

Before you @me, you should know that I actually love the holidays.

I thrive in busy, high-stress seasons of life, and usually appreciate the chaos that inevitably comes from spending too much quality time with family and friends. But here’s what I do hate about the holidays: the cultural obsession with being “nice.”

This time of the year and the expectations that come with it are difficult for me for many reasons.

a) mental illness

b) stress-induced tension in my interpersonal relationships (a byproduct of your mental illness)

c) resulting feelings of self-hate that I usually can’t shake until a priest draws those little black ash marks on my forehead (iykyk)

Don’t worry—I’m fine!

I’m not a mean person. Neither year-round nor seasonally. I just personally find it hard to be nice all the time. I can’t possibly be the only one, right?

I feel like that’s a totally fine thing to admit about yourself?

All that to say, after many years of practice, I’ve fine-tuned a very emotionally immature way to help myself survive this time of year the best I can.

You can call it being a Scrooge or a Grinch, or maybe just a capital “B” (put some respect on it!) B*tch. I like to think of it more like microdosing meanness. It’s a tried-and-true (by me only) method, totally not backed by science. It’s a way of helping me cope with the pressure to be endlessly kind during the holidays.

Like microdosing herbs, psychedelics, or prescription medications, the idea is that low doses of unkindness help boost my overall mood and promote emotional balance. In layman’s terms, I just sprinkly dinkly a little bit of meanie weenie here and there.

Before I pass along my wisdom to you, let me again reinforce that this method is not backed by scientists, doctors, or blessed by any sort of mental health expert.

Nonetheless, here are four easy ways to microdose meanness during the holidays.

These tactics (probably!) won’t get you disinvited from Christmas dinner next year. Good luck!

1. Get Drunk & Say Mean Sh*T

Let’s start with the simplest one that even the most genuinely nice person can easily execute. Actually, this one works best the nicer you are! I’ll caveat that this one actually does NOT work if you are either a) too mean or b) too frequently drunk. 

All you have to do is have a little bit too much spiked dairy-free egg nog and then let ‘er rip. I like to add a playful little “just kidding” at the end to take the edge off for both yourself and the victim. This beautiful touch was inspired by my mother-in-law. Now, this isn’t a tactic you can overuse, but do feel free to dip your toe in with different groups and see how she feels!

2. Drive a Wedge

Not going to lie, this one takes a bit more scheming, so it’s not for the faint of heart. However, it does do double duty for those of us with certain compulsions by occupying more mind space. This one is especially for those of us who tire of caving on our own plans for the holidays in order to appease others. Have a controlling family member who is never happy unless things happen exactly the way they want? Let’s take them the f*ck down.

Say your mother insists on hosting your family’s Christmas morning brunch at her house year after year, even though all of her children are adults and live in separate homes. You’re tired of waking up early and being forced to wear your old Church clothes— just to only be assigned to bring orange juice for the mimosas.

I’d take a simple 4-step approach.

First, agree graciously.

Second, assume you’re not the only one who is pissed. Start by talking shit to your sister with a new baby. Chances are she agrees, so there’s your first opportunity to plant the seed of resentment.

Then move to the next household. Tell your three adorable young nieces that Santa has been holding back on their gifts because they don’t know where grandma lives, so they’ll cause enough chaos to sufficiently stress your sister and brother-in-law.

All you have to do now is sit back and enjoy the show. Depending on how your family deals with emotion, it will either be a shouting match or a cold war. Either way, call yourself T Swift because you are a friggin Mastermind. 

3. Pick a Punching Bag

Ideally, you’re punching up, but that’s not always possible.

But you can make a deal with a good, understanding friend who takes it like a champ. I’m not saying my friend Dom is a punching bag, but he wants to be! Dom likes the attention. Do I sometimes exploit it? Probably, but I do my best not to.

And in all seriousness, Dom’s ability to be a sturdy, yet vulnerable friend who isn’t afraid of my many emotions is incredibly valuable to me. I call this person a punching bag only for the sake of this article, but as described, it’s obviously not a fair position to put your friends in. However, the idea (the hope) is that this person is willing to look past some of your holiday misfires and give you a safe space to display your hostility. 

Like with any of these, don’t overdo it, and don’t take it for granted. At a minimum, buy your punching bag a Starbucks gift card or a pack of Shiner Cheer for their efforts. 

4. Say Nothing At All 

Just get drunk and go to bed early. To cause maximum chaos, be asleep during key moments. Family game night, last leg of the White Elephant exchange, family photos. You get the idea— be strategic. The best part about this one, for the attention whores, is that people will constantly be asking about you and wondering where you are. Let them talk.

Happy Christmas, Grinchie Winchies!

[animeomegas]

MY FELLOW ANON ARE VIOLATING MY EMOTIONS TODAY 😂 god I’m acc crying. Your writing is amazing. I’m gonna combat the sadness with a wholesome thing of them finding a pup in a bin (or something) a few months after the loss of the first pup (Neji is currently shut down entirely) is like “lol gimme”. Proceeds to take the pup home, put it in his nest scent the lil bean (gender is your choice) and just be like “yeah this mine now”. Any nay sayers are ignored bc it’s still his baby (maybe almost like his pup reincarnated 👀👀) regardless of how baby was obtained. Idk I just think my guy needs some positivity after life kicking the ever loving shit out of him

This is beautiful and you’re right, Neji deserves the world, but I’ll settle with a quiet life and some happiness for my boy!

Okay, so things haven’t been…good with Neji since you had to let your pup die to save him.

It has been two months and still he lays in his nest every day, sometimes crying, sometimes whining, but mostly just staring at nothing. He had incorporated a bunch of baby stuff (blankets, toys etc.) into his nest before he went to the hospital, in order to make his pup feel more at home in the nest when he was supposed to bring them back. You had tried to take them out to stop him having to be confronted with what happened in his safe space, but Neji almost attacked you for doing so, so you let him keep them.

But it’s very concerning when he spends hours at a time just stroking the pup's blankets and staring at nothing.

So, you decide to take Neji on a walk to get him out of the house. It would be his first time leaving the house since the funeral.

You go at night time, because Neji is still refusing any contact with anyone he knows and this way he’s less likely to be confronted when he isn’t ready for it. To make extra sure that you can be alone, you decide to walk around the edge of the woods around one of the quieter training grounds.

Neji doesn’t speak much, but he doesn’t whine or cry either, and the night air brings a little colour to his cheeks, and you’re so happy at the small improvements. It doesn’t matter how long it ends up taking him to feel better, you’ll be here with him the whole way.

…

“I was thinking about cooking something special next week,” you make idle conversation, not expecting Neji to reply. “It’s our anniversary after all, do you have any preference?”

Neji stops walking suddenly. His shoulders are tense.

“Neji?”

He hushes you harshly.

“I can hear…”

Without another word of warning, Neji makes his way a little further into the trees. You follow him, confused and worried.

“Byakugan!” he calls, scanning the area. He gasps as he scans over a nearby bush and immediately he drops to his knees beside it.

“Neji?” you ask, now more than a little concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You watch as Neji pulls something out of the bush. He turns around with a bundle in his arms.

“It’s a pup,” Neji says, obviously shocked. You can’t blame him, you’re feeling more than a little shocked yourself. What on earth was a pup doing out here? “They’re freezing. Give me your jacket.”

Without hesitance, you quickly slip your jacket of and hand it to Neji who promptly bundles up the pup in it and brings them to his chest. The pup is making small whimpering noises that had been almost impossible to hear over the wind. Neji must have hear them, thank goodness.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Neji coos to the pup. “You’re safe now, I'll take you home and make it better, I promise.”

“We need to get them to the hospital asap," you say, shaking your head. "They must be freezing and they look underweight as well. We’re not mednin, Neji.”

“Our home is closer.”

“Neji…”

“We need to make sure they’re warm,” he argues. “We can bring them home and alert a medic to make a home visit.”

You look at the earnest look on his face and know that he won’t back down, and now isn’t a time for arguments anyway.

“Okay,” you swallow nervously. “We’ll bring them home.”

…

You bring the pup back to your home and before you can protest, Neji brings them into his nest with a mumbled ‘they’ll be warm in there’.

Neji bundles himself and the pup up in the corner of the nest, turning on a little heater beside him, and tucking the pup into his shirt to share body warmth.

“We’ll get you nice and warm, it’s okay, you’re safe, I won’t let anyone harm you,” he whispers while stroking their cheek with a finger. The pup wriggles around, already looking more energetic, and starts mouthing at Neji’s chest.

“Are you hungry?” Neji laughs softly before turning to you. “Go and heat up a bottle for the pup, all the supplies are in the… the nursery.”

You nod dumbly and do as you’re asked, astounded at how much life is in Neji’s eyes. It’s the most life you’ve seen from him in months. But you can’t help but worry. What if Neji gets attached and you can’t keep the pup? Of course, you want nothing more than to keep the baby, it almost seems too good to be true that she literally fell into both your lives at this trying time, but what if it is too good to be true? What if they’re sick? Or their parents are looking for them? Or… something else. Neji doesn’t deserve another heartbreak, and you don’t want to destroy the small amount of progress he’s made in the last month.

But for now, all you can do is heat up the bottle.

…

“Here, it’s a good temperature, I already checked,” you pass Neji the bottle. He checks it again anyway and you can’t help but smile at how overprotective and parental he's being. It's so bittersweet to see him like this.

“Here you go sweetheart, just for you,” Neji smiles, cradling the pup as they latch onto the bottle with fervour. “Shh, shh, shh, slow down, it’s not going anywhere.”

Neji feeds the pup and then burps them, and you pretend you can’t see him smiling when he notices that they are starting to smell like him. You need to know you can keep her before you let him get even more attached.

“I’m going to send a clone for a medic, now.”

The room became tense all at once.

“They’re fine, I’m looking after them,” Neji protests.

“I know, and you’re doing a good job, but we still need a medic, Neji.”

Neji holds the pup more tightly to his chest, tucking an extra blanket around them. He's using the special blanket you had got commissioned for your pup. You can feel your heart break at the sight. He's already attached. Now you just have to hope you can keep them. For his sake.

“I don’t want them to take the pup away like last time,” Neji admits softly. "I can look after them, I won't let anything happen like last time, I promise. They'll be safe, we don't need a medic."

“We need to know their primary and secondary gender, omega, and we need to make sure they aren’t sick after being left in the woods…”

Neji hesitates but nods his consent in the end after you explain that your pup could become ill if left untreated. You don’t tell him that you are also sending a clone to the Hokage. Naruto will be able to grant you and Neji the right to keep the pup, and you hope that as Neji’s friend, he’ll be able to see how much he needs this.

…

You have to move Neji and the pup downstairs to wait for the medic, because Neji would not appreciate someone unknown seeing his nest he made for his pup. He’s not expecting Naruto to show up as well so you go to the door to intercept and prep them both.

“Thank you so much for coming, Naruto, I can’t tell you how much this means to me and Neji,” you say, hugging him as he walks through the door.

“I’m going to do everything I can,” he promises. “If the medic finds signs of long-term neglect, I can take the parental rights away from the biological parents straight away, even if I don't know who they are, and transfer you the rights.”

Your face visibly brightens, but Naruto continues.

“But if the only injuries are from laying in the forest for a few hours, I’ll have to try and find the parents first, because the child may have been taken from them by force, when the pup was otherwise a healthy baby being looked after sufficiently. In that circumstance, I’ll have to take the child back with me and put them in foster care until a three-month window has passed. And if the parents are found…”

“I know,” you sigh. “Let’s just get this done as soon as possible.”

The three of you walk into the living to see Neji cradling the pup tightly against his chest.

“Hey Neji,” Naruto greets softly with a sad smile. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

Neji tenses upon seeing Naruto.

“Naruto? Why are you here?” Neji clearly misinterprets the situation, holding the pup even more tightly and turning accusatory eyes against you. “Why did you bring him here?”

“I’m here to determine whether the pup was abandoned or kidnapped to the best of my abilities, once we have that done, we can decide how things are going to happen, okay?”

“How do you decide that?” Neji asks with distrustful eyes.

“The medic will give them a check-up, completely routine, I promise,” Naruto speaks with a soft voice like he’s talking to a cornered animal. Well, you look at Neji for a moment who is coiled as tightly as spring, he’s not far off.

It takes about five minutes for you to convince Neji to let go of the pup and hand them to the mednin, and then the next fifteen minutes involve you holding him in your arms to stop him wrestling the pup back from the mednin.

And then, rather ominously, the mednin pulls Naruto aside to talk.

Neji is shaking in your arms.

“It’s okay, calm down, Neji,” you try to comfort him.

“I can’t-“ Neji chokes, hands fisting in your shirt. “He has our pup, you let them take our pup.”

You don’t bother to correct him on his use of ‘our’, knowing it would only upset him more.

“I know baby, but they need to see that they’re healthy, nothing’s wrong, just breathe.”

Neji doesn’t take your advice.

"Last time they took them-"

"This isn't like last time, omega. Come one, try and settle down a little, that's it."

...

Naruto eventually walks back in, holding the pup securely, the mednin nowhere to be seen.

“So,” Naruto says seriously. And then his face breaks out into a wide grin. “Am I right in thinking you want to adopt?”

You can almost feel your relief in the air. Thanking every power that be for this stroke of luck. Losing this pup could have easily meant losing your mate, and the gravity of the situation all comes crashing down at once. Neji looks as though he is feeling much the same.

“Give me them,” he orders, arms out.

“Her,” Naruto corrects. “The mednin said she’s a female alpha.”

Tears start welling up in Neji’s eyes as he takes her. Their bio pup was a female alpha, too.

“Thank you,” he whispers to no one, holding his new pup as tightly as he dared. “I’ve got you now, you’re safe and sound with me, I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”

Naruto slips out of the house without a fuss, dropping the mednin’s recommendations for feeding the underweight pup on the coffee table.

...

You and Neji take your new pup upstairs and bundle her back into the nest. Neji lays down with her, stroking her cheek as he watches her sleep.

“You need to get some rest too, omega,” you suggest, running a hand down Neji’s back.

“Guard?” he asks in response.

“Yes," you smile at his protective instincts. "I’ll guard the nest while you sleep, I promise.”

“Okay, alpha…” Neji settles down, still with one hand resting on the pup. “But if I don’t wake up when she cries, wake me… I want to be the one to feed her.”

You laugh gently, “Of course, now get some sleep. I’ll guard you both.”

[therealvinelle]

If Edward turned Bella after forcibly aborting Renesmee, how would canon go?

... that was the point of forcibly aborting Renesmée, though. The demon baby was killing hamburger, Edward's whole reason for wanting that abortion was to save Bella. Specifically, to keep her human.

He has this whole scene with Jacob where... screw it, I'll quote it, so you don't have to take my word for it:

“Just back up a second. She won’t let you.” The sarcasm was acid on [Jacob's] tongue. “Did you ever notice that she’s exactly as strong as a normal hundred-and-ten-pound human girl? How stupid are you vamps? Hold her down and knock her out with drugs.”

“I wanted to,” [Edward] whispered. “Carlisle would have. . . .”

What, too noble were they?

“No. Not noble. Her bodyguard complicated things.”

Oh. His story hadn’t made much sense before, but it fit together now. So that’s what Blondie was up to. What was in it for her, though? Did the beauty queen want Bella to die so bad?

“Maybe,” he said. “Rosalie doesn’t look at it quite that way.”

“So take the blonde out first. Your kind can be put back together, right? Turn her into a jigsaw and take care of Bella.”

“Emmett and Esme are backing her up. Emmett would never let us… and Carlisle won’t help me with Esme against it. . . .” He trailed off, his voice disappearing. (Breaking Dawn, page 115)

(Note: this later turns out to be a lie. Carlisle explicitly states that he won't perform an abortion on Bella against her will. Edward has his back against the wall, and is losing his mind.)

“I don’t care about anything but keeping her alive,” he said, suddenly focused now. “If it’s a child she wants, she can have it. She can have half a dozen babies. Anything she wants.” He paused for one beat. “She can have puppies, if that’s what it takes.”

He met my stare for a moment and his face was frenzied under the thin layer of control. My hard scowl crumbled as I processed his words, and I felt my mouth pop open in shock.

“But not this way!” he hissed before I could recover. “Not this thing that’s sucking the life from her while I stand there helpless! Watching her sicken and waste away. Seeing it hurting her.” He sucked in a fast breath like someone had punched him in the gut. “You have to make her see reason, Jacob. She won’t listen to me anymore. Rosalie’s always there, feeding her insanity—encouraging her. Protecting her. No, protecting it. Bella’s life means nothing to her.”

The noise coming from my throat sounded like I was choking.

What was he saying? That Bella should, what? Have a baby? With me? What? How? Was he giving her up? Or did he think she wouldn’t mind being shared?

“Whichever. Whatever keeps her alive.”

“That’s the craziest thing you’ve said yet,” I mumbled. (Breaking Dawn, pages 116-117)

Edward wasn't allowed to be alone with Bella because they knew he'd try this. Even Bella knew, it's why she asked Rosalie for help.

Say, though, that Edward is able to get Bella alone... somehow. He overhears Bella's phone call at the airport, and that's where things get scary because it means Bella can't go to Forks anymore. Wouldn't want Rosalie to get her claws into you, would we, Bella?

Edward contacts Carlisle with an update about the situation, and tells him to fly in with the medical equipment they'll need and make sure Rosalie can't interfere.

Unfortunately for Edward, Carlisle is not understanding about this. He'll do anything and everything he can to help Bella, yes, but he won't abort the baby against her will.

Again, just so no one is taking my word for it (I'm in a quotin' mood today):

“Yes. Bella is already a daughter to me. A beloved daughter.”

“But you’re going to let her die.”

[Carlisle] was quiet long enough that I looked up. His face was very, very tired. I knew how he felt.

“I can imagine what you think of me for that,” he finally said. “But I can’t ignore her will. It wouldn’t be right to make such a choice for her, to force her.” (Breaking Dawn, page 154)

So now Edward has Carlisle on the phone telling him to bring Bella to Forks damnit, they have all the equipment there, and failing that the family is coming down to Rio - but not to abort the baby. And off the phone is Bella, begging Edward to understand that their baby is a miracle.

Edward ends up performing the abortion himself.

Considering what the hybrid pregnancy did to Bella's body, including but not extended to turning her uterus to stone, she was likely doomed from the moment of conception. A simple suction or scrape isn't going to do. Oh, I'm sure he'd try, but Renesmée probably crushes whatever he tries to put in the uterus with her tiny, somehow-already-developed fists.

Edward would have had to perform a hysterectomy.

So we have a vampire with no surgical experience whatsoever performing a hysterectomy and abortion on his wife (And yes, hysterectomies are invasive procedures, you need to know what you're doing) and one can only hope he minded his anestesiology well enough not to kill her that way. To say nothing of the fact that Bella had been turned into a hybrid incubator, this isn't going to be like the textbooks Edward read in the 1950's. (For that matter, people's innards aren't identical to the textbooks. This organ can be bigger than expected and that artery might take a slightly different path than expected. We're genetically varied both on the inside and the outside, so Edward really can't rely on what he learned in school.)

Bella's not getting off that operating table alive.

In canon Edward did bite her in the end, once she was truly beyond saving, but she also did very much give birth Alien style. She wasn't going to survive, and Edward had even had some time to get used to that thought, however much he railed against it. He was desperate enough that in that fateful moment he chose to keep her.

This time, he abducted, drugged, and forcibly aborted her, all of it so she'd live on. If he bites her, that will all have been for naughty.

But if he doesn't, then his world will be a starless night again.

Could be he bites her, could be he doesn't. I can't predict Edward Cullen.

If he does, then Bella wakes up a vampire to find that her husband murdered both her and her child, and now wants her to forgive him. She never does, and Carlisle and Rosalie can't either. Even Esme would struggle with this one. The covens falls apart spectacularly, but at least Bella now has a Tragic Backstory™ to match the others.

If he doesn't, then Alice watches powerlessly this vision of Edward killing his wife, and all the Cullens can do is come in many hours later, when it's too late anyway, and bury Bella. The coven falls apart in this timeline too.

[hold-him-down]

The Fighter - Chapter 2

Whumptober 2021 Alt. Prompt 15:  Anxiety

This is adult-themed and dark. THIS CHAPTER CW: forced medical trauma, restraint, tube feeding, bbu-references, references to non-con, vomit reference, references to anxiety, references to general eating issues

The moment he got to his car, Luke called his attorney, Vincent Hale, to go over the detail-work of the contract. Luke’s primary request was that it be ironclad.

“I don’t want anything done to him that isn’t explicitly done with the intent of improving his physical condition,” Luke said through a set jaw. 

“Understood,” Vince responded. “I’ll see what we can do to ensure that’s the case, they may just require you initiate his contract immediately, if you’re calling the shots on his treatment.”

“That’s fine,” Luke replied, distantly aware that he was sounding dangerously close to a bonafide contract-holder. He didn’t have it in him to dwell on it at the moment. He had bigger issues. “No one touches him unless it’s for his own medical well-being. I’d also like for him to be moved to a different site.”

“That might be more complicated. I think there’s a site in Vienna that deals mainly with workers who’s contracts are bought by government officials, I can check into that. Maybe if we phrase it as though you’re wanting him closer to your home they’ll be less likely to fight it…”

“Whatever gets the job done. Vince? I mean it– I know this sounds insane. But I think...” He took a deep breath, letting the weight of what he was going to say settle upon him. “It sounded to me like they’re going to make a move to sell his...” he said, his voice on the edge of mania as he hesitated over each word, his voice trailing off at the end. “I–” He took another breath, running his hand over his face. Get ahold of yourself. “I don’t think they give a single shit that the vote hasn’t even happened yet. Do what you can to get him out, I’ll make whatever phone calls I need to make.”

“You got it,” Vince replied, not missing a beat. Within hours, Leo was transported under heavy sedation by government vehicle to a small private medical facility that, as Vince thought, worked exclusively with high profile and government workers. Vince had offered his unsolicited advice on the matter, several times over, before realizing the inevitability of what Luke had undertaken. It was done, in Luke’s mind, and so Vince began the grueling task of ensuring the mess would be minimal.

At Luke’s request, he put the most amount of his focus into termination clauses, ensuring that there were no hidden amendments about forcefully interrupting a contract period, should Luke’s behavior offend the board of directors at the Department of Labor Services. He needed to understand, beat-for-beat, what he was entering on a legal level, if he couldn’t understand yet on a personal level.

The gist of it was:

On the government’s end, the contract could be terminated following allegations of abuse, only following an ‘unbiased investigation’ that yielded willful harm to a contracted worker.  A contract could also be terminated if the contract holder was rendered incapacitated for a period longer than 3 days with no appointed secondary contract holder, or if the contract-holder was convicted of a felony.

On the buyer’s end, the contract could be terminated at any time, with or without cause. There was an attached schedule of various penalties for terminating a contract prematurely.

The week passed in a flurry of meetings, appearances, press briefings, interviews, and all of the other activities that created absolute chaos preceding a vote of this magnitude. Every day, Luke hunched over his keyboard, reading updates from Vince on the progression of the contract, bouncing from to-do to to-do, getting home and booking it straight for the treadmill, and ignoring the small packet of information that sat on his entry-table. He had explicitly asked that the doctors at the private site communicate solely with Vince, an effort to keep his head cool through a week that he had no control over, and they had agreed without pause– it was a common enough request, he supposed. 

Throughout the week, Vince forwarded files on Leo’s condition. Luke had only opened the file that first day. Notes on Leo’s mental state, his cooperation, his weight, how much sleep he got, what medication was administered, etc, were sent. A link to video surveillance at the site was sent. It brought knots to his stomach, so he changed course.

Instead of dwelling on the surplus of information that he shouldn’t have any right to, he tried to ensure that his free time was strictly limited. Any free time became time for him to think, and the further he got into thinking, the more frustrated and anxious he became. As night after night he moved the unread files into an encrypted folder on his harddrive, he considered his responsibility to Leo. Between the two of them, he was likely the only one to have access to this information, and he didn’t want to do something he would later regret. Like delete Leo’s entire medical history. Still, it was a gross invasion of privacy. One, his more rational side pointed out, that he probably needed to start getting used to.

He had disclosed the contract to some key members of his team, and a plan was being created for filtering the information to the public. It was made clear to him that he should not deviate from the plan, and until the news formally broke, he should plan to be discrete. 

