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thefangirlofhp · 1 year

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Apaixonar-Chapter 25

“How was I to know, I’m not strong? I should have saved you.” -Brighton, Forest Fire.

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“I promise,” he vowed while he gently twirled them around to the sweet tune blaring through speakers. “No guns in the house. And Winnie will never see one. When this is over, I’m done. For good.”

Her smile squeezed her eyes as she held onto his shoulder and his hand, her skirts flaring around them and settling heavily back down. “Sounds to me like you’re promising me to get out.”

“I swear,” his forehead pressed to hers, she’d felt like the whole world was given to her. “The second this is over, I’m turning in my badge.”

“But what will you do then?” she deflected the tightness in her chest that came from hope by a teasing grin. “How will you quiet your overthinking mind? I can’t see you being a trust-fund boy.”

His lips smiled, staring her in the eyes with the kind of devotion that people had when sacrificing the world for their love. “I’m hoping to focus on my personal life. The people I love. My family. My three girls.”

“Three?” Elain raised a brow as he gently tipped her back.

He grinned. “You really don’t expect me to abandon Rebel?”

Her giggle came straight from her chest, easy and delighted. “So we’re your girls now, are we?”

“If you’ll have me,” said Azriel, softly, his hands on the small of her back, around her hand, while looking like he needed nothing else in the world. “I really, really am hopelessly in love with you. And I know it hasn’t been long enough for me to say it, or expect it from you, but God help me, I know it in my bones as if I’ve never known anything else. I never looked forward to anything before you. It really is a mix of agony and hope but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her breath stuttered in her chest, they’d stopped dancing while the couples around them carried on, as if Elain’s life wasn’t changing. As if she wasn’t about to put her hands on it, about to raise it high up for the world to see and shout: here it is. I found it.

“And what about your job?” she breathed, her voice faint. “How’re you going to carry out your dream but still be there after?”

“I’ve put plans in place,” he pulled her against him, laid his arm across her back and held the back of her head. Her heels allowed her to easily hold his eyes, to not crane her neck when she settled her hands on his shoulders. “Insurances. I want to stick around for the after, Elain. There’s a fuckton of things I want to do with you.”

She smiled, a little shaky, a little watery. “Like?”

“Grow old,” he whispered, his eyes soft. “Grow old together and sit on the porch after our grandkids leave and complain about the headaches they gave us all day and do it all over the next day. I want to be shouted at for screwing the jam jar to tight—“

“I’ll kick you if you do that,” she cut through, her eyes damp.

He grinned. His arm tightened. “I really just want you, Elain. Whenever, wherever, however. I want to buy you new rings on our anniversaries because I can’t decide. Fucking hell, I want everything.”

She shushed him with an index against his lips. “The potty mouth has got to go.”

His entire face softened further, if possible. Kissed her finger. “Okay.”

“Just to be clear, that was not a proposal, was it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Are you kidding?” Elain smiled. “Propose on someone’s engagement party? There’s nothing tackier than that. Besides, that’s a lazy proposal.”

“Oh, so I have free reigns to be creative?”

Elain looped her arms around his neck, feigning thinking about it. She shrugged. “I guess. Nothing tasteless, though.”

“I’ll just consult Winnie. She’s got some strong opinions on us. Pretty sure she’d advocate for something Disney-like. Hey, what’s your favorite—”

Winnie.

“They were getting ready for bed,” Alis manages to voice quietly. “Win—Winnie woke up a few hours after going to bed, she couldn’t sleep. I let them stay up a little to wear out…”

Her breath stuttered in her chest, they’d stopped dancing while the couples around them carried on, as if Elain’s life wasn’t changing. As if she was—

“How’d they get in?” Rhys asks darkly, arms folded over his chest, body stiff and tense and inches away from knocking someone to death.

Felix. Winnie. Her babies.

“I’m hoping to focus on my personal life. The people I love. My family. My three girls.”

“Three?” Elain raised a brow as he gently tipped her back.

“..I was fetching the kids some milk, and next thing I knew I was on the floor and the world was going in circles. I—I saw them go upstairs, and Felix was shouting…putting up a fight. I saw them take them. I was t-told to pass on a message.”

“To who?” Feyre murmurs, drained.

Alis looks up. “Only to tell Mr. Blackwood to expect a phone-call. And—And to the detective, that this is what happens when you don’t lay off.”

“I promise,” he vowed. “No guns in the house. And Winnie will never see one.”

Elain’s hands shake around a ceramic mug. Azriel calmly stares into Alis’s face, strangely quiet and intensely still as if his body is not human anymore, slowly standing up in some detached way before facing Rhys who stares at Alis with an expression harder than stone, darker than night, gone the mirth and the haughty arrogance that he wields against his opponents, replaced by something dark and scared.

“Rhys—“ Azriel murmurs, stepping up to him, missing how Rhys’s eyes flash to him, the gleaming rage his only warning before a sudden blow dislocates his jaw, one that knocks his body to the side and yet, still, Azriel keeps his stand.

“I fucking warned you,” Rhys’s voice shakes as Cassian roughly grabs him by the arms from behind. “I TOLD YOU. AND YOU DIDN’T GIVE TWO SHITS—“

“I promise. No guns in the house. And Winnie will never see one.”

Winnie, currently probably dead or terrified out of her wits with murderers. Kidnapped. Her baby. Her fucking baby—

“I promise. No guns in the house. And Winnie will never see one.”

The mug tumbles from her hands, smashes into a million pieces on the floor and Elain can’t stop the shaking in her arms. In every inch of her body. Everything in her is screaming in agony, everything hurts, she needs to do something, she must get her baby back, she must. She must. Her baby.

The paramedic wraps her arms around Elain tightly, whispering soothing nonsense in her ear and Elain cannot think straight, or think at all. Her mind is fractured, everywhere, trying to pretend this isn’t real while listening to the police and the paramedics and Rhys shout on and on at Azriel, while an officer gets everyone to calm down and listen, some reasoning about needing to keep their heads because a phone call will be made any moment now and the kids will be safe home soon. But Elain cannot for the life of her wait for such a demanding phone-call, cannot for the life of her not be ill while stewing in this anxiety.

Her wrist aches.

She rocks herself back and forth, her arms wrapped around her chest, listening but not really focused. She hears Azriel talk to her, but all she hears is the promise he made about a new start. She hears Varian take him aside when she doesn’t respond, listens to Varian tell Azriel things will be all-right; that he will not be allowed to join this case in any capacity due to his attachment to the victims, but that the Anti-Kidnap and Extortion force is going to handle this seamlessly; she listens to him tell him that he is not to blame; argues that this has nothing to do with Azriel, but a sort of extra ‘fuck you’ because he is irrelevant to them now that their evidence is ruined and they have nothing incriminating anymore; he says that cutting a deal with Rhys is the final nail in the coffin ensuring no-one will bother the organized crime world in Velaris. They need the kids alive and well to strike a good bargain, so they will be safe and sound in their arms very soon.

Elain keeps rocking herself. Even as Varian tells Azriel to comfort her, to say something to alleviate her grief—“Her kid’s collateral damage, for fuck’s sake, Az’—as if anything other than her baby in her arms will calm her down.

The word clangs around in her head for far longer than it should, as Azriel sits next to her and stares quietly at her. Varian thinks Winnie’s collateral damage. Which would make sense, when kidnapping Felix is all that’s needed to extort the daylights out of Rhys. It’s not as if leaving Winnie be would have ruined their plans, as if the baby could be considered a witness and give them descriptions and names and—and—

She’s just a baby.

A sob escapes her. Arms wraps themselves around her and her voice is sobbing on and on about “bring her back” repeatedly to whoever is holding her as she trembles. Shakes.

Bring her back, she keeps saying. Over and over and over.

Azriel swears that he will. For every plea of hers, he swears it.

____

“You harm a single fucking hair on his head and I’ll rip you apart myself,” Rhys calmly threatens the voice on the phone.

They’re set up in his study. The Anti-Kidnap and Extortion force practically made Rhys memorize what he must say and do—keep his cool, keep them talking, do not fall apart. Azriel’s been clenching his teeth the entire time, and his stomach flipped over when Rhys’s phone finally rang. The task force is deadly silent, making no sound while they negotiate.

“The children are quite well,” replies the cool feminine voice of one Amarantha. Varian delivered Azriel a warning look the minute she piped up, and Azriel’s hands were too shaking for him to think straight. “Bit snotty and red-eyed but still in one piece.”

Rhys’s hands clench over a pen so hard, his white knuckles snap it in two. “What do you want.”

“I think you know.”

His lips tremble around words he stops himself from saying before snarling. “I don’t.”

A sharp sudden cry of pain has Rhys flipping over his office chair while Azriel jumps from his skin and Varian tightens the claw-hold he has on his shoulder.

“Right,” Amarantha comes back. “Let’s set this straight. That was a taster—“

“You fucking bitch,” Rhys’s voice trembles.

“—of what will continue to happen to your little bundle of joy, Rhys, every second you delay and involve the police. Now, I’m told Daniel knows how to dislocate bones without breaking them, but I wouldn’t really count on it, would you?”

“What the fuck do you want,” Rhys repeats.

“Not so fast, darling,” she softly says. “You and that treasonous bitch are going to stew over a little in this before I hand in my demands.”

Feyre murderously stares at the phone set on the desk, her hands covering her pursed mouth.

Rhys runs his hands through his hair, wets his lips before trying again. “Felix has nothing to do with this.”

“Isn’t that what makes it so tragic?” Amarantha croons. “Poor thing, crying all alone surrounded by strangers while Papa tries to save him. Could he? We’ll see.”

Feyre’s nostrils flare, her eyes a particular shade of deadly. She meets her husband’s eyes, communicating something no-one else can understand.

Rhys forcefully calms his voice. “You harm a hair on his head, I swear to God, nothing of you will be left.”

“Hm,” the woman replies shortly, unimpressed. An agent holds up a notebook, Winnie?? Written in bold across the page.

“What about Winnie?” Rhys asks. “I need to know she’s okay.”

“Oh right, the other one,” Amarantha remembers before asking someone. “What did you do with her?”

Azriel might throw up right there.

“Ah,” she voices. “We’ll find out soon. Do stay by the phone, Rhys. I’d hate for you to miss a call.”

“Wait—!”

The line promptly disconnects, and they all look to Helion and Tarquin, the head of the task force trusted to lead this. Azriel has some trust in him because Varian vouched for him, but he doesn’t think he can stay collected for much longer.

“It’s how people like them extort,” Tarquin firmly, but gently, reminds Rhys. “They let you think the worst, they give you that impression, to get everything they need out of you. Most likely, the children weren’t even in that room and I assure you Amarantha is only making you anxious.”

It makes perfect sense. It should instantly alleviate any concerns anyone has. It is the same reasoning Azriel himself would use to calm a parent down, but fucking hell his mind has short-circuited to even think reasonably. Still, his gut churns. His blood boils.

“She won’t hurt them,” Feyre speaks up, quiet but calm. “Despite her history with us, she doesn’t gain anything from revenge. She’ll make us wait, and worry. Because she’ll get what she wants, then.”

“Right now I’m ready to give her every-fucking-thing.”

Feyre blinks at her husband. “..Yeah, you say that now.”

Azriel rakes his fingers through his hair and tugs down his black tie. Varian meets his eyes when he turns to him, monitoring every miniscule movement of his.

“Smoke,” he mutters, side-stepping him to step out of the room.

“What happened?” Cassian and Nesta immediately jump him. Morrigan watches him quietly. “What did they say? Are the kids all-right? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel answers, feeling his head throb. “Just pressing Rhys. They’re going to call again. Felix’s fine.”

“Winnie?!” Nesta demands, latching onto his shoulders. He cannot look her in the eyes.

“Dunno,” he whispers. “No mention of her.”

“Oh my God,” Nesta drops her hands and clutches her forehead. “What are you going to do?”

It is only there, under their respective gazes, that Azriel realizes they’re all looking to him for solutions. Not the entire team in there created specifically for such a purpose. Not the qualified professionals. Him—the homicide detective who got them in this situation.

Sometimes, like now, Azriel really fucking hates himself. He burns with it.

He takes out his cigarette packet and walks past them without a word. Cassian watches him go—he practically feels his gaze on him as he hurries down the stairs and crosses the entryway for the front doors.

It’s snowing.

Peacefully. Large thick snow drifting in the air before him, hauntingly beautiful as it covers the surfaces of police cars, gravel and bushes. It builds up on the fence, on the iron-wrought gates and the steps.

A small block of black snaps his attention to the stairs, where Elain’s sat in her black dress, her arms taught around her knees and her eyes distant. Snow gathers in her hair, melts against her bare freckled shoulders and she doesn’t make any gesture that she’s noticed him.

His feet jolt before he realizes it, yanking off his suit jacket to drape it over her with mystified horror. “You’ll freeze out here,” he breathes out, before dropping down next to her.

She’s still as a statue. Doesn’t acknowledge the warmth around her.

Azriel lights a cigarette in the peaceful, beautiful quiet and sits with the quiet love of his life in the wake of the disaster he’s brought on them. Another one.

“I’m sorry,” smoke mixes with fogging hot breath and his apology is not acknowledged.

His dress shoes crunch against the soft snow beneath them as he shifts them, and leans his elbows on his knees. Nicotine and loss make for a peculiar combination. His eyes sting. Winnie would have been making snowballs in them by now, throwing them at his head.

He desperately breathes in the cigarette smoke, holds it in. How long does he sit there, trying to find a sensible trail of thought?

“Hey,” Cassian’s rough gravelly voice eventually disturbs the silence. “Both of you, inside. Now.”

“Cass,” Azriel softly pipes up, tracing his lower lip with a scarred thumb. “You don’t know Amarantha, do you?”

His friend pauses, under the shelter of the estate, before walking out towards them. His voice is practically frowning. “The bitch from years ago?”

“The bitch from years ago,” Azriel echoes, staring at the distant point where the sky meets the road. “What do you know about her?”

Cassian stands next to them, steps down several steps and faces them both with a scowl. “Barely anything. Didn’t she have it out for Feyre? Went after Rhys?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“You gotta help me out, then, man.”

“People close to her call her Natha,” Azriel announces quietly, watches Cassian’s face for a flicker of recognition. “Red hair. Marine.”

Cassian’s face twitches. “What year?”

“If I had that kind of information, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Look, man, I don’t know every soul in the Corps.”

“Could you find out?” Azriel requests and Elain turns her head towards him. “Ask around, nothing obvious. I think she’s your year, but that’s just my guess. Could be older—really likely, too.”

“I’ll ask the guys but don’t hold your breath,” Cassian promises. “Woman like that doesn’t fly under the radar.”

“Just in-case,” Azriel breathes.

Cassian studies his face with a tight strange expression, before he nods. “Come inside. Freezing to death doesn’t bring the kids back.”

He gets Elain to stand up, clutching Azriel’s jacket with a pale blue-tinged-nailed hand. Cassian murmurs words of reassurance as he helps her up the stairs and at the top, she pauses to look over her shoulder at him. His cigarette glows fiery red as he breathes it in, holding her doe-eyes in a quiet stare.

She is beautiful in her grief. It is a peculiar thought to have. Standing there on the top of the steps in the faint light of the early dawn, snow flurries in her unbound hair drifting over her face in the gentle breeze, nose and eyes red, mouth pursed together. Azriel looks up at her, craning his neck over his shoulder and somehow finds himself memorizing the lines of her.

“Be careful,” are the only hoarse words leaving her lips before she walks inside.

___

The conditions were crystal clear, and yet they were still breaking them. Rhysand is to meet them, alone, to be reassured of his son’s wellbeing and sign off on incriminating documents that will forever bind his hands and prevent him from ever pursuing any member of the Heptad. The blackmail is simple, efficient and provides the kind of hard evidence capable of locking Rhys up for all his life they don’t in turn have of the Heptad.

Azriel curses its brilliance. Not only have they eliminated any threat, but they’ve also handled any possible future chance of being persecuted. While Rhys is renowned for responding to blackmail with efficient fangs, Felix has cried in pain on the phone too many times for the father to handle. Azriel cannot get the sound of his nephew’s sobs out of his head, when Rhys delayed picking up the phone for the two rings in the time it took for the task force to connect to the call in order to pinpoint a location on it.

Azriel sits in the communications van with the team while they pull up the live footage they have from variously placed agents and cameras roughly surrounding the agreed-upon meeting place.

“What if they find out?” he quietly asks Tarquin.

“They won’t,” he responds surely. “Worst case scenario, they don’t show up.”

“Worst case scenario, they kill one of the kids,” Azriel retorts hotly.

“I understand your trepidation, Bougainvillea, I truly do,” Tarquin turns his eyes on him. “But they gain nothing from it. The way I see it, we let the President-appointed district attorney actively sign his own death warrant, we’re not faring so good. We have no idea what they want him to sign off on. It could be anything. It could bring down anyone.”

“They could kill the kids,” Azriel repeats. “These people have no fucking fear. They don’t give two shits, Tarquin. Ask me, the things I could tell you—”

Tarquin’s glance is encoded with several meanings. “Yes, we’ve heard a lot about you, Shadowsinger.”

His mouth dry, Azriel keeps his head. “Then you better believe me, nothing about this is going to be textbook.”

“I really appreciate your concern, but I have to remind you the only reason you’re in on the loop is a curtesy, Bougainvillea. Do not test me—“

“That’s my kid you’re risking,” Azriel clenches his hands into fists. “You have to listen to me: you need to expect the unexpected with those people.”

Their plan is protocol. With risks, as any plan is. It comes with the possibility that shit evidently could go horribly wrong, and every person working it has a certain degree of responsibility to see it through. Azriel, being a spectator, has jack shit to do except watch Rhys stand in a construction site, hands in his pockets as it snows, waiting for someone to show up with his kid and his doom.

The first ten minute delay is reasonable, Azriel figures. They want to further fray Rhys’s nerve. He gets it.

But then an hour goes past.

And nothing.

“Is—do we still wait or call it off?” one of the team asks a stone-faced Tarquin.

“Alpha team, do you see anything?”

“Negative, sir. All clear.”

