JUNE OF DOOM

Annoying.

“Comes with the job.”

Hero didn’t laugh.

Villain could feel their gaze following every movement as they loosened their cuffs and headed for the hallway.

Don’t ask questions, Hero. Please.

“I’m going to shower,” Villain said lightly. “Then you can scold me for my work-life balance.”

Behind them, silence.

Then—

“Turn around.”

Villain stopped. 

Their eyes slid shut for half a second.

Damn it.

Hero almost never used that tone. 

It slipped under Villain’s ribs and curled around their spine until disobedience felt impossible.

Villain stood there for a moment arguing with themself.

They could ignore it. 

Technically.

They could laugh and keep walking and lock the bathroom door behind them.

Hero wouldn’t force them, would never force them. But then they would get that look in their eyes tomorrow morning. Hurt hidden behind understanding. Quiet acceptance masking their worry.

Villain hated that look. Hated being the cause of it even more. It was ridiculous, honestly. They faced armed mercenaries without blinking. Lied to governments. Walked into torture chambers with their pulse steady.

But Hero saying ‘turn around’ in that soft voice? 

Devastating.

Villain almost smiled despite themself. 

Idiot. 

Completely gone for them.

They hid the expression before turning around carefully.

Too late.

Hero’s mouth twitched.

“You’re amused?”

“No.”

Liar.

Hero stood and walked closer.

Villain kept their posture easy despite the pounding in their skull. Their suit was still immaculate. Hair still neat enough. They knew how to hold themself together.

Hero's gaze travelled over them once, calculating.

Too perceptive. 

Villain resisted the urge to fidget.

“You’re favouring your left side,” Hero said quietly.

“A bruise.”

“You took your gloves off before your coat.”

Villain blinked once.

“The blood on your collar bothered you more than the blood on your hands,” Hero continued softly. “Which means you knew it was there already.”

Clever thing.

Villain kept their expression smooth. “You always did overanalyse me.”

Hero ignored that entirely. Their gaze lifted to Villain’s face instead.

“And you have a concussion.”

Villain sighed softly through their nose. “Mild.”

“One pupil’s blown.”

“…Moderate concussion.”

Hero stepped closer. Villain held perfectly still.

“You should sit down,” Hero murmured.

“I’d rather shower first.”

“Why?”

Villain smiled faintly. “Because I’m covered in blood?”

“No.” Hero tilted their head slightly. “That’s not the reason.”

Dangerous.

Dangerous conversation.

Villain’s stomach tightened.

“You’re very determined tonight.”

“You’re very evasive tonight.”

Villain looked away briefly, gaze catching on the bathroom door. So close.

Hero followed the glance immediately.

Ah.

Villain suppressed a grimace.

Hero softened then, all sharp intelligence melting into something unbearably fond.

“Okay,” they said quietly. “One thing first.”

Villain eyed them warily. “Hm?”

“Just one hug.”

Absolutely not.

The answer flashed through Villain instantly. 

It was too risky. Far too close. 

Hero would feel the shaking. The bruises. The way Villain flinched at pressure in the wrong places.

Worse—Villain wanted it.

God, they wanted it.

They were exhausted down to the marrow. Their head rang. Their skin still crawled from unwanted hands and cruel laughter and being held down—

No.

No.

Shower first.

Control themself first.

Hero watched the war play across their face and softened further.

“I don’t care that you’re dirty,” they said gently. “Then you can shower and I’ll stop bothering you.”

Villain almost laughed at that. As if Hero had ever stopped bothering them. As if Villain had ever truly wanted them to.

Their chest ached suddenly with helpless affection.

Hopeless.

They were absolutely hopeless for this person.

“…One hug,” Villain muttered.

Hero smiled immediately.

It hit Villain right in the ribs.

Idiot, they thought again, exasperated and terribly fond.

Slowly, reluctantly, Villain spread their arms slightly in invitation.

Hero stepped into them at once.

One arm slid around Villain’s waist. The other curled around the back of their neck.

Villain stiffened immediately.

Wrong.

Hero didn’t usually hug like this.

Their pulse stumbled. “Sweetheart—”

Too late.

Hero’s fingers had already disappeared into their hair, searching and careful.

Then suddenly not careful at all as fingertips brushed the sticky blood matted at the back of Villain’s head.

Villain hissed sharply.

Hero went still for exactly one second.

Then their hand at Villain’s waist tightened.