And so discrete, he remained. He went to work, he came home. He watched the news. The headlines were something from a dystopian horror show: France, In Early Stages of Passing a Bill to Allow Privatized Service Work. The Philippines had already gone through preliminary voting, and a handful of other countries continued to watch the U.S. to determine their move. Largely, the world seemed to recognize what a shit show this was, but apparently it still had its appeal. Luke eyed the newspaper on his coffee table. With Crime in the U.S. at an All-Time Low, Officials Look to Level 1 Crime to Maintain the Work-Force. 

“Jesus,” Luke said, stretching backward. He half-listened to the journalist’s take on this fucking crime against humanity as he opened his email. Another file, this one titled, “Evans_L_9.24.2096_IQ.” He moved it into the private folder and turned off his phone, the computer, the TV. He sat in the dark, making a mental list of everything he would need to do to prepare for Friday. Groceries. He should get groceries. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Thursday, much like every day leading up the floor vote, went by in a barely-sealed vacuum of chaos, allowing him to put his evening agenda out of his mind. He met with senators both within and across the aisle. He attempted to maintain composure through the casual side-conversations regarding the exponentially increasing state of unrest that seemed to be taking a hold on the country. Civil unrest wasn’t a novel concept, but with the bill passing the house with the overwhelming vote, moderates were beginning to sway in their stance on human slavery, and more specifically, eradicating the lower class through means of–

“Senator,” Milo, his assistant, interrupted, knocking briefly on his office door before entering. “Your car’s downstairs.” Luke nodded and closed his laptop, placing it into his briefcase. “Good luck.” Milo nodded as Luke stood.

“Thank you,” he responded. “I believe I’ll need it.”

​​✥ ✥ ✥

He entered the private facility through a unique code he had been sent, and was issued a visitor’s badge, which would grant him access to any wing of his choosing. He was ushered through a long corridor and into the largest office at the end, the nameplate on the door reading Dr. Pierce Winter. 

Pierce stood to greet him. He was in his late 30s or early 40s, a white lab coat covering his silk button-down. He was handsome, he was the kind of man who Luke would take home in a messy two or three night stand that would probably get him in trouble with his party. It was all pointless observation, though, only serving to help compartmentalize this person. He was too revolted by what this man stood for to feel anything other than thinly-veiled disgust for him. He smiled, shaking his hand.

“Senator Bennett, I must say I never thought I’d see you here. Kind of extraordinary circumstances,” Pierce said, retaking his position in the chair behind his desk. “We wouldn’t ordinarily bother you with a meeting, but your lawyer has been clear that you’re adamant about initiating this contract, so we thought it would be best to review things in person.”

“Absolutely,” Luke agreed. His schedule was packed, but he didn’t hesitate when this meeting was suggested. He wanted to introduce himself to Leo before tomorrow, regardless. 

“Over the past week, as you know, I’ve conducted a full psychiatric evaluation of Leo.” Pierce turned to his tablet, which brought some information onto a screen visible to both of them. “After spending some time with him, as I mentioned to Mr. Hale, my recommendation is to terminate the contract.” Luke opened his mouth but Pierce held up his hand, continuing. “I understand that isn’t an option, but we’ve been approved to delay the initiation of the contract for retraining if that’s something you’re interested in? Or, perhaps not interested in, but agreeable to?”

Be neutral.

“That’s not an option I’d like to explore,” Luke said, with as much an air of casualty that he could muster. 

Pierce nodded. “I expected as much, in getting to talk with Mr. Hale over the week. I just want you to understand that the man you’ve selected, Leo, is not meeting the standards that are typically set for initiation of a contract. As I’m sure you know, our site isn’t really an intake or training site, we are a strictly medical facility, however, I can recommend a state of the art training site that can probably get him where he needs to be within a matter of weeks.”

“It’s not an option,” Luke repeated, the beginnings of tension creeping into his voice. He consciously shifted his tone.

“Of course.” Pierce pulled open a report, and Luke averted his eyes. “The doctor will review physical concerns, my main concern lies in his psychological state. He’s compliant with most tasks that he’s been asked to perform, if he’s able to.”

Luke wasn’t sure how to shift the conversation, and the way Pierce spoke, Luke suspected that he was prepared for any attempts to divert. 

“If he’s been unable to perform a given task, he’s attempted it, with some notable exceptions. There are some areas of concern I want to highlight, especially with eating. I sent a video for you to review, that you’ll need to sign off on reviewing prior to us releasing him. I want to make sure you understand what kind of relationship you may be entering.”

“Okay,” Luke said.

“He’s allowed doctors, assistants, and a variety of other members of our team to handle him without incident.” He must have registered the shift in Luke’s posture. “Senator Bennett, I understand your position on the system. Allow me to be frank?”

Luke nodded.

“He is uncooperative in ways that will ultimately lead to larger concerns down the line. Eating, drinking. He’s having difficulty sleeping. While he allows any technician, guard, admin, etc, to handle him physically, he shows signs of anxiety above a level I feel comfortable signing off on. In cases like these, especially following a contract such as the one that just terminated, I highly recommend a period of readjustment and retraining. Even if it’s brief– give him a month and the handlers will be able to get him back to a state where he is more…” Doctor Pierce gestured with his hands. “Pliable.”

Luke didn’t put on the fake smile here. Here, he maintained composure, but set his jaw.

“We already discussed my stance on that. Is there anything else?”

Pierce took a breath, and Luke prepared himself for whatever was to come next. “If you’d like, I can write a prescription to help balance him out a little bit. This, along with any other medication or medical treatment, is ultimately your decision while you hold his contract. We can begin administering it today to get a jump on efficacy.”

“Does he want it?” Luke asked, almost immediately realizing the stupidity in his question. He couldn’t even fully identify if it had been a genuine question. Of course, this doctor would not have the first clue or care if Leo wanted to be balanced out. 

“He hasn’t specified.” Pierce’s voice was flat, as though he were as ready for this conversation to end as Luke was.

“Let’s not.”

Pierce’s features formed into a somewhat sad smile. “I understand your position, Senator. I truly do. When I first found out we were going to treat your worker, I wasn’t sure what had happened that could possibly have changed your mind. You’ve become something of a beacon of hope to many, haven’t you? It was a shock. I told my husband, who tends to lean a bit more liberal than I do, and I swear to you, he nearly cried. But nothing has changed your mind, has it?” 

Luke’s eyes searched his, as Pierce smiled warmly, standing and extending his hand once more. “I don’t know specifically what led you to purchase this contract, but I can tell you that you are undertaking a difficult task, and I urge you to consider how to make things easier, not only on yourself, but on Leo. Between you and me, there is a part of me that hopes you’re successful in whatever you’re out to do.”

Pierce selected a small folder from a stack and pointed to the flash drive attached. “Here’s a rider with the results of all of the physical and psychological tests that have been conducted. We’ve sent them electronically, but I understand that you might not have had a chance to review them. Once you watch the mandated video, you’ll be granted access to the final form to initiate the contract. There are a few other videos for you to review at your own discretion.” 

Luke nodded as he stood, taking the file from the man’s hand and tucking it into his briefcase. 

“Can I see him?” he asked, as Pierce guided him toward the door. “I’d like to introduce myself.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied. He glanced briefly at his watch. “He may be asleep, but the attending physician would also like to meet with you to review some things. Good luck, Senator,” he said, as he handed Luke off to his assistant and closed his door.

✥ ✥ ✥

Pierce’s assistant was a happy, easy-going twenty-something who led him to the treatment area. It was another long corridor with doors on either side, but behind the doors, he knew, were exam rooms. This site, she explained to him as they walked, was primarily used for preventative exams or short-terms stays if needed. If a contracted worker was injured during a contract with a government official or other high-ranking individual. It helped protect any private information, and allowed contract-holders some peace of mind. There was an open-door policy, and contract-holders were granted 24 hour access to their worker, along with video surveillance and any and all medical information. 

“This site also houses workers if there’s a break in the contract, but the bid has been placed on the following contract,” she continued, leading him past several sets of doors. He nodded, as if this all made perfect sense. It did, in a way. “Although, there isn’t any training department here, so if any additional work is needed, we sometimes need to refer out.” 

There also was no formalized intake department. Most of these exam rooms were empty, as most medical issues that arise did not require overnight or long term care. It was more like a doctor’s office, she explained. 

“Here we go,” she said, stopping at an unassuming door halfway down the hallway. She took Luke’s badge and tapped it against an access point, the light turned green, and she smiled, gesturing him inside. “The doors only lock on the outside, to prevent unauthorized individuals from entering. If you need to step out, just remember to bring your badge so you can re-enter.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Leo sat, legs crossed under him, on a bright chair in the corner of the room. He held a book tightly in his hand, his eyes aimed just below Luke’s. 

“Hi,” Luke said, taking a step away from the door. Out of habit, he scanned the room. There was a hospital-grade bed that had been made pristinely, a tray with a small selection of food on it (untouched), a glass of water (untouched). There was another tray with a few vials of medicine, a few pill bottles. A rubber tube, still  wrapped in plastic. There was a window, curtains drawn. Behind a half curtain was a toilet and a sink, a toothbrush, and a couple of other personal items. There was no TV or any other books that he could see. There was a pair of slippers by the door. And then he moved his attention to Leo. He wore a hospital gown, and a thin blanket covered his lap. An IV snaked up his arm and was affixed to a bag that was situated between the bed and the chair. 

“Hi,” Leo returned, his voice painfully hoarse, his eyes downcast. Over the week, Luke had been coached through this by several people, some solicited, some not. He had interacted with service workers in the past, he reminded himself. This was no different, save for the fact that he knew more now than he knew then, and that technically, this person was his slave for the next six months. Semantics, he told himself sourly.

He had decided he wasn’t going to throw up today, and he had skipped lunch and breakfast to help him with that challenge. He wanted to stop using the word slave, and then he reminded himself that that’s how it started, right? And that the word slave was the word that best described what was happening, and if he couldn’t face that, then he had no business here.

“I’m Luke,” Luke said, offering himself the distraction of moving on with this introduction. “Do you mind if I sit?” He gestured to the side of the bed, and Leo immediately shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Luke continued. “I… I purchased your next contract.” 

Leo faked a smile and nodded. It wasn’t anywhere near the ballpark of believable, but he opened his mouth and Luke stopped him. 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to feel like you’re required to speak, okay? You can speak, of course, if you want to… but don’t feel like you need to. Please.”

A brief flash of confusion crossed Leo’s features, and then he nodded. Luke wiped his hands against his pants, attempting to calm his pounding heart. 

“Tomorrow, after everything is finalized, a car will bring you to my apartment.” He probably already knew that. Luke wasn’t used to being so far out of his element. He had rehearsed this speech the way he rehearsed all of his speeches, but he kept forgetting his lines. He squeezed his hands together. “If there’s anything I can have there for you, please let me know. You can tell me, or you can tell the nurse, or anyone who you see in the next twelve hours. Anything at all.”

Leo nodded again.

“I’m going to go pick up some food tonight, what’s your favorite?” Shit. That was a direct question.

The screen above the bed registered Leo’s increasing heart-rate and Luke thought to maybe undo the q–

“I like mashed potatoes,” he said, the same hoarseness to his voice. He tried to clear his throat and flinched as he did. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Luke asked, wringing his hands. “The doctor can give you something?”

Leo shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Okay.” Luke recognized the harm the questions were doing and took a breath. “I just wanted to introduce myself.” He stood, and Leo’s eyes snapped toward the door a second before it opened.

“Hi, Senator Bennett,” the man who entered said warmly, the most genuinely warm-presenting person that Luke had met so far. “I’m Dr. Anderson, the attending physician. It’s great to finally meet you in person.” Another handshake, but this time it wasn’t lost on Luke that Leo was stone-still, and that the doctor had completely ignored his presence. 

“I understand you’ll be taking your service worker home tomorrow,” he said. “I just want to update you on his condition, review the results from some tests we’ve run, and give you just a rundown of where we’re at with him.”

It was… jarring. Leo turned his attention back to his book, but seemed to be more focused on breathing, and on calming himself down.

“If you’re all done here, we can step outside and I can talk you through his condition?”

Luke briefly forgot his composure and let his face show his disgust before putting a mask of calm back up. “Anything you to have to say, you can say here.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, his eyes kind. “We’re not allowed to disclose medical information to service workers under contract. You can filter whatever information you’d like him to have to him at your convenience.”

A muscle in Luke’s jaw twitched as he bit down, but he reminded himself this wasn’t this doctor’s policy, regardless of him enacting it.

Leo, unsurprisingly, remained still, his stare distant.

“What if, as the owner of his contract, I’m requesting his presence as we discuss information about his medical condition?”

Doctor Anderson paused. “I think we should speak outside. My office is just next door, if you have anything you’d like to wrap up with Leo, you can join me there after.”

The doctor stood and walked out.

“I’m sorry,” was all Luke could muster. He quickly added, “Please don’t say anything,” to stop the apology that he suspected was on Leo’s tongue. Should he have said that? Should he have any control over whether Leo does or does not say anything? He needed to get out of here. This was going to take time to sort out, and it would be better to do it literally anywhere else.

“I’m going to go, okay? You don’t need to say anything, but if you… if you have anything you feel like you need to say, you can. I’ve cleared my afternoon tomorrow to get you settled.” He paused and walked to the door. “Whatever is going on here, it ends tonight, okay?” 

Leo nodded, the fake half-smile crossing his features. The bags under his eyes, the bruising at his wrists. It all came into view, clear as day, to Luke. He didn’t want to leave him here, even for tonight. He didn’t want to leave any of them here. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, just above a whisper. He left the room just as quietly. 

By the time he got to the adjacent office, his own emotions were already piercing through his exterior. The doctor began to explain Leo’s condition, and as the discomfort within the room grew palpable, he started directing Luke to the file of information. 

“I don’t want him harmed,” Luke said abruptly, once it seemed that Anderson had given up on him. He attempted to take the ‘owner’ role to his advantage. “He’s under contract with me, which means I own him, and I do not want him harmed, is that clear?” 

Doctor Anderson nodded. “I’m not sure what impression you’ve gotten of our facility, but I assure you, we are the best at what we do.” 

That didn’t offer him any comfort. 

“I’m certain you are. That being said, what specifically will you do with him between now and when he enters the car in the morning?” 

The doctor sighed and tapped a few buttons on his tablet. “Tonight, he’ll be fed. We will attempt, again, to get him to eat. If he doesn’t, we will use a feeding tube.” Luke nodded, swallowing back his increasing alarm. “He needs to eat, Senator. That will become your problem tomorrow, you’ve ensured it. You have a mandatory review of a video demonstrating what that’s looked like to help verify your understanding. He will be showered tonight, lights out at 9:00. He likely won’t sleep, which will also become your problem. In the morning, he will be given medication for pain, to help settle his stomach, and to help ease his anxiety surrounding entering a new contract when he should not be entering a new contract. None of those are negotiable. His catheter will be removed and he will be required to demonstrate that he can urinate naturally, and if he can’t, you’ll be notified of next steps. After that, we will attempt to feed him breakfast, which he almost certainly will decline. He’ll be tube fed again. His injuries will be checked, which you can review his file for, and he’ll be given a full physical exam. All of this will be available for you to observe via surveillance footage if you choose to.”

Luke could feel his eyes welling up and knew the doctor could see it, too. “We’re not the villains here, Senator. Our goal is to help the workers when injuries or illness occurs; nothing more. You can terminate this contract any time prior to signing the final form, and even after that, if you feel that you’ve misstepped, or that additional training or medical care is needed, there are options.” 

“Okay,” was the only word that Luke could force himself to utter. And then, miraculously, he found more. “Can I take him tonight?” 

Anderson shook his head. “He won’t be harmed. Feeding has been hard, watch the video. It will be up to you to make sure he stays fed starting tomorrow. Please make an appointment before you leave for a follow-up within the next three or four days.”

He offered Luke his hand as Luke stood. Luke did not take it. He turned on his heels and forced himself not to run down the long hallway, back to somewhere that he could breathe. If he was going to fight this system, he needed to get ahold of himself. He needed his level head back.

By the time he got to the waiting black car, he was in tears, which was many miles from his usual disposition. 

“Where to, Sir?” the driver asked.

“Home,” Luke said. The driver put the car in gear and within seconds, Luke added. “No, shit. I need to stop at a grocery store.”

✥ ✥ ✥

“Hi, Leo,” Doctor Anderson said, entering the small room with one assistant. Leo pulled in a deep breath, curling into his chair a little bit tighter. The doctor watched the monitor on the wall as his heart rate leapt, as his breathing became more erratic. “I’m glad you got to meet Senator Bennett,” he continued. “I think it will be a really nice match.” 

The orderly cleared the food from the tray and filled three syringes, setting them on a clear plastic sheet. He added three little paper cups. Another orderly entered with a tray with two apple slices, a bowl of what looked like pudding, and something else soft. She set it next to Leo and left silently. 

“Meds first,” the doctor said, as he selected one of the paper cups and handed it to him. “This first one will settle your stomach, to make it harder to bring it back up. The second will coat your throat, to make it go down easier.” 

Leo nodded through the instructions he heard daily, every muscle in his abdomen tightening. He took the cup with trembling fingers and brought it to his lips. He didn’t allow himself to inhale, instead opting to attempt to surprise his traitor body. As soon as the liquid hit the roof of his mouth he gagged, but slammed his lips shut, forcing himself to swallow. And as soon as he did that, he doubled forward, ejecting the medicine. 

He pinched his eyes shut. “Please let me try one more time,” he said, not daring to open them. They did, filling a second cup with the same gooey medicine. And after the same outcome, he kept himself curled tightly. It wasn’t long before he felt the hands on his shoulders prying them up. “I’m sorry,” he said, as the orderly pushed the syringe between his teeth. He gagged as the hard plastic hit the back of his throat, and even worse as it was pushed further down, the contents forced into his body. The hands released him and he shook, blinking hard to clear the tears from his eyes.

“Do you want to try the next one?” the doctor asked, still calmly seated across from him.

A noise came from the shaking, sweating boy before he spoke. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, and immediately, the hands were on him once more. 

“Easy, Leo,” the orderly said. “You need to swallow this one to coat your throat, okay? I’m going to get it into your mouth, and then you’re going to swallow it.”

This was the hard one, Leo knew. They wouldn’t put it as deep into his throat, and it relied on his body doing the thing that it refused to do. Three times a day, they did this. And three times a day, he thought he was going to die on the spot.

Through sobs, he opened his mouth enough for them to get the syringe in place. The orderly’s large hands covered his mouth and jaw and the doctor slipped restraints over his wrists. He could easily slide out of them, but they served to keep him from reflexively doing anything stupid in a moment of heightened emotion, the Doctor said the first day. As the liquid entered his mouth, the syringe was discarded; the orderly’s hand stayed in place, though. “Swallow it, Leo,” the doctor said calmly, as Leo took a big breath through his nose.

And then his nose was covered, and he couldn’t breathe, and this was where he got to dying. 

Tears stained his cheeks, landing on the hand that covered his mouth and his nose as he fought to swallow the liquid that his body so fervently rejected. He could feel himself struggling against the restraints, and the hand that held him in place, but he couldn’t stop it. As blackness threatened his vision, his throat finally opened, and it was done. The restraints were kept on, but his head was freed, and he could breathe again.

“You’re alright,” the doctor said, as he heaved uselessly. 

Leo nodded through his tears and his body’s attempt to expel whatever had been put into it. The orderly brushed a cool rag across his cheeks, wiping away the tears and spit and whatever remnants of the medicine had escaped him. “Almost done,” he said, bringing the cloth under his chin and across his neck. It felt good on his throat, he thought, as he sucked in another shaky breath.

“Which do you want to try?” the doctor asked.

Leo didn’t answer, tears just continued to streamed down his face without mercy.

The doctor selected the warm soft food, and the orderly put a small amount on a spoon. When the first bite his throat, Leo gagged, but to the surprise of the room, was able to eventually swallow it. There was a moment of hope. There was a moment where he thought his body was going to work again, and that maybe he was okay. And then the next bite was given to him, and he immediately vomited.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the restraints suddenly weighing a thousand pounds. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Leo,” the doctor said. “Let’s try again.” 

Three more bites, then four, then five. All with the same outcome as the second. Until he didn’t try anymore, because he knew what was next. He nodded to himself. This was okay. He was going to be okay. It was almost over.

And when the doctor stood, Leo bit his tongue to stop himself from begging them to let him go. 

The orderly held his head in place as the familiar tube was pushed into his nose; he didn’t have the option of fighting it even if he tried. It burned, and tears continued to stream down his face. He gripped the arms of the chair that he was strapped to, but he did not fight it. It wasn’t long before they stopped pushing deeper, and he closed his eyes as the orderly released his grip on his head and filled the tube. Leo let his head drop, and watched as his tears hit his lap. The doctor rubbed the back of his neck, talking softly. Leo counted 127 breaths before his chin was tilted upward, and the tube was pulled out of his body. He closed his eyes for that part, the painful sting eliciting a soft cry. Before they released him from the restraints, they injected the contents of the third syringe into his IV. He didn’t know what it was, and he knew he would not find out. But Senator Bennett would.

He let the words of Luke Bennett play in his mind as he was helped to his bed, crawling as far into the corner as he could and wrapping himself into a ball. The doctor draped his blanket over him, brushing a thumb over his spine. It ends tonight. For what it was worth, he was afraid. Afraid of what tomorrow had to offer. 

✥ ✥ ✥

The video ended and Luke quickly filled out the form that automatically found its way to his inbox. He slammed his laptop shut. And then, for good measure, he hurled it against the wall. Why had they wanted him to see that? They could have told him to be prepared to tube feed him. They could have told him an aid would be there daily to do it. They could have told him if he wouldn’t eat, to bring him in. They made damn sure he saw that video, and for what?

He would take this system down, or he would die trying. He could only hope that those caught in the crossfire would be minimal. 

[dancing-in-a-yellow-dress]

Trapped Little Angel (part 1)

Welcome to the first part of the first fanfic on this account.

Child!reader x the Avengers

Word count: 2900

Trigger warning: Imprisonment, nightmares, non graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, possible trigger for eating disorders

--

You were a 14-year-old orphan living alone in New York, since your family had died in the explosion that gave you your powers. Your powers were similar to Wanda’s (telekinesis and all that jazz). You got them when you were 7, but for whatever reason they hadn’t been active before that day.

It was a basic September day with all of its rain and fog and clouds. You were walking on the street when suddenly you blacked out and your powers exploded out of you destroying property and hurting people everywhere around you. The Avengers were called to action and they evacuated the block and when you’d cooled off a little they took you into custody and to the Avengers tower.

You had passed out and they didn`t really know what to do with you, so they laid you down on the couch and began a debate about the subject.

Tony believed firmly that you were dangerous to the team and the best thing for everyone would be to lock you up isolated and unstimulated to avoid new outbursts until a better option would be available. Steve backed Tony up to an extent, although he did believe the isolation to be unnecessary. Bruce didn’t really voice his opinion on confinement that much, instead focusing on the medical aspect of the situation.

Clint doesn’t really say much during the argument, before Tony raises the possibility of indefinite imprisonment in isolation. That is what finally gets to him, since you are just a kid and remind him of his own daughter. Wanda argues firmly against any form of forced imprisonment. In her opinion you needed medical attention, after which instead of locking you up the team should be focused on helping you control and develop your powers in a beneficial way.

Natasha is uncharacteristically quiet for the whole debate. Something about you had got to her and she found it hard to think of the situation objectively without a massive bias. Peter was on ‘your side’ for sure. To him you were a troubled kid who just happened to need some help. In a way he saw himself in you.

You start to regain consciousness about halfway through the argument. The Avengers are taken back at first, but when you are very confused and scared, Nat and Clint (who are the most ‘neutral’ participants) tell you what happened. When you have gotten the big picture you ask shakily: “How many people did I hurt? What’s the damage?” The others are hesitant to tell you, but Tony is highly pissed at you, so he takes his tablet and shows you some pics of the place where the accident happened. Wanda shoots him a death glare, but he continues and reads the statistics to you: “At this exact moment there are 9 people dead, 27 in critical condition and 56 with milder injuries. All because of your little stunt.” At this point you have pulled your knees to your chest and are struggling to breathe. Steve and Clint look at Tony like he has lost his mind and Nat tries to calm you down. You are repeating the same things over and over again: “I didn’t mean to- It’s all my fault… I don’t know how- What- I didn’t mean to…” Nat was approaching you, her hand reached out ready to stroke your back and pull you into a hug. She says: “We know. Everything will be alright, it’ll be alright. It wasn’t your fault, we’ll sort this out. It’s okay, you’re okay. We don’t blame you, but right now you need to calm down.” You flinch away from her, panic shining in your eyes: “No! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t control it… I don’t understand- I didn’t mean to…” Suddenly you look desperately at Tony “You have to lock me up. I’m dangerous. I can’t be trusted. I have to be put away. Please”, you beg, surprising all of the other people in the room. Peter is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off.