“Omega, what about you?”

“Negative here too sir.”

“Anyone?”

Nothing.

“All teams stand by,” Tarquin orders, his jaw clenched. “Rhys, come back. It doesn’t appear they’ll show.”

His brother lets loose a strained breath. “I know it’s part of it, I really do, but I still want to tear the fucking cunts apart.”

Azriel’s phone buzzes, once, in his pocket.

In a sense, it is the start of a cassette tape unwinding following its clicking place home in the player. The beginning of a quiet, daunting melody that unwinds its tape with magnetic crackles making the hair on his arms stand. He draws it out, stares at the lockscreen for a long hard moment.

SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.

“Tarquin,” he looks up, as one of the camera feeds move.

“Sir this is Omega team 1, Viper speaking,” one of the agents speaks into the comms.

“What is it?”

“I have visual of something in the river canal. Permission to approach?”

“Granted. Be careful.”

“Copy that.”

“Tarquin,” Azriel tries again, holding out his phone, his eyes fixed on the feed from Viper’s cam. Tarquin takes the phone, frowning at the message from an unknown number.

“Sir, it—it appears to be an object in black plastic bag. It’s impacted on the bank, stopped drifting. Do I retrieve it?”

“Negative,” Tarquin orders, looking up from Azriel’s phone.

Azriel tries to make sense of what he’s seeing, or figure out exactly what the thing is in the murky waters.

“Sir,” the man’s voice tightens. “It’s a body bag.”

Azriel turns away from the screens, his hands slapping against his head while he turns his face towards the roof and clutches his hair tightly. The very air in the van thickens.

“Can you retrieve it?” Tarquin calmly asks.

“Yes. Easily.”

“Do it.”

Azriel’s ears are actively tuned in to the comms, the water splashing and sloshing when Viper reaches in, the dragging and hauling of the body out of the water. His heart jumps with every sound, and it leaps out of his chest when the van door opens and Rhys steps in.

He closes his eyes when his brother’s eyes meet his and frown.

“What--?” Rhys begins, before falling quiet.

A zipper pulled down. So fucking loud over the speakers. Plastic shoved apart. Azriel cannot look while Viper reads off a card.

“Now will you listen closely, and save your niece?” his voice announces, and suddenly: the world goes quiet. His breath catches, audibly.

“Sir, i-it’s Felix Blackwood.”

___

Death wound have been kinder, to all of them.

The mortuary is a quiet place where the sleep of the dead is the only sound to be perceived, echoed by the nature of its existence and its emptiness, and the sacrality of where the dead are forever laid to rest. It is a place for silence, yet the echoes of Rhysand’s devastated screaming slices wounds in ears that even the dead cannot un-hear.

The body is bloated, burned and drowned. Half of him is unrecognizable, but it doesn’t stop the parents’ devastated screaming as they clutch what was once the light of their lives. That floppy black hair, those small hands. It takes both Cassian and Azriel to hold Rhys back, screaming the depths of his heart in the mortuary, while Nesta locks a hyperventilating Feyre in her arms, trying to stop her from going anywhere near the corpse on the table. Azriel’s ears are numb, and he doesn’t have any strength to keep standing anymore while Felix’s body keeps flashing before his watering eyes over Rhys’s shoulder and his brother is screaming, screaming himself hoarse, tearing his cords apart in a sound mankind has never heard before in its history.

Death is a much kinder fate than this.

_____

my computer, watching me type: 👁👄👁……why?

idfk man, i’m just wired that way.

@tswaney17 @julesherondalex @mis-lil-red @gorl-power @thesirenwashere @stars-falling @trying-to-read @dreamerforever-5 @hail-doodles @eloeloeheheh @i-am-lost-in-my-world @abraxos-is-toothless @queen-of-glass @elrielllll @negativenesta @b00kworm @harmonyindark245 @ducksmurf135 @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @thewayshedreamed @agem10 @superspiritfestival @maybekindasortaace @maastrash @courtofjurdan @ireallyshouldsleeprn @gracie-rosee @bookstaninthesoul @elriel4life @fawnandshadows -main @123moiaussi @impossiblescissorspeachpaper

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whumpshaped · 1 year

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Chapter 2: Sil

Silence Masterlist

tw institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as a default for pets, past trauma, morally dubious caretaker, defiant/feral whumpee

Rayan sat on the ground a few feet away from the stray as it ate. He was lost in thought, quietly observing the visible injuries and weird bumps under its skin. Bones healed wrong, maybe.

The more he thought about this entire situation, the more he found himself absolutely furious with the pet’s previous owner. He had wanted a pet his entire life. He had grown up wanting one, seeing how happy and lively and perfect they were, knowing that if he was just a little more fortunate, worked just a little harder, get out of his one-bedroom dwelling and move into something a tiny bit more spacious, maybe the Pet Protection Agency would consider him as a potential adopter. He had always been so passionate about wanting to give poor, helpless things a better life, that was precisely why he was so obsessed with helping the stray cats and dogs around the area. His ultimate goal was to get one of the pets out of a shelter and give it a loving home, the best home he possibly could.

And then there were people like this guy’s owner. He couldn’t fathom having the wealth and opportunity to adopt a pet and then treating it like utter garbage. He couldn’t fathom how the PPA could’ve given someone like that a licence in the first place. Wasn’t there an interview? Weren’t they supposed to check up on pets regularly? How did they miss this?

His new acquaintance put down the cup gently, almost like it was handling expensive glass or something. Quite out of character for someone moving around so jerkily, and who had pretended not to care much for the soup in the first place.

"My name's Rayan. May I ask what your name is?" He kept his voice quiet, both so he could avoid startling it, and so others on the street wouldn't hear.

"Wouldn't we both like to know?" It choked out a dry laugh, devoid of any joy or amusement. "Owner called me mutt, or that thing. It. I'm not sure I ever had a name, Rayan." His name felt like an insult coming from the pet, as if he was in the wrong for simply having one when it didn't.

Rayan frowned. "Well, do you wanna have one? You could give me anything. Make something up. Go back and change it later if you come up with something better... surely, you don't want me to call you those things?"

"Why do you need to call me anything?" it snapped suddenly. "You're making it sound like you'll just stick around and humour me forever! Why don't you go on your way already?"

"I- well..." Rayan rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, awkwardly, looking for words that wouldn't upset the other. He wasn't sure words like that existed. "I was hoping I'd find you here tomorrow, like... like always. Well, for the past week. And that I'd have a name to call you by when I came back."

The stray's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it didn't lash out again. In fact, it didn't react at all, which was already better than the outburst a moment ago. Rayan counted it as a win.

"Think about it, okay?" he said with what he hoped was a friendly and pleasant smile. "I'll take this stuff back now. I'll bring you more tomorrow, if... you know, if you're still here. If I didn't annoy you into leaving and finding another place."

He slowly inched closer and grabbed the bowls and the plate with the cup on it, still without getting a single word in response. It was only when he turned to leave that he heard a quiet voice from behind him, so unlike the harsh tone he had just gotten used to.

"I've been calling myself Sil. In my head. I was always told to be silent, so I guess I just took it and ran with it."

Rayan stopped and glanced back at the stray, Sil, nodding his understanding without giving any indication that he noticed the faint blush on its face. "Sil it is, then."

"Will you really come back tomorrow?" it asked, prompting him to fully turn back around. "Am I really worth it, compared to a dog?"

"Hey." Rayan crouched down to be at eye-level with it. "I'll be back, as long as you want me to. You could even come home with me." Sil visibly recoiled at the idea, and he quickly added, "It's just an option. Just letting you know. All I'm saying is, I'll be back tomorrow. For sure."

"Okay," it said quietly, watching Rayan stand up again with those sharp eyes that seemed to catch even the smallest of movements. The eyes of someone that had been hurt by those movements.

"See you tomorrow, Sil."

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert

#silence #whump #whump writing #pet whump #dehumanisation #past trauma #morally dubious caretaker #defiant whumpee #feral whumpee

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echoedcrosshairs · 10 months

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Another Life / Dogma ~ Soul Mate AU

Summary: Dogma has always been completely loyal to the republic and to his training. His soulmate is very loyal to her ward, vowing to reject him just so whoever he is won’t distract her for her duty. Even without the bond both of you dip your toes into each other; you were made for each other all however Fate has a funny way of working itself out in the end.

Warning: Scars, Battle, Wounds, NSFW, Smut, PiV, 18+, cannon typical violence, medical incidents

Word count: 11.2k

Masterlist

Dogma's eye pulsed like it was trying to leap from the socket, he tapped into the link letting the eye show him your surroundings where you were. She's here... On Coruscant at the 79's. He closed the link, stopping mid step and placing his foot down. I know what I have to do, For the Republic.

"What is it Dogma?" Tup said noticing his brothers abrupt halt on the way back to the barracks.

"My soulmate... She's here."

Your friend had dragged you out to the overly loud clone bar to see her mate for a little while you both were on world, you hated the fact that you were dragged here but you were her loyalist guard and nothing ever got past you. You followed her to the back of the bar to the small side room inspecting it for anything before allowing her to go in with the privacy of her mate. Your eye started burning like someone had lit explosives under it.

"What is it?" She said quickly stepping out of the room.

"My mate... He's here... and coming," you gritted out, "Please remain in that room for the next hour, their is a bathroom," the pain in your eye started letting up, "I will lock the both of you inside until the pain is over."

"You don't have to do that for me," she complained.

"Your highness, my duty is to protect you. I promised you when we were kids if he ever came I would do what needed to be done to make sure nothing interfered. Now I must insist you go enjoy yours," you said winking at the trooper waiting for her, you heard her sigh but knew your mind was made up.

You closed the door and took your military grade lock and bolted the door shut, remaining firmly infront of the door with your hands folded together in waiting. You're eye pulsed and you grabbed your eye noticing the two soldiers walking in, one gripping his eye two. You let go of it and opened it seeing him stare at you and you at him. You felt the tug towards him, wanting to touch him and know him but you harden yourself against it.

"He's going to reject you," his friend blurted out.

"I was going to do the same," you said sticking out your hand offering your name taking in the perfect jawline, eyes and beautiful V face tattoo.

"Dogma," he said taking the hand, shaking it feeling the familiar roughness of a soldier. She's made for me, his mind screamed.

"I have a duty to my planet, I hope you forgive me. Dogma, I reject you as my soul mate."

"And I reject you due to my loyalty to the Republic."

Everything in you broke, you read about what happens when you reject a soul mate link but nothing prepared you for the pain ripping through you. Your bones felt like they were breaking, shattering and ricocheting around your body. You fell back and stumbled full weight back into the door.

You heard Melissa calling your name is some faint corner of the breaking world, "It's just pain," you gritted out, "I'll survive."

Tup grabbed onto Dogma seeing a similar reaction, he watch the abnormal color of his soul link eye fade back into clone brown also seeing the color recede from your eye. Both eyes finally matching in color. He scowled shaking his head without getting a chance to meet her, he knew they were cosmically perfect for each other. Loyal, head strong and determined.

Your vision kept fading out but the sweet release of unconsciousness never came leaving you reeling in pain and hollowness, leaving a hole of nothingness. People often fell apart of their rejection succumbing to the permanent depths of depressions or having their mind break apart leaving them hollow shells. I will never falter in my duty. You forced yourself to stand infront of the door knowing there was still what seemed like endless minutes of agony left. You stretched both your arms out to the arch of the door using it to hold yourself up.

"I told you she was a fighter," Dogma gridded out, having Tup pull him up.

"And a hell of a lot stronger then you."

"He's plenty strong," you got out the pain finally starting to subside. You rested the back of your head on the door staring him. If he was meant for me he's plenty strong. In another life, I could have loved you and gotten to know how perfect you are for me. Your heart kept breaking with every passing thought feeling the sparks of the bond start to dwindle and the pain in your start to steady pulse in pain.

"Are you going to be okay?" Tup asked, "I can go grab a medic-"

"Do me a favor, just watch out for him for me. I'll be fine," you said your arms dropping to your sides.

Tup nodded, "I'm going to get him to med bay, it's standard protocol."

You nodded, "Goodbye, Dogma," you watched them retreat from the bar ignoring all of the eyes on you. I wonder if I'll ever see you again in another life.

Fate made it her mission to through but in your face every day that you terminated your bond, in took one week from that day for the war to reach your planet and the soldiers to deploy and you had to miserably see him in everyone of his brothers. The Princess tried to be more discreet with her mate but you told her you were fine even if felt like you were dead inside, hollow. I hope your keeping an eye on him. Several months after that defending the princess from a separatist assassin you took a vibroknife to the face in the same place as his tattoo. The king and the republic without haste paid for new cybernetic eye in thanks of your service.

Months after that the Princess had pulled you aside telling your the troops were switching out and that he was coming. She wanted you slump into the wall, your handing going to the scar that now permanently indented you and reminded you of him everyday you looked in the mirror. She knew you covered your mirrors and even switched out the showering stall to remove the reflection of the glass.

You pulled your hand away, "Is your mate joining? He is a kind soldier," you said turning the focus away from yourself.

"Father is actually paying for his release, he will be joining us... permanently."

"I look forward to protecting both of you."

"How you feeling Dogma?" Tup asked sitting in the empty bunk next to him, finding him yet again laying down staring at the ceiling. Between every assignment he's like this, broken, focuses on the mission but refusing to head to shore time so I'm left here babysitting him.

"You saw where we're heading next," he breathed, "We're heading straight to the capital... where she is."

"You're not mates anymore, Dogma. You have to pick yourself up at some point."

Dogma sat up and stared at him, "You don't know what it's like, a piece of you being gone, the... void that it leaves inside."

"You have to try, for her and yourself. I don't know what it's like you're right but I do know that fate's bringing you two back together for a reason; hopefully closure for both of you."

You stood at the Princess's side when the white and blue ships landed, her hands squeezed yours before releasing it. The doors of ships swung open and the soldiers marched out. Instinctively you took a step forward defensively in front of her.

"General Skywalker," you said extending your hand to the Jedi, "Welcome to Idora." You watched one trooper break ranks and run at the Princess, you smiled as they embraced. You watched the inner company of the 501st step forward following behind him. Seeing him. You didn't let recognition flash across your face as you moved down the line greeting each of them one by one. "If you all may follow me you'll be stationed with me at the inner guard wing."

"Your scar..." Anakin said looking between you and Dogma, feeling the broken bond.

"Completely unrelated, I took a vibro knife to the face when Dooku sent an assassin. I have no mate, Sir" you said continuing your walk keeping your eye on the Princess and her beloved as they pretended to escort all of you to the guards wings barely being able to keep their hands off each other.

"My room is one with burn marks," ironically also with a V, "Every other room is available, make yourselves at home," you excused yourselves shooing your them off to the Princess's room as to not make even more of a scene.

You wondered down the hall and sat on the balcony as the soldiers ruffled around moving gear and arms. Seeing someone sit besides you, you looked to find the solider who was with Dogma the night of the rejection.

"The name's Tup by the way," he said letting his feet dangle over the edge.

"How is he?" You asked the sadness if your voice slipping out.

"Lonely."

You nodded trying to swallow the clump forming in your throat, "At least he's alive," you said one tear falling down. Almost every night you sat on this ledge looking up into the stairs when conditions allowed wondering if he was still alive because you could no longer feel him.

"I'm not sure he'd agree. Rejection is worse then death."

Don't think I'd agree either, "Fate has made it miserable, so many reminders," you said letting your finger tips touch your scar before falling back into your lap.

"Yeah for him too. I didn't know fate could be this cruel."

"Breaking the most divine gift in the universe, I'm surprised she's being this kind."

"You should talk to him," Tup suggested, "It's not over until the banshee screams," he said patting your shoulder and getting up, "The soulmate bond is broke but you two could always try being friends," he said walking away staring at Dogma who was eaves dropping.

"I know your there," you muttered.

"I know," he said coming and taking the spot where Tup was, "It's a phantom sensation compared to what it was," Dogma extended his hand showing you his palm, "Remember when it snapped into place while you were cooking and burnt your palm, I got a matching one. I take it we both now have a couple more matching marks."

"When you fell during training, I elbowed glass and got the mark in the same place."

"Fate's taking this whole know your mates body like your own thing a little two literal," Dogma chuckled.

You joined him, his laugh soothing the awkwardness and tension. You glanced at him watching how at ease he looked, relaxed even compared to how Tup described him as of late. Dogma glanced at you at the scar, the twisted reminder of what could have been.

"It bugs you to look at doesn't it?" You asked looking back out to the court yard littered with ships.

"You're still beautiful."

"Consider yourself a beautiful man?" You attempted to crack a joke but it fell flat.

"I mean it."

"Thank you."

"Tup, is that?" Anakin whispered watching the two of you on the balcony.

"Yes, sir. I think it'll help them find closure."

"It's doing more then that."

"Excuse me?" He said looking frazzled.

"Nothing, let's go get something to eat."

Both of you sat there swapping stories about what happened since you two meet until late into the evening when the stars started twinkling in the sky.

You watched him lay back and stare up at them, "Hell of a view," he said.

"Yeah it is," for the first time in a long time the vastness of space didn't remind you how empty you were, you laid back tucking your arms under your head using them as uncomfortable pillows.

"You ever going to get your bunk set up," Jesse said lightly shoving him with his foot, "Excuse us ma'am."

"Coming, Lieutenant," Dogma said prying himself up, giving you a stiff nod.

You gave them a little salute wave. Probably for the best, I was getting way to comfortable, you thought with a small yawn. You sat up up taking your jacket off and rolled it up putting in under your head, That's better.

"Haven't seen you like this in forever," you heard the Melissa pur behind you.

"Tup said I should talk to him, I think it helped. Where's Sebastian?" You asked noticing her mate wasn't with her.

"Eating with his brother's, it's 'no place for a lady', apparently," she scowled.

You sat up tossing your jacket over your arm, "I'll go baby sit to make sure he doesn't say anything to damning about your lack of virtue," you said winking.

Melissa's face lid red, "I didn't even think of that."

"It's my job to worry," you reassured.