Not affection anymore. 

…Assessment.

They tried to pull back immediately, but Hero's other hand slid lower first, fingertips grazing beneath the hem of their shirt.

Pain flared white-hot across Villain's hips. They jerked violently.

Hero froze.

Beneath the lifted fabric, dark purple fingerprints bloomed across Villain's skin, stark even in the dim hallway light.

Villain's stomach dropped clean through the floor.

No. 

No no no—

Hero stared.

Then their gaze snagged on another bruise, lower this time.

Teeth.

Villain felt Hero go utterly motionless against them. 

Too late. They knew.

Villain shoved them back hard enough that Hero stumbled.

“Don’t.” 

Their voice cracked violently. 

Hero stared.

Their hand lifted instinctively, then stopped halfway when Villain flinched.

Villain dragged their shirt back down with hands that refused to cooperate. One side caught on their belt. They yanked harder than necessary.

"Well," they muttered, forcing an exhausted smile. "That was invasive."

Hero didn't answer. The colour had drained from their face.

Villain's smile faltered. "...I'm fine."

Hero's eyes flicked to the blood still drying in Villain's hair.

"...Mostly," Villain conceded.

The silence stretched.

Hero swallowed once.

"Who?" they asked quietly.

Villain blinked. "What?"

"Who did this to you?"

Villain looked almost offended. "That's an incredibly broad question. You see, it could be the concussion. Could be the broken ribs. Could be—"

Villain caught themself too late.

"...Actually, no, let's not make a list. It'll ruin the night."

Another silence stretched between them.

When Villain spoke again, the humour was thinner now. Held together by habit.

"It wasn't..."

Their jaw locked.

The next word refused to come.

For a long moment they simply stood there, staring somewhere over Hero's shoulder, as though waiting might make the sentence finish itself.

"...Consensual."

They laughed quietly.

"I've discovered it's a remarkably unpleasant thing to say out loud."

Hero's gaze never left their face. 

Their hand curled slowly into a fist.

"I assure you," Villain murmured, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor between them, "it was not a lapse in judgement. I wasn't—" Their throat worked. "With them. By choice." Villain shut their eyes. "I fought." 

A breath. 

"I lost."

Their laugh broke halfway out.

"Embarrassing, really.”

They squeezed their eyes shut. 

“...I didn't choose it." 

Their hands started shaking. "I tried to—to make them stop.”

"Villain."

"I would never—"

Their voice disappeared. 

They tried again. 

"I would never do that to you."

A flicker crossed Hero’s face.

Rage. 

Cold, silent, catastrophic rage.

Their jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped beneath the skin.

“...Didn’t catch it the first time, love. My mistake.” Hero took one slow step forward. “Who?”

Villain took a step backward.

Hero took one forward. 

Villain hated the tremor in their own hands. Hated the tears burning suddenly behind their eyes even more.

“It’s handled,” they said tightly.

Hero looked at them like they’d said something insane.

Villain’s head throbbed harder. The apartment tilted unpleasantly.

“I said it’s handled.”

Hero’s voice came very quiet. "You weren't hiding the blood."

"—That’s enough."

Villain turned away.

"..."

"Villain."

They stopped.

This time, they didn’t even try to turn around.

*~*~*~*

Villain whumpees that are trying very hard to remain stoic AND FAILING RAAAGGGHHH *chomps violently* 🤌🤌🤌 chef's kiss. making out with the chefs, even.

“What, is there a fucking bee in your bonnet or something, Huckleberry?” she asks him.

Dennis, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed, squints at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re acting like someone butchered your favorite cow,” Trinity tells him. “Like your little farm girlfriend has put you out to pasture. Like--”

“Enough with the farm jokes, okay?” Dennis snaps, leaving Trinity momentarily stunned.

“Wow, you are in a bitchy mood,” she says.

Dennis lets out a breath, tries to ignore the pounding in his skull that’s only growing worse.

“I’m sorry, Trin,” he says. “I just--have a headache today.”

Trinity doesn’t look like she entirely believes him, but Dennis doesn’t have the energy to argue.

Things only get worse from there.

The headache turns into a full-blown migraine. The ED gets too bright, too loud, too hot. He can feel himself beginning to sweat beneath his scrubs, his undershirt soaking through at the armpits and between his shoulder blades. His heart begins to race, pulse thready. Gums aching, eyes stinging from the fluorescent lights, ears ringing. His stomach feels hollow.