You stand up and Clint shows you the way to a quite big cell. You step in and he shuts the door behind you. You sit on the floor in the corner and pull your knees to your chest. You just blankly stare at the wall. You noticed that there was a camera in corner of the room near the roof as you stepped inside, but you didn’t care. What did it matter. As you stayed on the floor the team was reheating the discussion whilst keeping an eye on the monitor that showed footage from your cell.

Wanda and Peter were shouting at Tony for locking you up in an isolation cell. Natasha and Clint were a bit calmer, but they were backing Wanda and Peter up. At some point Tony says: “You heard the kid. She wanted to be locked up. Even she thought it would be the best option”. And that sets Natasha off: “Yeah, after you had scared the poor thing on the verge of a panic attack. That wasn’t fair play. You drove her to that decision and you know it.” Then Peter fires: “Besides the whole ‘she decided herself’ excuse is bullshit. She’s a kid. SHE’S 14. I’m 17 and you don’t trust me to do anything yet, so how again is she any different?” That shuts Tony up.

In the end the team comes to the conclusion, that they will be monitoring you strictly and willing people will be allowed to go talk to you. All except Peter (just for the first few days) who is infuriated to no end by the decision.

The first person to come talk to you is Wanda. She comes and talks for a while, but you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying. After a while she leaves shutting the door behind her. Steve also comes to question you, and even though this time you understand what he is saying you can’t find the energy to answer him in you. Clint brings you something to eat and drink, but you don’t move a muscle to acknowledge the act. Time sort of looses its meaning to you as you sit on the floor and stare into nothing, alone with your thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again.

Nevertheless, you know some time has passed when Natasha comes through the door with another tray filled with food. She places it carefully on her untouched bed and sighs deeply before speaking: “You should really start eating on your own. It’s been two whole days and you haven’t taken a bite. I get that its hard, but you’ve got to try. Otherwise we’ll have no choice but to put a feeding tube down your throat and trust me kid, that does not feel good.” She gives you another look, then turns around and walks out. Slowly you straighten your legs on the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed how much your muscles were hurting for being in the same position for so long before someone pointed it out. You stretched your legs first and then stood up slowly. You went through your body, stretching every muscle one at a time and then sat down beside the bed to eat. You weren’t really hungry, but the threat of getting a feeding tube stuffed down your throat was enough to get you eating.

After you were done with the meal you went back to your corner and sat back down, leaving your legs laying on the floor instead of curling up to a tight bundle. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Wanda walked in. She picked the tray up and looked down at you, clearly assessing the situation before finally saying: ”Hey, I was wondering if you needed to use the bathroom.” You didn’t answer her but stood up and stepped timidly few steps forward so that she knew you’d be coming along. She guided you through the hallways and into a bathroom. “There is a towel on the counter and shampoo on a shelf in the shower. Take as long as you need. I’ll pick up some clean clothes for you and bring them here. Okay?” You didn’t say a word but nodded and opened the door to the bathroom. After half an hour you were back in your cell but feeling significantly cleaner and comfier.

Instead of sitting back in the corner on the floor you sat on your bed and crossed your legs. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it, so you started singing, first just humming quietly, then adding the words to the song. It was an old lullaby your mom had sang to you more than once. Some things just had a way of sticking with you.

`Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt kuuluu keijujen äänet

Ne tanssivat taas koko yön laulaen

koko yön laulaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

taas syttyy tähtöset pienet

Ne oottavat taas läpi yön loistaen

läpi yön loistaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt sammuu keijujen äänet

Ne liitävät taas ylös luo tähtien

ylös luo tähtien`

Then you sang it over again, this time in English

If your quiet, very quiet,

you can hear sound of the fairies

They’re dancing again through the night until day

through the night until day

Very quiet, almost silent

the stars are lighting the sky

they’re waiting again till the night fades away

till the night fades away

If you’re quiet, very quiet

you can hear sound the fairies

they race through the sky so they’ll be near the stars

so they’ll be near the stars

You sang the song a couple times over and finally you got to the last part you had made up on your own. You always ended it there, since you could never continue singing after that.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

ei kuulu keijujen äänet

Ne lähtivät taas minut yksin jättäen

minut yksin jättäen

Even if you’re very quiet

you won’t hear sound of the fairies

they flew up the sky leaving me alone behind

leaving me alone behind.

You broke down sobbing. Clint was sitting at the monitor, and he thought it’d be best not to disturb you, so you were left alone as you start humming another melody your mom taught you.

Joka ilta kun lamppu sammuu ja saapuu oikea yö Niin Nukku-Matti nousee ja ovehen hiljaa lyö On sillä uniset tossut ja niillä se sipsuttaa Se hiipii ovesta sisään ja hyppää kaapin taa

”I didn’t know she was finnish” Nastasha said to clint as she sat next to him with two cups of tea. “Finnish?” Clint asked as they listened to the beautiful melody coming from the lonely cell. Nat was quiet for a while before saying “Yeah. The language is absolutely bizarre.” They sat in silence for another while, until Clint said: “She sounds miserable” “Yeah, but who wouldn’t. I’m guessing she has no family, since no one has come asking for her.”

Ja pieni sateenvarjo on aivan kallellaan Ja sinistä unien kirjaa se kantaa kainalossaan Ja unien sinimaahan se lapset autolla vie Surrur, surrur ja sinne on sininen, uninen tie

Ja siellä on kultainen metsä, ja metsässä kultainen puu Ja unien sinilintu ja linnulla kultainen suu Ja se unien sinilintu se lapsia tuudittaa Se laulaa unisen laulun joka mielen uneen saa

Your mum never taught you that song in English. You had tried translating it, but it always turned out so peculiar you had eventually given up.

When you felt like you had cried enough you stopped with the finnish and started going through songs you had heard somewhere else, altering the lyrics as you went.

You hadn’t sung anything in weeks and now you just couldn’t stop. It felt good. You went over your favorites altering lyrics and making up new verses, not wanting the song to end. As you sang you thought about mum and home. In the outside world they were forbidden things, because they made it hard to focus on surviving. But here she had all the time in the world to think. After hours and hours she finally laid down on the mattress and drifted to sleep

Tony had just started his shift watching you through the monitor and you were having a nightmare. You were curled up in a ball and whimpered and muttered quietly, as tears ran down your face. You dug your nails into your back and started scratching leaving bloody red marks behind. Then you started screaming. The sound echoed through the halls, but Tony didn’t know what to do, so he ended up doing nothing, just staring at the screen paralyzed. It went on for a while, until you finally flinched so violently you woke up.

You were in a state of panic, but as you realized where you were it started to wear off. Little by little you started to feel the pain from the bloody scratch marks on your back and arms. You examined your injuries to the best of your abilities and then looked at the floor while talking sheepishly at the camera in the corner of the room: “If you don’t mind I’d like to have something to wrap these cuts with. I might also need some help with the ones in my back. Its not a big deal, but I don’t want them to get infected.”

The screaming had woken up Natasha and Steve who were now standing behind Tony, looking at the screen over his shoulders. Tony cleared his throat before turning around in his chair and facing the other two. They both had their arms crossed on their chest. Steve looked surprised as hell, but Natasha was quick to recover. She threw Tony an icy stare before saying: “Should we think the imprisonment over again, or is she still too dangerous for you to handle?” Tony raised his hands before saying: “Let’s think that over in the morning, when the whole team is up. Now, would you mind going to help her with the injuries?” Natasha threw Tony another dirty look, before grabbing the first aid kit and heading to your cell.

Nat came, and you laid on the bed on your stomach. She lifted your shirt, poured antiseptic solution on a cloth and warned you: “I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” She pressed the cloth gently on your back and you shrug. “It’s not that bad. You get used to pain as a homeless kid. Once I had to remove a bullet from my own shoulder.” There Nat saw an opportunity get little bit more information of you and continued the conversation: “Must be tough. I suppose you don’t have any family left?” “Yeah, mum and dad and Tom died… in an accident” you tensed up visibly. Nat continued unbothered but didn’t bring up the deaths again. “I heard you sing the other day. Didn’t know you were finnish.” “Oh, I’m not. My mom was.” “So, can you speak finnish or what?” “Nah, not anymore anyways. I used to, but I haven’t used it in a long time. Some things just stuck with me, like the songs, or silly pet names mum used to call us.” For some reason you felt really safe with Natasha. Her touch reminded you of home as she worked to clean your wounds and then wrap them with clean gauze. You knew it was silly, but it just felt so good to finally talk to someone, so you kept answering her as she continued asking questions. “Pet names, huh. What did she call you?” “She used to call me Lumikki. It’s the finnish for snow white. It’s cheesy as hell, I know but we lived in a little cottage in the woods, and I was obsessed with Disney.” Natasha smiled at you. “Do you remember anything else about your mum.” “She had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. She sounded like an angel. Sometimes I hear her in the wind.” You pause for a minute “And she was a dancer. She used to be a ballerina, but then she had us and her career ended. She never quit dancing though. Once in a while she’d put on her slippers and go through some old routine, like she had never stopped. She even taught me some basics.” Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and continued: “Did you have any siblings?” “Yeah”, you were quiet for a moment, not rushing to continue “One brother. His name was Tuomas, but we all called him Tom. Three years older than me. He was my best friend.” A tear fell down your cheek. Natasha was almost done with wrapping your back so she asked one more question. “How about your dad” You shrugged. “He was a hunter. Spent most of his time with Tom out in the forest when I stayed in with mum.” Nat packed the medical supplies back to the first aid kit and pulled your shirt down so that it covered your back. Then she helped you sit up and said: “I can’t promise anything yet, but we’re having another meeting with the team about your… condition and I believe you might get out of here.” She saw the unsure look you gave her. “Don’t worry” she said as she took your hand “Everything will be alright. I promise”

--

Sorry, I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the spacing, tried to fix it but it wont budge... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

[bellakitse]

To Love is to Know You

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

+

When Carlos gets hurt on the job, his parents find out about the important parts of his life he’s been keeping from them, mainly the man he’s in love with.

Gabriel Reyes' POV

*there is accidental outing in this since this isn’t how Carlos planned on telling his parents.

6.3k

They’ve settled in for the night and are in the middle of watching a movie their son recommended when the phone rings.

“Carlos really likes this?” he questions skeptically as more blood goes spraying across the screen.

His wife chuckles at his tone even as she winces at the scream the protagonist lets out for the 100th time.

“He’s young, Gabriel. I don’t think we’re actually supposed to like what Carlitos likes,” she tells him as she leans across the couch, reaching for her phone. She turns to him with a smile as she shows him the caller ID. “Hablando del diablo,” she says fondly before pressing talk on their son calling.

“Tell him I’m questioning his choices,” Gabriel jokes, pausing the movie as Andrea says hello with a smile. He watches as that smile quickly drops, his heart seizing in his throat as she lets out a gasp and a shaky ‘what?’ to whoever she’s speaking to. It’s obvious now that it’s not their boy.

He waits for her to end the call with a fearful ‘we’ll be there soon’ before she turns to him with tears in her eyes.

Even before she speaks, he knows, and his hands shake as they reach for hers.

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

 ֎֎֎

 The drive to the hospital is both short and the longest drive Gabriel Reyes has ever had behind the wheel. Next to him, Andrea grips the rosary his mama gave her after they got married. She doesn’t pray, though, and he thinks she’s too worried to remember any prayer at the moment.

“He’s going to be okay,” he tells her, his voice rougher than he would typically use with his sweetheart, but he can see her starting to spiral, and he needs her to focus on his voice and not on all the troubling thoughts he knows are running through her head at the moment. “Carlos is young and strong. He’s going to be fine, he –”

“Is our baby boy,” she whispers, looking at him with those big brown eyes, so like Carlos’ when he was little, looking at him to make everything okay.

“El va estar bien, amor,” he tells her softly, willing himself to believe it too.

He pulls into the hospital parking lot. They quickly exit the car, holding hands as they rush towards the doors and the front desk. He’s sure they both look a fright as they ask the girl behind the counter for information.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reyes,” calls out a tired voice to them, and when they turn around, they find a familiar-looking young man with brown hair and green eyes standing before them in an EMS uniform.

Gabriel is struck by his eyes. They’re wide, the worry in them plain to see, and it’s obvious he’s been crying by how pink and puffy they are.

“I’ve been waiting for you both; I didn’t want you to get lost,” he tells them, pointing to a door at the far end of the hall to the left. “We’re in there.”

“How’s Carlitos?” his wife asks at the same time as he says. “We’ve met you before.”

“Uh – yes – you have, sir. I’m TK,” he answers with a grimace. Gabriel knows it is the young man’s effort to smile but just can’t. “We met at the farmer’s market about nine months ago.”

TK turns to Andrea, his expression softening instantly. “They took Carlos to the back when we got here, ma’am, but we haven’t heard anything yet.”

“What happened?” he asks TK and is struck again by how expressive his eyes are. Gabriel sees pain, fear, frustration, and anger cross his face.

“We were answering a call to a disturbance; a man was threatening to set fire to his ex-bosses place and was holding them hostage inside. He was armed, so Carlos and the rest of APD went in first,” TK takes a pause, swallowing hard, and Gabriel is struck by how the young man is keeping it together when it’s undeniable that it’s difficult for him to do so. “Shots were exchanged, and the suspect was neutralized but not before he hit Carlos.”

“Where?” he asks, hoping against hope that his son was wearing his vest. TK’s face, scared and apologetic, tells him it doesn’t matter.

“T – the,” TK clears his throat, lifting a hand to run through his hair. Gabriel catches the slight shake of it. It’s not the only thing he spots on them. Though mostly clean, Gabriel notices specks of blood on them. Looking him over once more, he sees some on his uniform too. “The neck, sir.”

Andrea lets out a gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth to try and muffle the sound.

“You worked on him,” Gabriel realizes. He needs to focus on something other than the information they’ve just been given.

“Yes,” TK answers, biting down on his lip to the point that Gabriel wants to wince at how painful it looks. Given the redness of his mouth, the kid has probably been doing it a while now. “My Captain didn’t want it to be me – ” TK stops.

He takes a breath, collecting himself. “We stabilized him on the field and then brought him over. My Captain is here if you want to speak with her while we wait for the doctors.”

They follow the young man down the hall into a private room, and Gabriel is shocked to see how full it is with first responders, most still in uniform like TK. Everyone seems to turn to look at them when they walk in.

“These are Carlos’ parents,” TK explains to the crowd before turning to a tall woman with a sympathetic but no-nonsense look on her face. “Captain Vega, could you – ” he gestures towards them.

The Captain nods, standing from her seat to walk over to them. She has a bag with her that she hands over to TK.

“Nancy brought your stuff from your locker,” she says to the kid with a kind smile. She places her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go change while I speak with Carlos’ parents.”

TK nods, looking relieved. “Yeah, Cap, thanks.” He turns towards them, looking like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. Instead, he gives them a small nod and walks away, leaving them with his Captain.

Gabriel focuses on her, reaching out to hold his wife’s hand as Captain Vega goes through the emergency in more detail. She’s compassionate but honest as she breaks down her assessment of Carlos’s injuries on the scene and their handling of it.

“TK is one of the finest medics I have ever worked with,” she tells them, with something akin to pride in her voice. “And it’s Carlos. He wasn’t about to lose him,” she continues softly, knowing. “We got him here, and they’ve had him in the back for the last hour. I’m sure they’ll come out and tell us something soon. All we can do now is wait, unfortunately.”

“And pray,” Andrea whispers thickly.

“Never a bad idea,” she says with a small, understanding smile. She looks away from them when someone calls her name, an older man in uniform walking towards them.

“Tommy, any word? Where’s TK?” he asks, rushed.

“Nothing yet,” she answers the man whose uniform says, Captain Strand. “And TK is changing. We didn’t want him to still be in the uniform that – “ she pauses, her eyes drifting to them.

“Right,” Captain Strand nods before his blue eyes turn towards them. Gabriel watches as he quickly recognizes who they are. “Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he questions, exhaling loudly when he answers him with a nod.

“Owen Strand, TK’s dad,” he says, extending his hand to Andrea first and then him. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry it can’t be under better circumstances.”

Gabriel cocks his head at the peculiar comment.

“You work with our son?” Andrea asks politely, probably trying to distract herself from the worry she’s feeling.

“Often,” Owen gives them an honest smile. “He’s one hell of a police officer, good instincts, good head on his shoulders, strong,” he tells them intentionally. “He’s going to come through this just fine.”

Gabriel appreciates the comment, if anything, because it makes Andrea smile for the first time since they heard the news.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Owen continues. “We’re going to be here a while,” he points towards three firefighters with the same 126 insignia he has on his clothes, and they quickly get up, giving them the space. “Maybe we can get you some coffee or tea?”

He shakes his head but nods towards Andrea. “Some tea might be good for your nerves, vieja.”

Andrea nods absently, and Owen turns his head towards the trio who gave them their seats. “Strickland, Marwani, Chavez – “

“On it, Cap,” says the young Latino whose chest tag says, Chavez. “We’ll get for everyone.”

Owen offers the kid a grateful smile. “Get TK a sandwich. I know he hasn’t eaten.”

“He might not want to,” says the other man in the group with a deliberate look.

“We’ll sit on him and force him if we have to,” answers the young woman in the headscarf with a glint in her eyes that tells him she’s not joking. Gabriel watches them leave the room.

“They’re good kids,” Owen comments, catching his gaze. “They care about Carlos very much,” he says with a soft laugh. “Probably because he’s always feeding them when they hang out at his place.”

Andrea smiles at the comment, but Gabriel finds it curious. He doesn’t find it strange that his son would be welcoming. Like his mother, Carlos has always strived to make everyone feel at home. He is just surprised that his son is so close with this particular firehouse and its members.

TK comes back into the room in a hoodie and sweats, looking around. Gabriel watches as his eyes land on them before moving over to his father. He watches as the kid’s shoulders drop at the sight of his dad and quickly makes his way over, almost plowing into him as Captain Strand stands with his arms open, circling them around his boy.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he hears him whisper into his son’s ear. “Carlos wouldn’t leave you, you know that.”

Gabriel takes a sharp breath at the words; he looks over at his wife, seeing that her eyes have gone wide as she stares at the father and son with a newfound gaze, and he knows she’s caught it too.

Before they can come to terms with what it might mean, a doctor in green-colored scrubs walks in with a manila folder in hand. “I’m looking for Officer Reyes’ family?” he questions, startling as everyone stands or looks over at him.

Gabriel is surprised himself but warmed by the idea that so many people care about his son. “Over here,” he calls the doctor over. “We’re his parents.”

The doctor nods in response, crossing the distance between them until he’s standing in front of them, TK and his father joining in. “We’ve stabilized your son enough to move him,” the doctor starts. “He’s in the O.R. now; we’re repairing the damage. He was lucky that the bullet didn’t hit his carotid artery.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Andrea rushes to ask, fear coloring her question.

“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am,” the doctor answers softly with a sympathetic look. “He’s holding strong and was brought in quickly.”

“When can we see him?” he asks, his heart dropping at the shake of the doctor’s head.

“It’s going to be a while,” he answers. “We’re not sure how long it will be in the O.R., and then in recovery, it’s going to be a couple of hours.”

Gabriel feels the room deflate around him at the answer and feels the same.

“For now, I need his next of kin to sign off on some waivers,” the doctor continues as he looks inside his folder, reading out of it. “Who is Tyler Kennedy Strand?” he asks, the question filling the room with sudden tension.

“Uhh – me,” TK stammers, his eyes going to him and Andrea awkwardly. “But his parents – “

The doctor cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Officer Reyes’ work forms have you as the one with the power of attorney over any medical decisions on his behalf. You are aware of this, yes?”

TK looks pained and uncomfortable, apologetic even as he looks at Andrea before nodding. “Yes,” he says softly. “Carlos and I spoke about it a few months ago.”

“Then I need you to come with me, Mr. Strand,” the doctor answers, his eyes shifting over to them as well. “It’s just a formality, you understand.”

TK nods again, gesturing for the doctor to go first, following him out of the room, leaving the rest of them in silence, and he and Andrea stunned.

“They’re involved,” he states, not sure to who, but he catches Captain Strand’s slight wince.

“TK will explain when he comes back in,” he assures them, though Gabriel isn’t sure what he would have to explain. It’s pretty obvious the kid is someone important enough to his son that he would leave him in charge of his care if anything happened to him, and he and his wife know nothing about him.

Andrea reaches for his hand. When he looks at her, he sees the same confusion and hurt in her eyes he’s feeling. He squeezes it reassuringly as they retake their seats, neither knowing what to say.

They stay like that, silently waiting for TK or the doctor to come back. Owen walks away from them, drifting towards the other Captain.

After a few minutes, the ones who walk in are the trio of firefighters the Captain sent out for a snack.

“Te de manzanilla,” Chavez says with a boyish smile as he hands the cup of tea to Andrea. “My Abuela says it’s good for nerves.”

Andrea takes it but doesn’t drink right away. “Thank you – um?”

“Oh! I’m Mateo,” he answers before pointing at the other two who are finishing handing out bottles of water and coffees. “That’s Paul and Marjan. We’re friends of Carlos,” he says with another friendly smile as they come over to them.

“Nice to meet you all,” Andrea answers, elbowing him in the side to do the same.

Gabriel checks out, his mind drifting while his wife picks up the slack and chats with the trio, exchanging small talk. He only tunes in when Mateo asks about their new filly.

“You know about Sally?” he questions, frowning, confused. He gets a few nods from all of them and smiles.

“Carlos showed us pictures of her the last time we were over at his and TK’s place for dinner.”

Gabriel can’t help the sharp breath he takes at the comment.

“They live together?” Andrea asks, shocked, her voice above a whisper.

“Oh,” Paul says softly, his eyes widening with realization at their lack of knowledge. He exchanges worried looks with the young woman Mateo called Marjan. Both open their mouth as if to speak and then stop at a loss for words. Luckily for them, TK walks back into the room, making his way towards them.

“Guys, could you give me a second with Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he asks politely but firmly.

“Yeah, of course, man,” Paul says quickly, while Marjan tugs on Mateo to stand, moving away. Paul starts to follow them, only to stop and look at TK, speaking again with an apologetic look on his face. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know – “

TK waves him off, a half a smile on his tired face. “Don’t worry about it, Paul.”

Paul gives him a nod, looks at them, and nods again before walking away.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” TK tells them softly, biting down on his lip for a moment before taking a breath, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll do my best to answer them. Should we find somewhere a little more private?”

He looks over at his wife and finds her studying TK with a curious eye. He’s not surprised. He’s more than curious himself about this man who is important enough in his son’s life to be making decisions of life and death for him and apparently living with him. “I think that might be best.”

TK nods mostly to himself, motioning for them to follow him.

He leads them out into the hallway and into another room that Gabriel realizes is the chapel.

“Is this okay?” TK questions nervously. “I don’t want to be disrespectful,” he gestures towards the altar.

“It’s fine, TK,” Andrea assures him.

They take a seat together towards the back of the room, TK sitting across from them.

Nobody says anything for a long moment. He sits watching TK as he taps his foot, and Andrea plays with her hands, struck by the similar nervous motions. He recognizes as TK looks at them with a worried wrinkle between his brow, he doesn’t know where to start, and Gabriel is struck by how young he looks like this. It reminds him of Carlos’ nervous habits growing up, so concerned with disappointing them.

“How long have you and our son been together?” he questions, ripping off the bandaid.

“We’ve been dating for over a year,” he answers honestly, wincing when Andrea lets out a shocked sound. “But we’ve known each other for over a year and a half. It took a while for us to get – us, right.”

“A year?” Andrea questions, surprised and more than a little sad. “He’s kept this from us for a year?”

“He didn’t mean to,” TK rushes to explain – to defend their son to them, Gabriel realizes. He stops looking nervous, and Gabriel can honestly feel the wave of protectiveness coming off the young man.