You walked into the makeshift mess promptly putting yourself next to Sebastian with a shit eating grin hearing the conversation about their bond, "Apparently you do need a baby sitter."

"She tell you to keep an eye on me?" He asked.

"It's my duty to know what you're both up too," you laughed, "Don't mind me."

"I don't think this is the place for a-"

"Call me a lady and we're stepping outside," you said pointing your fork at him.

"We can step outside," Dogma said without thinking, having enough of his brothers asking him about rejecting the bond and how it feels to be around you just wanted to get away.

The fork fell from your hand and clanked on the table. Everyone at the table was staring at the both of you. I am going to assume everyone knows.

"I didn't mean it like-" Dogma back tracked trying to apologize.

"Come on," you exhaled, standing up.

Tup covered his mouth trying to hide the massive grin on it, "If they hadn't had been... I would have assumed Fate messaged up," he chuckled out the moment you two were out of earshot.

"That has to be torture, I've already rescued him once," Jesse said.

"I thought that would have been the one rule he bent," Kix admitted.

"What are we gossiping about?" Anakin said standing at the edge of the table watching the both of you walk off chatting about something.

"How miserable he problem is," Jesse said, "Do you mind rescuing him, Sir?"

"He doesn't need saving from her," Anakin smiled sitting down, "Let them work it out."

"If your brother's ask, I kicked your ass," you smiled enjoying the walk.

"If my brother's ask, I handed you yours," he laughed back.

"I take it all of them know?" your voice switched to dead seriousness.

"Yeah, I was still pretty disoriented when Tup got me to the med bay. I'm surprised you stood up that fast."

"I wasn't going to be one of those people who just laid down and took it, I wasn't going to let it break me. I'm glad you seemed to do the same," you said eyeing him.

"I'm a soldier, I keep going no matter what," not entirely a lie, I complete my missions and then I sulk in my bunk.

Your head snapped in the direction of the field, "Go!" You shouted seeing the destroyer droids approaching. You quickly tossed your blasters in the air grabbing clips off your belt and slamming them in as gravity finished the rest. Dogma stared at you and then at the small battalion of droids, "That is an order, GO!" You watched him finally take off at top sped.

"Alright tin bins, come get me!" You shouted darting into the line of trees away from Melissa, like the idiots they were the droids followed you into your domain. Blaster fire sizzled past your ear as you pressed further into the woods picking them off. It would be great if I had my armor right about now. What the hell are they doing this close? How did they get pass the security. Hot footing it up a tree you dropped down at one of the destroyers letting him shoot at the other droids taking out a handful before shooting in and running again.

"Clankers, west courtyard," Dogma yelled the moment he got into the building.

Everyone started flying for there gear and little red lights shot into the sky alerting everyone of the attack. He quickly grabbed his helmet off the table and started sprinting again.

"Where is she!" Tup shouted after him.

"Her duty."

By the time they got back to the courtyard his eye was burning, he toppled over barely caught before slamming into the ground. Tup and Kix stayed scanning him as the rest of his brothers went to go deal with the droids. Dogma pried his eye open seeing her in the forest, it was dark and barely visible then he saw her topple over with her eye seeing what he was see.

"20 droids, heading... North West 2 klicks," he repeated watching her hand signs before it cut outs, "Land Mines," his skull was splitting but his brothers were running into either a trap or boobie traps.

"You rejected your bond how is that even possible?" Kix shouted chasing after them.

Danger. Played over and over in his mind, he commed in about the mines and kept running. He saw them but bee lined right his feet just guiding him with what was left of that tiny homing beckon of what where you were.

Your eye started burning again and you hoped up in a tree waiting for the visual by it never came just the pain intensifying. What the hell is going on. You jumped down from the tree and felt the tiny tug, Dogma. You run in towards his assumed location. You saw the Jedi engaged with a roller then Dogma on his tail running straight towards you. Without thinking you grabbed his armor and tossed him side ways seeing the hidden mind he almost stepped on and then the pain stopped. No time to think of that, you charged at the Roller from the side sliding into it's bubble and popping in the face and the shield drop. Dogma looked down and saw the mine then back at you then down at it again.

"What the kriff was that about! Watch where your going," you shouted at him.

"You were the one in trouble!"

"No you were! How the kriff did you almost miss that mine?"

"At least I wasn't the one getting snuck up on by clankers!" He shouted tossing you behind him ducking out of blast the stragglers that started shooting.

"Better then losing another limb!" You shouted firing, "I've already lost two. It's not peachy!"

"Maybe I was suppose too!"

"Knock it off!" Anakin said taking care of the last droid, "Care to explain?" He asked Dogma.

"General, this is my rejected mate. We did it months ago but on the way back here I got to see what she was seeing and knew she was in danger."

"And I saw what you were seeing and knew you were danger," you added.

Anakin watched both of you glare at each other, "Dogma-"

"If for some reason I have too I reject it again, sir."

"I was going to say be thankful both of you got to each other in time," Anakin put his hand on his shoulder, "I would have never asked you to do that or do that again," he said looking at the scar across your face, "Fate works in mysterious ways," he shook his head heading back towards Rex and the other troopers.

"You okay?" He whispered noticing the odd way you held your arm.

"Yeah, I bruised it jumping down on a droid," you murmured backed.

"Jumping down?" He asked bewildered.

You pointed up at the trees and then down at the droids, rolling your eyes. You froze for a second feeling his arm wrap around you tightly for a moment releasing before he walked off in the direction of the where the General went. You stared at him for a moment before jogging back towards the Princess finding her safely in her room with Sebastian in his armor and blaster drawn. He quickly holstered it again.

"I need you to take her to the lowest floor and stay there, the King and Queen are already on their way there. We have no idea about the droids got past security. There's extra arms in that trunk, take whatever you need."

"You're not staying?" She cried out staring, "You're suppose to be with me!"

Sebastian walked up and gripped your arm in the soldiers traditional greetings, "I'll protect her."

"I have to duty to the royal family to find the breach, Your Highness. It's been an honor," you said letting go heading straight to your room, armoring up in the family's forest green before jogging back out to where you encountered them and tracking their foot steps. You kept your weapon drawn as you walked further into the brush.

"Panic Room, she's hunting" was the note Rex found in the King's room, "Since we don't know where the panic room is we're going to stay and reinforce the perimeter."

She's hunting... She's tracking the droid. Dogma froze before falling into line following his brothers out. There's no warning bells, she's fine. Will I even get another warning?

"Worried about her aren't you?" Tup asked, "You're not soul mates any more."

No we're not, but we were still made for each other and for some reason it let me save her and her me. Dogma took a breath finally standing still manning his post. We're nothing to each other but I have to trust her. It didn't take long for the blaster shots to ring out. He looked up to see a helmeted figure limping holding a Tac droid head. He stared in the cut out seeing blood drip from your mouth.

You hobbled on one leg towards the troopers, as much as I want to drop kick this droid head because no one gets passed me it could have useful information on it. Great Dogma and Tup, can't I get a break from these two. You handed Dogma the head before spitting the blood out of your mouth, "Told you I would have kicked your ass," you smiled spitting again.

"You fist fought a tac droid?" Tup stared.

"Run out of ammo, now excuse me. I'm gonna go toss myself in a tank. Pull the blue book in the king's room and the alarm will shut off and they'll get the memo to come up."

Dogma tossed the head to Tup, "Get that to the General, I'll have get her to the tank," he said scooping you up, "Guide me."

You pointed in the direction of where he needed to go your mouth and jaw sore from a punch to the face. Dogma carried you with ease letting you relax into his arms as he maneuvered his way to the tank in the mini med bay. He gently setting you down in a chair next to the tank.

"Do you need help?"

"I can do it-" you winced standing up, quickly sitting back down, "Yeah I need help," you admitted sourly wishing he would have tossed you in armor and all.

Dogma kept his eyes glued to the ceiling as he worked your armor off piece by piece top to bottom just leaving you in your under clothes, "Do you need help with the pants?" he asked noticing the swelling, "I think it's broken."

"It's broke alright," Kix said scanning you, "in several spots."

"Yeah I need help," you scowled further.

Dogma gently helped you pulled your pants down keeping his eyes squeezed shut and pulling your shirt gently over your head tugging it off by the wrist before quickly turning facing the door. He watched Kix move towards and focused his eyes on the door, he's not going to do anything inappropriate. He heard the tank door open and the respirator go over her mouth and then the door shut and the cover slide up hiding everything but her face.

"You don't have to keep torturing yourself, I'll stay here," Kix said sitting in the chair and kicking his feet up on the table.

"Why is everyone assuming it's torturing me?" Right... "It's not. The bond is broke, I don't know her and she doesn't know me. She is a woman and I am being polite."

"You did sense the danger out there," Kix pointed out.

"But I didn't sense, that," he said motioning towards the tank.

"Droid obviously didn't stand a chance once she set her mind to winning, reminds me of someone," he snarked, "Now get out so I can research whatever this is peace," he added motioning towards the both of you.

Dogma didn't go far, he left the room and sat down against the wall next to the door knowing it was going to be hours. He decided to get up go get some caff so he could stay awake. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up while taking a sip, he dropped the cup. The hot liquid steaming off the table before he jogged off back towards the tank finding Kix had ripped her out and was cutting into her side.

"Restrain him!" He ordered seeing the wild expression on his face.

When did they get here? Dogma felt Jesse's and Fives hands on him pulling him back, "What the hell is going on?" he asked.

"She's going to be fine, Dogma, relax. One of her ribs was out of alignment healing. He just has to," they all heard Kix rebreak it, "That," Jesse said.

"Good thing you called," Fives said looking at Kix, who only nodded quickly repositioning it and closing the wound placing her back in the tank with the red light shutting off flickering green, "She's pretty, Dogma" he said trying to distract him as Kix checked over her vitals and other various wounds for any further complications.

"Shut up," he said as they released him.

"It's phantom limb syndrome, I think," Kix said showing the report, "Our mates are an extension of ourselves and severing that is like losing a limb that sometimes acts up. It's just flaring up because you two are close, in this case it was beneficial. It will dissipate."

"That's a relief," Dogma said sitting down against the wall.

"She is honestly really pretty though," Fives laughed joining him, "Beat you reject not taking that for a test ride first."

Dogma shoved him, "I would feel bad for your mate if she wasn't probably the same way."

"I'm just trying to make you laugh, kriff. Stop being so serious all the time, your always tighter then ships bolts. Even if I was serious, it's a compliment. I mean... look at ya," he chuckled, knuckling Dogmas extremely short hair compared to his.

Dogma rolled his eyes waiting the various vitals on the monitor. They all stood up and saluted the King as he and his daughter strolled in with her mate clinging to her, holding her tight.

"What is her condition?" the king asked.

"Stable, she needs to be in the tank for a few more hours to recover from the extensive wounds and I recommend light duty for the next week," Kix said as the King nodded.

Melissa gently pulled Sebastian off, "Thank you," she whispered putting her arms around Dogma who's hand stayed straight in the air until Sebastian motioned that is fine for him to hug her. He awkwardly patted her back, "Hell of a woman..." he whispered, "She's a fighter." He felt her tight stiffen, "I wish things were different," she whispered lowly pulling back, "Me too."

"So I take it your the man I have to thank," The King said looking down at Dogma.

Dogma pointed at Kix, "Technically Kix is the Medic-"

"Yes, that's Dogma" Melissa snorted.

"The Royal family of Idora owes you a favor boy, let us know when you need to collect," he chuckled walking out.

"Thank you, Dogma," Melissa got out, her tear ducks threatening to burst looking at her friend in the tank, "I don't know what I would do I lost her."

Trust me it's not pleasant. Dogma only nodded staring at her in the tank. He didn't even notice them leave the room, he just sat back down and stared at the tank because to him there was nothing else on the room. If his brothers were talking to him during that time he didn't hear it, all he could hear was her voice scolding him and the panic in it. I hugged her. He could still mildly feel the sensation through his arm. I really should put distance between us to get this to go away, I don't know how people with mates get through this, let alone initiating it. Fives hand waving in front of his face finally got his attention. Dogma blinked watching Fives and Jesse turn around and Dogma followed suit.

You hazily felt hands on you and the mouth piece come out proceeding with a ton of wet coughing, "Feel like a droid stepped on my ribs," you coughed again feeling an injection go in your neck and the pain dull.

"I had to rebreak one of your ribs cause it was healing wrong. I'll have to inject you ever 6 hours for the next few days to keep the pain down. Light duty for a week," Kix said quickly wrapping a warming blanket around you, "You should probably shower the excess Bacta off," he added feeling how sticky it was already getting.

You nodded, "Yeah good idea," you shivering, you took a few steps before feeling the Medic's hands on you stabilizing you.

"Do you have a water proof droid to help you?" Kix asked, "I would offer but I think Dogma would kill me."

"No droids, we'll here in the palace."

"I'll take her," Dogma gritted out feeling Jesse's hand snagged his arm at Kix's comment

"I don't care as long as it ends with me in the shower right now," you said your teeth chattering.

Dogma picked you taking you to your room and setting you on the refresher toilet, he quickly ran to his room and changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top before returning. He turned on the water and brought you into the shower tossing off the blanket leaving you in just your under garments. Holding your hips he carefully positioned you under the steamy water watching the goo fall off, he grabbed the scrubber and gently took it to your skin staring straight ahead at the wall.

"You feel it too?" You whispered.

"It's like an old memory, faint, distorted," he said, "should I have let Kix?" he asked.

"I don't mind, I mean I was made for you after all," you admitted, "I understand why you didn't want him too."

"I hope we can be... friends." He said rinsing you off before starting on your hair.

"Me too. I'm sorry for snapping at you back there."

"I deserved it, you were right."

You hooked your arm around his waist, you felt him stiffen trying not to look down at there the wet of his shirt clung to his body, "The pants I understand the shirt I don't.." you chuckled feeling like an idiot as he removed it and tossed it in the corner. You felt him carefully work his fingers through your hair then rest his chin for a moment on top of your head letting you listen to his rapid pulse before shutting off the water. Handing you the dry towel to wrap around yourself. He squeeze dried his shorts the best he could before patting himself dry turning his attention to you. You looked into his brown eyes and perfect caramel tan skin and the edges to his muscle before letting lost in his tattoo. Made for me, stubborn, high strung and a survivor... incredible handsome too.

"My face gets annoying to look at, I know," he joked.

You had him turn around so you could change your chest band and underwear and wiping yourself with the wet part of the toilet before putting on a new set. Dogma helped you put on a pair of knee length shorts a baggie training shirt. He retrieved his shirt squeezing it before putting it back on.

"If you need anything," he said pointing at the comm device he had tossed on the bed, "Press it twice and it will auto dial me." He watched you nod moving you into the bed, "Goodnight." As he left the stern expression on his face returned and he quickly took off the tank, tired the wet feeling against his chest,

You watched him leave taking off the tank before the door even closed all the way, the muscles scattered across his back. You felt your chest flutter and you rolled your eyes. Move on, get them to the front lines in a couple days and forget about him. Your body ached all over, what did Kix say? Six hours? Might as well try to sleep.

"Enjoy your swim?" Fives jokes, "even without the bond," he said wiggling his eye brows.

Dogma punched him, "I didn't touched her, not then, not now, not ever."

"You know I'm joking," Fives said rubbing his arm, "You have to learn to joke man, especially with this, humor is great for pain."

Dogma rolled his and shook his head letting his legs take him back to the mess to finish eating. He scanned around thankful for the emptiness besides a few other troopers scattered about also in silence. He found his food from earlier at the empty table and sat down finishing his food. It was almost nice until Jesse, Kix and Tup sat down. His mouth flatten into a tightly controlled line as he got bombarded with questions with what's going on inside in his head, how he feels and if Kix could run a few test because of how rare it is. Can I get a moments peace? He agreed to shut them up and went with them and then followed them back to down lab expecting a lecture about getting ahold of himself and put space between them but it never came, all he got was a pat on the back, told he's doing a great job and their proud of him.

"I was expecting to be scolded," Dogma admitted flatly.

"Why would we scold you?" Kix asked, "Not all of us agree with that rule. We're just happy to see some what back to your old self. Do you want to be there for the injection? I mean I'm not going to do anything indecent to her, but I know how...temperamental people gets when it comes to their mates."

"She's not my mate. Do it yourself. Are we done?" Dogma said rolling down his sleeve.

Kix nodded watching him stalk off. Tup followed after him just to make sure he didn't anything reckless. Kix looked to Jesse who had his arms folded over his chest and tapping his foot debating something, "Thinking of a way get him shipped back?" Kix asked.

Jesse nodded, "He's always a stick in the mud but now he's turning into a tree in the mud, us pushing him is just making this harder on him."

"Counter point, stick them together. Let Fate decided, it's not a coincidence that her face and door match his tattoos and it's not a coincidence that fate let them save each other. They don't need to be a bonded pair to be together," Kix pointed out watching realization light Jesse's features, "You have an idea don't you?" which only got a grin.

You felt hands touch you and you sprung forward swinging, panting when you noticed it was just Kix with an injector. You apologetically relaxed letting him pull up your shirt up and inject it right under your ribs. Your eyes quickly bounced around the room and he was no where to be found. Hopefully it's wearing off. You flung your feet over the bed and stood up much to Kix's complaint about resting. You grabbed your pillow and a throw blanket, having him guide you back out to the balcony on this cloudless night. Kix's hand carefully supported your waist and back of your legs helping you to the ground. He pulled your head up and tucked the pillow under it asking if there was anything he could do. "No, thank you, Kix."

Dogma watched from the end of the hall as her door opened, Kix walking out with her in his arms and her bedding in her lap and how gently he touched her helping her to the ground. His nostril flared at the tenderness. He stoned his face as Kix left her there to go back to sleep noticing the com device in her hand. Dogma saw Kix stand next to him for a minute waiting for a comment or threat but he kept his mouth shut and Kix walked away to get back to the other wounded. Dogma walked into his room and set his com next to his pillow and stripped his armor leaving him in his blacks as he got into bed.

In the morning Kix cautiously waked you on the Balcony moving you into a hover chair for the day while your leg continued to heal. He put the bedding back on your bed before wheeling you down to the mess. He asked if you wanted to sit with him and the other wounded or with the troops. You saw the stern angry face on Dogma and opted to sit with the wounded. He tucked you in at the end of the table next to him. All of you ate in silence just enjoying the company until Melissa and Sebastian walked over.

"How are you doing?" She asked tenderly hugging you.

"I'm fine, the chair is precaution."

"Because someone doesn't get they need to rest and not walk on it," Kix muttered.

"You took out a tac droid hand to hand?" Sebastian said impressed.

"It got through my security wall, it would have been my second personal embarrassment of the night if I retreated."

"Remind me not to piss her off," Sebastian playfully whispered to the Princess, "She looked bad, I can guarantee the droid looked worse," she replied giggly.

"My life is in service yours, your highness, it would offend my honor as your guard if didn't leave that droid in little pieces," you saw the sad smile spread across her lips, "and I can guarantee that droid can't be rebuilt. Also I need new armor, it's a little... broken," you offered looking at her trying to hold back the laughter.

"Father already put in the request with any upgrades that could reinforce it, we're going to get back to my duties. I'm glad you're in good spirits."

Breakfast went back to silence, you could feel eyes on you and yours eyes flicked up to the General staring at you while talking talking to the Lieutenant. You dropped your eyes back down and finished eating.

The next three rotations went by in similar fashion, Kix would help you and bring you to meals with no sign of Dogma. After lunch Kix brought you down to the med bay to scan your leg giving you the okay to walk on it but no strenuous exercise or prolonged walking.

Leaving the med bay you have a trooper waiting for you, "Need something?" You asked noticing him following.

"The name is Fives," he said, "and no, I just wanted to see how you were doing ma'am and to thanking you for the tac droid, we got a lot of useful information off of it."

"It's not a problem, I'm glad the pain is worth it."

"As a nat-born, we're all actually impressed with you."

"Nat-born?" you asked your face contorting into puzzlement.

"Natural Born, we're all engineered in a lap muscle composition, immunity, etc. You'd give us a run for our creds, we've never seen someone outside of Gar act like that."

"I am not immune to flattery," you laughed, "but thank you. This is my home, I will do whatever to protect it."

Dogma watched him make her life as they stopped and stand their chatting, her laugh was so warm and relaxing. Is he flirting? Dogma's nostrils flared but he made himself stop staring noticing Jesse staring at him and then at them. Dogma tried to forced himself away until he saw Five's stick his arm around her. His teeth felt like they were going to break with how hard he was clenching his jaw. She can do whatever she wants, but Fives? Never. He walked over and slammed into his jaw sending him backwards.

"For kriff's sake!" Fives watching her stumble into the wall and slide down.

"I- thought you were hitting on her," Dogma apologized pulling you back up.

"I was but not that much," Fives said rubbing his jaw, "She was trying to adjust her leg stabilizer."

"Why do you care? Not like you haven't been ignoring me for the past couple days. We're nothing to each other," you regretted it the moment it come out, but pain had a tendency to make things worse.

"I-" Dogma closed his mouth and handed you back to Fives, "Sorry."

"I don't get him, he rejects you yet still acts like that," Fives said tightening his grip until you were doing with your adjustments.

"Sooner there's distance between us it'll go away again. I'm sorry he punched you."

"Not the first time," Fives grunted, "but I get it, I had to watch people touch my mate I'd probably want to rip them apart too... right... sorry."

"You haven't met yours?" You asked.

"Not yet, maker I can't wait though."

"You're not going to reject her?" You raised an eye brow.

"Of course not, none of us besides obviously a few agree with that rule. We don't live long and constantly fighting, it's the one normal in our lives."

"I didn't have to reject him and he didn't have to reject me, how ironic," you mumbled finishing your adjustments.

"I think fate's trying to give you a chance," he said touching the perfect scar, "or it quiet literally wouldn't have slapped you in the face," he joked letting go.

"You might have a point, thanks Fives," I'm going to do something stupid and hope it doesn't blow up in my face, "I got something I need to take care of." You hobbled your way back up to your room and sat on your bed and stared at the device. You let out a long breath trying to clear your head before pressing it twice.

Dogma heard the loud beep on his wrist, he stared at it before prying himself out of his bunk, "Yes?" he asked quietly wondering if you pressed it on accident.

"Come to my room for a sec," you heard one of his brother snicker but heard his footsteps before he switched it off. You stared at the door waiting, you saw the shadow under the door him standing there wondering what he was thinking about. He finally opened the door and walked in standing halfway between you and the door. You patted your hand on the spot next to you, you saw the conflict roll across his face and he moved closer to you until he legs were touching were but he didn't sit.

"It would be unprofessional and against regulation if I sat on your bed."

"Dogma. Sit," His legs moved before his mind could the decision for him and he sat a hands space away from you, "I think it's time we talked."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he groaned.

"That first day we were fine but when night came and than whatever that was in the woods there's been... tension. Fighting your brothers and even being more of a hard ass then normal."

"I don't know what's gotten into me," he admitted, "I shouldn't be jealous or care, we are both free to peruse whatever we want."

"Yet even without the bond you peruse me," you pointed out.

"It's just the nagging thought that we were made for each other... I am no where near ready to see you with someone else yet as much as I wish for your happiness and good health," he added quickly.

"I think... we need to get whatever it is out of our system, then maybe Fate will stop torturing us and we can go back to carrying on," you said looking at the bed and then back him, his eyes going wide at what you were insinuating, "Since we rejected the bond, it shouldn't break regulation."

"Since we are not mates, it be improper-"

"But we were, just think about it?"

"It's all I've thought of," he said scooting closer until your hips were touching. "Me too," you admitted back. Dogma stood up and quietly walked over to the door locking it before taking off his armor leaving it in a neat pile by the door. He cautiously placed himself between your legs. "Are you sure?" he asked watching you nod.

Your heart was racing but you brought one hand to his neck and pulled him down, it wasn't like the thousands of spark igniting your body like it was suppose to be but it was still exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. You felt one of his hands grab the bed and the other hold your face. You pulled him closer causing you to lay back and him go lean over you to continue kissing you.

He bit your lip and pulled back raggedly breathing, "I don't know how mates do it, this is already intense," he voiced feeling your fingers tug at his shirt. He took it off feeling quiet exposed.

You saw the discomfort on his face, you consciously removed yours and nearly unclipped your chest band bringing his fingers to the last clip letting him decide. You stared at him patiently for a moment before he undid it, smiling at his transfixed expression. You scooted further onto the bed making him follow listening to his excited groan as he saw the jiggle the movement caused and his mouth found the harden ridges as his fingers squished the underside of it. The whole area felt hard and tender under his touch. His mouth moved worked up your chest to your throat back to your lips.

"You're so perfect," he whispered.

"Than prove it," you taunted.

Dogma looked down and then back up with an arched eyebrow, you giggled but moved your hands down to your pants slightly tugging them down, "Let me," he said leaning back on his heels pulling your pants and undergarments down and off careful of your leg looking at the bruise on it, "Shouldn't we wait until that is-"

"Dogma."

"I'll shut up," He said standing up freeing his cock from his pants, relaxing that some of the tension from how tightly the pants were holding it was gone. He saw you eyeing him like a soldier who hasn't eaten in days eyeing his ration bar. He starting eyeing you back letting his eyes slowly trail up you. "Do you also feel-"

"Like I'm going to be sick from how hard my core is pounding? Yes."

"I mean this," he motioned between the both of them and the dull cluster of... something over his eye.

"Yeah, so hurry up."

Dogma grinned shaking his head, his face hurting, "Yes, Ma'am," he said planting himself inbetween your legs, letting his hands trial up your legs but not touching letting his fingers run right next to it. He stared down at you wondering if you could how hard his heart was shaking his chest.

"See something you like?" You asked seeing the dilation in his eyes.

"You have no idea," he muttered before spitting into his hand bringing his hand to himself stroking himself covering him tip to base. Before wiping the left over down across his abs watching you squirm over the gleam. His cheek flashed red as he moved himself closer.

"That... was... the hottest thing I've ever seen... besides you," you whispered your voice quivering feeling his hands come to the sides of your shoulders and his tip pressing into your entrance.

"Are you sure... I don't think there's any going back-" he voice hitched feeling you raise your hips trying to push him in, "Kark," he mumbled at the sudden sensation, "Let me," he said carefully pressing your hip back down to get pressure off your leg.

Your head felt light feeling him slowly stretching you and trying to admire his strength at holding back. Inch by inch worked himself up until he was hitting the top of you and still had part of himself sticking out. You brought your hands to his body touching every muscle and he brought his one hand to the scar tracing the familiar V. He kissed the scar up and down feeling you stretch out more for him with every kiss until you had all of him inside. I knew she could take all of me. You smiled finally feeling his hips against yours, I knew he was perfect for me, your heart calmed down a little after wondering if fate had made a mistake. Fate doesn't make mistakes, both of you thought.

"Let's just try to be quiet," he got out realizing that wasn't going to last long with the warm wetness sounds from him barely moving, Whatever the punishment is has to be better then not knowing her. He mentally scolded himself for the traitorous thoughts, "Am I okay to start?" he asked.

"Please" you begged.

Dogma nodded bringing one hand to the side of your face holding you as he partially withdrew himself, letting your fingers cover his as he pushed himself back in. Your head fell back into the bed feeling him plunge back in your walls squishing around the intrusion. He started slowly pulling out a little more each time before thrusting back in.

"Dogma," you panted.

"Yes?" He asked stopped worried if he'd hurt you.

"Harder, please. I need- you," you panted out your heading feeling empty.

Dogma's core tighten on the command his body screaming to obey, "If it hurts you have to tell me to stop."

You nodded feeling the flush bloom around your face as you saw felt his hands move about your shoulders locking you in place and his muscles tightened as he took off. The slapping wetness and feeling him slide against your clit with every stroke.

Dogma let out moan hearing your bodies come together perfectly, "Kriff Mesh'la," he smiled, "It's almost like you were made for me," he mumbled thrusting full force into you letting his thighs push your hips further apart.

"Dogma," the moan ripped from your throat rather loudly.

The sound of his name on your lips almost made him cum right there. He repeated the motion causing you to moan again. Your fingers dug into his hand and the other into the side of his head. You saw the half intoxicated lidded expression of need across his face, "please," you rasped out. After a couple quick explosive hard thrust you felt the wave take you. You cried out his name curling into him letting your walls clench onto him. It was incomprehensibly passionate as he stared down into your eyes continuing to ride you through your high, your slide down from the side to his face. That small intimate motion made him come undone letting him coat every inch of your walls until it was dripping out onto the bed. Shuddering and barely up to breath he tried to pull out but your leg flew up and held him in place and pulled him down, "You're not- going to hurt- me." His body pressed into yours like a warm blanket, embracing you as he put his face in the crook of your neck trying to catch his breath. You could still feel him twitching inside you, every twitch cause you to clench around him again feeling a little more seep into you. "Waiting your whole life to give me that?" You laughed trying to catch your breath.

"Told you Fate would handle it," Kix pulling Fives and Tup away from the door, groaning when he saw Hardcase and the General walking towards them.

"Noise complaint?" Fives joked.

"I could hear them from the end of the hall," Hardcase frowned for a moment, "For not being mates anymore it sure sounded like it."

"The Force works in mysterious ways, let's go do a weapons test to give them some more time," Anakin said nodding away from the room.

"We're all giving him crap later right?" Sebastian said popping his head out from Melissa's room, "Get back over here!" She called laughing.

"It's to late to move everyone into the mess isn't it? I don't think any of us will be sleepy with both of them on the same floor," Tup groaned.

"Their ear plugs in the med bay, I'll go grab them and pass them out."

It only took Dogma's body a couple minutes to recover before going again, this time let his hands trail all over you getting to know every inch of flesh as your hands moved around him. The next few days were like that, if they weren't eating or training he was in your bed pretending every moment in between nothing was going on even if it was bluntly obvious. Each night when he thought his brothers were asleep sneaking out towards your room finding you nakedly waiting for him. Then the day came for them to go to the front lines and your armor had arrived. That morning neither of you cared to be discrete or quiet.

"Out of your system enough?" You asked laying in the after glow enjoying the two loads of mess he made you.

"Enough to focus at least," he gently pulled you off the bed keeping his dick in as he walked the both of you to your refresher, slowly removing himself hearing the plop of the filling fall out onto the shower floor. He turned on the water letting it wash down the drain. You both quickly cleaned up scrubbing the sex and sweat from your skin. Dogma 'snuck' out and wormed his way back into his room throwing his gear on and laying on his bunk waiting for everyone else to wake up.

You opened the new truck of armor looking at the upgrades and reinforcements and then throwing it on, you had told Melissa you'd be going with them and it was up to Sebastian. She fought with you about the change of plans but when she saw Dogma sneaking out of your room she finally caved. Little did he know of your plans however. You waited downstairs for them with the Jedi.

"Does he know your coming?" Anakin asked crossing his arms.

"No, he's not my mate so it's non of his business."

Sure he's not, he thought watching the men pile in, "Small change of plans, she's joining us for now on the front lines so you all will be reporting to her and Captain Rex. So get ready to move out," Anakin staring at Tup's shocked expression and Dogma's indifferent expression but there was noticeable annoyance oozing from him.

"Ever been out there before?" Rex asked stepping away from Anakin towards out.

"A few times to clear my head," To kick my own ass from the hollowness Dogma left inside me. Your eyes glanced to his short hair but his back was to you, I'll probably be going out there again once he leaves.

All off you crept towards the front lines relieving the boys there, "Stay here," you whispered jumping up into the tree using its brush for cover but there was nothing. The normally waring field was silent with no droids in sight. You hoped down landing on your hood leg.

"It's quiet... two quiet. Set up camp here while the other squad moves out."

"Ma'am it's been quiet for days," one of the squad members said.

You arched an eyebrow, "How quiet?"

"Not a single droid here all the way out to to the eastern front line."

"I hope taking the head of the dragon made them retreat but I doubt I'm that lucky."

You all set up camp, you choose to build a little view point to sleep. You smiled hearing the troopers mutter how Idoran were a bunch of tree people, as you jump down and landed right in the center of them, "You boys look like you need a climbing lesson. On the ground it's easier to be sitting ducks, up there can buy you precious moments to surprise the enemy or live another day." You spent the rest of the evening teaching them how to climb in the dark and watching them fall and get back up.

"Dogma, your up," you got out, awkwardly making him last. Your hands brushed up against his as you made him learn the difference in the feeling of wood and your eyes meet as you pointed up at weak vs secured branches. Out of all of them he did the best and almost got up to your perch before falling half way down. "You can come down, you did good." You sat with all of them and ate, no one pointing out the obvious marks on your's and Dogma's necks. Not even Fives made a joke.

A month passed by silently, no droids no warning lights at the palace, nothing. You looked at Dogma when you saw the next batch of ships arrive in the sky signaling their tour here was done. Dogma on the March put himself next to you, not a word all the way there but enjoyed the hours just being next to you. You shook the General's hand apologizing for the lack of excitement but thankful the troops got a small vacation from the daily battles.

"Don't leave anything unsaid," he whispered letting go of your hand.

Except both of you did, he packed up and left without a word. Duty and Loyalty come first. The moment he was off the planet the creeping hollowness came back, the void of him empty once again. During Umbara there wasn't a moment you weren't in his mind, Duty, Loyalty, The Republic, her. He tried to hold it together not wanting to get into trouble, believing Krell had everything for the war in mind and then his betrayal stung and broke him even further.

"Tell her..." He whispered to Rex as they put the cuffs on, "The King owes me a favor."

"I'll tell them," he replied as they hauled him off.

Your bedroom door flew open and your head was ripping itself apart, you covered the eye staring at the king and Melissa, "Dogma?"

"We have to go. Now," You saw Captain Rex say standing off to the side.

You hoped off the bed and followed after them in the King's personal ship. Your head was pounding but no images were streaming, I don't know if that's good or not. Captain Rex told you about what happened and what Dogma had done for the rest of them.

"I'll talk to the Chancellor," the King said, "We make up a big portion of the Republics donations."

"You'd do that for me?" You asked the King.

"You've been nothing loyal to my daughter and to Idora. Sebastian will need his own guard, as much as I trust your capabilities to keep both of them safe. Might as well be someone you both trust."

The rest of the flight to Coruscant was silent, Rex handed you an eye patch and a patch to put over the angry eye. You followed silently with the King's guard with the Chancellor's office shoving the Coruscant guards to the side bargaining. The color Chancellor's face went pale as the King stood to full height staring down at him.

"King Maxell how can the Senate be of service?" He asked with a fake smile.

"I'm here to negotiate the release of CT-8726 'Dogma' immediately into Idoran custody."

"The King and I need to talk in private," The Chancellor said dismissing the rest of us cautiously eyeing Rex.

You paced back and forth outside the chancellor's door not caring how anyone else perceived it. Minutes felt like hours until the flash of red caught your eye. You saw the four guards escorting Dogma. They lead him into the Chancellor's office, a minute after that you saw Anakin another older man with orange hair follow in after him. You started pacing again more composed but still on edge.

Dogma kept this standard blank expression through the conversation talking about him like he wasn't even there. Even after protecting the Republic from a traitor I'm still only property after all, an asset. I did what I had too. Dogma listened as General Skywalker defended him and his loyalty, even noting that his record says 'Rejected.' The pain in his eye slowly starting to recede.

"He is to released as is, his uniform and armor remain here," The Chancellor said, "Escorted by General Anakin Skywalker as a precaution he won't run."

The King looked out with a blank expression on his face but out followed Dogma and the guards. They followed us back to the ship. Almost free. Outside the ship the guards undid his cuffs and he followed the King onto the ship. You followed Melissa unto the ship staring at the dark bags under his eyes and how his irises even seemed darker then last time. You sat across from him staring at him and how his eyes were glued to the ground.