While the part of him that isn’t still shocked at this sudden news is pleased that Carlos has found someone obviously loyal to him, another part of him is at a loss at being someone this young man thinks he needs to protect his son from. It leaves an unpleasant feeling in his stomach he tries to push down before he reacts in a way that he’ll regret later.

“Then what did he mean?” he questions, trying to understand. “Because if you guys have been dating for a year, that means you two were together when we met you at the market, and he called you a friend from work.”

He feels bad as his words cause the kid to flinch, and a small cynical smile twists his lips upward for a second.

“Yeah, that caused a big fight between us,” he answers dryly. “Look, this is something you need to talk about with Carlos when he comes to. We both knew it was a long time coming, and trust me, he’s been working up the nerve to tell you both about us.”

“Why would he need to work up the nerve?” Andrea questions while Gabriel watches as TK’s eyes flash, his hands curling for a moment. He’s struck by the fleeting anger he sees there – at them.

“Because you’re both more traditional, and he didn’t want to rub your noses in our relationship,” he answers tightly, making Andrea gasp.

Gabriel feels his hackles raise at the resentment he hears in the words. “Hey now, you don’t get – “

“Carlos’ own words,” TK interrupts, his voice sharp enough to stop him. TK stops too, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I apologize,” he starts again, his voice calmer. “It’s not my place at all, and Carlos needs to be the one to explain this to you.”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with his wife, letting out a sigh when she gives him a serious look. He turns towards TK again, taking a calming breath of his own. “But he’s not here right now, and we’d like to understand.”

TK lets out a sigh, nodding at them after a moment. “You’re right,” he agrees quietly, running a hand through his hair. “I just really wish he was here, though,” he pauses, the pain and love in his eyes as he speaks striking a core with him. This man loves his son. That much is clear.

“Okay, first things first. Carlos loves you both so much,” he tells them reassuringly. “He speaks of both of you with so much respect and admiration. Please don’t doubt that for one second. He didn’t keep us a secret from you because he doesn’t love or respect you.”

“Then why?” Andrea asks, trying to understand.

TK presses his lips together, giving her a helpless shrug of his shoulder. “Because he was scared of upsetting you, of disturbing the tentative peace that the three of you have had since he rocked your world by telling you he was gay at 17, and then none of you ever spoke about it again. He didn’t want to disappoint you.”

By TK’s expression, Gabriel knows that he hasn’t just spoken with any malice, yet he still feels his words hit him like a punch.

“But – that’s,” he stumbles at a loss for words. “Carlos could never disappoint us,” he looks at Andrea to find her with tears in her eyes. “We love our son.”

TK gives him a smile; it’s kind and understanding. “I don’t doubt that,” he tells them, looking at Andrea. “He’s so easy to love, of course, you love him.”

“You love him,” Andrea says in awe, still crying, but it feels different than before, almost happy in the middle of the hurt.

TK’s eyes fill with tears; they spill over even as he gives them a bright smile. “More than I have ever loved anyone in my life, ma’am. He is everything to me.”

Gabriel hears how much he means it in his voice and instantly remembers something from earlier. “You worked on him at the scene,” he exhales over a dull ache in his chest at the thought. “Jesus Christ, kid, how did you – “

“The worst moment of my life,” TK whispers, losing his smile, his bottom lip trembling. “And life has thrown some curveballs my way,” he inhales deeply in an effort to control his emotions. “But I wasn’t about to lose him, not like that and not now. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I plan to spend mine with your son.”

Gabriel hears the conviction and the subtle threat he’s issuing them. He’s telling them he’s not going anywhere, and while a small part of him wants to be annoyed at the warning, Gabriel finds himself mostly impressed. He finds himself liking the kid despite the situation.

“You love him so much,” Andrea whispers, shaking her head to herself. Knowing his wife, she’s mourning the fact that they’ve missed out on seeing it. “And he loves you?”

TK nods quickly. “He never lets me doubt it, not for one single second,” he swallows before another smile takes over his face, soft and involuntary. “He’s wonderful.”

“I’m so sorry we’ve missed it,” she tells him, and Gabriel smiles to himself at how easy he can still read her. “It was never our intent to make Carlos feel like he couldn’t share with us his life. When he told us he was gay, yes, it was a surprise, but we never loved him less,” she frowns, letting out a soft breath. “We wanted him to feel like nothing had changed, and instead, we made him feel like he couldn’t talk to us.”

“But he can,” he continues for Andrea, hoping TK will understand.

Andrea nods in agreement. “He can,” she repeats. “We want to be part of the life he’s building with you.”

TK smiles. It’s wobbly but iridescent as it lights up the room. “He – we would like that very much,” he tells them, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to know you both. You need to tell him when he wakes up.”

Andrea looks fearful again as she turns from TK to him and back again. “What if – “

“No,” TK answers resolutely. He holds out his hand for Andrea, covering it when she places it in his. “Carlos is going to be fine. He’s not leaving us.”

Gabriel watches them hold each other’s hands, his wife taking comfort from the man in love with their son, and hopes, for all their sakes, that he will turn out to be right.

 ֎֎֎

 The next three days are the longest of Gabriel’s life. After over seven hours of surgery and recovery, they’re allowed to see a sleeping Carlos.

If there was any doubt in his mind about TK’s feelings for his son, they’re wiped out the moment he sees him at his bedside. The way he takes his hand in his, holding it for dear life as he whispers in his ear that he loves him and that he’s there, that they all are.

They wait, hours and hours they wait for Carlos to wake up. The doctors tell them the surgery was successful, and now they just have to wait for Carlos’ body to recover enough for him to wake up. They’re not sure when that’ll be.

He walks into his son’s hospital room after taking a call from work to find TK alone with Carlos, his wife nowhere in sight.

“You know, sweetheart, if this is payback for the time I got shot and ended up in a coma, then message received,” TK talks to a sleeping Carlos, bringing his hand to his lips. “You can wake up now because I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You were shot?” he questions, raising an eyebrow, wondering exactly what these two have been through.

TK blinks up at him. He lowers Carlos’ hand but doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Before Carlos and I officially got together, it was a house disturbance gone wrong, an accident, but I got hit in the chest and ended up in an eight-day coma. Carlos had to sit through it, the eight worse days of his life, he likes to remind me,” he turns back to Carlos, his expression softening. “I really didn’t need to learn the hard way how this feels.”

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat. He takes the seat he’d been occupying next to Andrea, finding her purse still there.

“She went to the restroom and to get something to drink,” TK tells him. “I told her I would stay with Carlos.”

Gabriel nods in understanding, and the room goes quiet as neither says anything else. They both just watch Carlos, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes stray to TK —his focus on Carlos, the way he reaches out to touch his skin like he can’t bear letting him go for a moment for fear he’ll slip away. The last few days, he and Andrea have gotten to know the kid better, along with the rest of his crew.

Their love for each other and their love for Carlos is evident in every gesture and kind word they have to say about him. It still hurts him to know he and Andrea have missed so much. As he laid in bed holding his crying wife, more than a few tears slipped his own eyes at the lost time. Every day that passes, he promises to fix it when his son wakes up.

“You know, when he was around ten, he convinced his cousin to help him up the stallion at the farm,” he starts telling him, lost in the memory. “And this was a rough horse, even I didn’t ride him much, but he got on, and the thing, of course, sent him flying,” he shakes his head to himself. “He was knocked out maybe five minutes, but they were the longest five minutes of my life.”

“Was he okay?” TK questions, concerned even though it obviously turned out okay in the end.

“A fractured arm,” he answers, chuckling. “As soon as the cast was off, he was right back at it – this time bribing the horse with apples, carrots, and beetroots until he won him over. By the end, it would only let Carlos ride him. He was so smug about it, tipping his hat at us as he rode him.”

TK grins from ear to ear. “Tell me there are pictures of him in the hat.”

Gabriel stands, pulling out his wallet. He fishes out an old worn picture, passing it over to TK. He watches as the boy takes gentle care, running his index finger over the image as he smiles down at it.

“Damn, that’s cute,” he murmurs, handing back the picture after a moment longer. “You know, he won me over with patience too.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at the comment, waiting for him to continue.

“When he and I met, I wasn’t in a good place emotionally,” TK starts to tell him as he looks back at Carlos, reaching up to brush his hair back. “I’d gotten out of a relationship that left me messed up, and I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I hurt his feelings at the beginning, and honestly, he should have just cut his losses.”

He looks over at him. “But Carlos doesn’t give up on people, especially when they’re hurting, so he became my friend, someone I could trust with the not-so-great parts of me. He never judged. He just cared about me more, making sure I knew that I was worth the effort even when I wasn’t so sure of that myself,” he smiles as he retakes Carlos’ hand. “He loves me even when I don’t always love myself.”

“I’m sure you do the same for him,” Gabriel answers. Even with Carlos asleep, he’s seen enough to know the two of them genuinely love each other. Now he just wants his son to wake up so he can see it for real.

“I try,” TK answers. “He makes it easy.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive us?” he can’t help but ask, the question playing in his head the last few days as he learned more of the parts of his life Carlos felt the need to keep to himself for their comfort.

TK frowns as he looks at him, shaking his head slowly. “Carlos will tell you there is nothing to forgive. He doesn’t blame you.”

“He should, though,” he can’t help but argue, feeling frustrated, angry tears at the back of his throat. Fear clawing its way back after three days of waiting for his boy to open his eyes and wondering if it will ever happen. “He was 17, a kid, scared but brave as he told us his truth, and while we accepted it at that moment, we didn’t make sure he knew that it would always be okay with us. That’s on us. We should have done better.”

“Do better now, Gabriel,” TK says to him quietly, shrugging his shoulder when he looks at him, his expression nothing but kind. “Forgive yourself, because Carlos never blamed you to begin with, and do better now.”

“Are you always so wise, kid?” he asks, smiling when TK lets out a bark of laughter.

“That is the last word anyone who knows me would use to describe me,” he shakes his head, still giggling. “Usually, it’s stubborn or reckless. Carlos has been known to call me a brat quite a few times,” he says fondly as he looks down at the bed.

“Because you always get your way,” Carlos rasps out, eyes still closed.

Gabriel isn’t sure who’s gasp is louder, his or TK’s as they both stand to get closer.

“Carlos? Sweetheart?” TK asks, cautious but hopeful, and Gabriel holds his breath as he waits to see if Carlos is genuinely back with them.

It takes a minute, maybe two, maybe three, but slowly Carlos opens his eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK whispers, tears falling even as he smiles widely down at Carlos.

Gabriel watches as his son frowns as he tries to weakly reach up to touch TK’s face. TK helps him, lifting his hand and holding it against his cheek.

“Don’t – cry, Ty,” Carlos gets out slowly, brushing his thumb under TK’s eye, earning a wet laugh from him.

“I love you so much,” he says to him, and though he’s obviously tired and in pain, the smile Carlos gives TK is the brightest Gabriel has ever seen.

“Love you too, amor,” his son whispers back to his boyfriend, sounding just as hopelessly in love with him. It reminds Gabriel of him and Andrea, and he can’t help the small sound that escapes his throat.

“Dad – “ Carlos says softly, surprised as his eyes find him; they shift back to TK, concern coloring his expression.

“It’s okay, babe. I promise,” TK assures him with a smile as he gives his hand a squeeze.

“It is mijo,” Gabriel tells him, hoping to wipe away the slight fear he sees in his son’s eyes. He never wants to be the cause for that look again.

TK looks over to him, smiling at him reassuringly, and Gabriel remembers what he said to him moments before Carlos woke up. Forgive and be better.

“I’m gonna go find Andrea and a doctor,” TK declares, giving him a nod. He turns back to Carlos, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

TK steps away from Carlos, squeezing Gabriel’s arm as he walks by him before leaving the room, leaving him alone with his son.

Turning back to Carlos, he finds him still looking concerned as he stares at him, and that simply won’t do for him. He shifts over to where TK had been standing, now next to Carlos. “How do you feel?” he questions gently, getting a tiny shrug back.

“Tired,” Carlos gets out, his voice raspy. “Thirsty.”

“Oh! Of course,” Gabriel says quickly, turning to grab the pitcher of water on the bedside counter and a cup. Filling it, he turns back to Carlos, raising his bed a bit before bringing the straw to his lips. “Slowly, mijo.”

Carlos does as he asks, all the while looking at him. After he’s had his fill, Gabriel pulls the cup away, putting it back on the counter. He reaches out to his son, running a hand over his curls like he would do when he was a little boy.

“You scared the hell out of us, kid,” he whispers, swallowing hard as the last couple of days catch up to him. “We were so scared we were gonna lose you.”

Carlos leans into his touch. As he closes his eyes, a tear rolls down his cheek. “Sorry, pop.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Gabriel shakes his head. He takes Carlos’ hand. “These last few days have shown your mom and me how much of your life we have missed, and we’re so sorry.”

“Dad – “ Carlos tries. “I – “

“We messed up, Carlos,” he continues, needing to get it out. “We thought we were keeping things normal by not making a big deal out of you coming out, and instead, what we did was make you believe that you needed to keep parts of your life a secret for us to be comfortable. But our comfort isn’t the most important thing. Your happiness is, and as long as you’re happy, so are we.”

Carlos’ eyes fill with more tears, and Gabriel is struck by how young he seems as he looks up at him hopeful.

“We met your boyfriend,” Gabriel chuckles fondly. “I mean, obviously. He’s pretty special, Carlitos. You picked a good one.”

Carlos laughs. It’s wet from tears but joyful. “I picked the best one.”

Gabriel smiles at the pride he hears in his son’s voice. “We’d like to get to know him, son,” he says. It’s a hope and a request in one. “Your mom and I, we’d like to know him and you,” he swallows hard as his eyes burn. “We love you so much, but loving someone isn’t always knowing them. If it’s okay with you, we’d like a chance to fix that now.”

Carlos stares at him, mouth open, and there is the slightest tremble of his bottom lip.

“Carlitos.”

He and Carlos turn their heads to the door where Andrea and TK stand together. Carlos smiles at his mom, the smile growing when he notices that she’s holding hands with TK.

“Mami,” he says softly.

Andrea walks towards them, tugging TK along with her. Reaching the bed, she reaches out to touch his face. “Baby,” she whispers, shaking her head as she tries not to cry. “Please never scare us like this again.”

Carlos lets out an amused huff, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll try, Ma.”

“Good,” Andrea grins at him, amused by his tone. “And you better be ready to be smothered for a while. TK and I have been making plans. We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

“We have a shifts chart,” TK teases him, sharing a grin with Andrea.

Gabriel watches with amusement as Carlos looks scared again, this time at the team he sees being created before his very eyes. He laughs, happy and relieved, when Carlos turns to him for support.

“I wouldn’t fight it, kid,” he warns him. “You know how your mother is, and your boyfriend seems just as bad; just accept it. They’re bonded. We all have.”

Carlos looks around at all three of them, the contentment he sees in his son’s expression, a blessing, and Gabriel knows it’s going to be okay. There is still a lot of time that he and Andrea will have to make up for. Conversations that will still need to be had.

But his son is alive; he’s safe, happy, and in love with a good man. He and Andrea haven’t missed it all, and they don’t plan to miss anything else when it comes to their boy ever again.

Carlos grins at him. “I think I’m okay with that, dad.”

Gabriel smiles back. He’s okay with it too.

[whumpy-writings]

You're Going To Be Okay

Febuwhump 2022 Masterlist / Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

Febuwhump Day 18- Forced to Watch

CW: Female whumpee, vampires, slavery, emeto, pregnancy, human breeding, stillborn baby described, character death, emotional whump, medical whump, loss of a child, loss of a partner, grief

HEED THE WARNINGS THIS ONE IS REALLY DARK

Aaron awoke to the sound of Penny retching. He stumbled out of bed, eyes still bleary with sleep and knelt down beside her. He reached out and pulled back her hair as she vomited into a bucket, sweat sticking her hair to the back of her neck. She looked over at him.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said quietly before retching again. “I feel just as awful as I did when I was pregnant with Hope.”

Aaron took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to Penny’s temple.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. Penny just shrugged. She leaned against him and he held her.

“At least you’re with me now. And maybe they’ll give Hope back to us soon,” Penny paused, smiling slightly. “She’ll be a good big sister.”

…

A couple months later, when Penny was starting to show and the vampires were positive she was pregnant, they brought Hope back. Aaron came back from feeding one day to find Hope giggling as Penny played with her.

“Daddy!” she squealed, pushing herself to her feet and toddling over.

“Hi sweetheart!” Aaron said, reaching down and picking her up. “I missed you,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead. Tears were gathering in his eyes. He had missed her so much.

…

“Aaron?” Penny said quietly. Aaron rolled over and reached out a hand to gently tuck a stray hair behind her ear. The sun was just starting to set, bathing the room in red light from the one tiny window.

“I’m here,” he said.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“If… if I don’t make it, promise me that you’ll take care of Hope. That you’ll get her out of here.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Aaron said, heart in his throat. This pregnancy had been difficult for her, yes, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to survive the birth. She would survive. She had to. Both her and the baby.

“Please, Aaron.”

Aaron sighed before planting a kiss to her temple.

“I swear to you Penny, that no matter what happens I’ll make sure our children are safe,” he said, gently resting a hand on her belly. She leaned over and kissed him, her lips soft and warm on his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

…

“The baby’s coming,” Penny gasped, clutching her swollen belly. Aaron’s heart dropped to the floor. Then he helped her down to the ground and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re going to be okay. I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” Penny replied, skin slick with sweat. Aaron walked over to the cord against the wall and pulled down sharply. It would alert the vampires that they needed help.

Aaron sat down next to Penny, rubbing her back.

“Mama?” Hope asked, raising her sleepy head from the pillow. She made her way over on her short legs.

“Hi honey. Your little brother or sister is coming,” Penny said, running a thumb across Hope’s cheek even as Aaron noticed her stiffening as another contraction hit.

Hope reached out and pressed a hand against her mom’s belly.

“Hi! I’m Hope!” she yelled at Penny’s belly. Aaron smiled. Just then the door opened and five vampires entered the small room. One of them bent down to pick Hope up. She pulled back clutching Aaron’s arm.

“We’ll take good care of her,” the woman said gently.

“You have to go with them,” Aaron told her softly. Hope shook her head, her face buried against Aaron’s chest. His heart had cracked open but Hope couldn’t stay for the birth. “It’s okay, honey, we’ll see you soon, alright?” Aaron said, giving her a hug. Penny pressed a kiss against her hair. Hope reluctantly let go of Aaron’s arm. The vampire picked her up and whisked her out of the room and Aaron didn’t bother to hide his tears.

Penny interlaced her fingers with Aaron’s giving his hand a squeeze as a contraction hit her.

“Let’s get you to the labor room,” one of the vampires said, bending down to help her to her feet. Penny didn’t let go of Aaron’s hand as the vampire helped her up. She rested her head against Aaron’s shoulder, giving a hiss of pain. The vampires escorted Aaron and Penny down the hall to the labor room.

Penny settled into the bed, wincing. Her strawberry blonde hair was stuck to her neck with sweat. The vampires bustled around, not bothering to talk to the two humans but speaking quietly to each other as they prepared to assist with the birth. As much as Aaron despised the leeches, he had to admit that they knew what they were doing. Penny was in good hands.

…

Penny had been in labor for twenty hours. Aaron’s head pounded, but not more than his heart. Penny was drifting in and out of consciousness. He squeezed her hand, but she didn’t respond. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he would do. The vampires were murmuring in a corner and Aaron tried to block out their voices.

“I’m going to die,” Penny whispered, just loud enough for Aaron to hear. She gave his hand a weak squeeze.

“No, Penny, no. You’re going to be okay,” Aaron said, leaning down to kiss her.

“I’m sorry, love. I don’t want to leave you,” she murmured after he pulled back.

“Don’t give up now, Pen. Hope needs you. I need you,” Aaron said, a sob catching in his throat. “Just hold on a little bit longer for me, okay?”

Penny grunted as another contraction hit her. “Okay,” she said quietly.

The lead midwife approached the bed. She was an older vampire, with hair graying around her temples. She examined Penny gently, and when she was done she met Aaron’s eyes. She gave him a little shake of her head, and it was like his whole world shattered. No.

…

Seven more hours passed. The contractions were excruciating and Penny’s screams rang in

Aaron’s ears. He rubbed the sweat off her face with a damp cloth.

“You’re going to be okay,” Aaron whispered in her ear. Penny’s skin was soaked with sweat and she gripped Aaron’s hand tightly as another contraction swept over her.

“It’s coming!” the midwife yelled. “Push!” Penny gave an earsplitting scream as she pushed down, her grip crushing Aaron’s hand.

Aaron saw a slimy baby appear in the midwife’s hands and his stomach dropped to the ground. The baby was blue, the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.

“Oh no,” the midwife whispered as she unwrapped the cord, pressed her ear against the tiny chest. Aaron couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink. Please, he prayed to whatever god might be able to hear him, please let him be okay.

After what seemed like an eternity, the midwife looked up at him with grief in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, he’s dead,” she said softly.

Penny let out a sob and Aaron fell to his knees. Their son had never even had a chance at life. The midwife turned away, their baby cradled in her arms.

“Please, let me hold him,” Penny sobbed. The midwife looked at her and slowly approached. She pulled a blanket out of her apron and wrapped it around the small body before gently handing him to Penny. Aaron wept as Penny drew their child close to her chest. He ran his hand along his son’s forehead, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Penny was saying, distraught. He climbed onto the bed and laid down next to her, pulling her head against his chest as she wept.

They laid like that for hours. The vampires tried to take the baby away, but Penny wouldn’t let them and they had enough decency not to force her to give up her child. Eventually, Penny fell asleep and Aaron stroked her hair, his emotions numb.

Penny’s skin was hot to the touch and Aaron frowned.

“Somethings wrong,” he said, looking at the midwife. She came over and felt Penny’s forehead, a frown deepening on her face.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, stepping away to grab some medicine.

“Hey sweetheart, you need to wake up,” Aaron said quietly. Penny groaned, her eyes fluttering open. She was starting to tremble.

“I love you,” she said, voice rough from tears.

“I love you too,” he replied. Then Penny’s eyes closed.

“Penny. Penny, wake up!” Aaron said frantically. Penny didn’t respond, her breathing was coming in short gasps. Her hand went limp in his. No no no. He couldn’t lose her too.

“Wake up, please wake up,” he sobbed.

“Help her!” he screamed at the vampires. The midwife approached and gently took one of his hands.

“She’s gone,” she said.

It was like the air was knocked out of Aaron’s lungs.

“No no no,” he sobbed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He held her for a while, long enough for her body to begin to cool. When the vampires pulled him away he didn’t fight, but he welcomed the oblivion of the venom.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @puffball-lover554 @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg

[one-piece-dumpster-fire]

Hello! Could i please have some good good pregnancy and parenting headcanons with a fem!s/o for Law, Eustass, and Zoro please? Thank you so much and have an awesome day!

Oof pregnancy and parenting headcanon make me so soft, thank you very much for this sweet request🥺! I focussed a bit more on the pregnancy part rather than the parenting tho since I've written something similiar for Kid and Law already😅 Hope what I came up with suits you, and sorry for the long wait!

How they deal with a pregnant gf and having a baby headcanon

Trafalgar Law

because of his medical knowledge and observant nature, Law actually noticed the first signs of your pregnancy even before you did

so when you finally realize that you're pregnant and go to confront him with your discovery, he's anything but surprised

"Law, I need to tell you something. I'm-"

"Pregnant? Yeah, I thought so."

he looks pretty unbothered and composed, almost as if this isn't anything new to him, but on the inside he is completely tense and filled with anxiety. A baby just doesn't fit into your pirate lives. At all. However he doesn't want to show his true feelings and possibly cause you to panic. You already got enough on your plate with all the new physical and hormonal changes you're about to go through

personally Law didn't plan on having kids, ever, but what's done is done. To make sure that this is really what you want he'd still offer you the option of an abortion, but when you decline and tell him that you want to keep the child, he accepts your decision

"Alright (Y/N), brace yourself then. A few major changes are upon us..."

everything from the beginning of your pregnancy to the date of birth is planned out by him. Law doesn't want anything to go wrong and refuses to take risks. That means you'll spend most of your time either stuck by his side or in the proximity of another member of the Heart Pirates

Bepo, Penguin and Shachi are super excited for the kid and to be uncles. They all come up with their own ideas on what they'll do with the baby once it's born, and their enthusiasm sort of puts Law at ease. This means he and you at least won't have to deal with everything by yourselves

when you actually go into labour, Law's composed facade drops for a moment and he reveals just how stressed he's been up until now

in order to properly assist you and be there for you while you're giving birth, he forces himself to imagine that this is just an ordinary operation. It's not his girlfriend having his baby, he's not about to be a father in a few minutes-

all the stress and anxiety instantly falls off of him when he first holds the new life you two created.

the first time Law looks down at his baby he's absolutely mesmerized. Sure it's still bloody and screeching its lungs out, but despite all odds it's looking completely healthy and is actually,,,, really adorable? Holy shit, how did he manage to make something so pure-looking-

after cleaning the baby and introducing it to its mother, he brings the little human over to Bepo and lets it rest in the bear's soft fur instead of wrapping it up in a blanket. Not only should that be far more comfortable for the tiny thing, but it's also the first bonding experience with uncle Bepo. And while the baby is sleeping, Law walks over to check in on you and tells you how great you did

as far as being a dad goes, Law belongs to the supportive but distant type. Whenever he's got the chance he'll try to spend time with his kid, but there are often other, more important things he has to take care of

however he's still a proud parent and lowkey hopes that the child will take an interest in his work when it gets older. It shouldn't come as a surprise that one of the first things your kid will be taught by Papa Law is how to dissect a frog

Eustass Kid

his immediate thought when you let him know that you're pregnant is "how can I make this unhappen"

look at him, Kid is not ready to be a dad. Especially when it comes to his level of maturity he's basically still a child himself-

no one on the Victoria Punk is prepared for the big news. Their captain made a baby. There will be a kid running around the ship. Oh shit, everyone better start learning to limit their use of profanities already-

initially Kid acts pretty grumpy throughout your pregnancy. He didn't want this, but it's still happening. And he can't do anything against it. He's almost acting like a pregnant woman himself-

can not and will not handle your cravings/mood swings. Whenever you start acting up he just gets completely irritated and quickly peaces out when he can't come up with a way to deal with you

but what started out as regret turns into excitement when he thinks about how awesome his kid would be. With him as dad and you as mom it's only natural that the result will be amazing

and thus he starts to be a bit more open-minded towards the whole situation. Heck, he even gets lowkey excited and starts building a few baby cribs and closets for the child!

unfortunately tho Kid is anything but compassionate during your pregnancy, and it gets especially bad when you start showing. His immature nature shines through and he makes quite a few indecent comments on how you look a balloon,,,

for some reason he also tends to be more horny than usual. Hey, you already got a bun in the oven, so there isn't anything else you need to worry about, right?

in contrast to how he treated you during your pregnancy, he's actually very supporting and motivating during birth

lmao but that's mostly because he's eagerly waiting between your legs for the kid to plop out and right into his arm like a Christmas present

it's almost like a lottery to him and he's super excited what the brat will look like

however nothing could have prepared Kid for the moment when he gets to hold the baby for the first time. The young man basically beams with pride and grins from one ear to the other while the baby cries like an alarm clock

Kid's first time holding the newborn in a nutshell:

"Hehe, it looks like we got a girl here, ey (Y/N)?"

"Kid... that's the baby's ass. You're holding it the wrong way around."

he definitely comes up with ridiculous names for the child, such as: "Eustass Explosion", "Eustass Chainsaw" and his personal favorite- "Eustass the Destroyer"

putting his excitement aside, the young pirate captain definitely has to grow into the role of a father. At first he almost treats the kid like some sort of new toy or pet

you'll never catch him changing even a single diaper. Most of the time Kid tells Killer to man up, cover the holes in his mask, and take care of it by himself if he really wants to be considered 'the best uncle'

despite his rowdy behaviour he is aware that the child is 'fragile' and usually makes sure to keep it away from any dangerous stuff, meaning that the workshop is off-limits for the little one. Kid also never uses his metal arm when he's playing with or holding the baby; instead he build a more authentic prosthetic that'll allow him to hold the child more properly

Roronoa Zoro

his eye almost pops out of its socket when you tell him

holy shit! Zoro of course knew that sex makes babies, but what are the odds of this happening to you?! Besides he always considered himself to be too controlled and restrained for that to work?! Damn?!?!

despite the initial shock he wants to do his best to help you through the pregnancy. After all he basically caused this-

however Zoro can't even find the way to the grocery store to get some diapers

someone send him help. And by help, I mean Chopper

the reindeer himself doesn't know too much about pregnancies, but he's more than happy to collect some first-hand experience and teaches Zoro all about how to be a dad and what's going on with your body

whenever you're near he keeps his swords sheathed and tucked away from you. Once your stomach starts popping he's wary that if he comes too close to you with a sharp thing you might burst or something

at night he keeps watch like a guard dog, his overprotectiveness shines through and he often refuses to go to sleep before you

you probably go into labour while he's out getting lost or fighting some marines, but once Zoro gets the news he almost drops his sword and hurries back to be with you

but he arrives almost an hour later because he got so excited that he forgot the way back to the Sunny

Zoro really wants to help you and Chopper deliver the baby. He's constantly repeating what the reindeer doc says to you and at some point, when your pain reaches its peak, he even suggets reaching down and pulling the baby out of you with his own two hands lol

but once the first cries fill the rooms, he freezes up. It's done. Those nine months of worry, mood swings, suffering and cravings are finally over. A wave of relief washes over him as he smirks down at you, quietly saying how proud he is

however Zoro strongly refuses to hold his baby at first. He's genuinely scared he might drop it or accidentally crush it.

you and Chopper basically have to yell at him to get him out of his trance and convince the new father to take a look at his child

"Zoro, I did not go through hours of pain just so you can say no to holding our baby. For crying out loud, take your child!"

the second you put the baby into his arms Zoro's protective dad instincts kick in and now he refuses to let the child go again lmao

he's mustering the little one's face like some abstract oil painting, unable to tear his gaze from it and proudly recognizing all the similarities between the baby and its parents

luckily Zoro got some natural dad skills under his belt, and you both share the responsibilities evenly

he's never opposed to changing diapers or feeding the baby, even if the first annoys him sometimes. He also keeps the baby around himself 24/7- during workouts he puts it onto his back, when he wanders around the little one sits on his shoulders, and when he takes a nap on the desk the baby lies on his chest

all of the other Strawhats are more than welcome to take care of the baby from time to time and bond with the newest family crewmember to their heart's content. Well, that goes for everyone except Sanji. You better not let Zoro catch him handling the baby or a fight will break out-

[winterscaptain]

tell.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i cannot tell yall how long i have been working on this one, so i'll save it. thanks to @ssaic-jareau for hanging in there with me as i pulled late nights to make this happen over the weekend!! i love you!! i know it's broad daylight for you while im being irresponsible, but i appreciate it nevertheless. let me know what you think, my lovelies! i cherish your thoughts!

words: 7.4k warnings: language, discussion of sex, canon-typical case events

summary: “we are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.” veronica roth, allegiant. au!may 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

It’s always tough to spend time away from home when you aren’t on a case, but a conference kept you from your boys the last couple of days, on Strauss’s request. Aaron was none too happy about it, but as the junior-most agent in the unit (even with five years under your belt), the shitty seminars and professional development events fell on your shoulders. 

Even though you landed early in the morning, flying coach all the way back from California, there was a whole day with Jack waiting for you and Aaron upon your return. A rare Saturday - no case, no paperwork, just family.

You knock on the door with a knuckle, unable to reach your keys around your bags and breakfast. 

Aaron opens the door with a “Hey!” coated in laughter, kissing your cheek. He’s still in his pajamas. 

You squint at him. “Am I early?”

He snorts. “Never. We’re running late.” He takes the takeout bags and coffee from your hands. “Thank you for breakfast.” 

“Of course. I wanted -” 

Jack runs across the apartment and slams into you full force. “You’re home!” 

You curl around him, your hands on his head and shoulder as he cuddles into you. “I am! I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

His voice is muffled by your shirt and it makes you smile. You glance at Aaron over Jack’s head to find a smile. 

“Come look at our fort!” Jack, wearing a blanket cape, takes you by the hand and brings you into the dining room, where the dining room table has been turned into a massive fort fit for a king. 

Or, rather, two kings. 

“Oh my goodness, Jack. This is incredible, little bug. Your architectural prowess knows no bounds.” You look up at Aaron from your place on the floor. “Where’s your cape?” 

His deadpan, as usual, never fails to make you laugh. “Uh, I’m wearing it.” 

Jack continues to drag you all the way under the table until you’re laying on your bellies in the little slap-dash shelter.

Aaron flops down on the floor on the other side of Jack. “We slept in here all night.” 

“Really? That sounds like so much fun.” 

What you mean is, What, with your bad back? 

“Mmhmm,” he replies, only to really say - 

Yep. I feel like shit. 

“Can we sleep in here again tonight, Dad?” Jack asks, turning to Aaron. “All together?” 

You exchange a glance with Aaron, who laughs. 

So much for grown-up plans...

+++

You’re both scrambling to get ready for the bike ride across the mall and day at the Smithsonian when the phone call comes in. 

“Hotchner,” Aaron says, still at the counter, tucking his phone under his chin as he finishes packing the rest of the picnic basket. 

He freezes, hastily bagging some carrots and putting them in the basket before holding the phone in his hand and leaning heavily against the counter. “You’re kidding.” 

That’s not a good tone. 

Jack looks up at you, and you rest your hands on his chest over his shoulders, backing him into you as you watch Aaron with your lip between your teeth. 

“Did they raise the terror alert?”

Shit. 

“Okay. That’s for the best. Um…” He checks his watch. “I’ll get down there now. Yeah….Do you need the rest -” 

With a huff, he meets your eyes and nods. 

You let out a sigh and kiss Jack’s head. He knows the drill and runs off for your phone, still charging in the bedroom. 

“Understood, ma’am. I’ll be there first. We gotta get Jack squared away but I’ll get going while -” He pauses, probably interrupted by Strauss again. “Thank you...Yes...I’ll be there as soon as I can and the rest of the team will meet at the scene.” 

You know that also means you. You also can’t ignore the prick of anxiety that shoots through your belly, knowing he’ll likely be in danger without you for at least a half-hour. 

Jack returns with your phone, Jessica already on the line. 

+++

Aaron, of course, leaves right away while you wait for Jess. 

You sit on the couch with Jack. “I’m so sorry, buddy. We’ll have to do a big day, just the three of us, another time.” 

Jack shrugs. “It’s okay. Sometimes you just gotta catch the bad guys.” 

The offhand nature of his understanding strikes you as instantly hilarious, and he laughs with you when you double over, wiping tears from your eyes. 

“Yeah. Sometimes you just do, kiddo.” 

+++

When you finally arrive at the scene, Dave’s already set up hostage negotiation. You cross the street, finding Will and JJ huddled with Emily and Derek. 

“You okay?” You ask, placing your hand on Will’s shoulder. He’s not just JJ’s not-husband. He’s your friend, too, all on his own. 

“Yeah, jus’ fine.” He shakes his head. “Jus’ a little rattled, is all.” 

“Understandable.” 

His mouth presses into a thin line as he exhales. “Thanks.” He checks his watch. “Y’all should get on back. I think Strauss just showed up.”

JJ kisses his cheek and trots off to meet the rest of the unit. After another hug for Will, you follow suit. 

+++

“The media's calling them the Face Cards. Seven bank robberies in seven months. They've killed one person at each robbery.” Aaron leads the rest of you to the trailer, where the monitors are all set up. 

Dave furrows his brow. “M. O.?” 

“Single gunshot wound. Each of the victims has bled out.” 

That doesn’t make much sense. 

You jump in. “Serial killers with a 30-day cooling-off period and we're only just hearing about this now?” 

“Well, headquarters has always characterized them robbers first and killers second,” Aaron replies, glancing back at you. You roll your eyes. 

Of course they did. 

“No one kills seven people without serious psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer notes. He’s more than right, and you thought the same thing - it’s almost like he took the words out of your mouth. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment. I was overruled.” Aaron’s bland version of frustration is clear in his tone, but he knows, just as you do, that ship has sailed. All you can do now is handle what’s in front of you. 

“So why are we here now?” Dave asks. 

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.” 

Aaron starts to walk again as JJ asks after more information. Aaron usually rattles it off pretty quickly, but with the quick start this morning, you know he trusts the rest of you to ask the questions you need. “What more do we know about them? 

“They're organized, they're efficient. Each strike lasts about two minutes.” 

Derek, walking beside you, finally joins the conversation. “They gotta be scouting the banks in advance. Why haven't we been able to identify them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hack the security feed and turn off the cameras, both during the initial canvass and during the robbery, until the masks come back on, and then we're allowed to watch.” Aaron leads you all into the tactical staging truck, watching the security feeds. 

+++

As you continue to watch, the scene becomes clearer, the power dynamics more tangible. 

Dave sees it, too. “They're using the hostages as human shields.” 

JJ, with Will beside her, studies the footage, watching the Queen run around while the King finds himself preoccupied with the Jack’s wound. “This is the first time they've been interrupted. What went wrong?”

“It's a big bank,” Emily says. “It's possible they weren't about to round everybody up before someone triggered an alarm.” 

That’s a fair point, but you ask your question anyway.  “Why haven't they cut the feed now that they've been cornered?”

Derek, still beside you, answers. “Letting us see inside gives up a tactical advantage. They gotta know that.” 

They don't seem to care,” Aaron says, from your other side. 

You’re all silent for another minute, watching to see what happens next. Even though their plans went awry, the team still looks fairly calm and collected, all things considered. 

JJ’s frown only deepens. “They're overconfident. Arrogant, even.” 

“The face card masks add to their narcissism.” Spencer’s voice comes from the end of the line. “Their personas are the royalty of poker.” 

You nod - it’s a great point - while Aaron starts making assignments.  

“JJ, Reid, and Prentiss, look at past robberies. That's gonna be our victimology. Pull another analyst if you need to.” He turns to you, then Dave, on his other side. “I want you two to handle negotiations. And, Morgan, strategize tactical options with MPD.” 

You shuffle, gathering your radio and earpiece from the charger next to Penelope’s computer. 

When the rest of the team leaves, you hang back with Dave, keying into the radio channels and standing by for further instruction - you know there’s more for you in the trailer at the moment. 

Further instruction, though, may have to wait. Strauss climbs the steps into the rig and Aaron greets her. “Chief Strauss.” 

“The Director ordered me to supervise your operation.” 

Of course he did. 

“Puts you right in the spotlight,” Dave says, not unkindly. It’s almost fond. 

You can’t help but hold back a little bit of a smile. If the situation were reversed and it was Aaron at the helm, you’d be proud of him, too. 

“Well, you've got gunmen with hostages in the Capital. The Hill's concerned.” 

Aaron nods, gesturing to you and Dave. “We're about to open lines of communication.”

“What about a tactical assault?”

The three of you shake your heads as Aaron responds. “I don't think it's a good idea. There are hostages in front of the doors and windows.” 

Erin, finally onboard, turns to Dave. “What's your negotiation strategy?” 

“The Jack's bleeding out. They'll ask for medical attention.” 

You hum, a little skeptical, and look back at the feed. “The female unsub might have something to say about that. Look at her body language.” 

Dave follows your gaze. “She is cold and detached. The King seems genuinely concerned about his partner's welfare. But she couldn't give a damn.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “The men probably know each other.” 

Aaron, picking up on your train of thought, flags Penelope, “Garcia?” 

She turns in her chair, already typing. “Shuffling my techno-fabulous deck of databases, sir.” 

And so it begins. 

+++

“I’ll do the talking - I’ll need to establish some rapport with them, but I’ll need you keeping the team updated and coordinating any allowances or personnel as things come up, okay?” 

You nod, a little smile pulling at the side of your mouth. “You got it.” 

Dave claps your shoulder. “You’ll be in this chair one day, so pay attention.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He dials in and the phone starts ringing through the speaker. You’ll be able to hear everything. 

“Who the hell's this?” You check the monitor. The King picked up the phone. 

Obviously, the Jack can’t pick up the phone, stupid, he’s bleeding out!

“My name is David Rossi. I'm with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?” 

The King doesn’t address the question, but rather looks back toward his fallen compatriot. “All right, I want a doctor sent in, and then I want out of here.” 

Dave checks his watch. “Well, we certainly can discuss that. Let the hostages go and we'll give you all the medical help you need.” 

You take a mental note. Your memories from Dave’s lectures at the academy are fuzzy at best, and you haven’t had very much time handling these things in the field. The last time a major hostage crisis was at hand, you were a hostage yourself. 

A shot hostage, if the chronic nerve pain in your shoulder is any reminder. 

“I can't do that. I need the leverage.” 

“How about a sign of good faith? Send out the women and children and I'll see what I can do.” 

You watch as the King takes the phone away from his mouth. You can vaguely hear him update the Queen, but she’s not having it. She pulls a child from the lineup and your lower lip disappears between your teeth. 

A man, you presume the girl’s father, speaks to the Queen before she shoots him in the abdomen. The King gets back on the line. 

“You better send in some more help or more people are gonna die.” He hangs up. 

Shit. 

+++

“You’re not seriously considering sending an agent in there?” You turn on Hotch and he sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“We don’t have much of a choice. I’m not the authority on-site and with the director pressing Strauss, there’s not much I can do.” 

The two of you are alone for the time being, so you’re able to rib him for a second to lighten the tension. 

“What’s the point of being unit chief if you can’t lord it over everyone all the time?” 

You're rewarded with a shadow of a smile and a snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. I lord it over you plenty.” 

“Not enough.” Your tone is childish, the words murmured under your breath. 

When he walks away, he taps the side of your ass with the back of his hand. If you weren’t in a professional setting, you could mistake it for a promise. 

But, Aaron, that would be unprofessional!

You turn to look at him and just catch his wink as he hops up the steps behind Strauss. 

+++

With Garcia’s magic and Aaron’s genius, you figure out that the men are related. 

While Rossi hops on the next phone call, you help Derek outfit the medic with a bug and a weapon. 

“We're sending in the medic now, Chris. Tell Oliver help is on the way.” 

Derek nods at the medic and he hops off, heading into the bank. You jog over to the trailer only to find a humorously horrified look on Strauss’s face. 

“Is she…” 

You get closer, looking up at the monitor. 

“...putting on lipstick?” 

You scoff. “She’s vain. Only contributes to a profile of vanity and narcissism. She likes to be seen - this is a game for her.” 

You jog back out before Strauss can respond, taking your place between Aaron and Derek. 

“Green. You gotta go. Green. Go,” Derek says into his mic. 

The agent-turned-medic makes a move and immediately gets a shot between the eyes for his trouble. Your hand files over your mouth and Derek ducks away, taking a second. 

Well, that couldn’t have been any worse. 

You look at Aaron, still staring at the screen, beside you. He’s thinking the same thing. 

+++

Derek walks up to you, kevlar and sunglasses firmly in place. “Tactical's been deployed, snipers are moving into position.” 

At your questioning look, Strauss clarifies. “The Director's ordered a full tactical assault.” 

The look doesn’t leave your face. “His last orders cost us an agent.” 

Radio transmissions fly one ear and out the other, not to mention the flurry of activity around the negotiation tent. Before Strauss can reply, Will’s call shoots past you to Aaron.

“SWAT's getting itchy fingers.” 

Aaron turns, covering his comm mic at his chest. “You remind SWAT that bank robberies are federal jurisdiction. No one fires until they're ordered to.” 

“Right.” 

Will disappears and you suppress a little pleased shudder. Aaron’s very much in control now and it is doing things to your body that are better suited for, well, anywhere else. You tighten the velcro across your chest as if to compress another rush of… nothing useful. 

Aaron turns back to you, Dave, Derek, and Strauss. “All right, when the crossfire starts, what's gonna happen to the hostages caught in the middle?” 

The question is a trap, and Dave doubles down. “That's the wrong call, Erin, and you know it.” 

Strauss falters for a minute, leveling with the rest of you. “It's not my call.” 

Aaron doesn’t let up. “You're here and you're in charge.” His tone is sharper than yours would be in the same situation, but you’re nearly fifteen years younger and a whole four steps down on the totem pole. 

Not for the first time, a rush of affection and gratitude for him crests over your in a wave and you have to look away, taking a deep breath to collect yourself. When you look back, he’s watching you. 

I’m okay. 

He nods as Erin speaks again. 

“So you want me to disobey the Director?” Erin sounds dubious, at best. 

Dave responds quickly. “Yes.” 

Aaron amends, and if the situation wasn’t so tense his correction would almost be funny. “No. I just want you to buy us a little time.” He pauses, wavering for a second as he rephrases. “Don't be quite so efficient.” 

You’re never surprised by Aaron’s political savvy, but it is a nice reminder that he can run circles around every bureaucrat in the district if given the chance. 

“Whatever you're gonna do, do it fast.”

+++

“It’s an impossible ask, Dave. You know JJ will never go for it.” 

“It’s not up to JJ.” Aaron’s voice approaches from behind you. “It’s the director’s call, but mine first.” 

He comes to rest beside you as Dave leaves the two of you alone. 

“What are you gonna do?” You look at Aaron, finding his eyes trained on the monitor, arms crossed over his chest.

He sighs. “If it was you he asked for...” 

You bump his shoulder. “What, not interested in feeding me to serial killers today?” 

It’s a loaded joke, especially for the two of you, but after Emily, you’re past such things. If the situation were reversed, Haley would never stop giving you hell for getting serial-killed the way she did. It’s only fair to return the favor. 

“Over my dead body, baby.” He reaches down to squeeze your hand for a second before letting you go. “Do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” 

“Stay here.” 

+++

You can hear JJ’s anguished shouts from here, beside Dave and the phone. 

Derek has a good enough hold on her, Emily and Aaron protecting him from JJ’s wild elbows. She’s beside herself but eventually breaks free and sprints back toward the trailer. You turn to follow her, just in time to hear a gunshot. 

Will.

+++

You’re all gathered in the trailer as JJ asks the same questions over and over again. Garcia, just like the first time, doesn’t have any answers. 

The static on the monitors is nearly deafening in its silence. 

JJ looks at you for a moment and takes a shaky breath before looking at Hotch. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her voice is broken when she speaks. “Aaron.”

You know he’s never been able to deny her anything. In the entire time you’ve known him, it’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed. 

His eyes don’t budge from hers. “We’re going in.”

+++

You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, trying to stem the stinging from the heat and debris. Your ears ring and you’ve got a scrape on your chin from where you face-planted into the asphalt. 

Eventually, you remove your hands and open your eyes to the early summer sunshine. Your bias is clear enough - Aaron’s the first one you look for and the first one you find.

He’s looking a little dazed and more than a little ruffled, but alive. 

Ignoring the whine in your ears and swiping some blood off your face, you jog over to him, taking stock of him from head to toe. “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and you realize he probably can’t hear you. An image of Kate reaching for you and the smell of blood flashes into your head, but you push it away. 

His ear…

“Aaron?” You lay a hand on his shoulder and he startles a little, meeting your eyes and coming back to himself all at once. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, tipping your jaw up with one finger to examine your chin. “You’re hurt.”

“Honey, I’m fine. Your ear…” You follow a small trickle of blood up the side of his neck, rounding him to get a better look. Just as you’d feared, his bad ear is bleeding again. 

He waves off your concern and taps his comm mic, calling for support in quick, clear soundbites. You snag the back of his vest before he can get too far away from you. 

“As soon as you’re done with that, please get it looked at.”

With a sigh, he nods and gestures to your chin. “I will if you do.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Where’s Emily?” You hear Morgan ask JJ as they get their bearings around you. 

With a start, you follow them into the building, attached to a couple of SWAT agents. You know Aaron will get after you for going in before everything’s cleared by bomb squad, but you can’t keep still. 

The heartache you feel for JJ supersedes anything else going on in your head. It’s something that plagues you all the time - the both of you doing this job. Losing Aaron in the field is a stark reality you can hardly consider at any point, especially when evidence of its reality is right in front of you. 

+++

Aaron can’t help himself - he pulls you close after you’re both released by the paramedics, pressing a kiss to your head. It’s almost desperate as he leans back and pulls your collar from your vest, his hands smoothing over your shoulders. 

“I need to debrief SWAT and first responders - can you stay with Dave and help with the media?” 

“Okay. Let me know if you need any extra hands - I’ll send ‘em right over.” 