"Orange isn't your color," you tried to joke but only got a soft chuckle from him. You groaned standing up and pulled him to the back of the ship to sit in seclusion. You put your hand on his leg feeling a small barely notice zap rum up your arm. "Look at me," he obeyed, "You're safe." You kissed him and it was like a crackling lightning storm and the pain in your eye finally receded, you tossed the eye patch to the ground. Reflexively you moved into his lap. Running your fingers through his hair, you pulled back a single tear falling when you both noticed it.

"Is that even possible?" Melissa whispered dumbfounded.

"Fate finds a way," Anakin laughed, "You two! Keep it appropriate until we land!" He laughed more watching Dogma forcibly move you off with a bashful expression. "It's going to be a long flight."

Dogma kept one hand on your leg and other interlaced with yours on his knee, his free leg droning again the floor. Both of your bodies came alive feeling that invisible little tug to complete the bond. You rested your forehead against the side of his head for moment taking in his smell and how much stronger it was, "That was a mistake," you mumbled feeling the water works of your lower half start, "Liked this better the first time," he grumbled.

“I remember what it was like when I met her mother,” the king smiled, “then she gave me the most precious gift… I don’t envy what either of you are feeling.” Red spread across both of your faces, “We’ll be back to Idora soon enough.”

You both were barely off the ship before being all over each other, you hoped up as threw your legs around his waist and he carried you you weightlessly off to room. His hands grasping at every opening in the armor. Barely in the empty haul you let your armor clatter to the ground leaving a trail to your room. Dogma surprisingly made to the bed setting you on it before ripping off the orange prison uniform, groaning when he felt the wet spot. He looked down see his cock soaked with precum.

“You think that’s bad?” You laughed ripping off your top and showing him your underwear, “Just sniffing you started it.”

“Then I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” he shoved you downward letting your head hit the pillow before perfectly sliding into you. He froze blinking at the pulsating signal’s scattering throughout his body while trying to take it how wet and warm you were, “Mesh’la,” he weakly said, his head completely empty except the need to seal the bond.

“Dogma,” you said bringing your hands to his chest, “hurry,” the dizzy sensation in your head was making your eyes try to shut.

His teeth sunk into the base of your neck working the spot with this teeth, “Mine,” he growled. The carnal need that coursed through made him feel sick as it override everything he wanted to do with the feral urge to mark you up as his. No longer republic property, I’m her property. He brought his throat to your mouth moaning as he felt the connection. The moment he feel you breath he brought his mouth down to yours pressing his forehead to yours.

“Soulmate,” he whispered and then you felt it the thick ropes shooting you claiming you as his. You came around him your walls coaxing everything out of him and the urge of the bond start to recede as it was finally complete, “Did I hurt you?” He whispered when he could finally form a sentence.

“Leaving without a goodbye hurt,” you admitted feeling one of his hands go around your back holding your body tight against him.

“Saying goodbye would have destroyed what was left of me,” he breathed.

“It destroyed me,” you started cry, “We weren’t mates but I got to know you as a friend and as a lover, you just left. You could have died I would have never known.”

He grabbed the blanket and started wiping your face keeping his face tense so he wouldn’t start because you had a point, he wouldn’t have known. “You’ve always known when I was in danger. Always,” he said kissing the side of your eye, “I can’t mate with you when your crying,” he said softly, “How can I help you Mesh’la?”

“Hold me for a bit?”

Dogma carefully rolled you putting you on his chest, wrapping both arms around you, “I can do that.”

“Dogma?” You asked listening to the soothing sound of his heart beat.

“Hmm?”

“I like your heartbeat.”

“And I love you,” he said without missing a beat.

You looked up at him smiling before putting your ear back on his chest, “I love you too.”

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clonemando · 6 months

Text

Haunted Clone Week

Written for the Day 3 prompt "Body Horror -Please Not Again"

@clonefandomevents

AO3 version here

Alpha-17 gathers the Jedi council to get permission to take action after he received a recording of some very gruesome happenings going on right under their noses.

Trigger Warnings for Body Horror, Forced Surgery, Abuse to Clones.

The Jedi Council weren’t sure why they were all being summoned, Alpha-17 could tell by their faces and how calm they all seemed as they greeted each other as those there in person took their seats and those who couldn’t be present appeared via holoprojection.

Alpha had basically ordered Yoda to summon them all and maybe it was his own emotions being projected in the force, or maybe Yoda had heard the rumors of 17 previously declaring he would punt the little master like a football if they allowed something like what happened to Wolffe’s boys happen again. Not the death, he didn’t blame the jedi for that, but the situation afterwards where Wolffe, Comet and Sinker were not given the proper care they deserved or needed for that sort of situation. Two days leave was not enough before sticking them in another battle. Alpha had commed Obi-Wan and told him to fix it or he’d fix it himself and they’d all regret that.

Either way, the little troll had come through and the council had been gathered. Alpha stepped forward once they were all there. “I would not have asked for you to gather if what I had to tell and show you was not critical. As you are aware, the Kaminoans are not the most moral of people and their view of clones is the same as mere product to earn them a profit. However they are a proud people who would only sell a product of high quality and standards. That is why it was one of them who brought this new horror to my attention to then bring word to you.” He said seriously looking at each of them in turn.

“What I am about to show you is gruesome and not for faint hearts. I ask that if at any point you need me to stop the recording, or if you need to step away, please do so. A written report has also been sent out now.” He said causing several of them to look at him with concern but he ignored them and stepped side to raise a holoscreen where a recording was paused. With a final look around he began the video.

“My name is Min-No, I am from experimental batch K-Alpha. I was asked to make this recording showing what is happening here in the deep sea labs. I’ll begin with myself. I am a clone of Jango Fett that has been spliced with Kaminoan DNA. I am the only one of my batch to survive as I was lucky that my mutations didn’t lead to suffocation via collapsing lungs or other fatal complications. My neck is a little long for a human, my eyes perceive light on the ultraviolet spectrum but leave me with migraines without special goggles, I cannot grow hair on my body. My bones and organs are made to withstand great pressure without being crushed. This is the main factor that killed the others. I was more human and it saved me.” A young feminine voice spoke and they were able to see the girl speaking in a mirror. Her limbs looked oddly long and she seemed to sway even when standing but overall she was clearly a clone just like the countless others they fought with.

“They decided I was wasted being left in a room all day so they trained me to help with other experiments… That is what I’m supposed to show you. I… I don’t want to show you.” Her voice trembled around the camera before she carefully hid it in her scrubs to peek out of a hole in the shirt pocket. They watched her hesitate but looking at a clock in corner got her moving out of the fresher and out into what must of been the main cloning chamber.

There were rows and rows of tubes filled with clones of varying ages but none of them were standard clones. There were clones with extra limbs, clones with tendrils spilling out of their heads or half formed montrals or lekku. But all of them Min-No passed without fear or trouble. They had been born or created this way and to her they were no more horrific then her own reflection. No the horror came when she stepped through an access locked door after imputing the codes- slowly enough they could see it.

Inside were more clones, strapped to tables, blood and other fluids left to stain their skin as if they weren’t even worth the water to rinse them off. These had limbs missing or grafted on in ways clearly meant to cause pain or allow pain to continue when it could have been prevented.

“These are… the harvesting rooms… for spare parts and… pain tolerance testing. This is also where they do surgery to test if certain limbs or organs will work on standard clones.” She whispered as she walked through the room towards the back where a new clone was being strapped to the table under the watchful eyes of a Kaminoan scientist.

“Ah, K-01, good. This clone was slated for decommissioning however it would be wasted not to get use out of them first. We still need to test if the eyes from the others from your batch can be used for anything useful.” The Kaminoan said clearly trying to test her. Min-No seemed to know it too.

“Of course. Shall I retrieve the samples from cold storage?” She asked voice completely detached and cold and nothing like the voice she had used when addressing the recording. It was a good front and 17 was certain it was another reason they hadn’t just replaced her.

“No, remain here with the test subject and begin prepping for surgery. I will gather the needed samples.” The Kaminoan told her and glided from the room. She started messing with the IVs as the trooper whined.

“Please, not again. Please don’t make me do this again. Just kill me.” He begged blinking sightless eyes, likely the reason he was scheduled to be decommissioned. He already had scars from some other surgery done to his chest.

“I’m going to give you some pain meds. It’s all I can do, I’m sorry.” She murmured quietly and then added some drugs to the IV that caused him to slowly stop mumbling after a while. The video continued on showing the whole procedure with all the gory details.

Two of the Jedi on the council ended up needing to leave the room. 17 didn’t judge them.

“This… You are correct. This needs to be stopped. Do you have a plan?” Shaak Ti asked with a quiet simmering behind her eyes. Alpha 17 nodded.

“I have a team ready but this will not be quiet. The Kaminoans will try to over their own asses once this comes to light. I need you all to deal with the fallout, not the actual mission, though you are welcome as always Master Ti.” 17 said with a grin. They were going to teach those aiwha-baits a lesson they weren’t going to forget anytime soon.

#haunted clone week #star wars #tcw #fanfic #angst #tw body horror #clone troopers #the clone wars #my writing #Alpha-17 #clonefandomevents

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justahopelessssromantic · 1 year

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A/N: I'm going to be honest. I'm really nervous to post anything, terrified almost lol as it's been forever since I've really shared much of anything especially on this blog but I wrote this little one shot and since I've really missed writing and sharing with you all I thought I would go for it. I hope you enjoy this little eerie one shot for Rooster and thank you so much for reading ✨

Pairings: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Femreader/OC. No use of names.

Warnings: Feeling of being watched/followed.

She had been jogging for thirty minutes now down the same trail she took every day. One that followed the river in the wooded area outside her home similar to the same woods she grew up near.

Jogging was her favorite way to unwind after a long day especially on a cool, fall evening like that night. The fresh air and crunch of the leaves brought a soothing peace to her soul but tonight was different as there was a chill on her skin she just couldn’t shake.

There was this increasingly uneasy feeling of being watched, followed even down the paved trail. Sure this was a common area for joggers and people going for walks and not uncommon that someone else would be out there too but every time she looked back there was no one there and every time she stopped the extra crunching on leaves she swore she heard from behind her stopped as well.

Eager to just be home now she sped up her pace for the final stretch of asphalt only daring to look back once. Again she saw nothing but that didn’t matter. The unsettling fear was deep in her bones now and wouldn’t be going away until she was at least back home.

She could see her house now. In seconds she was through the front door swiftly shutting the door behind her. She was quick to lock up. The sound from the deadbolt latching brought some ease to her worry but still she peered out the side window for whoever it was but again no one was there.

Maybe it was just all in her head she thought. It didn't take much for one fearful thought to spiral out of control.

Then a crash sounded from inside the house causing her to jump. No one should be in her house right now. Her roommate worked nights, it was just her. And was the door unlocked when she got there? She was in such a rush to get inside the thought hadn’t even registered until just now.

Quietly she pulled an umbrella from under the coat rack. It wasn’t her first choice of weapon but she didn’t have a lot of options at the moment. And she sure as hell wasn’t going in empty handed.

There was some more banging and as she got closer to the kitchen she could hear some faint mumbling, definitely a male voice she noted. She raised the umbrella above her head as she entered the room. There he was thankfully with his back to her. He was digging around a drawer giving her the perfect window to sneak up on him.

Just before she was about to swing the man spun around. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What the hell am I doing?! What the hell are you doing?!” She snapped back at him. “I could have killed you!”

“With an umbrella?”

“Don’t test me Bradshaw.” The umbrella was still above her head ready for anything, “I can and will still smack you with this.”

Bradley held his hands up before carefully reaching for the umbrella. It took a moment for her grip to loosen on it before she gave it up, sinking down into the chair at the table.

“I thought I’d surprise you with dinner,” He explained as he sat across from her leaning the umbrella against the chair. His brows furrowed with worry as took in her shaken expression. He grabbed her hands in his. “Are you okay, baby? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

She met his eyes as she took a deep breath, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just a little freaked out. I could have sworn someone was following me on my jog.” Just saying it made the hair on her arms stick up. “And then I get home and-”

“I scare the crap out of you.” He finished for her.

“Yeah that definitely didn’t help things.” She allowed herself to relax a little now as his thumbs ran circles across the back of her hands. His presence was starting to make everything all better which was his speciality.

“How about after dinner we put on your favorite movie and snuggle in bed.” He suggested.

She nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’d really love that. Could you maybe stay here tonight too?” The last thing she wanted was to be alone.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

#top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw

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citrusreadstoa · 1 year

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Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 2 (SPOILERS)

"Oh, look--a cheese ghost" A cheese ghost? This chapter is going to be delightful! Potential cheese ghost names: Brieanna, Cameronbert, Mozzarellen, Helenavarti, Chaddar

"a song from your combat ukulele?" He brought the combat ukulele with him? Considering how useless it was the first time without breaking the oath, why would he lug a heavy metal object with him on a dragon with limited storage space?

"nor feared my plague arrows." You managed to infect freaking air spirits inside an automaton with the plague. I'm sure you could wrench a cough or two out of these flesh-and-blood creatures. "Worst of all, they were humorless and unimaginative." This monster's unique trait: boring.

"More locals converged on our position." Are even the regularly-shaped people blemmyae? Do they just have small noses? How do they see?

"her ankle bent with a nasty pop." Wow, they're really sturdy. Is she just going to keep breaking each of her bones until she lands a hit?

"Back off, chest-face!" "Language, dear" Is chest-face considered a slur against them? Leo, apologize.

"if they hurt him" Leo, that's a giant metal dragon. How're they gonna do any real damage other than psychological? Wait, their skin is also tough as metal. Yeah, maybe worry.

"From the waist down, shaggy blond fur covered her body, not unlike a satyr." LOL they had to censor it! The Greek myths didn't say anything about fur.

"'Good morning!' A police officer appeared on our right, his firearm drawn. 'Halt or I will shoot! Thank you!'" There is an ACAB joke to be made here. The thank you seems more polite than your average policeman would probably offer if they just threatened your life, though.

"stoppered glass bottle" Looked it up. It means the bottle is closed by sticking a stopper in it that fits perfectly in the bottleneck, e.g. a cork or some equivalent.

"'Phew,' Leo said. 'I was hoping he was a blemmyae.'" Lmao he just took his chances hoping he didn't just kill a regular trigger-happy mortal

"I'd already convinced Leo to abandon his dragon. I didn't want to push my luck." Hahaha if not for Leo, would he seriously be considering abandoning Calypso? Also, please tell me we are not permanently leaving Festus behind. Festus still has to swallow both death and madness! Speaking of madness, is the Dodona screaming arrow with them?

"The apparition glowed with a faint ginger light." It's the cheese ghost! Hello, Brieanna! "Vaya con queso." Perfect. Follow the cheese.

"a truck fender spiraling toward us." FENDER (n.): the mudguard or area around the wheel well of a vehicle

"Leo pulled a staple gun from his tool belt." I read that without the "staple." Oops. "Our ghostly guide seemed to have disappeared." Oh yeah, they were supposed to be following Brieanna. What if he's leading them toward a Triumvirate building?

"Gosh darn it, dears, you've made me a bit miffed." I am ashamed to admit that these are all words I use in regular conversation. Never all together, of course. No, I'm not from Indiana.

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closedcoffins · 1 year

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most batshit fact about each baccano! muse i have

claire stanfield: aside from the fact that he has an actual god complex, once bent a solid steel door in half just to prove a point

maria barcelito: parental issues stemming from the fact that she DID NOT get to kill her grandfather like she wanted to

graham specter: once broke every single one of his own joints just to prove a point

jacuzzi splot: despite the fact that he will start crying if you look at him wrong he has straight up murdered people

nice holystone: has like 300 bombs THAT WE KNOW OF stashed in the genoard manor ( she does not own the manor she is squatting there FOR FREE ). also stores one special bomb in her empty eye socket.

huey laforet: injected his youngest daughter with the waterborne hivemind virus he created just to see what would happen

melvi dormentaire: gets his shit kicked in 3 separate times in 1935 and still walks around acting like he owns the place

luchino b. campanella: hes the head of a violent worldwide organization in control of many business and inherited billions of secret dollars but he really just wants to be a stage magician and vomits at the sight of blood

luck gandor: once got his hand shot off and stabbed a man with the broken bone sticking out of the hand

sham: his existence is batshit

ronny schiatto: will just stop in the middle of the road to use his complex homunculus omniscience and somehow no one has noticed

christopher shaldred: knife gun knife gun slaughters for fun

isaac dian: was locked up in solitary confinement in ALCATRAZ for like 4 days straight and didnt actually care even a little bit like he was perfectly chill afterwards he actually found it fun

ladd russo: owns a double decker bus (why)

maiza avaro: solution to encountering a cave-in was not “aw man let’s go another way” it was “hold on everybody i am going to obliteratw this car by driving it OVER THE ROCKS. lets be on our way”

jules upham: had a fermet encounter and lived (very rare)

chane laforet: every time shes overwhelmed with feelings she takes out a knife

gabe & juli barsotti: they each have a tricked up motorcycle which they have used to do complex assassinations on men in cars

pamela mccall: the most normal baccano character

lana sutton: faints at every scary thing (her career path of choice is ‘famous robber’)

sonja bake: actually thinks guns are god. like worships guns. like a lot.

rachel jones: sharpened a nail specifically for the purpose of cutting through ropes in case of a kidnapping (it happens a lot just part of the business idk)

molsa martillo: baccano 2002 just casually drops about thirty thousand dollars to send firo away on a honeymoon with ennis and czes

victor talbot: talks so much hes passed out from lack of air then woken up and continued to talk

kate gandor: married a mob boss because he appreciated her piano playing

laz smith: owns like 30 guns (gunmeister) and has not killed a single person even though hes definitely fired the guns. takes on an apprentice (ice pick thompson) who he buys the name ice pick thompson from because ice pick thompson (like a 13 year old boy) has killed more people than him. professional hitman btw.

roy maddock: i cant say anything mean about him hes been through enough

tick jefferson: let his brother tock believe he killed his pet rat for like 15 years for literally no reason

tock “tim” jefferson: he and his brother are named tick and tock and you would think this would make sense because their father is a clock salesman but actually the clock salesman is their stepfather so there is literally no reason for them to be named that

elmer c. albatross: you honestly had to be there.

dallas genoard: got put in a barrel at the bottom of the hudson river and as soon as he got out he began plotting a murder without knowing all of his murder victims are now immortal. he literally did not even hesitate to start planning those murders.