He smiles at you, soft, small, and affectionate. “Thank you.” 

+++

You pull your phone from your pocket. 

She picks up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Jess.” 

“Hey.” She pauses. “You okay?”

With a shaky sigh, you reply. “Yeah. I’m fine. Aaron’s fine.” 

“I heard about the explosion. Is there anything I can do?” 

“No, we’re fine. Just...Just stay out of the city.” After another breath. “Is Jack okay?” 

She laughs a little. “Yeah. He’s fine. He’s a little anxious but I turned off the TV and we’re headed out to the park for a little while.” 

“Good.” You look over at Aaron, who holds your eyes for a second before returning to his EMS strategy huddle. 

“Be safe and come home to us soon, okay?” 

“Yeah. We will. We love you. Tell Jack we -”

“ - Of course.” 

+++

You follow Spencer through the debris once you’re done handling the media storm with Dave. Picking through the rubble, searching for something - anything - but not finding much. 

Derek’s voice echoes through the ruined, cavernous space that used to be the main lobby. “Everything they've said and done was for a reason. But what doesn't make any sense is she switched the negotiation demand. Chris wanted to go to Switzerland. She changed it to Chad.” 

“They also requested a private plane,” you note, “but no mention of a pilot.” 

Spencer stops, and you almost run into him. Emily stops as well, looking back at the pair of you as Spencer organizes his thoughts. When he’s ready to speak, he says, “Guys, if you think about it, even the dates mean something. In 2004, while she was wreaking havoc abroad, he was dishonorably discharged. Then in 2008, they likely met in Chad. And now this in 2012.” 

Good thought. But then again, when is one of Spencer’s thoughts bad? 

It’s a decent enough question, and you run the gamut of all the surprising and absurd things Spencer’s said in your presence over the years. One in particular comes to mind. 

Evil twin, eviler twin. 

You hold back a little laugh, despite the harrowing circumstances. 

Yeah, that one was pretty bad. 

“Okay.” Derek grabs your attention again. “So, is it a coincidence that those are all election years and they attacked D.C.? Maybe this is a political statement.” 

Emily’s eyes are stuck on something on the ground, but you’re not sure if it’s what she’s really looking at. “No. It's more personal than that. It's their story.” 

Derek’s brow pinches. “What?” 

“All of the details are a part of their story.” 

She starts to leave through one of the shattered windows and you follow her back to the trailer, Spencer and Derek not far behind. She hops up the steps and you take your place beside Aaron once you’re all inside. It’s much cozier in here, with eight of you. 

Spencer fills the rest of the team in on your conversation inside. Unsurprisingly, it’s rote - read like a cold script. 

Emily picks up when he’s done. “Their timeline suggests they were both destructive before they met.” 

“So we're talking about ex-military turning on their country.” Strauss looks and sounds skeptical, but you can’t blame her. In American culture, it’s rather incongruous. 

Now who sounds like Spencer?

“It's rare, but soldiers become disenfranchised no matter what the nationality. And if he met someone like-minded at that time, there'd be no stopping them.”

“So you're thinking they met during the civil unrest in Chad in '08.” Aaron’s voice isn’t skeptical - more probing. You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “And one or both of them are pilots.”

“So if Garcia concentrates on that region,” Emily points to an area on a map, lit up on the monitor, “specifically weapons running in and out of Libya, there's a good chance we'll find their paths crossed.”

Penelope types furiously for a moment, her fingers flying over the keys. “Okay, multiple entries into Libya for a private pilot named Matthew Downs in '08, but I don't have her name.” 

“Well, because she had aliases. It's the only way to stay a ghost.” 

Looks like Emily’s Interpol knowledge is coming in handy. 

She continues. “Here's the thing - they are a couple. Regardless of what we believe of them, they will celebrate themselves and their connection.” She turns to Penelope, a thought sparking behind her eyes. “Is there anything that happened on this date in Chad?”

“Oh, you are good, Emily Prentiss.” Penelope types for a moment and you lean forward, watching her work. “But this news is not. Yes, there were multiple explosions on this date in '08.” 

Aaron speaks from beside you. He’s a little closer than you thought, and it startles you a little. 

In fairness, you’re still jumpy from the explosion. 

“Where were the most casualties?” 

“At a church-- no, no, a train. Yep.” 

Morgan squints at the photos of the hulled-out building. “Semtex and C-4?”

Penelope nods while Aaron turns toward Strauss. “Are trains still arriving at Union Station?”

“Yes, but only the authorities are allowed in.” There’s a moment where she almost looks panicked, but collects herself as the rest of you gear up to leave. 

Emily exhales down her nose. “That’s why they needed Will.” 

+++

Aaron drives impossibly fast through the district. You sit in the back seat with Emily, holding onto the handles above the door for dear life. 

You’ve never flashed your badge so many times in such a short period. Aaron tucked his badge into a strap of his vest, just to save time, but still has his credentials locked between his fingers as he drives. If you didn’t trust him so much, it would freak you out a little.  

+++

The comm in your ear crackles as Emily speaks. “I found Will.” 

“Is he mobile?” Aaron’s voice comes both from beside you and your comm - it’s a little disorienting, but you push through. 

“Negative. He's got 6 transmitters on him and this whole place is gonna blow.”

There’s hardly a hesitation in Aaron’s steps as he processes the information. “All right, where are you? I'm on my way.” 

He’d like to think he’s made of steel. 

Sometimes he is. 

“No,” Emily asserts. “You gotta get everyone out. Is the bomb squad here yet?” 

“They're 3 minutes away.” 

“Copy.” She sounds a little disappointed, or maybe frustrated, but doesn’t say anything else.

He turns back to you, holding you by the shoulders. “I want you leading evacuation. Get out of here.” 

Tears prick at your eyes and honestly, this is the first moment you’ve really been afraid. Existentially afraid. Afraid of walking out of this train station and leaving Aaron and Emily and Will to blow up. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yep. Go.” He tries to push you away, but you resist. 

“Promise?” 

His brown eyes soften as his mouth presses into a thin line. “Can’t. I love you. Get outta here.” 

You bounce on your toes for a second, acutely aware you’re wasting valuable time, before yanking him forward to kiss his cheek before you sprint away from him, shouting instructions to the panicked crowd as you go. 

+++

You catch up with Derek, racing to catch your suspect. He corners him in an alley but can’t quite overpower him. You reach for your sidearm, but by the time you take aim, Downs is already on the ground, a gunshot ringing through the air. 

Startled, you turn over your shoulder to find Aaron still staring down the sight of his Glock. 

Could take an eye out, with that thing.

You sigh and holster your weapon. Derek looks plenty dazed and you don’t blame him. It’s not often he’s on the receiving end of a near-miss in close combat. He looks over your shoulder and you can see something pass between him and Aaron. 

Maybe one day, Derek will know how much Aaron loves and respects him. 

You watch Derek shake it off and stumble as he attempts to rise to his feet. 

Today is not that day. 

Coming to your senses, you trot forward and help him to his feet, brushing wayward asphalt off of him. You turn back to Aaron. “Everything alright?” 

He ignores you, pressing the mic at his chest as he begins to run back toward the station. “Prentiss, what’s your status?”

+++

Seeing Will and Emily leave the building in one piece is a relief. You meet Aaron’s gaze and his eyes are exhausted. The gears in his head still whir. He’s still in game-mode, and it’s a good thing. 

With the logistical nightmare of two bomb threats in one day, there’s a lot of work ahead of you. 

+++

You swing back and forth in your desk chair, brain completely numb from the paperwork. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been up since three this morning, what with your flight back from California. You’re certain you’ve had longer days than this one, but you’re approaching twenty-one hours without sleep and it feels worse than you remember. 

What were we planning to do today?

A bike ride and museum day with Jack seems impossibly long ago. Last week, maybe.

Derek and Emily sit on their desks, attempting to keep a conversation going without much luck. 

They were house-hunting this morning. 

Penelope slowly descends the stairs as Spencer turns in his seat. “The convention’s still happening tomorrow if you want to go.” 

They were at a convention this morning. 

Everyone had lives this morning. Weird.

She makes an uncertain noise. “That whole city-on-the-brink-of-destruction thing kinda took the wind out of my sails, you know?” 

You look up at her as she takes her place beside Spencer. “It’ll get you every time.” 

“You gotta watch out for that,” Emily adds. It makes you smile a little. 

Derek looks a little less amused, reminding Emily they’ll have to finish the inspection another time. Between Spencer and Penelope, Emily cops to a crack in the foundation of her almost-home. 

“That does not sound good,” Penelope says. You can’t help but agree. 

There’s a weird look on Derek’s face, but you ignore it in favor of Strauss’s descent on the stairs. 

“Our unsub,” she says, “is Izzy Rogers. She'll be charged with multiple counts domestically, and our international counterparts will have their turn with her. She will never see the light of day.” A little smile graces her lips. 

You realize with the tiniest of laughs (really - it’s a one on the Aaron Hotchner scale of laugher, which means it’s hardly noticeable to the naked eye) that you don’t hate her or even dislike her as much as you used to. Maybe, you even want her around. 

Don’t push it.  

“I just thought you'd like to know that.” 

The five of you murmur something that sounds like, “Thank you, ma’am.” 

She pulls Derek, probably to kick his ass for something or another and send herself back on your shit list. 

That’s a problem for another time. 

You take Izzy Rogers’s file from Emily, looking over an impressive rap sheet. You’re happy for a few things. 

The first - that Aaron’s not a federal prosecutor anymore. This’ll be a case for the ages. 

The second - you’ll never have to think about her again. 

The third - you’re not sure. You’re sleep-deprived. It’ll come to you. 

She cost me my precious eight hours and I’ll never forgive her. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Aaron leave his office. You set the file down and look up at him, halfway-hoping for once he’ll tell you to go home without him. 

“Dave wants to know if everyone is free tomorrow night.” 

Without any inflection at all, you reply. “We better not be doing anything tomorrow night.” 

“Well,” Derek says, interrupting Emily’s snort. “If he’s buying, then I’m definitely in.” 

Emily, Spencer, and Penelope jump onto Derek’s conditional acceptance and a rare smile pulls at Aaron’s face, his dimples on full display. 

“Hear that? We’re in.” 

+++

When you get home, Aaron all-but carries you to bed. With the tenderest of hands, he removes your shoes and socks, unbuttons your pants, slides them down your legs, and throws them in the laundry basket. 

You’re practically wilting where you sit, feeling more and more like a sleepy toddler by the minute. 

Aaron unbuttons your shirt and slips it off your shoulders, kissing each cheek in turn. “I’ll start a shower.” 

You move to protest, but he strips and that mostly shuts you up. He starts the water before he returns to your side.

“I just want to sleep, Aar. Please.” 

“Baby,” he says, a fond little pleading note in his tone. “We just changed the sheets. Do you really want to get semtex all over them?” 

With a huff - “No.” 

He smiles and helps you to your feet. “Didn’t think so.” 

You’re so tired, it doesn't even cross your mind to take advantage of the shared shower or his lack of clothes. By the time he dries you off, tucks you in, and locks the bedroom door to ward off the over-eager six-year-old down the hall, you’re asleep. 

His own exhaustion pulling at him, he doesn’t have the time or energy to cherish how peaceful, safe, and warm you look. He just draws you close to him until he can feel your heartbeat. 

Sleep takes him rapidly after that. 

+++

As Will and JJ exchange their vows, you tuck further into Aaron’s arms. His whisper floats past your ear, barely audible. “Wanna do that sometime?”

“What? Get married?” Your voice is just as quiet. 

“Mhmm.”

“Only if it’s you.”

There’s a kiss pressed to your temple with a smile behind it. “I think I can make that happen.”

You turn your head to the side to keep your snark from carrying. “Please don’t propose to me right now. This weekend’s been long enough.”

Derek kicks the side of your foot from where he stands beside you, unable to hear the conversation but knowing you both well enough to keep you from tumbling down the rabbit hole of distraction. 

Aaron presses another kiss to your temple. “I love you.” You feel it rather than hear it.

You pick up one of his hands and kiss the back of it. You don’t need to say anything. 

+++

Aaron holds you close as you dance together, surrounded by your family. JJ and Will sway back and forth nearby, wrapped entirely in each other. Erin and Dave have been surprisingly brave, dancing and laughing quietly together throughout the evening. 

As nice as it was to just have something for the two of you, sharing your love with your family has its own set of perks. You don’t have to hide anymore or justify your pigheaded protection of the other. 

You can just… be. 

+++

Eventually, Dave calls all the “...fortunately unmarried individuals to the dance floor,” and refuses to let anyone slip through the cracks. 

When Aaron hangs back, drink in-hand and a little smile on his face, Dave calls him out. “Divorcés and widowers, too, c’mon.” He pauses, finding another tactic when Aaron doesn’t move. “If you’re both, you get extra points!” 

Aaron rolls his eyes and you look around, finding an inappropriate amount of humor in JJ’s confused relatives. You can’t help but bark a loud laugh when you see how hard Derek’s trying to keep his mirth at bay.

Too soon for the dead wife jokes? He seems to ask. Can I laugh? 

Something in your eyes gives him tacit permission and he nearly blinds you with his smile. 

When Dave’s tricks fall short, you do your best to pull Aaron from the sideline with your best set of bedroom eyes. He courageously resists, so you give up and settle next to Anderson. “What do you think Dave’s come up with, this time?” 

“God only knows.” 

Anderson, like the rest of you, knows that Dave’s hosting abilities know no bounds. 

“Because so many of you are joyfully unmarried, the newlyweds wanted to make sure there was someone else to suffer the slings and arrows of matrimony with them in the near future. Thus,” he opens his arm to JJ, who appears with her bouquet and a smile, “the bouquet toss will be an equal-opportunity event.” 

With a laugh and a shake of your head, you prepare to duck out of the way. 

You look over at Aaron. This is ridiculous. 

He only shakes his head, hiding his smile behind his drink. And yet…

He leaves the rest of the implication unsaid, but you flip him off for good measure. Your exchange must have taken longer than you thought because before you know it, you have a face full of white roses. It’s over. 

You pull the flowers from your face and level JJ with a glare across the dance floor. “Really?” 

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “I turned my back and everything.” 

There are whoops and hollers from your team and you can only roll your eyes. Derek and Will strong-arm Aaron onto the dance floor (you know he let them - if he really wanted to avoid you, they wouldn’t be able to move him an inch), where you’re both cajoled into a kiss and a photo. Penelope’s on the other side of the camera, grinning from ear to ear. 

She waves at Aaron over the camera. “Smile for real, damn you!” 

She amends, adding, “Sir,” for good measure. It has its intended effect and she’s rewarded with a rare, bright laugh from her unit chief. 

Absurd traditions aside, you’d be lying if said you stopped smiling even once. 

+++

As the party settles, some couples stay out on the dance floor, sedately twirling and swaying to the music that continues to play across the yard. 

You and Aaron have relaxed significantly since the Great Bouquet Debacle, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. You’re sitting across his lap, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, with one of his arms wrapped around your middle and the other draped over your knees - the picture of relaxation. 

Penelope, Derek, Emily, and Will have taken up residence on the other side of the dance floor, their heads close together and voices low.

Aaron’s eyes slide over them as he watches the room, scanning out of habit. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

You lean further into him as four pairs of eyes flicker over to you before returning to their huddle. “Us, probably.” 

He hums, understanding and pensive. “Probably our sex life, right?” 

“Probably,” you sigh, playing at boredom. He covers your hand with one of his and you play with his fingers - lacing, unlacing, kissing his knuckles. 

It’s nice to feel safe, comfortable enough to love each other where curious eyes can see you. 

You can feel his smile against your forehead as he presses a kiss between your brows.  

“I mean,” you continue, “there is a lot to talk about.”

He shrugs, adjusting his arm where it lays across your legs to keep you both comfortable in the seat you share. “That’s true enough. Though, I can’t imagine any of their projections being right.”

+++

“I bet they’re into like…tantric sex. Like hours and hours and hours you know?” Penelope says, conspiracy the top note in her tone. 

Derek looks at her and she backtracks, only a little on the defensive. 

“What? Spencer’s talked to me about it before and I...read.” 

He rolls his eyes, but Emily spares Penelope from any further interrogation. 

“I could see that.” She watches the way your fingers wander over Aaron’s bare forearm, playing with the ridges of his watch, the way his thumb absent-mindedly draws small circles on your outer thigh. “Yeah, actually I think that’s exactly what happens.”

+++

“What do you think they’ve got so far?” 

He plays at boredom. “They’re probably trying to take a guess at anything they can reach - with both of our profiles in Derek’s pocket, he’s going to have the most luck, I think.” 

“Really?” You ask. “Not Emily?” 

He snorts. “No. She has her mind on other things.” 

That holds you up for a second, and you’re not sure if he’s still playing into the bit. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later.” 

“She’s resigning, isn’t she?” You give up the fun and lay your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

Without thinking, his hand rises to your cheek, affectionately brushing over your cheekbone before dropping back down. “She might be.” 

“Did she do that thing where she sighs really big and then looks off to the upper right middle distance?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Shit.” 

You’re both quiet for a moment, just enjoying the low lull of the music and the lights and the sights and smiles of your family. 

“Hey.” 

You lean back a little and meet Aaron’s eyes. “Yeah?” 

“What’s my tell?” 

The concern drops out of your face all at once. “You think I’m gonna spill just like that so you can go and change it on me? Not a chance.” 

He sighs and his chin tips up in defeat. “So I have one?” 

“Of course you do, stupid.” You flick his chest and a laugh rumbles through him. “Everyone does. You know mine, I know yours. You’re gonna have to get over it.” 

“So you’ve caught me in lies before?” He asks, not without humor. 

“Duh. I’m pretty sure I’ve caught every lie you’ve ever told, but you seemed so proud of yourself that I just let you have it.” 

You can almost feel the eye roll. “Really?” He sounds skeptical. “Name one lie you’ve caught me in.” 

“Alright.” You count off on your fingers. “You dinged my car door a couple of weeks ago, you definitely didn’t drop the bags at Goodwill, you do know it wasn’t Jack who finished the ice cream in the freezer, you -” 

“Okay.” He covers your hands with his and kisses your fingers. “That’s enough. I get it.” 

You kiss his cheek. “I’m sure you’ve caught me in every single lie I’ve ever told, too, huh?” 

“Only every once since the day we met. Yours is obvious.” 

It’s a trap. You don’t take it. “Hmm. That’s convenient.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

You lean back to look at him. “You’re a shit, you know that?” 

He nods and raises his eyebrows, a cheeky, close-mouthed smile slowly creeping across his face. 

You playfully smack his chest with the back of your hand. “Fucker.” 

He says something under his breath and you level him with a look that has him repeating himself. 

“I said, you wish.” 

You roll your eyes and tuck back into his neck, kissing the skin above his collar. You can feel him shiver and you know you’ve got him. “Not just wish, honey. Know.” 

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @bwbatta @wakatoshislover @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw  @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bispences @thebivirgin

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

[lexsssu]

𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 (𝒁𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊) - 𝑱𝒊ǔ

Ao3 ver.

Previous

Next

“Sorry for the intrusion as always, Mr. Yanwang. But I have to clean your wounds regularly or else they’ll get worse instead of healing…”

The former proud dragon lord was silent, for his eyes were shut tightly in unconsciousness. He’d been sleeping for many moons now on account of his traitorous former confidant and younger brother who’d struck when he least expected it, injuring him until he was on the brink of death. Zhongli, better known as Yanwang Dijun, the youngest and most outstanding warlord this land had seen in centuries, was calculated by his own brother!

Now imprisoned within his own residence, he could do nothing but lie in bed and recover bit by bit while the white-eyed wolf took over his people on the pretense that he was unfit to do so due to his grave injuries.

“Really, it’s simply inhuman of them to not even feed you regularly when you’re so injured like this! Not to mention that they just allowed your wounds to fester as if you’re no better than roadkill…”

Though his body made no movements aside from his slow and shallow breaths, he was more than aware of your presence and clearly heard the sincerity of your words. For he is not just a warlord in name, but his skill allowed him to maintain a spiritual body for when his physical one was out of commission. Your regular meticulous care had allowed his self-healing to accelerate enough for his consciousness to awaken despite his physical body being way too gravely injured still.

“It’s not much, but I hope this helps you even a little bit…”

Translucent amber eyes watch with rapt attention as you place the freshly boiled and crushed guava leaves upon a long gash on his arm before wrapping the limb with a clean bandage. He takes note of the gentleness you treat him with, the sweat that drips down your brow as you tirelessly repeat the same treatment for all of his other wounds.

You’ve been doing this for him ever since the day the spineless coward Zhongchun had threatened your family in order to grab you as a wife for the incapacitated him. For what would be a better show than a crippled, comatose warlord wed to a woman well past the age of marriage? Zhongli himself was only twenty-seven, still considered within the prime of his youth but already quite old to not have at least one wife, concubine, or even a bed warmer.

Truthfully however, he’d been too busy trying to expand and stabilize all the territories he’d conquered during his campaign to even think about his carnal desires and besides, he can take care of himself should the need ever bother him too much. The chance that he could also be assassinated while either in the throes of passion or if his chosen lady might be an enemy spy also prevented him from seeking one out.

“Since even the servants refuse to give me actual medicine for your wounds, I’m at least thankful there’s a lot of guava trees just outside our house. Although my family could afford to buy medicine, we usually just use all the parts of the guava tree that’s been growing at our courtyard for decades now”

The dark-haired dragon’s heart clenches in spite of being only in his spiritual form, your unwavering kindness awakening feelings within himself that he never knew he was capable of experiencing. Though you were simply used as a way by Zhongchun to make a mockery of him, the fact that you never forgot to feed him, clean his wounds, and find ways to improve his healing spoke volumes of who you are as a person.

Especially now that he’d become more aware of who his true allies are after the battle that crippled and rendered him unconscious.

He will have his revenge.

He will take back what is his.

And...he will make sure to give you a proper wedding and treat you like the pearl in his palm for the rest of your lives.

══════════════════

“...Call me Husband”

As someone who’d never had a relationship in her past 23 years of living, the last thing you expected was to find or well, had a husband forced onto you at this age. Then there was the fact that said husband was the famed and also infamous Yanwang Dijun who could slay 100,000 enemies with just a swing of his mighty spear. Additionally, the war lord had been gravely injured to the point that everyone simply expected him to peacefully die in his sleep simply because of how severe his injuries were.

So in the end, you were only expected to take care of him until he inevitably passed away.

But you didn’t want to simply give up on a great man who’d done so much to unite the scattered tribes and cities of this great land. For all the atrocities he’s been said to have committed, you yourself know that the great general never ordered or committed anything that would brand him a monster in the eyes of the gods. A mixture of admiration and pity was what pushed you to do your best to slowly heal his body despite the lack of medical supplies and ample food to help sustain him.

What you did, you did out of your own free will without expecting anything in return.

“Wife, call me husband”

So how the heck did you end up in this situation?!

Pressed against the walls of your bedroom with the general for the past year, you feel your body overheating at his sheer proximity to you. Yanwang Dijun is tall and broad of shoulder, arms rippling with solid muscle and decorated with smatterings of scales and other markings that glowed as a testament to his dragon’s blood.

And he stared down at you with such intensity that you were sure you’d melt on the spot as if you were a block of ice left upon the courtyard during a sunny day. His amber eyes shone, long and majestic dragon tail swishing lazily behind him while his arms caged you against the wall.

It’s almost like the cat that caught the canary.

You gulp down the invisible lump that seemed to have formed inside your throat, trying to look anywhere except for the dragon himself before you finally found some semblance of courage.

“H—”

══════════════════

“Honey? Are you up yet?”

Amber orbs snap wide open as their owner sits up in alarm, running a hand through his mussed up dark locks and trying to get his bearings. He feels the mattress dipping as another body gets on, sitting directly beside him and placing their soft and small hand upon his forehead.

“You okay? I was wondering why you weren’t up yet since you usually wake up just before I do,” You asked him concernedly, curious and a little worried that he was feeling unwell.

“Do you want to go to Bubu Pharma—”

Before you could finish, you find yourself pinned beneath the larger and undeniably sexy form of your husband, heated amber eyes staring into your own with unabashed want.

“Wife... MY wife…” He mutters, almost as if in a trance before catching your lips in a feverish yet passionate kiss.

Breakfast had gotten cold by the time you managed to drag him out of bed.

[disgruntledspacedad]

Jayyy!! Sweet, slutty in the AM.

Without giving BL spoilers, or maybe you won't? Idk 👀👀 not *cough* fishing or anything *cough*

Can I please have 💖 for Javier??? I'm curious...

Angel out-

Javiears pregnancy headcanons? You got it, babe!

Quick and obvious disclaimer to treat all of these as if they are a Better Love AU, at least until I tell you otherwise. 😘

Any baby that these two have would be a total surprise. Ears never wanted kids, and Javi has never thought long enough about it to decide how he feels about a family. He’s always assumed that was never in the cards for him.

Once the initial shock wears off - and that’s gonna take quite a while for both of them - Javi and Ears both jump feet first into the parenting thing. They each harbor some intense opinions about what a kid should and shouldn’t have to put up with, and there are lots of deep conversations that Last into the early morning hours. They nail down the important stuff pretty early, decide that they’ll figure out the rest with time, and discover a whole lot more about one another in the process.

Ears’ body hates being pregnant. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s got her Ashkenazi ancestry to thank for this. Ears is sick as dog snot clear through her first trimester and well into her second, exhausted and achy and throwing the fuck up. She gets awful migraines, too. There are days when Javi is convinced that carrying this baby is going to kill her, and he worries a lot.

Ears handles all of this as stoically as she can. She’s miserable, but she’s not about to complain and make Javi feel even worse.

Speaking of Javi, that protective streak he’s got goes into overdrive the instant Ears tells him about the baby. Ears has got to constantly remind him that she’s pregnant, not dying, and Javi good god, please just let me do things, okay??

That being said, it takes Javi a little while to connect the idea of Ears being pregnant to Ears carrying his baby. It’s all very abstract to him, to the point that on Ears’ worst days, Javi almost feels a little resentful.

That all changes at Ears’ sixteen week appointment. She’s just starting to feel like a human again, and this time, Javi is allowed to go back with her.

Oh my god, you guys, when Javier Peña sees that blurry, black and white, tiny little baby on the ultrasound screen... yall, his entire world shifts.

Ears notices instantly. It’s kind of hard not to, given how tightly Javi is suddenly gripping her hand. He glances over at him to find his eyes glued to the screen, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. It takes her aback a little. “You okay?” she asks quietly, and Javi nods, drags his eyes away from the ultrasound screen and gives her a soft, wet smile, and something slots into place for Ears, too.

Javi quits smoking cold turkey that day. Seeing his tiny little daughter for the first time put a lot of things into perspective, and Javi decides then and there that he wants to be there for her as long as possible.

The first three weeks are miserable. Javi does his best to get out of the house when he’s feeling tetchy (which is always), and Ears does her best to be understanding, but they get into more than a few little spats.

The makeup sex is 🔥🔥🔥, though.

Ears is not a big girl. When she starts to show, she shows fast, and Javi swears he can see her body change every day. Ears is pretty indifferent. She’s not self conscious - Ears finds pregnancy to be inconvenient, more than anything.

Javier Peña has never seen anything as beautiful as Hannah Aarons carrying his child.

Javi fucking loves it. There’s something primal about running his hand over the gentle swell of Ears’ belly and knowing that it’s his daughter that’s growing there. He’s not one to talk to the bump, but Javi can hardly stop himself from touching it. All the fucking time. Ears will sometimes playfully shoo him away. “Hands to yourself, you animal. I’m trying to nap!”

Seriously, their sex life doesn’t suffer at all. It doesn’t help that Ears refuses to buy maternity clothes. She’d much rather lounge around in Javi’s t-shirts and his old sweats, something that makes Javi’s cave man brain damn near implode every single time he sees it.

Ugh, and he’s sweet to her. Observant and affectionate and accommodating of absolutely everything. Cravings? Tell me what you want, babe, I’ll get three. Foot massage? Come here, mi reina, let me make it better. Yawning through dinner? Go get in bed, Ears, I’ve got dishes tonight.

Javi starts noticing Ears’ puffy feet somewhere around the 28th week or so. Ears swears they don’t hurt, exactly, so they both write it off as one of those weird pregnancy things.

It’s not. Ears has severe pre-eclampsia. Javi only finds this out after Ears gets a migraine so bad that she can’t see straight. Javi carries her to the car and forces her to go to the hospital. They’re there for all of five minutes when the doctor on call deems Ears’ blood pressure to be high enough to constitute a medical emergency, and Javi’s world is turned upside down again when he hears the word “c-section.”

Ears is only 33 weeks pregnant.

Less than an hour later, Javi is holding his baby girl. She’s tiny, the tiniest little human that Javi has ever seen, but she’s got a hell of a set of lungs on her, and Javi has never been so relieved, so stunned, so riveted, or so enraptured by anything in his entire life.

Oh, shit, he’s crying again.

She’s absolutely perfect. Off her oxygen within two days, taking feedings like a champ, and obliterating every goal her pediatrician sets for her.

Javi is so fucking proud when his girl is discharged a full week earlier than the doctors anticipated. She’s still a little small, but growing like a weed, and Javi just knows that between her and her mom, he’s gonna have his hands full.

Ears is fine, just a little sore. There are no long term complications from pre-eclampsia, so as soon as she’s up and sort of moving, Ears in full mom mode.

Ears loves being a mom, but she and Javi are in full agreement on this - one and done.

[honeymoonjin]

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: medical play, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, bondage, ruined orgasm, unprotected sex, squirting, oral (m receiving), cum eating (not yoongi for once), this was meant to be a light palate cleanser after the intensity of day ten but i got lost in my feelings in the first half and then got horny over doctor jeon in the second half i apologise

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY ELEVEN

“I think you should be a little more concerned, PD.”

Sejin flattens the two men - oldest and youngest of the house - an unimpressed look. Jungkook tries not to wilt under his gaze. “And why is that?”

Jin clears his throat, staring right back unabashedly. “Tae’s been involved in a terrible accident and you’re just waiting here. You should be rushing over to the house to save him.”

“A terrible accident?” Sejin questions monotonously, before turning in his chair to angle his monitor so that both boys can see. On the screen is a freeze frame of a very familiar scene - Taehyung crouching on the bottom of the stairs, Jin and Jungkook huddled around him.

Ah, Jungkook realises with sinking disappointment, the cameras. Once the producer clicks play on the recording, Jungkook is faced with the HD version of himself gesture excitedly, patting Taehyung on the back and pointing to the banisters.

Cheeks flushing, the youngest member of the house watches in dread as Sejin plays back the evidence of Taehyung willingly forcing his head through two banisters, ears popping out the other side as he glances up with a beam at Jin.

Having seen enough, Sejin pauses the video, and switches back to the realtime feed. “An accident, was it?” Sejin repeats rhetorically as the Taehyung on the security camera drums his fingers lazily against the wood posts, letting out a lionlike yawn. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue. This wasn’t how things were meant to go at all. Behind Sejin’s desk, the majority of the production van is filled with all the mess of a regular office. Stacks of paper, scribbled sticky notes on various surfaces, a large whiteboard with roughly handwritten schedules and a small game of naughts and crosses in the bottom right corner. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes dwell on the whiteboard too long. Don’t raise anymore suspicion.

Beside him, Jin shamelessly shrugs with a smile. “He put his head through the bars on purpose, sure, but he got stuck on accident.” The oldest - though still younger than Sejin himself - emphasises this distinction with a single outstretched finger and an arch of his eyebrows. “So you should go help him.”

Sejin slips his glasses off and lets them clatter to the table, pinching his brow with two fingers. “Am I gonna get there and have Taehyung ask me for the latest issue of Chinese Vogue?”

Jin stiffens, his mask temporarily shattered. “I requested that in confidence.”

The production manager throws his hands in the air in defeat. “How was I supposed to know which of your bogus requests was confidential? Just half an hour ago I got a call from my superior asking why #getjinanXL was trending. You tweeted that you wanted me to buy you extra large condoms because you ‘ran out.’”

“Well, that was obviously a joke,” Jin rebuffs easily. “You know I use Magnum.”

“How would I-?” With a huff of desperation, Sejin shakes his head to clear his mind. “No, okay, back to…”

Zoning out, Jungkook’s eyes are caught by the sight on the screen as another figure walks out into the foyer. Yoongi rushes forward once he sees Taehyung, crouching on the other side of the bars as he delicately prods around Taehyung’s face and neck. The younger man waves him away in frustration, pushing at Yoongi’s chest until he gives up and leaves reluctantly. Jungkook bites his lip and looks away.

Whoops. Staring right at him are the producer and the therapist, each as expectant as the other. “Huh?”

Sejin huffs. “Why would Taehyung intentionally stick his head through the bars of a staircase banister?”

“Tell him, Jungkookie,” Jin adds with a bump of his shoulder.

“Uh…” With a hard swallow, Jungkook’s mind whirls. “He… We were… measuring,” he finishes awkwardly. “Me-measuring Tae’s head.”

“You were measuring Taehyung’s head?” Sejin repeats flatly. “With the stair banister?”

Jungkook shrugs with what he hopes is a ‘what can you do?’ expression, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find a ruler.”

Sejin blinks once. “Then how would you know how wide the gap between posts was? Without a ruler?”

“Oh.” Jungkook stares in barely subdued panic at Jin, who widens his eyes meaningfully, urging him to turn back to the awaiting producer. “We, um, we didn’t think that far. We’ll know for next time?”

“If you want to stay on this show, there will be no next time,” Sejin warns.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. “Sorry, dad.”

“Y- what?” Jungkook hears Sejin cough lightly, flustered. “Please, Jungkook, that’s not appropriate.”

The youngest gives a little bow. “I apologise, Father.”

Sejin clicks his tongue. “Okay, that’s even worse.”

Jungkook glances up, brows knitting and head tilting in confusion. “...whoopsies, daddy?”

Sejin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the hairline. Jungkook spots several grey strands.

Clearing his throat, Jin steps forward slightly. “Taehyung is still stuck, PD.”

“Okay, fine! Fine,” Sejin announces, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But if there is a single other incident like this, I’m calling in child protective services and getting them to baby-proof this place. No more funny business. Understood?”

“No more. Promise,” Jungkook assures sweetly, heart soaring as Sejin slips past them, hurrying out of the production van and towards the front door of the villa.

The moment he’s well out of earshot, Jin claps his hands once with a victorious grin. “It was a bit touch-and-go there,” he admits, “but that’s bought us time. Quick; get the whiteboard, I’ll grab some pens.”

Jungkook grins. Like secret agents, hyung and him were. Moving quickly, the two of them manage to sneak out the whiteboard from the van, trundling it noisily across the gravel, around the back of the house.

---

“I’ll be honest,” Jimin drawls, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just chatted about this. Is the whiteboard really necessary?”

Taehyung deflates immediately, one hand still rubbing at the red marks on his jaw and ears. “What do you mean? I suffered for this whiteboard, Minnie.”

It’s crowded; five people huddled inside the confessional booth. But apart from the bathrooms and the rec room, this was the only place without live security cameras - purely because the only camera needed was the one for the confessionals themselves - and Jin and Jungkook doubted they’d be able to smuggle a very noisy whiteboard into the rec room when Sejin was directly outside it lubing up Taehyung’s neck with aloe vera gel.

While Producer Shin had been lured away by Jin with the promise of a homecooked meal, the four youngest men in the house were bundled into the garden shed, staring at a whiteboard that had barely fit through the door.

Jimin, still unconvinced, shrugs. From his spot perched delicately on Namjoon’s lap he watches the two younger men take a picture of what’s written on the whiteboard, then rub it all out. The man of the hour, Namjoon had been given the right to sit on the only proper chair in the room, the one the producer would normally sit in. Beside it, the wooden stool sits unoccupied. Jimin told the others that he was sitting on Namjoon’s lap because the stool was too uncomfortable, but Jungkook thinks there’s something deeper in the way he relaxes onto Namjoon’s chest, the academic alert but not tense underneath him.

Or perhaps being on this show has made Jungkook more suspicious.

“The whiteboard was vital, hyung,” he defends adamantly, grabbing one of the pens Jin-hyung had handed him, yanking off the cap with a satisfying click. Immediately the alcoholic smell of ink tingles his nostrils, but he ignores it, turning to the others. “What if Namjoon-hyung was a visual learner?”

From behind Jimin’s back, Namjoon adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “I- actually I learn best through listening.” His hand drops, hovers over the space both him and Jimin share, then rests awkwardly on the armchair. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Namjoon-hyung is so cute. “It’s okay,” Jungkook assures, suppressing the endeared grin that tugs at his lips, “We can brainstorm out loud, and Tae and I will just take notes.”

With Taehyung in his Sunday best (well, a button-up shirt so baggy it looked like he hat batwing sleeves) and Jungkook having dug out his glasses to look extra smart, the two of them were prepared to make this as academic as possible for Namjoon. Even after getting laid for the first time, academics were his comfort zone, and the two youngest were happy to oblige.

“First things first; what was it you had to do? Honeymoon?”

Jimin leans back on Namjoon’s shoulder so the taller man can see past. Namjoon shakes his head lightly, his purple hair in serious need of a touch-up; the natural brunette frames his face now, emphasising his brow. Jungkook wonders if he’d let him dye it a new colour, just for something fresh.

“Just husband and wife,” the academic corrects, “It didn’t specify, uh, anything else.” His voice is still quiet, as if speaking on it is taboo. One day he’ll get used to discussing sex openly, but until then, the others will meet him halfway.

“Okay, so, Y/n is your wife,” Jungkook states with a nod, “do y’all have kids? Is it a newlyweds situation? We need  backstory here.”

The squeaking of a pen catches Jungkook’s attention before he even finishes speaking. To his right, Taehyung writes in sharp strokes across the board.

Y/N PREGNANT

“It’s the nineteen thirties,” Taehyung announces in a smooth voice, eyes finding each member in the room, “war is imminent, and worldwide men are preparing to be conscripted. Every moment spent with their loved ones is precious, and for General Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung pauses to draw a gangly stick figure giving a salute, “him and his wife Y/n-” this time a female stick figure joins the scene, a cartoonishly round stomach off to one side, “-have only one goal. To knock Y/n up before he goes to battle, so that even if he never returns they ha-”

“Wait, wait!” Jimin cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Isn’t this too dark? Too elaborate? They’re fucking, not going for best screenplay at the Oscars.”

Taehyung deflates a second time, the hand holding the pen dropping limply to his side. “You don’t like it?”

Face stricken, Jimin waves his hands frantically. “No, no, I love it! Honestly! I just- I feel like Namjoon probably wants something a little simpler? Perhaps not so bleak?” The blue-haired man swivels around on Namjoon’s lap, his hand resting inconspicuously on the back of his neck, playing with the longer hairs there.

Namjoon swallows. “Uh, yeah, simple is probably good. Honestly, I feel a little unsure about all of this. What if I, I don’t know, drop character or get shy? Won’t it be awkward?”

Taehyung scratches at his chin as he thinks, the beginnings of beard scruff shadowing his jaw. “If we help you brainstorm, you can just memorise a basic script.”

“I guess so,” Namjoon muses, eyes fluttering unconsciously as Jimin continues to trace the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have your own scenes to worry about.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Two birds with one stone, we can help each other. You know; I suck your dick, you suck mine.”

“That isn’t the quote,” Namjoon protests automatically, “but- I get your point. Anyone have any advice on how I even go about this?”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re the smart one,” he points out, “I did try to help but clearly my services weren’t appreciated.”

“Oh, honey,” Jimin coos, “I always appreciate your services.” The double entendre is clear in the silk of his voice and the arch of his brows, sent with a sweet smile, and Taehyung flushes in response.

Jungkook winces, ignoring the spike of - of something green and ugly in his chest. “Okay, enough from the lovebirds, this is about Namjoon. Joonie-hyung, I would just offer to help out and join with yours but I was gonna do mine this afternoon, and I don’t think a husband would fit very well into it.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon assures, shifting under the weight of the man in his lap. His fingers flex on the arm of the chair behind Jimin’s back, unsure. “Taehyung? Yours might work, I guess.”

Unaware of Namjoon’s indecision, Jimin suddenly stands up off his lap entirely, stalking over to Taehyung with a bemused grin. “You think our well-trained Taehyungie could be the family dog?”

Taehyung, though keening under Jimin’s sudden attention, seems hesitant. “I- I don’t know, Minnie, I haven’t really…” He trails off helplessly, casting Namjoon an apologetic stare.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon rushes out, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. “You don’t have to, I could just do it by myself.”

It’s strange, watching Jimin so visibly caught in indecision. He hovers in the centre of the small shed, torso towards Taehyung but head twisted back to stare at Namjoon. Wanting to support Namjoon, but wanting to protect Taehyung.

Jungkook feels like an outsider invading in on a precious equilibrium. Namjoon shifts, gaze dropping. Taehyung can’t keep his fingers still as they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Jimin’s so still the thin silver threads of his earrings don’t even shift in the air, but his eyes flood with emotion, bottom lip twitching just slightly as he seeks for something to say.

Jimin isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think, Jungkook muses. Saving the uncomfortable decision, Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, diverting the attention of the other three. “We could always practice? Jimin, you’re pretty. Pretend to be Y/n and give Joon-hyung some tips.”

The effect of his words are instantaneous. Jimin perks up, turning on his heel to grin down at his elder, who gasps almost imperceptibly. Taehyung’s eyes dull with something akin to disappointment. At himself or at the situation, Jungkook can’t say, but the sight of him turning to the whiteboard and swirling sullen circles of ink on the glossy surface has Jungkook’s heart breaking.

Leaving the other two to talk - Jimin resting gracefully on one of the arms of the chair, his feet dangling between Namjoon’s - Jungkook hurries forward, wrapping his fingers around Tae’s to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks softly, low enough to give the two some privacy.

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing.”

Jungkook isn’t deterred by the shortness of his tone, but changes tacts nonetheless. “It’s a bit weird,” he offers up, “it’s like each of us is the wingman to the other guys, but we’re all going for the same girl.”

With Jungkook’s hand still on top, Taehyung begins to swipe the pen across the board again. This time, what looks like a flower with long, pointed petals takes shape in thick black lines. Taehyung himself stays focused for a few moments of silence, until he’s ready to speak.

“But it’s not just that,” he explains in a low timbre, “it’s not just her.”

Jungkook lets his hand be maneuvered by the deft movements of the masseuse. Every part of Taehyung was so elegant, like he’d been sculpted from marble. From those slender fingers, to the slope of his nose. Lashes that brushed against his brow bone as he focused, teeth pressing just slightly into his lip, a dusky pink. “No, it’s not,” Jungkook agrees after a moment.

Taehyung lets his hand fall, Jungkook’s slipping off. With eyes hidden behind dark curls, the elder sneaks a look at Jimin and Namjoon, the two smiling and laughing, Jimin’s fingers playing with the strap of the watch on the other’s wrist lazily.

“I never know who to be jealous of,” Taehyung admits with a weak chuckle, capping the pen. “Anyways; that doesn’t matter. We’re here to help Namjoon.”

Jungkook spares a glance at the lovebirds on the armchair. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers shortly, eyes locked on the way Jimin curls onto Namjoon’s shoulder, the two locked onto Namjoon’s phone as he types in notes. “He’ll do fine.” Letting out a deep sigh, Taehyung scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he’s clearing the funk away. “It doesn’t matter, we’re all in this together.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “But- Well, no, this is still a competition. Technically we should be against each other, not together.”

The air leaves Taehyung’s lungs in a rushed breath. “Fuck, you’re right. I should, like, hate you, right?”

Jungkook hums with a raised brow. “I guess.”

“I should be trying to cockblock you and tell Y/n you have syphilis, yet here I am wanting to suck the dicks of everyone in this room. But also maybe hold the hands of everyone in this room. You can imagine my confusion.”

Jungkook feels his stress slip away at the genuine smile that tugs at Taehyung’s lips. Even if his eyes are still muted with sorrow, he doesn’t seem so despairing over it. The youngest reaches out to grip onto Taehyung’s upper arm reassuringly. “We could have hate sex if it’d make you feel better?” he offers up in a soft voice.

The blue depths in Taehyung’s gaze recede a little more as his smile brightens. “I’d like that.”

The two manage to hold this Hallmark moment for a little longer before Taehyung’s shoulders begin to shake with suppressed laughter. In seconds, the two are dissolving into chuckles and snickers, Jungkook throwing his head back and Taehyung hunching over with the force of it.

Across from them, Namjoon and Jimin pause their excited conversation to stare at them in bewilderment.

“What did we miss?” Namjoon asks, brow knitted but eyes wide.

“Never mind,” Jungkook deflects, heart feeling strangely warm as Taehyung grins under his lashes at him, like the two of them have an inside joke. “We should probably pack up, though, unless we want Producer Shin coming back in the middle of our top secret team meeting.”

Jimin clicks his tongue in agreement and stands up off Namjoon’s lap. Lithe like a cat, his arms come up over his head and his back arches into a stretch, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook knows his eyes aren’t the only pair watching the way his shirt lifts to display a band of pale golden skin.

“Alright,” the porn star lets out with a relaxed sigh, arms dropping and shirt falling again, “let’s head out, then. Joonie’s sorted.”

Namjoon stands up behind him, nodding shyly. “Thank you, guys. I feel a lot better about it now.”

Jungkook and Taehyung share a look. “To be fair,” Jungkook says with a light cough, “I don’t think Tae and I really helped at all.”

Jimin sends the two of them a broad smile, eyes crinkling in good humour. “You did provide the whiteboard,” he points out. “Though I imagine your efforts to steal it without Sejin realising were in vain.”

Taehyung frowns, hand automatically lifting to rub at his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Jungkook offers to Jimin, “he wouldn’t have seen it!”

Jimin blinks. “Where do you think Sejin went after helping Tae out of the staircase?”

Jungkook feels the odd pressure of dawning realisation that hasn’t quite materialised. “His office,” he answers slowly, “why?”

Behind Jimin, Namjoon ducks out with a sympathetic smile. “He probably noticed the giant whiteboard missing, Jungkookie.”

The camboy opens his mouth, waits for words to come, and closes it again. “Mm,” he replies eloquently.

“Oh, we’re gonna get in big trouble, huh?” Taehyung mumbles, fiddling with the pen in his hands.

“Wait,” Namjoon offers, “I’ll tell him it was me.”

Jungkook frowns. “How does that help?”

“Sejin won’t get mad at me, he loves me. I’ll just tell him I was getting a head start on my work for next semester.”

“When did he tell you he loved you?” Jungkook asks with a pout. “He never says it back to me.”

“I didn’t- What?” Namjoon frowns. “I was just chatting to him for advice one night and he told me I remind him of his son.”

“He doesn’t have any kids,” Jimin says with a lilt of confusion.

“I think he was talking about his cat,” Namjoon admits with a pained look, “but he loves his cat, so he must love me. Anyways, I’ll tell him I was using it for study and I don’t think he’ll mind. Just clear off the board and one of you can help me wheel it back.”

Jungkook sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the board. Beside it, Taehyung is frozen with his head bent and his mouth dropped open, staring at the pen. Neither Jin nor him thought to bring a duster, so Jungkook balls up his sleeve in his palm and wipes off the-

And wipes off the-

“Why isn’t it coming off?” Jungkook asks frantically, scrubbing over the shiny lines of black. “It’s not even smudging!”

“Um, Jungkookie,” Taehyung utters lowly, curls shifting as he slowly looks up. “This is a permanent marker.”

Jungkook’s hand freezes. He steps back, eyes wide as they stare at the image drawn in thick black.

The blooming form of what looked like a lily on the bottom corner, that was fine, but the giant all-caps Y/N PREGNANT followed by a very evocative drawing of a heavily pregnant woman beside a patriotic Namjoon was going to be harder to explain.

Slowly, Jungkook swivels on his heel, coming face-to-face with Namjoon, whose eyes are almost open wider than his mouth. “Hey, hyung,” the youngest offers up with a tentative smile, “how much d’you reckon Sejin loves that cat?”

--

It’s late afternoon by the time Jungkook has done his penance with the whiteboard and Sejin himself, but luckily it means that Yoongi is definitely in his room when Jungkook goes knocking.

More content with his own company, the second oldest tended to retire to his bedroom early to “entertain” himself. Jungkook had assumed this was a euphemism for masturbating, but Taehyung had informed him that the doctor was making his way through an impressive collection of the Slam Dunk manga these days.

As expected, Yoongi opens the door to Jungkook on his third knock, ushering him in with a look of confusion.