#muse: collective

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undertale-writing-times · 2 years

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Burn The Witch(David’s and Wraith’s background)

“Burn the witch!”

Screams and shouts filled the crisp night air, the only thing giving light was the moon and the torches that the towns folk carried.

They were on a hunt, like lions after a sheep.

Nathan knew that he had been running long enough. His lungs had been screaming at him, his bones aching with the movements... muscles on fire. And then, they found him.

He got grabbed, their grips sure to leave bruises against his skin, “Let me go” he snaps, trying to tug his arms away, “Release me, idiots! I am not a witch!” He felt a sting in his skin on his cheek, his head snapping one way. His dark hair falling down over his face. It had long ago fallen out of the style he normally kept it in.

A villager smacked him.

They started to drag him away, ignoring his shouts and the way he was kicking his legs. “I am not a witch! I swear, let me go”

It all started years ago, when two children born to a human mother looked so different. One was a light skinned baby, freckles covering his cheeks and a head full of nice blonde hair. His eyes were the most beautiful golden color. And then... his brother.

Pale skin, purple eyes, and the deepest of black hair. It looked like ink had been used to color it.

From a young age, they were treated differently. People enjoyed David; they saw him as a golden child while Nathan was treated worse. Ever since they were born, things had started to change, more animals dying and sicknesses getting worse. People blamed Nathan.

It was all coming to a close now.

Nathan was tied to the pole, sticks and wood under him. He struggles against the ropes, digging and cutting into his skin like little knives.

“No!” David, his brother, tried to run forward but he was held back, his golden hair shining in the flames around him. To the villagers, he most likely looked beautiful, “Let him go, he’s telling the truth I... I’m the witch! It’s me, let my brother go. Burn me instead” he begged. They didn’t believe him.

David was the golden child.

He was the perfect one.

Nathan was the wicked one. The one that brought death.

The people were shouting, yelling for the witch to be burned. The air felt so cold yet too hot. Nathan looks out at the people that he knew his whole life... the ones that he thought would protect him. They were supposed to be his friends, his townmates.

They were going to be the ones to kill him...

His eyes met with his brothers, tears filling the twins eyes as they looked at each other, then David turns, running off. Good... Nathan didn’t want David to have to see this.

He looks down at the ground, his feet not touching it. This really was the end.

The people threw their torches, landing in the objects under him. They quickly caught fire and Nathan’s mind rushed with different thoughts. He felt so angry. His body was filled with rage, more than he had felt in such a long time.

“You are all making a mistake” he hisses through clenched teeth, then lifts his head, “All of you! You’re the monsters here, you all deserve to be here instead of me” He spat out the words like they were venom, “you all deserve to die!”

His shouts and yells were drowned out by the voices around him, and then his screams got louder than their own. The flames licking at his body, climbing up his body and the pain was worse than anything he’s felt before.

Could they have really thought he was a witch because of the sicknesses spreading? He had been born at the wrong time, it seemed.

Then everything went dark.

David sat in his house, holding his bloodied hand down on the paper. His blood soaked through it easily, pain shooting up his arm but he didn't care. He knew what he needed to do, even if he also knew that it was SO against the rules of everything that he decided to do.

The screams, however faint, slowly went quiet and then he started to hear other sounds. Shouts, and then... the screams of the villagers. His breath hitches in his chest, looking at the door with big eyes and he slowly walks over, cracking the door open a little. Darkness. The fire had gone out it seemed, the only light given by the moon, and from what he could see... nothing good was happening.

Blood splattered on the ground in front of him, and he felt his stomach roll. Oh no.

Slowly he steps out, feeling the dirt shift under his foot, blood most likely staining the bottom of his boots. He could feel the wetness... ugh.

"B...Brother?"

Did the spell work? It should have worked! The screams have gone quiet, the only sounds were the wind and a soft dripping. He was scared to see what that could have been.

"What did you do?"

He flinches away, hearing the voice, and he turns his head quickly. In the shadows by him there were a pair of eyes, staring at him.

"What... I had to do" he says, and steps closer, "What did you do? What happened to the town people?"

“I did what I had to do” and a misty looking hand slowly came out of the shadows, looking like it was shaking. David slowly reaches out, taking the hand into his own. It was so cold. He pulls his brother close, nuzzling into the hand soft sobs slipping out, “I’m so sorry...” he chokes out.

This was all his fault.

By the end of that night, David and his brother left the town in which they were raised. David tried to not look around at anything, just collected food from their house and others, and some clothing then they left together.

Nathan gave up his old name... he was Wraith now, and David was the only one able to see him at the time.

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leylinefiction · 2 years

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After We Fall: Part III

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.

“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”

― Pablo Neruda

There had been a medic that was in the jungle with Hugo’s unit.

He had taken the assignment just a couple months after Melina had died. He needed to get out of the house, get out of Bogotá, because he was going out of his mind. The grief was so much and there had been no escape. Memories had been steeped into the wood floors, the decorated walls, and the furniture. Everywhere he turned, he expected to see her step around a corner, be seated in a chair, or standing by the kitchen sink. His son had just entered the Academy so it was just him to face the lingering scent of perfume and phantom footsteps in what used to be a home. When the assignment to fight FARC in the jungles was presented, he accepted without thinking much about it.

Two years.

It took him two years in the jungle to finally be able to return to his home in Bogotá and not feel like he was entering a mausoleum. That was the start of normalcy returning. The third year of chasing FARC had been the smoothest. They had a reliable system in place, a specific grid outline of the dense underbrush that they would move through square by square. Since the rebels were able to stay hidden in pockets of dense vegetation, taking the jungle apart piece by piece made sure they would find those pockets. Sometimes they were able to see the camps half a click away. Other times, they stumbled on rebels and the raid was more of a panicked shootout between the two sides. Nevertheless, it had been overall effective.

It was one of those sudden shootouts that landed him in the med tent that night. He knew he had been clipped by a stray bullet but he expected it to stop bleeding by the time evening rolled around. Besides, there were plenty of his men who were in worse shape than he was and he wanted their injuries to take priority. But when the raid had been over for six hours and a clean shirt was beginning to stick to him from the steady oozing of blood, he finally went over to where the medical supplies were kept. His intention was to just grab a few bandages and some antiseptic when he was caught red handed, literally.

“Coronel?” (Colonel?)

He had been so focused in making sure his bloody handprints didn’t show up on the makeshift storage lockers that he didn’t hear her enter into the tent and jumped slightly at her sudden presence.

“Lo siento, Coronel. No quise asustarte.” (I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to startle you.) Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She gave orders in the same manner he did, quietly and with no room for questioning. She soon had him stripped out of his bloodied shirt, cleaned the wound and his hands, and was wrapping the deep gash along his ribs in a neat, and efficient fashion. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration and he had to close his eyes but the damage had been done.

Melina would do the same thing when she was fussing over his injuries. She would scold him while rewrapping healing bullet wounds or splints on broken bones. ¿Qué haría yo sin ti, Hugo? Tienes que tener más cuidado. (What would I do without you, Hugo? You have to be more careful.) And then she would smooth her hands over the skin and muscles that were unharmed. Little did she know that he would have to figure out what to do without her.

“Coronel, ¿está bien? ¿Estás desmayado?” (Colonel, are you okay? Are you faint?)

“No estoy bien. Gracias.” (No, I’m fine. Thank you.)

Her hands traced over the exposed skin around the bandages in almost the exact same manner that Melina’s would and the time that had passed since he had last been with a woman became painfully clear. He missed being touched, cared for. When she looked up at him, almost bashfully from under her eyelashes, he couldn’t help but kiss her. She kissed him back, with more enthusiasm than he anticipated and soon they found themselves falling into the cot in the corner of the med tent, shoving their clothes out of the way. It was a messy, brief ordeal. She came quickly, shoving her fist in her mouth to quiet her cries while he grabbed his bloodied shirt and pulled out in time to come into the ruined material. They had parted ways with shy smiles and she rotated back to wherever she came from as a new medical team came in to replace the previous one two days later. He never saw or spoke to her again.

He wonders, as he lays awake at three in the morning, who was your first lover after Nico’s death? Were they good to you? Did they care about you, or at least treat you with kindness and gentleness? Or did they leave you with even more heartbreak, more pieces of yourself scattered out there in the world? He was fortunate to have been with someone who had been kind towards him, someone who brought him solace. He hopes the same has been true for you.

When he has first woken up, he isn’t exactly certain where he is, or if the warm body in his arms is real or a dream. Your back is pressed tight against his chest, your legs tangle with each other, your hands still holding onto him even in sleep. Violets and oranges and something that is uniquely you overwhelm his senses. That’s how he knows it’s real.

He buries his nose in your hair, presses his lips against the soft skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he isn’t necessarily upset when he feels you shift and murmur in your sleep. It must take you a moment to orient yourself as well judging by your sharp intake of breath and the thought that maybe you didn’t want him in your bed anymore crosses his mind. But the fear is quickly vanquished when you stretch languidly and turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face.

“You stayed.”

He brushes some stray strands of hair off your face. “I did. Is that okay?”

Your smile grows. “More than okay.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

He lets his hand explore the expanse of bare skin across your back. You’re so soft and he wonders absently how you’ve managed that. You curl in tighter against him with a contented sigh. He had been under the impression that this was most likely going to go the same way the nurse, and a couple others, had: one or two time encounters and then you would both part ways.

But your hands start an exploration of their own, moving over his ribs, around his waist, and then across his back with such gentleness, it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. You use the leverage to press your face closer against his chest, his heartbeat most likely thudding in your ear. You release a sigh that drains all tension from your body as it molds even closer to his own. It feels as if you don’t want to let go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either.

For the moment, he doesn’t have to but what happens in a week, a month, six months, when your time is up in Colombia and you return to the States? What happens if the separation is more permanent? He thought he only had his son’s life to fear during this war, but now there’s yours as well and his arms tighten instinctively around you.

You hum in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He loosens his grip and goes back to tracing patterns on your back. “Nada. Lo siento.” (Nothing. Sorry.)

“Hugo.”

He has to smile at the authoritative tone that you manage to emit despite not wearing a scrap of clothing and having your face pressed against his breastbone. But he doesn’t know how to properly express his thoughts and worries without overstepping any kind of relationship line. This has happened with hardly any discussion or classification of what this is between the two of you. As he’s gathering his thoughts, the tension comes back to your body in full force. No longer are your curves fitted neatly against him, rather you’re coiled tight and taught. You push yourself further away so you can establish eye contact with him, even in the dim, early morning light.

“What are you worried about? Is it your son?”

To be honest, yes, his son is one of the causes of his worries but he’s not certain of the context just yet so he deflects. “What makes you think I’m worried?”

Your eyes rove over his face. “Woman’s intuition.”

“Ah,” he shifts slightly so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. “I am worried about my son the majority of the time. This is not exactly the safest place or position to be in right now in Colombia. And now,” he makes sure to hold your gaze when he says this, “I have to worry about you as well.”

The unease in your expression softens slightly as your fingertips trail down over the side of his face. “I worry about both of you as well. I can do what I can to keep Junior safe but you…”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. “I have plenty of protection.” He fights the urge to tell you not to worry because he knows it’s not that simple. He made the mistake of saying that to Melina shortly after they were married and when she told him that was the equivalent of telling her to not breathe, she didn’t speak to him for a week. He is, above all else, a man who learns from his mistakes.

But you start to fidget, that same type of nervousness from last night. This time, he does slip his fingers through yours, pressing your palms together until the trembling stills and your eyes meet his. “¿Qué pasa, querida?” (What is wrong, darling?)

Your forehead furrows as you try to find the words. He waits patiently and eventually you whisper the concern. “What if your son doesn’t…you know, approve of…us?”

It actually takes him a few moments to understand what you’re saying mostly because having his son’s approval on any relationship never even crossed his mind. He knows his son well enough to know even if he didn’t like the woman Hugo would choose, his son would always be polite to her. It was and would always be a nonissue. And the fact that you, someone Hugo knew is absolutely adored and respected by his son, would be troubled with this thought forces him to school his features to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the concern. But you are very much worried about this so he presses a kiss to the lines on your forehead in an effort to make them disappear.

“I would not be concerned about his approval. Remember he is the one who tricked us into that lovely dinner.”

Your smile is shaky. “True, but…”

There’s a story, a piece of history that he isn’t aware of just yet, that is at the bottom of this. He sits up slightly, keeping you tightly pressed against his side. “What happened, querida?”

You huff in defeat. “The first man I dated after Nico had a teenage daughter. She did the same thing Junior did, would set up her dad and me on these little dates and act all excited. First time I stayed over at their house, all of sudden she wasn’t so excited. He broke it off with me that week.”

His first thought is to call the man an idiot for letting you go that easily but he bites his tongue. His second thought is that you shared a piece of information that answers a previous question he was wondering about just an hour earlier. You did encounter even more heartbreak after losing Nico and the unfairness of that raises a sense of indignation in his chest. But his third thought is to pass you an equally significant piece of personal information on him.

“When Melina died, and my son and I could speak her name again without…”

You lay a hand on his chest and hum in sympathy.

“He told me that we needed a secret code of sorts. He knew I had trouble removing my ring so he suggested that when a woman of high enough caliber asked about my ring, he would tell her the truth as a sign of his approval. That night we had dinner together, he told me he had told you the real story about it. This is why I don’t believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He pauses before giving a slight shrug. “And besides, if he does pull his support, I’ll demote him.”

A short laugh escapes you as you lift your head to check his facial expression and find the half smile on his lips. The sun is starting to rise, the light begins to invade through the bedroom window, and with it the reminder that there is work to be done. Hugo looks over at the clock and sees it’s now almost 4:30.

“It’s time to get up, isn’t it?”

He sighs. “For me. What time do you get up?”

“Around 5.” You turn and lay on your back, arms tossed over your head.

The desire to kiss every inch of exposed skin right now is extremely strong. He wants to feel you under him again but he knows there isn’t enough time for this distraction. He needs to go across the street, shower, change, and go determine which leads to follow today. You are heading out with the intel team to drive around Medellín, looking for Escobar’s transmissions. As a compromise, he leans down and presses his lips to yours firmly, before sitting up and searching for his clothes before you can tempt him even more than you have.

It is quite evident that both your minds were elsewhere last night when clothes were being removed as there is no order to where clothes landed. He hears you moving around the room, hears the slide of satin and catches the sight of you tying the belt of a robe around your waist in the dresser mirror. You run a hand through your messy hair and try to tame the wildness from sleep and his hands.

“Coffee?”

The temptation to stay rises again so he regretfully shakes his head. “I’ll get some at the office.”

You make a scoffing noise. “I’ll bring you some, how’s that? I’ll have to pick up the hotspots from the tips that came in overnight anyway.”

If he had any doubt about this relationship working, it’s completely gone now. You’re a compartmentalizer, like him. Last night was for your personal lives. Now, in the light of day, it is back to business. Even though you’re standing there in a black satin robe that hits your bare calves and gaps alluringly across your chest, stifling a yawn behind your hand, your mind is already focused on a game plan for the day.

He’s staring, he knows that but he can’t help himself at the moment. Not when he realizes that he’s in love with you. The feeling is new in that it’s directed at you, but it’s dusty and dull from being packed in a box for four years. The familiarity of it though is unmistakable, like a song you forgot existed until you hear it again and immediately remember all the words. And what makes it even more spectacular is this realization doesn’t elicit any type of fear or unease.

“What?”

He finishes buttoning his shirt before coming over to stand in front of you, holding your face in his palms before pulling your mouth up to his. You immediately press yourself to him, your hands holding the back of his head as you slip your clever tongue into his mouth. God, could you be any more perfect for him? It’s going to take an incredible amount of restraint to see you at Search Bloc and keep his hands and mouth to himself. Reluctantly he pulls away just enough to break the kiss.

“Would you join me for dinner this evening? Seven, my place.”

You smile up at him. “I would love to.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

He kisses you briefly one more time before forcing his hands to release you to the world for a few hours. He has a time frame though. Seven tonight and you both can pick up where this leaves off. You walk him to the door, unlock the triple locks and open it for him.

“Esté segura hoy, querida.” (Be safe today, darling.)

“Tú también, cariño.” (You as well, sweetheart.)

He steps out into the hallway and waits until he hears the locks slide back into place before heading down the stairs. He reaches the bottom step and comes face to face with his son, back from a morning run from the looks of it.

“Hijo.” (Son.)

“Papa.” (Dad.)

Hugo nods to his son and steps around him. He pauses on the sidewalk and turns back to the stairs.

“Hijo, no-” (Son, don’t-)

“¿Decirle a alguien que vi a mi padre antes del trabajo?” (Tell anyone I saw my father before work?)

Hugo gives him a stern look but he just shrugs.

“Bueno.” (Okay.)

Hugo nods. “Bueno.”

***

Nine hours.

You pull the headphones off your ears and drop them on the desk in front of you. You’ve been sitting in the back of the van for nine hours, listening to static and sweating through your clothes. None of the leads brought anything remotely close to finding Escobar on the radio waves.

“We’d have an easier time finding Santa Claus out here,” you complain.

Junior huffs. “Gordo con traje rojo, destacaría.” (Fat man in a red suit, he would stand out.)

Morales radios back to them from the driver’s seat. “¿Algo de Los Pepes hoy?” (Anything from Los Pepes today?)

“Nada,” you respond. (Nothing.) That’s another thing that’s bugging you. Usually during your sweeps through Medellín, you would pick up blips of the radio communications between the group members as they too were searching for Escobar and his sicarios. The team typically catches the information just as the execution takes place and with a vigilante group that takes credit for their hit, the information is out of date by the time they radio it into Search Bloc. It’s just another frustration. Less sicarios, means less radio chatter. Less radio chatter means less tracking opportunities to find Escobar.

“¿Lo llamamos un día?” (We calling it a day?) Morales asks.

You look at Junior, who tiredly nods his head. “Yeah. Llamémoslo.” (Let’s call it.)