“Hyung,” Jungkook begins in an entreating tone, “you have a first aid kid in your room, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, back straightening in alarm. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, no, it’s sex reasons,” Jungkook explains quickly, eyes wandering around the room, eying up the open closet in the back of his room. “Do you have a white coat?”

“I- what? No, I don’t have a white coat,” Yoongi stutters out, face scrunched up in confusion. “What is this about?”

Jungkook hums, brushing back hair out of his face absentmindedly as he delves deeper into Yoongi’s room, checking in the drawers of the small nightstand. “I can make do without the white coat,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, before turning on his heel to face the older man again. “Do you have stirrups?”

“Stirrups?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His arms are folded over his chest tightly, though the brown loose-knit sweater loses the intimidation factor. “Why would I bring stirrups? They’re attached to the chair anyway, I can’t just pack them away in my suitcase.”

Dammit. Jungkook collapses onto Yoongi’s bed back-first, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “You need to help me, hyung. I’m determined to win fan favourite this week, so I need to go all out.”

A sigh of realization comes from the other side of the room. “Your prompt,” Yoongi remarks flatly. “What is it; nurse and patient?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open as he sits up. “Doctor and patient,” he declares proudly. “I asked if Sejin could promote me to neurosurgeon but he said it wasn’t relevant.” The thought dampens Jungkook’s spirits a bit. Even just regular surgeon would have been nice. “But anyway,” he continues, “whatever props you have would be greatly appreciated. I already googled a list of medical terms, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he shuffles over to his closet and pulls out a sizeable, bright green first aid kit, laying it on the bed. Jungkook gasps in excitement and makes room for him, but Yoongi just tuts. “First of all,” he explains while unzipping it, “these aren’t props, they’re medical-grade supplies. And you can’t have them all. I don’t trust you with most of the things in here.”

Jungkook frowns, but shrugs off the disappointment. Something is still better than nothing. “Okay, hyung,” he allows in a small voice, “thank you.”

Yoongi fails to hide the quirk of a fond smile as he takes out some of the stuff in the kit. “You owe me,” he says instead.

--

You have to give it to Jungkook; the dedication to his craft is impressive.

After he sent you a vague and rather concerning message about needing to see you in the gym for ‘health reasons’, you were greeted by a hand-written DO NOT DISTURB (unless you’re y/n) sign taped to the door.

Inside, the indoor gym had been transformed. Most of the larger equipment had been shifted to one side, leaving the other half open. In the middle of the open area is a weightlifting bench covered in a white sheet which you’re certain was off his bed. A comically out-of-place office chair is beside a table which Jungkook is using like a desk. The desk is pushed up against the mirror which fills one whole wall of the gym, and you can’t help but laugh at the infographics and charts he’s printed out on A4 sheets of paper and taped to the mirror.

There’s a fuzzy x-ray of some ribs taped next to a heart rate line, frozen mid-pulse like he took a screenshot off a video, which is next to a chart filled with increasingly smaller letters, like one you’d see in an optometrist’s office. Though everything is mismatched, the effort he’s put it really warms your heart.

The desk is where you find Jungkook. He sits with his back to you, typing away obnoxiously loudly at a laptop on the desk. On the screen, gibberish keysmashes fill up an otherwise empty Word document. Rather than a lab coat, Jungkook looks more sharply dressed than you’ve ever seen him in a ironed button-up shirt, pale blue. The back of the fabric is taut against his skin, clearly borrowed from a slightly smaller, or at least less jacked man. But it provides a streamlined view of the muscles in his back and shoulders, tucked into belted black pants to highlight the surprisingly narrow waist.

Kitschy or not, you’re grateful that Jungkook got some kind of cheesy medical roleplay if it meant you finally got to see him in fitted clothing.

Even though he must have heard you open the door and lock it behind you, he remains tapping away at the keys. His head tips slightly to the side, expectant.

“Jungkook,” you call out, disappointed and a little confused when he doesn’t respond. But you quickly realise your mistake. “Oh, uh. Doctor Jeon?”

Like clockwork, he spins around magnanimously on the chair, hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture. “Ah, my favourite patient. Do come in.”

So we already know each other then, you surmise. Remembering all these details was an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome part of this week’s theme. Developing a backstory, information on the scene, almost felt like constructing a scaffold to continue. There was something equally reassuring and exciting about it. A bolt of arousal shooting between your legs, you step in to the middle of the open area, sitting awkwardly on the covered bench.

“Take a seat,” Jungkook adds redundantly, like he’s following a script. “Let me just bring your file up. Name?”

You pause as he wheels back around to the laptop, pulling up what looks like an Excel spreadsheet. “I thought I was your favourite patient,” you quip with a smirk, but unable to suppress your fondness at how much thought he’s clearly put into it.

Jungkook’s shoulders drop, but he doesn’t falter. “Of course, I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been in the field for so long, you know.” He shrugs demurely. “I was actually a neurosurgeon before this.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can catch it. “You went from neurosurgeon to doctor? Isn’t that backwards?”

Jungkook’s eyes waver, biting his lip. “I prefer the simple life,” he offers as an explanation. He shakes himself out of it, and turns back to the computer once more with a warm sigh. “Alrighty then, I’ve got your file here. It’s been a while since your last visit,” he remarks, cursor hovering over a watermarked image of a clock. “I better check your vitals again.”

You watch in bemusement as he readies himself, first sanitising his hands using a small travel-size bottle that’s in the shape of a cartoon shark, then pulls on a pair of latex gloves that had been lying on his desk. Even in the strangely comedic atmosphere, the sound of him snapping the glove against his wrist makes you gasp soundlessly, thighs pressing together in need.

Jungkook notices it, eyes darting down as he rolls his chair over. He unbuttons each cuff off his shirt and rolls them up to expose his forearms. His hair is getting thicker as it grows, and even though it’s pushed back, a few locks slip forward to frame the smirk on his face.

You swallow, neck craning as he gets closer. The bench you’re sat on clearly isn’t intended as an examination table because it’s just as low to the ground as the chair, and there’s something inside you that runs electric when he comes close, looking down at you from it. With spread knees, he places them on either side of yours and pins you there, making you gasp.

The feeling of the cold gloves on your cheekbones, pressing to keep you steady is dizzying, more so when he looks intensely into your eyes, searching with a cool professionalism that you’d never seen from him before. Though it’s new, you recognise the shift in the tension of the room signifying the true start of the scene.

In your peripheral vision, you spot his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but you’re locked onto his gaze. Jungkook smiles softly. “Eyes are healthy,” he remarks, “good to know you’ll be able to see everything properly.”

The gloves catch on your skin, one sliding down to tighten on your chin, tipping your neck back even more. You’re barely breathing, waiting for his move.

“Open up and say ahh,” he instructs huskily, and you’re responding without thought, letting your lips part and your tongue relax. Jungkook frowns. “Wider.” You feel the corners of your mouth pang as you lower your jaw as much as you can in his grasp. “Keep it like that,” he demands sternly, and your heart thuds.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just look inside. You jerk instinctively in his grip as two gloved fingers slide down your tongue, but his rebuking glare has you settling again, trying to breathe through your nose as he delves deeper, smirking at the way you squirm, legs trapped between his and eyes lidded as you feel the length of his fingers heavy on your tongue.

Quicker than you can put your head around, his fingers plunge deeper, far enough down your throat to make you gag, tears springing to his eyes. His fingers leave as you let out a little cough, blinking wetly at him in betrayal.

Jungkook smirks, not bothering to wipe the shine of your saliva off his glove. “Gag reflex intact and responding well,” he notes smugly.

“How is that a vital?” you question, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s vital for what I’m about to do to you,” he quips with a lecherous grin, and you bite down hard on your tongue to fight the urge to tremble.

“And what is that, Doctor?” you ask instead, blinking owlishly up at him.

His lip quirks. “Don’t play coy, now,  Y/n, I’ve seen the way you look at me during our appointments. Tell me; why is it that you came here today?”

You swallow, eyes heavy on him. “I’ve been suffering a strange sensation, Doctor,” you make out, your voice quieter than you intended. “Can you make me feel better?”

Jungkook exhales harshly, hands dropping to rest on your knees. “And where does it hurt, hm? Here?”

You suck in a breath as his legs spread further, coming close enough that your knees press against his crotch, the hardness undeniable. A single hand shifts up to lay against your forehead, questioning, and you shake your head. His hand skims lower, pressing firmly against your sternum where you feel your heart race against it.

“Here?” he questions, and continues on when he receives a negative. Next he veers off to the side, cupping a breast and brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Does it ache here?”

You whimper, arching into his hand. “A little bit,” you offer up weakly, glad you opted out of wearing a bra in anticipation of the scene.

The answer seems to amuse Jungkook, and you shiver when you feel his other hand playing with the hem of your shirt, the gloves tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I better check it out then, hm?”

You feel so exposed, the air conditioner chilling the air and the mirror reflecting Jungkook’s back as he leans in close, breath tickling your bare shoulder as his hands cup your breasts.

Without further preamble, he begins to roll your nipples simultaneously between his fingers, enough pressure to make you shiver as he studies your reactions closely. The feeling of being touched so intimately with the barrier of latex gloves feels both taboo and exciting, and without even realising you find your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, gripping at his biceps as they flex with every movement.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Jungkook asks lowly, humming in response when you shake your head. “What about this?” Suddenly, he’s tugging, pinching them harshly enough to make your back arch to ease the pressure.

You squeal, fingers digging in deeper to the corded muscle of his forearms. “Yeah,” you gasp out shakily, “h-hurts.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. “But you like it, don’t you?” he accuses as he continues his rough treatment. “Coming into my office, begging me to touch you like this. Fucking filthy.”

A moan slips out as you rock your hips against the bench, seeking friction for the heat between your legs. “Please, Ju- Doctor Jeon, it hurts,” you cry out, gaze imploring as you blink up at him.

All of a sudden, he pulls back entirely, hands falling back onto his own knees as he watches you. “Show me,” he instructs, eyes hazy.

You shiver, the cool air shifting over your naked torso as his stare burns molten hot. “Show you what?”

Carding a hand through his hair to push it back, Jungkook wets his lips. “Show me where it aches the most,” he explains, voice like crushed velvet.

This was a side of him you’d never seen before; neither the competitive dom nor the obedient sub. His sexual versatility never fails to surprise you, and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the calm dominant air he exudes. Shakily, you part your legs.

He scoffs lightly. “That isn’t much help if I can’t see it. Undress.”

A rushed exhale leaves you at his shortness, but you stand up and push off your leggings and panties, kicking them to the side. It’s far harder to bare yourself to him this time, and as you sit, you can’t help but hesitate.

Jungkook raises a brow at your pause, leaning back like he’s disappointed. “I’m a very busy man, Y/n,” he chastises, “these appointment slots aren’t long and if you don’t want the next patient coming in while you’re choking on my cock, I suggest you do as I say, when I say it.”

Your legs fly apart the moment his voice lowers into a growl, clenching automatically at the open air at your most vulnerable place. “Please help me, Doctor,” you plead lowly.

Jungkook curses under his breath and comes forward again, placing a single gloved hand over your core. You jerk instinctively but keep your legs open at his warning glare. Even through the gloves, he has to feel how wet you are, slicking up the latex without him moving it. “It hurts here, hm? Lie down on your back and I’ll take a look.”

Your breath picks up as you turn and lower yourself onto the white sheet, legs dangling over the end. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t come around but returns to the desk, rolling his chair away and rifling through what looks like a first aid kit. You crane your head to watch him, narrowing your eyes in confusion as he returns with what looks like two rolled up lengths of gauze bandage.

“This isn’t the usual gyno office,” he explains, unravelling one slowly, “so we don’t have stirrups. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure to keep you nice and open for me.”

Like he’s done this a million times before - though the rational part of your brain knows he’s probably making this up as he goes along - he begins using the bandage material to bind your ankles to the legs of the bench, wide enough that you have to shuffle right to the edge, spread wide. He doesn’t say a thing when he ties them, mumbling to himself like he’s recalling instructions, and slips in his fingers to test how tight they are.

He’s kneeled between your open legs now, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he runs his fingertips over your sopping folds, eyes lidded with arousal. “Does it hurt here, Y/n?”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to scoot even closer. “Inside,” you explain, sighing in relief when two fingers plunge inside your walls, scissoring to stretch you out.

Jungkook has one hand on your thigh to hold you steady as he rocks his fingers back and forth like he’s seeking something, and the feeling of the latex, so slick with your juices, has you trembling immediately. “It’s important in this line of work,” Jungkook breathes out as his fingers widen even more inside you, “to be thorough, so just relax for me, let me in.”

The moment you try and unclench, his fingers curl and press up against your g-spot, and it’s like a line of electricity connecting all your nerves together lights up. Your legs instinctively flex in an attempt to close around his hand, but the taut bonds keep them spread, and you sob at the reminder, arms giving out so that you end up flat on your back again.

Jungkook chuckles. “Looks like we found the problem,” he remarks cheerily. His fingers continue their assault, targeted now as you writhe beneath him, and the wet sounds of the latex as he increases to three digits echo obscenely in the large room. “That’s it.”

The joints of your fingers ache as you cling onto the edges of the table for dear life, unable to stop the rising wave of pleasure that threatens to crash. It’s so close you feel it in your teeth, eyes rolling back and babbling nonsense to try and get him to go faster, harder.

Faintly, you hear the sound of him humming in amusement, and your mind conjures the mental image of him, sleeves rolled up and gloves dripping with your arousal, hair falling in his eyes and teeth glinting as he grins and brings you to orgasm. It’s that thought that finally begins to tip you over the edge, and just before the wave crests, you feel his fingers slip out.

“Looks like it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he remarks cheekily.

“No, no, no, don’t stop,” you blabber mindlessly, but it’s too late, and your orgasm washes through you as he sits back and watches the unsatisfying roll of pleasure take your body.

Irrationally, you feel tears prick at your eyes with the cruelness of his actions. “It sti- It still hurts, Doctor,” you sob, reaching a hand down to cup yourself, wanting more even as you hiss with the sensitivity.

Jungkook tuts in fake sympathy. “My fingers can’t reach any further, Y/n, if I couldn’t reach where it hurts, I don’t know how I can help you.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you blink your eyes open again, struggling to focus on him. “Use your cock, Doctor, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” You could just about cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle jingling, and Jungkook kneeling over you, lining himself up. You can feel the tip pressed against your entrance, just enough pressure to tease you. “Too impatient for me to even put a condom on, naughty girl.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, just fuck me, Doctor,” you whine, your sentence punctuated by a strangled cry as Jungkook snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Somehow you’d forgotten just how long Jungkook was - while he wasn’t the thickest or overall largest, and even the thought of mentally cataloguing the guys’ dicks was strange - there was a graceful rising curve to his length that felt like it pierced right through you, and as he starts a punishing rhythm, you feel the air punched right out of your lungs.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jungkook growls. “Acting innocent when you just wanted my cock to fuck you stupid, hm?”

With every thrust, your body is rocked back and forth on the bench, and you feel the bandages that bind your ankles to the legs of the table loosen, a little bit at first and then enough that they slip off completely. It feels odd to no longer be tied down, and Jungkook notices how your body is suddenly shifting far more than it was before.

His pace slows down and you feel a gloved hand wrap around one of your ankles. “Do you want them back on? I don’t think I tied them so well,” Jungkook notes hesitantly, and if you weren’t wildly chasing your orgasm, you might have cooed at his character dropping away to reveal the Jungkook you’re more used to.

As it is, your mind can only care about one thing. “I don’ need them, just fuck me!” you plead, and Jungkook exhales sharply, lifting your ankle until it rests on his shoulder, holding down your hips to fuck into you once more.

With the new angle, you can just about feel him in your guts, and your mouth drops open soundlessly, the only noises escaping your lips are gasped breaths as you feel a deeper orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” you manage to slur out, a raw scream bouncing off the walls as he lowers a hand to rub at your clit, the slippery glove only making him thumb it faster. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking-ah!”

Your sentence is cut off violently as an orgasm rips through you as suddenly and overwhelmingly as an electric shock. If you’re making any noise, you can’t hear it, your mind like white static as you sit there and let it take you. Every inch of you is singing, down to your toes, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you into oversensitivity, you feel another release, one that makes you shudder and Jungkook swear violently, spilling inside you as he grips at the flesh of your hip.

It takes a while for the blur in your mind to clear, vision swirling in hazy technicolour and whole body trembling. Jungkook must have taken the gloves off at some point, because you feel the softness of his hands as they seek out yours, gently squeezing to rouse you more.

“Y/n,” you hear him say, voice still distant. The fog dissipates more with the calling of your name, and you feel yourself tune in again, once more becoming aware of the cool breeze of the aircon on your heated skin. Jungkook leans over you, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Y/n. Have you ever done that before?”

You knit your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

Jungkook lets out a light chuckle, sitting back. He’s still inside you, barely softening, and you groan at the sensitivity of him shifting. “Look,” he guides, and you glance down to see your stomach and thighs, shiny with wetness, too thin to be cum. The liquid soaks his shirt, too, leaving dark patches. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook gushes, his doctor persona well and truly evaporated by now.

You laugh weakly, an exhausted smile stretching at your lips. “I don’t think so? Fuck, that was a lot.”

“You were amazing,” Jungkook praises, squeezing your hands one last time before letting them go. He begins to pull out, then, and you shudder at the emptiness, remnants of his cum dripping out of you as he lowers your leg to the ground again. You sit up carefully, still lightheaded, and watch as he quickly rushes over to the desk, returning with a gauze pad damp with water from a bottle.

He uses it to clean you up in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but bite your lip when you notice he’s still hard. Just as he finishes wiping away the last of the wetness from your thighs and begins to wipe himself off, you reach out a hand to halt him.

“Doctor,” you coo teasingly, “won’t you let me clean you up? I wanna repay you for making the ache go away.”

His chest heaves as he shudders out a breath. “Really?”

You blink up at him as he stands in front of you, his cock right in front of you, glossy with your combined cum. “Don’t you wanna test my vitals one more time, doctor? Just to make sure?”

He gulps as you lean closer and lick a single stripe up the underside of his cock. It’s only slightly bitter, and well worth it for the look on his face and the feeling of his hands carding through your hair.

“I’ve got some filing to do,” Jungkook offers up, chest puffing as he slips back into his role, “if you’re going to clean me up like a good little girl, you can do it while I get back to work. I’m a busy man.”

You bite your lip as he cups the back of your neck and urges you to stand, leading you towards the desk. It’s just tall enough that you can sit on your knees below it, mouthing at his cock as he sits back in the office chair.

Giving a guy head isn’t your favourite hobby, but there’s something weirdly erotic about licking your own cum off of him as he types away, all but ignoring you. As you clean him up dutifully, you realise it’s a challenge, of sorts, to suck him off so well that he breaks concentration.

His jaunty clicks of the mouse and punching of keys continues away as he sighs lowly, feeling your lips wrap around his tip. You tongue the slit, keeping yourself steady by gripping the meat of his inner thighs and let your eyes slip shut so that you can fully focus on the minute sounds he lets out.

As you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, testing your limits, you begin to learn the rhythm of his typing, recognising what makes it falter. His tip is sensitive, particularly where it meets the shaft, but it’s when you lap at the skin below his base and suck his balls into your mouth, tonguing at them languidly, that makes him break concentration fully.

“Hngh, fuck,” you hear him make out in a strangled voice, a hand coming down to stroke at his own length.

You bat it away immediately. “I thought you needed to work, Doctor,” you tease, “just let me take care of it.”

Jungkook groans but doesn’t protest when you wrap a hand around him and jerk him off, fingers tight around him as you suck at his perineum, making him moan prettily, the tapping of keys sparse and uncoordinated.

“Fuck, gonna- gonna cum again,” he warns, thighs tensing with the urge to thrust up into your grip.

You switch positions to suck his length into your mouth, rolling his balls in your hand and bobbing your head. Jungkook’s falling apart so beautifully, gasping out little ah, ah, ahs with every breath.

The moment you feel him stiffen up even more, you suck in a breath through your nose and swallow him down to the back of your throat, tearing up as your gag reflex kicks in.

He cums with a cry, shooting ropes of cum down your throat, and you wring out every last drop until he’s hissing and pulling away.

Jungkook helps you up from under the table with shaky hands and tucks himself away, panting. “Holy shit,” he says with a exhausted laugh, “I should have gone to medical school.”

--

The two of you spend the late afternoon showering and then returning the gym to its former glory. It’s not until even dinner has passed before you recall the rule of the Bangasm Bomb - a different bed every night.

You’d slept in Jungkook’s bed on the Monday night, and so you’d have to seek shelter elsewhere.

After getting into pajamas, you step out into the second-floor hallway, glancing around to see if anyone’s door is open. Jin’s is open - he’s still downstairs having a beer with Yoongi - but you’ve used his bed before. The only other one that’s ajar is the bunkroom.

Inside, Namjoon has his nose inside a book by a Japanese author you’ve vaguely heard of, and Hoseok folds a pile of laundry on his bed.

“Room for one?” you call out hopefully. The two of them have each chosen a separate bunk so they can see each other, but while Namjoon has a bottom bunk, Hoseok’s hair just about brushes the ceiling on the third and highest bed. The two of them glance up in unison, matching grins as they wave you inside.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hoseok chimes out cheerfully.

“I was wondering if I could stay in a bed here tonight. I can’t room with Jungkook again.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm in recollection of the scene the three of you shared on Monday. “Well, we’ve got plenty of space. Pick a bed; any bed.”

It makes the most sense to choose the third stack of beds, on the far wall from the door. With only two beds instead of three, it’s easy enough to choose the top one, a perfect halfway point between Namjoon and Hoseok. “It’s not so bad in here,” you remark, tugging up the sheets so you can slip under.

“As far as punishments go, it does seem pretty tame,” Namjoon notes, adjusting a pair of thick reading glasses that balance precariously on his nose. “Though I do feel like it’s the equivalent of a naughty corner. Even if it’s comfortable, it’s the social factor that makes it undesirable.”

“It’s basically a sleepover for losers,” Hoseok surmises.

Namjoon pauses and nods. “Well said.”

You chuckle. “You two seem to be getting along well. Doing a lot of bonding in here, are we?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Hoseok points out. “We’ve been chatting away the boredom. Did you know Namjoon thought he could speak to crabs when he was a kid?”

Namjoon lets out a wounded noise, carefully marking his page with a bookmark before tossing the novel to the side. “I never said that! I said I thought they were trying to speak to me, okay?” The academic pokes his head out to look up at you. “Hobi-hyung is scared of Big Bird from Sesame Street!”

Instead of defending himself, Hoseok nods with an indignant pout. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Wow, you’ve only been in here three nights and you’re already sharing childhood trauma? Jin’s gonna be devastated he missed it.”

“Jin had the chance to come join me and he chose not to,” Hoseok declares. “As far as I’m concerned, Namjoon is the only man in this house I respect.”

Namjoon beams, eyes crinkling behind thick frames. “Thanks, hyung. I respect you, too.”

Hoseok’s chest puffs up in pride. “You better after all the things I’ve taught you.”

Namjoon’s blush is telling. You lean forward in interest, glancing back and forth between the two. “Wait; what did you teach him?”

“Well, we’re not gonna tell you,” the dom responds petulantly, turning his nose up, “it’s a surprise for your scene together.”

You pout, leaning back onto the pillow on your bed. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun when you get to experience it firsthand, trust me.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh at Hoseok’s teasing, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand beside the bunks. “Don’t hype it up too much, hyung, I’m not that good yet.”

“You’ll get there, young grasshopper.”

You frown at the uncertain look on Namjoon’s face. “I can go ask one of the others to room with them if you wanna, uh, practice some more.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. This can be my rest day.”

Hoseok sighs sweetly, rubbing his eyes. “Actually, rest does sound pretty nice. We can pick it up tomorrow. Night, Joonie. Night, Y/n.”

You and Namjoon chime out a simultaneous reply as Hoseok climbs down the stairs to deposit his pile of folded laundry on the empty bed below, returns to the top bunk, and tucks himself in.

Namjoon seems equally relieved to be able to go to bed early, curling up with a pillow cuddled to his chest. “Sweet dreams,” his low timbre calls out.

You smile fondly at your two boys, snuggled up with peaceful faces as they drift away. “Sleep well,” you offer up, before getting comfortable and letting your own eyes slip closed.