It’s a little after six when you grab your things and leave the Search Bloc headquarters. When you pass through the bullpen, you notice Hugo’s office is already dark and you finally allow yourself to look forward to this evening. You and Junior did ride into work together this morning so you can only think about the dinner part of the evening if you’re going to retain any type of decorum on the fifteen minute drive to the apartments. Apparently, Junior had no such compunction.

“Any dinner plans tonight?” he asks with a sly grin.

“Maybe.” You grip the steering wheel tighter, suddenly nervous about venturing into this topic. Even though Hugo had told you there is nothing to worry about, you still do. Under other circumstances, where the three of you don’t work and live in close proximity to each other, it wouldn’t matter at all. But you do all work together and keeping peace is of the utmost importance.

The thought of distancing yourself from Hugo puts a pit in your stomach and the strength of the feeling surprises you. Last night had confirmed for you any and all feelings you held for the man: you were unequivocally in love with him. To say goodbye and close the door on that particular realization would hurt more than you care to acknowledge at the moment.

“I ran into my father this morning when I was coming back from my run.”

Your knuckles go white. “Okay.”

“He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

Half of the tension leaves your body. “Really?”

“Yes.”

You have to ask. It’s for the best and it’ll take the burden off your mind. You open your mouth and start to ask him his feelings about the situation when he cuts you off.

“I’m glad you found each other. You need each other.”

“Because we both lost significant others?”

“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s more about who those people were that you lost. You’ve told me about Nico and the kind of man he was. He sounded similar to my father.”

“And I remind you of your mother.”

He nods. “Yes.”

You sigh. “But you can’t find people who are similar and replace them-”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “There is no intention of replacing anyone. My mother is…irreplaceable. Neither my father nor I would want to see her replaced. You would never replace Nico?”

“No.”

“But, there are things about my father that remind you of him.”

You nod slowly. “Yes, there are.”

“It’s not replacing. It’s loving the best parts of the person who isn’t here anymore.”

You park the VW Bug in your space and turn off the car, a small smile turning the corners of your mouth. “You know, you’re pretty wise for a twenty-year old.”

He smiles back. “I graduated in the top one percent of my class.”

You’re getting ready to open the car door when a flash of headlights appears in the rearview mirror. A dark four-door Jeep pulls into the parking garage and backs into the space two rows over from your space. Something tells you to be on high alert as the headlights are turned off but no one emerges from the vehicle. You grab your purse and pull out your sat phone. The signal is barely there but hopefully it’ll be enough to get a call to Hugo. You hand the phone to Junior. “Punch in your Dad’s number and be ready to call it.”

“The Jeep that just pulled in?”

So he saw it too. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

He peers into the rear window mirror and then lets out a shaky breath. “Son los Castaño.” (It’s the Castaños.)

“Both of them?”

“Sí.” (Yes.)

You reach down between the car door and your seat and grab the lead-filled baton Gio had given you before you left California. You open the driver’s side door. “Call your father and stay put.”

As soon as your feet hit the concrete, both Constaños are closing the doors to the Jeep. They’re intimidating looking even without you knowing their reputation and the closer you get, the taller they become. The one with thick black hair, Fidel, has to be pushing six foot five. Fuck, what did you get yourself into?

“Buenas tardes señorita,” Carlos, shorter and broader than his brother, greets with hands raised to show he’s unarmed. “Nosotros estamos aquí para hablar.” (Good evening, Miss. We’re just here to talk.)

You keep your grip tight on the handle of the baton. They don’t have guns in their hands at the moment but they are on their persons. You’ve also seen some of the handiwork their fists can do so you can’t let your guard down for a moment. You stop about eight feet away from. “Bueno. Hablar.” (Great. Talk.)

“Manténgase fuera de nuestras transmisiones de radio.” (Stay off our radio transmissions.)

“¿Por qué? Para cuando tengamos información decente, ya tienes el objetivo.” (Why? By the time we get any decent information , you’ve already got the target.)

Fidel speaks up. “Estamos pidiendo amablemente. Esta vez.” (We’re asking nicely. This time.)

Carlos adds on the statement. “Digamos que puede escuchar alguna charla que preferiría no escuchar.” (Let’s just say that you may hear some chatter that you would rather not hear.)

So that’s why Los Pepes have gone radio silent for the last few days. There’s something happening, some secret that is getting close to the surface. It would have to be something big to bring the Castaños out like this. The first person you think of is Escobar but you’re fairly certain if you were that close to finding Escobar, Los Pepes would just put a bullet in your head and then step over your body to do the same to Escobar. Maybe this has something to do with whoever is working for Los Pepes in Search Bloc. Maybe you’re getting close to discovering who they are.

“Gringa, ¿me escuchaste?” (Did you hear me?)

“Sí, te escuché. Pero vamos a seguir haciendo nuestro trabajo.” (Yeah, I heard you. But we’re going to keep doing our job.)

“Bien, pero si te interpones en nuestro camino-” (Fine, but if you get in our way-)

You take a step towards them and motion with the baton in their direction. “No, si se sale con la nuestra, tendrá un problema.” (No, if you get in our way, you will have a problem.)

Fidel laughs. “Cree que nos está amenazando. Esta cosita.” (She thinks she’s threatening us. This little thing.)

“Niña, mantente fuera de nuestro camino. Esta es la única advertencia que está recibiendo.” (Little girl, stay out of our way. This is the only warning you’re getting.)

There’s no use in arguing with them. If you did, it would only start a fight, one that you would most likely sorely lose. So, you shrug your shoulders. “Entonces supongo que ambos hemos sido advertidos.” (Then I guess we’ve both been warned.)

You turn your back to them, walking towards the car. That is when things happen in such short succession your brain barely has time to process the events. The passenger side door of your car opens and there’s a flash of a gun going off. The sound bounces off the concrete walls of the small parking garage, the sharp rapport reverberating around the space. You instinctively duck but there’s no cover. You see both brother’s are now focused on Junior who is taking cover behind a pillar.

You should find cover. You should grab a radio, pager, sat phone, scream for help. Instead, you feel the weight of the baton in your hand and with no cover close by, you charge the two Castaños. Fidel is closest and certainly doesn’t think you're a threat since his focus is waiting for Junior to show any part of himself from behind the pillar so you blind side him. You bring the baton down with full force of his wrist. He drops his gun with a startled yell but recovers immediately.

He grabs the baton with his left hand and uses it to toss you into the car behind him. You hit your back against the grill and you hit the ground. You can hear Junior telling them to drop their weapons but Carlos is shouting obscenities back at him. You still have a deathgrip on the baton as does Fidel and he yanks it and you up off the ground, your face colliding with his fist. Thankfully it’s the one with the injury so the force behind the blow isn’t half of what it normally would be but it’s enough to blind your sight temporarily.

Thankfully the pain of hitting you with his injured hand loosens Fidel’s grip on the baton enough for you to pull it away from him. You use the momentum to swing it in a backhand motion and feel it connect with his ribs. Another gunshot rings out but from a different direction this time. New voices are added to the commands of laying down the weapons. You immediately recognize Hugo’s followed quickly by Steve Murphy’s slight Southern twang. By the time you’re standing solidly on your two feet, the Castaños are fleeing the scene, there are multiple bullet holes in your passenger side car door and one of the pillars, and drops of blood littering the floor of the garage.

You just survived your first shootout. And as Junior steps from cover, not a scratch or drop of blood on him, you breathe a sigh of relief. But when you turn to see Hugo and Murphy, Hugo’s face is thunderous. Tense, white, and jaw constricted so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding. It’s a look you’ve never seen before and it’s so different from what you studied this morning from the weak new day light while in your bed. Murphy is radioing in for the police to be on the lookout for the Castaños while Hugo comes to stand in front of you and Junior.

“¿Qué diablos estaban pensando ustedes dos?” (What the fuck were you two thinking?)

***

He sees red and practically loses his mind. Thankfully, he’s able to present a calm persona, one that is still a leader through and through, despite the absolute fury that is tearing apart his ribcage at the moment. His heart rate is through the roof, his blood pressure skyrocketing and continuing to climb with each drop of blood from your nose. He’s going to have either a stroke, heart attack, or both as he assesses the damage before him.

His son is eyeing him warily. He knows. He knows the seriousness of the situation and just how livid Hugo is at the moment. He is wise to keep his silence at the moment, standing at a parade rest, freshly fired weapon re-holstered. You, on the other hand, have no idea just how thin the ice is that you’re standing on right now.

Your nose is broken, blood running down over your lips and chin. You swipe at it with the sleeve of your shirt. Your eye is swelling, a black eye in the making. You're standing oddly but he can’t tell if it’s your back, knee, ankle, or foot that is the culprit. A short baton is gripped tightly in your hand.

“¿Qué sucedió?” (What happened?)

You clear your throat. “I parked my car and noticed that the Jeep then parked two rows over from us. They didn’t get out of the car until I did-“

“So why did you get out of the car?”

You now recognize his anger. And instead of it humbling you, it causes you to become indignant. “I got out of the car to get them to leave. They were going to wait us out.”

His son speaks up at that moment. “Cuando nos dimos cuenta de quién era, te llamé. Pero... el concreto bloquea las señales telefónicas.” (When we realized who it was, I called you. But…the concrete blocks the phone signals.)

That explains the phone ringing but no one being on the other end. “Wait,” you interrupt, motioning to Junior. “You never spoke to your dad?”

Junior shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Your eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “Then why did you get out of the car?”

“Because,” he swallows visibly, “because they pointed a gun at you. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch-”

“Alright,” Hugo interrupts him. “Alright. So you get out of the car, open fire and that starts the fight.”

Both you and his son nod your heads. “Yes.”

Murphy is taking notes. “Did you talk to them? What did they want?”

You laugh dryly. “They wanted us to stay off their radio channels. They said we might hear something we don’t want to hear. I’m assuming it’s whoever is helping them from inside the Search Bloc.”

“What did you tell them?” Hugo asks.

You shrug. “I told them not a chance. We’ll do our job which includes listening to them come what may.”

Of course you told them that. Of course you faced off with two of the most dangerous men running the streets of Medellín right now and told them to fuck off. He turns to Murphy, who is closing his notebook and motions to the abandoned Jeep..

“We’ll impound the Jeep,” Murphy says, “see if there’s anything in it we can use. I’ll stay with it.”

“I’ll stay too,” Junior offers.

“Okay,” Hugo agrees and reaches out to take your hand that is still wrapped around the baton. “This needs to stay here.”

Your response is immediate. “No, no, it’s my great-grandfather’s.”

Murphy gives you a sympathetic smile. “Family heirloom, I get it. I’ll make sure you get back tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise?”

He raises his hand, his index and middle finger raised. “Scouts honor.”

You frown up at him. “That’s the wrong hand, Stephen.”

While you and Murphy are working out getting your grandfather’s baton back, Hugo steps up to his son. His anger is still relatively high but the adrenaline rush is wearing off, everyone is safe, so it’s a bit easier to breathe. He’s able to tone down the bite in his question to his son.

“Why did you get out of the car and open fire?”

His son sighs deeply. “Like I said, they were going to shoot her in the back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t watch it happen.” There’s a significant pause and he looks at Hugo with intense eyes, his mother’s eyes. “Not again.”

Hugo feels off balance, like he’s standing on the deck of a boat. The ground is shifting under him, realizations and understandings are moving like gears and locking pieces beneath his feet. He loves you. That realization hit him this morning and only solidified throughout the day as he counted down the hours until he could feel you under his hands once more.

His son loves you. He must. Those feelings were put to the test today. He couldn’t bring himself to fire a weapon when faced with the Castaño brothers before but this time? This time he put himself in open engagement, opened fire, and protected, not himself, but you. If that didn’t tell Hugo just how much his son cared about you, enough to defend you with his life, then he didn’t know what other signs to look for. And while this all bodes extremely well for a smooth sailing relationship, there is one imperative question that needs to be answered.

Do you love them just as much?

#Colonel Hugo Martinez #Colonel Hugo Martinez x Reader #Hugo Martinez #Hugo Martinez x Reader #Colonel Hugo Martinez x You #Hugo Martinez x You #Colonel Hugo Martinez fic #Hugo Martinez fic #Narcos fic #After the Fall

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years

Text

After We Fall: Part III

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”

― Pablo Neruda

There had been a medic that was in the jungle with Hugo’s unit.

Two years.

“Coronel?” (Colonel?)

He had been so focused in making sure his bloody handprints didn’t show up on the makeshift storage lockers that he didn’t hear her enter into the tent and jumped slightly at her sudden presence.

“Coronel, ¿está bien? ¿Estás desmayado?” (Colonel, are you okay? Are you faint?)

“No estoy bien. Gracias.” (No, I’m fine. Thank you.)

“You stayed.”

He brushes some stray strands of hair off your face. “I did. Is that okay?”

Your smile grows. “More than okay.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

He doesn’t want to let you go either.

You hum in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He loosens his grip and goes back to tracing patterns on your back. “Nada. Lo siento.” (Nothing. Sorry.)

“Hugo.”

“What are you worried about? Is it your son?”

To be honest, yes, his son is one of the causes of his worries but he’s not certain of the context just yet so he deflects. “What makes you think I’m worried?”

Your eyes rove over his face. “Woman’s intuition.”

The unease in your expression softens slightly as your fingertips trail down over the side of his face. “I worry about both of you as well. I can do what I can to keep Junior safe but you…”

Your forehead furrows as you try to find the words. He waits patiently and eventually you whisper the concern. “What if your son doesn’t…you know, approve of…us?”

“I would not be concerned about his approval. Remember he is the one who tricked us into that lovely dinner.”

Your smile is shaky. “True, but…”

“When Melina died, and my son and I could speak her name again without…”

You lay a hand on his chest and hum in sympathy.

“It’s time to get up, isn’t it?”

He sighs. “For me. What time do you get up?”

“Around 5.” You turn and lay on your back, arms tossed over your head.

“Coffee?”

The temptation to stay rises again so he regretfully shakes his head. “I’ll get some at the office.”

You make a scoffing noise. “I’ll bring you some, how’s that? I’ll have to pick up the hotspots from the tips that came in overnight anyway.”

“What?”

“Would you join me for dinner this evening? Seven, my place.”

You smile up at him. “I would love to.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

“Esté segura hoy, querida.” (Be safe today, darling.)

“Tú también, cariño.” (You as well, sweetheart.)

“Hijo.” (Son.)

“Papa.” (Dad.)

Hugo nods to his son and steps around him. He pauses on the sidewalk and turns back to the stairs.

“Hijo, no-” (Son, don’t-)

“¿Decirle a alguien que vi a mi padre antes del trabajo?” (Tell anyone I saw my father before work?)

Hugo gives him a stern look but he just shrugs.

“Bueno.” (Okay.)

Hugo nods. “Bueno.”

***

Nine hours.

“We’d have an easier time finding Santa Claus out here,” you complain.

Junior huffs. “Gordo con traje rojo, destacaría.” (Fat man in a red suit, he would stand out.)

Morales radios back to them from the driver’s seat. “¿Algo de Los Pepes hoy?” (Anything from Los Pepes today?)

“¿Lo llamamos un día?” (We calling it a day?) Morales asks.

You look at Junior, who tiredly nods his head. “Yeah. Llamémoslo.” (Let’s call it.)

“Any dinner plans tonight?” he asks with a sly grin.

“I ran into my father this morning when I was coming back from my run.”

Your knuckles go white. “Okay.”

“He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

Half of the tension leaves your body. “Really?”

“Yes.”

You have to ask. It’s for the best and it’ll take the burden off your mind. You open your mouth and start to ask him his feelings about the situation when he cuts you off.

“I’m glad you found each other. You need each other.”

“Because we both lost significant others?”

“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s more about who those people were that you lost. You’ve told me about Nico and the kind of man he was. He sounded similar to my father.”

“And I remind you of your mother.”

He nods. “Yes.”

You sigh. “But you can’t find people who are similar and replace them-”

“No.”

“But, there are things about my father that remind you of him.”

You nod slowly. “Yes, there are.”

“It’s not replacing. It’s loving the best parts of the person who isn’t here anymore.”

You park the VW Bug in your space and turn off the car, a small smile turning the corners of your mouth. “You know, you’re pretty wise for a twenty-year old.”

He smiles back. “I graduated in the top one percent of my class.”

“The Jeep that just pulled in?”

So he saw it too. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

He peers into the rear window mirror and then lets out a shaky breath. “Son los Castaño.” (It’s the Castaños.)

“Both of them?”

“Sí.” (Yes.)

You reach down between the car door and your seat and grab the lead-filled baton Gio had given you before you left California. You open the driver’s side door. “Call your father and stay put.”

“Manténgase fuera de nuestras transmisiones de radio.” (Stay off our radio transmissions.)

“¿Por qué? Para cuando tengamos información decente, ya tienes el objetivo.” (Why? By the time we get any decent information , you’ve already got the target.)

Fidel speaks up. “Estamos pidiendo amablemente. Esta vez.” (We’re asking nicely. This time.)

Carlos adds on the statement. “Digamos que puede escuchar alguna charla que preferiría no escuchar.” (Let’s just say that you may hear some chatter that you would rather not hear.)

“Gringa, ¿me escuchaste?” (Did you hear me?)

“Sí, te escuché. Pero vamos a seguir haciendo nuestro trabajo.” (Yeah, I heard you. But we’re going to keep doing our job.)

“Bien, pero si te interpones en nuestro camino-” (Fine, but if you get in our way-)

You take a step towards them and motion with the baton in their direction. “No, si se sale con la nuestra, tendrá un problema.” (No, if you get in our way, you will have a problem.)

Fidel laughs. “Cree que nos está amenazando. Esta cosita.” (She thinks she’s threatening us. This little thing.)

“Niña, mantente fuera de nuestro camino. Esta es la única advertencia que está recibiendo.” (Little girl, stay out of our way. This is the only warning you’re getting.)

“¿Qué diablos estaban pensando ustedes dos?” (What the fuck were you two thinking?)

***

“¿Qué sucedió?” (What happened?)

You clear your throat. “I parked my car and noticed that the Jeep then parked two rows over from us. They didn’t get out of the car until I did-“

“So why did you get out of the car?”

You now recognize his anger. And instead of it humbling you, it causes you to become indignant. “I got out of the car to get them to leave. They were going to wait us out.”

That explains the phone ringing but no one being on the other end. “Wait,” you interrupt, motioning to Junior. “You never spoke to your dad?”

Junior shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Your eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “Then why did you get out of the car?”

“Because,” he swallows visibly, “because they pointed a gun at you. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch-”

“Alright,” Hugo interrupts him. “Alright. So you get out of the car, open fire and that starts the fight.”

Both you and his son nod your heads. “Yes.”

Murphy is taking notes. “Did you talk to them? What did they want?”

“What did you tell them?” Hugo asks.

You shrug. “I told them not a chance. We’ll do our job which includes listening to them come what may.��

“We’ll impound the Jeep,” Murphy says, “see if there’s anything in it we can use. I’ll stay with it.”

“I’ll stay too,” Junior offers.

“Okay,” Hugo agrees and reaches out to take your hand that is still wrapped around the baton. “This needs to stay here.”

Your response is immediate. “No, no, it’s my great-grandfather’s.”

Murphy gives you a sympathetic smile. “Family heirloom, I get it. I’ll make sure you get back tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise?”

He raises his hand, his index and middle finger raised. “Scouts honor.”

You frown up at him. “That’s the wrong hand, Stephen.”

“Why did you get out of the car and open fire?”

Do you love them just as much?

#colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you #hugo martinez fic #colonel hugo martinez fic #After We Fall series #narcos fic #hinky writes

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fairytalearista · 2 years

Text

People going on about "women bleed once a month anyway, so why's this heroine fainting at the sight of blood," but have you considered the following:

Blood is coming from a hole from which blood should not be coming out of.

Sliced open flesh.

Is that bone I see?

Bleeding is not stopping, this blood isn't extra blood, they could die.

This is also unclotted blood.

Someone we care about is HURT.

You can't just stick a pad on it and wait for it to bleed out. This bleeding must be stopped, and the wound must be cared for so it doesn't get infected.

Some of us don't really handle our own blood very well, even. And there's a lot of shame surrounding it.

Sincerely, a woman who very calmly and casually deals with blood every month, but will go into a panic attack meltdown over a cut that is worse than a scratch or a broken scab. I don't even handle a nosebleed. (I probably would handle nosebleeds better if I got them, but I never do, even when I tried to give to myself them as a kid, therefore they're an unknown that I don't know how to resolve.)

#rant #women #injuries

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niemernuet · 2 years

Text

Two days late with my entry for the 24th week of the osws fandom challenge. 🙄 Last week's subject was:

winter sports mash-up! different athletes meeting and/or teaching each other their sport 🛷⛸🥌⛷🏂

I took inspiration from that time in 2016 when Max drove on snow.

rating: E pairing: Max Verstappen/Henrik Kristoffersen characters: Max Verstappen, Henrik Kristoffersen, Aksel Lund Svindal length: 3'000 words

The mood in the team is not the best when Max arrives, and thus perfectly mirrors his own. He does not care what it is exactly that makes everyone snap at each other, he is too busy trying to retract his fingers deep into the sleeves of his jacket to preserve what little feeling he still has in them. Something about the tyres, apparently. Buemi was sent ahead as test driver, and the engineers’ insinuation that he is not on the same level as Max has turned his head an impressive, unhealthy shade of red.

“If you think my work is so useless, why did you make me come here?” he barks. “I could be enjoying my holidays now but no, I had to come to this godforsaken place for this stupid project. I tell you, the spikes are too small! Nobody can drive a car on this surface, with this little traction, not me, not your prodigy, not Michael fucking Schumacher himself could do it!”

Max thinks that Schumacher is the last person on earth who could still drive a formula 1 car on any surface but he keeps his face neutral, and waits in the lobby of the hotel for whatever comes next. The town is busy with preparations for the races even though they are still more than one week away, with trucks and cars rolling through the narrow streets and avalanches of people covering the sidewalks as far as the eye can see. In comparison, the hotel feels like an oasis of peace, the staff moving around with determination yet reassuringly calm, making the few guests, other than the Red Bull engineers, feel relaxed and at peace. Two men enter the lobby, and Max follows them with his eyes. Even though he does not know the foggiest about skiing he recognises that they are professionals. The older man steps to the counter, and delves into a discussion with the receptionist while his younger companion stays a few steps behind, and inspects his gloves with a bored expression. His jacket cluttered with sponsor-patches around the chest is open and reveals a skin-tight race suit underneath. At first glance he seems thin, almost frail, his jaw bones competing with his nose for the sharpest angle sticking out of his face but Max realises that it is only an illusion. Lithe muscles move under the tight suit with every move of his legs, with every rolling of his shoulder. He knows his staring is glaringly obvious but he cannot take his eyes off those strong thighs and he wonders what they would feel like under his hands. His train of thought stops abruptly when the other looks up, and meets Max’ eyes. Max is used to a wide spectrum of reactions from other people; there is the wide-eyed ecstasy of those who follow Formula 1; or the questioning looks of those who know his face from the newspaper but cannot remember it, or the empty looks of those who have no idea who he is. The other guy, however, does not fall anywhere on this spectrum. He recognises Max alright but he is neither awed nor surprised.

He is amused.

Something tightens in Max’ chest at the sight of the faint smile, and he raises his chin to meet it head-on. They stay like that for a few seconds, locked together by an invisible band that snaps the moment Max’ ever-harried PA jogs around the corner, and ushers him along.

“I hope you read the papers I sent you,” he says, and in the same moment begins recapping the file currently resting somewhere at the bottom of Max’ suitcase because he knows his charge after all. “There’s two races here, well three actually, but you only have to bother about the two of them. One’s the downhill race, that’s the one everyone means when they’re talking about the legendary Streif. The other’s the so-called Super-G, similar route but not quite as difficult. The guy who’s contributing the skiing part of the movie won the Super-G once so far but never the downhill. He's a Red Bull athlete like you and as far as success goes quite high but not at the very top, think Alonso, or Räikkönen. You’re going to talk to him in front of the camera. It’s not really an interview, more like a dialogue. You tell him what it feels like to drive the car, and he will tell you…oh, hey, there you are! Hello, Aksel!”

The PA leaves Max’ side, and shakes the hand of a man Max remembers from the picture on the first page of the unread file.

“Pleased to meet you,” Aksel says, and they turn towards the exit.

Max throws one last look over his shoulders. The other guy is still standing there with the same amused smile, and Max feels it burn a hole between his shoulders as he hurries out of the hotel.

They shoot the short sequence at the top of the mountain, in a separate room of the restaurant near the start of the race. The clouds are hanging low, and Max can barely see where the snow-covered mountain ends, and the fog begins. His fingers lost the fight against the cold on the ride up in the gondola, and all he still feels is a painful prickling. Aksel is friendly, experienced, and most important of all self-aware enough to recognise his role in this stunt of Red Bull. He does not bat an eye at the fact that Max has painfully little knowledge about alpine skiing in general and Kitzbühel specifically, and effortlessly fills the gaps while also pretending to be utterly captivated by Max’ lengthy explanations about driving a Formula 1 car. They finish soon, and to Max’ relief take the next gondola into the valley.

“I hear you’re battling with the traction,” Aksel says with the same friendly smile as before.

Max shrugs, and pulls the sleeves over the icicles that used to be his fingers while his PA furiously types on his phone.

“Eh, it’s just the last details,” he says. “It’ll be straightened out by tomorrow.”

Aksel’s smile does not waver, and he nods. For a while they float through the air in silence.

“Are there other athletes here to practice?”

Aksel tears his eyes away from the race track far below. “Not that I know of,” he answers. “There is another race in Switzerland in a few days. I’ll be going there right after we tape my part tomorrow. But of course I don’t know everyone’s itinerary, so who knows.”

Max nods, and looks down onto the white-green carpet of snow-covered firs. He feels Aksel’s thoughtful eyes on him but before he can change the subject, Aksel has an epiphany.

“Oh, you mean Henrik? The guy in the lobby?” Aksel’s amusement is unmistakable, and Max immediately feels defensive.

Aksel chuckles. “Yes, he is here to practice, but not for the downhill race. Or the Super-G.”

Max frowns but he does not have to ask.

“Henrik Kristoffersen, slalom racer,” his PA butts in with the knowledge he acquired in preparation for this project and which his protegee has not bothered to learn. “The third race I told you about. It’s the slowest of all competitions and the most technical.”

“Exactly,” Aksel said. “And it’s rare that one athlete starts in all competitions. I tried it but I was always rubbish at slalom.”

Max nods, and looks out of the window again, trying to convey that he would like to finish this subject.

“Funny you should mention him,” Aksel smiles, and Max presses his lips together. “He reminds me of you.”

He tries to stay silent but of course his curiosity gets the better of him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Aksel says. “Both generational talents, both still in the shadow of better competitors…both challenging to work with...”

Max’ head whips around but Aksel’s annoyingly friendly smile looks the same as it has looked all afternoon. Luckily, the valley station finally deigns to arrive, and the cabin judders over the last mast before the doors open. Aksel shakes their hands and then hurries away to another appointment while Max still tries to climb out of the swaying gondola.

-----

The engineers keep going over the problem with the tyres all evening, and Max soon wishes them a good night. He does not return to his room though, he is not tired enough yet, and instead walks out into the cold once more. Golden light from the street lamps illuminates the snow and ice laying in patches on the ground. He walks through the alleys without really knowing where he is going, and eventually ends up in the finish area of the race. It is barely half-dnoe yet, the grandstands only a mountain of metal poles, and the big arch still deflated on the ground. The cold is creeping under his jacket and through his shoes again. He looks up the steep mountainside where the race track disappears in the black night. There are still people around but fewer than during daylight, and none of them take the time to stop.

Save one.

“And you’re going to drive down there?”

Max turns his head, and looks at the other guy, Henrik, standing next to him. He keeps his eyes fixated on the slope, as if Max is not important enough to look at. His hat looks much warmer than Max’ cap.

“Nah, I’m just doing a short course at the top of the mountain,” he explains.

Henrik snorts. “Of course. And then they’ll just edit it right.”

Max shrugs, and turns back to face the mountain.

“Though it’s not like I’m unhappy,” Henrik adds after a few moments. “I’ve been wondering all day how they want to put the track together again after you’d tear it up with your car. That explains it. I’d hate to do ski cross here.”

Max blinks, and looks at Henrik again. “You’ve raced here before?”

Henrik frowns, and finally reciprocates the look. “Many times.”

“But Aksel told me you don’t race downhill…”

Henrik rolls his eyes. “I don’t. But the slalom and the downhill end at the same place, genius. Here!” He points into the darkness, where apparently somewhere two tracks unite into one.

“Of course they’d take Aksel as comparison,” he sneers. “Let me guess, you’ve spent the afternoon stroking each other’s dicks while bragging how fast you can go.”

For a second Max thinks back to Aksel's words, and wonders if he should be insulted that he got compared to this abrasive jerk but in the end decides that he is probably in no position to do so. He catches Henrik's eyes, bright and fierce, and feels a new rush of hot excitement surge through his chest.

"We're both participating in sports where the fastest wins," he explains. "Sorry you can't join in on the dick-stroking. I take it slalom gets judged on execution and artistry."

The bright eyes become small, and Henrik's smile gets a dangerous slant. Max turns around, and begins the walk back towards the hotel; because he loses the feeling in his toes, not for any other reason.

He hears Henrik follow, and soon catch up to him. His stride is longer, more secure on the icy ground thanks to the sturdy boots he is wearing, and Max regrets that he only packed his usual sneakers. Henrik does not pay any attention to Max' footwear, or if he does he ignores it.

"Speed alone is nothing," he says. "It's boring. Downhill skiers step into their skis at the top of the mountain and then go down in a straight line. It's not one step above the capabilities of a five-year old." He turns his head slightly, and Max catches the faint grin spreading over his lips. "Or like driving a car in a circle."

Max bares his teeth in a joyless smile. "Go on!"

Henrik smiles, revealing a dimple in his cheek that somehow manages to make him look soft. "It's easy, really. In downhill, the heaviest athlete wins. In slalom, the best does. You're racing on the edge of the skis, at the very limit of what's physically possible. It takes skill, and experience."

Max bites back a remark about the similarities to formula-racing, knowing that it is exactly what Henrik wants. They take another turn, and finally their hotel appears at the end of the street. White clouds float into the air with every breath Max takes, and he cannot wait to get the feeling back into his toes.

"And yet everybody only remembers downhill," he says, and watches the smile vanish from Henrik's lips.

"The public gets what the public wants," he scoffs. "And they want something befitting their intelligence." He hesitates for a moment before he asks: "Who's the best formula 1 driver?"

Max looks Henrik in the eyes. "I am."

"And who's everyone talking about?"

He laughs, and another smile washes over Henrik's face. "I think I get it now."

They both laugh as they enter the lobby, and make their way towards the elevator. Max watches how Henrik fiddles with his key card. He still does not care about skiing in the least but he likes the unashamed determination and the confidence radiating from Henrik. It makes a man instantly ten times hotter, even if his face has too many sharp angles. The question comes easy to him.

"Want to come to my room?"

Henrik grins, and looks up. "Why?"

"I'm bored."

The door to the elevator opens, and they step inside. Max pushes the button to his floor while Henrik stays still.

"You don't have to prepare for tomorrow?"

"We're taping the drive the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow IS the preparation," Max explains, and shrugs. "I think I'll manage to learn how to drive with spikes in one day."

"You're using spikes?" Henrik asks. The elevator stops with a soft jolt, and they step out. "Shouldn't you be using chains?"

Max fishes his key card out of his jacket, and holds it against the reader. "What's the difference?"

Henrik snorts, and walks past Max into the room. "The difference is that spikes are for ice, and chains are for snow. Are you sure your mechanics know what they're doing? You can't…"

Max does not bother to find out what he cannot do, grabs Henrik by the shoulder and pulls him into a kiss. Henrik goes with it, and uses the momentum to push Max towards the bed, proving that he may be thin but not weak. When Max bumps against the bed frame and has to sit down they break apart. His hands wander up Henrik's thighs, feeling every sinew and muscle strand through the trousers. Henrik looks down at him, his lips slightly ajar, and Max looks up.

"Okay," Henrik mutters, and sinks on his knees. He waits as Max wriggles out of his pants, and kicks them across the room. Another smile creeps over his lips when he puts his cheek against Max' thigh, and feels the cold that still has not left his body.

"You are so not made for this," he mutters, and bites down into the soft flesh. Max bites back a moan, and sinks back until he is resting on his hands, watching transfixed how Henrik kisses and licks his way towards his half-hard dick. He takes him quick, without theatrics, and sucks him off almost efficiently. Max moves his weight a little, and buries one hand in Henrik's hair. It is long enough for him to hold onto, and still cool from the night outside. Familiar heat surges through his body and warms him up from the inside, pooling around his groin. He tries to move Henrik's head, urge him to go faster but it does the opposite, and Max hisses when his dick gets abandoned.

"Nice try," Henrik says, and pulls Max' hand away from his head. He guides it towards his dick, and wraps it around the shaft where he slowly moves it up and down.

"Want to do it like that?"

Max grins, and shakes his head.

"Then keep your hands to yourself!"

Max pulls his hand back, and as if nothing has happened, Henrik resumes his task. He sucks more urgently now, and it does not take long until Max' hips start to twitch, and his hips jerk upwards.

"Careful!" he rasps, and immediately Henrik's mouth leaves his dick, and is replaced by his hand. The friction rubs just right, and Max comes in spurts over Henrik’s hand.

They kiss again afterwards, it tastes just a little bit different, and Max blindly feels his way along Henrik’s trousers until he finds the button. He is hard, and gasps in Max’ mouth when cold fingers wrap around his cock.

“Fuck!” he laughs breathlessly, and ruts deeper into Max’ palm. It does not take long until he also comes, lips pressed tightly together, allowing himself barely more than a sigh. They catch their breath for a while, their foreheads pressed together.

“Still bored?” Henrik eventually asks, and leaves Max alone on the bed. He pulls his trousers up, and picks his jacket from the floor.

Max grins, and shrugs his shoulders. “Not yet. Will you be here tomorrow?”

Henrik shakes his head. He has his key card in his hand again, and turns it over and over. “I’ll be flying to Switzerland for the race.” He looks at Max one more time, his blue eyes small from smiling.

“Good luck.”

Henrik nods. “Thanks.”

The door barely makes a sound when he shuts it.

-----

The wheels of the car spin, and waves of snow shoot into the air. The cold seeped through the suit long ago but Max' anger is hot enough to keep him warm. He imagines Buemi's smirk if he could see him now, and he taps the gas softly in a new attempt to get the car going. In the end they have to haul it to the garage with one of the gigantic snow cats, and Max holds his fingers directly against the vent blowing warm air into the cabin. The engineers are arguing again, their tone getting more and more aggressive.

"Why don't we put on chains?" Max asks one of them, and tries to arrange all ten fingers evenly around the hot cup of coffee in his hands. "Works for other cars too, right?"

The question travels through the ranks until it reaches the lead engineer.

"And where the fuck are we supposed to get chains for tyres this size?" he yells. "And at this time? I haven't seen them in the new Pirelli catalogue!"

They arrive by chopper in the late afternoon, barely in time for one last test drive before the sun sets behind the mountains. When Max returns to the Garage again, Aksel and his camera crew stand near the entrance.

"I didn't think they'd get it," he says, and looks at Max with same friendly smile he has gotten to know. Max steps to him, and looks out over the legendary Streif, or at least the little bit that is visible from their place. From the other side of the valley, another chopper climbs through the sky and disappears beyond the mountains. Tomorrow the film crew would tape his run, and then he would be free to leave.

Finally.

#pushing the epilogue in spielberg six years later onto the ever-growing to-write-pile #not quite vibing w it all the way but it is what it is #osws fandom challenge #sports rpf #rpf #text #mine #f1 #alpine skiing #maxy #henrik kristoffersen #max verstappen

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