Dana notices, because she notices everything.

"Hey, kid, maybe you should take a break," she suggests, resting her hand on his shoulder. Even that brief touch is too much; too much pressure, too much body heat. Every point of contact feels like tiny needles piercing his skin.

"I'm fine," he says, shrugging out from under Dana's touch.

"Take a break," Dana repeats, no longer just a suggestion. "Don't make me get Robby."

"That's not necessary," Dennis says with a grimace, but he moves towards the break room anyway, because he doesn't need Robby seeing him like this, but he barely gets more than a few steps before there's a familiar chime overhead.

"MVC, multiple traumas incoming."

"Shit," Dennis mutters under his breath, wiping sweaty palms on his scrub bottoms.

He jumps when Robby's voice comes out of nowhere, the man appearing at his shoulder.

"Whitaker, you're with me."

Dennis nods, follows Robby out to the ambulance bay. Immediately, he knows it's bad. Driver of the first vehicle. Not wearing a seatbelt. Went through the windshield. Thready pulse when the EMTs arrived but lost en route. Dennis hears all this, catalogues it, already starts formulating a plan in his mind. It's purely by chance that he ends up downwind of the patient just as a breeze sweeps through the ambulance bay, and Dennis is hit right in the face with a lungful of the rich, metallic scent of blood.

His knees buckle and he almost hits the ground right there in the ambulance bay. Robby shoots him a concerned look.

"Whitaker! You alright?"

"Yeah, I--I'm fine." Dennis nods, and holds his breath as they wheel the patient inside.

He gets through it. Barely. The patient does not. As the rest of the staff shuffles from the room, Dennis lingers, gloved hands shaking as he stares down at them, covered in blood. His stomach cramps, that hollow feeling intensifying, and he has the wild urge to bring one of his hands to his face and lick the nitrile clean.

He doesn't realize Robby has stayed behind too until a warm, heavy hand falls onto his shoulder.

"Come with me," he says, voice pitched low, and Dennis doesn't think he could refuse even if he wanted to. Not in this state, anyway.

They peel off their soiled gloves and gowns--Dennis mourning the waste of blood as he throws his gloves into the bin--and he follows Robby to a smaller, empty exam room. Robby closes both doors and makes sure the curtains are drawn before he turns back to Dennis, crossing his arms over his chest, his mouth a thin line as he stares at his intern.

Dennis squirms under the attention. "Dr. Robby..."

"When you disclosed your condition to me," Robby starts, cutting Dennis off, "you promised it wouldn't be a problem."

"It's not," Dennis says immediately, shaking his head. "It's fine, I--I've got it under control..."

Robby raises a brow. "You think I don't know what blood withdrawal looks like?" he questions.

Dennis's mouth snaps shut, and Robby's expression softens, just a bit.

"How long have you been like this?" he asks.

Dennis looks away, hugging himself, his abdomen cramping as a fresh wave of hunger hits him. He fights not to double over, not wanting to prove Robby's point, but it's difficult. His fingers dig into his biceps with the effort, and he lets out a defeated breath.

"It just started today," he admits, his shoulders slumping with defeat. "I missed my last transfusion, and haven't had a chance to reschedule."

The disappointed look Robby gives him twists his stomach far worse than the hunger.

"You ever use live donors?" Robby asks. The question is casual, but there's something in his tone Dennis can't quite decipher.

"No," Dennis says, too quick. "Never."

Unbidden, a memory surfaces: the barn back on his family's farm, bodies hanging upside down from the rafters, blood draining into gallon buckets below. They always bled them slowly, tried to keep them alive, keep the blood fresh, as long as possible. Dennis swore when he left Nebraska he wouldn't be like them, that he would rather go hungry than be a monster.

Robby studies him silently for a moment, the way Dennis has seen him study charts. All he needs is his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he looks over the frames at Dennis like he's a mystery Robby is trying to unravel, and the picture would be complete.

He doesn't say anything, but suddenly he's moving, Dennis watching in confusion as Robby takes off his jacket, revealing the short sleeves of his scrub top, a simple t-shirt underneath. Dennis feels his mouth water at the sight of Robby's arms, though he blames it on the hunger gnawing at him, and not the fact that Robby's arms are thick and hairy, tattoos standing out on the skin of his biceps. Definitely not because he suddenly wants to feel what it's like to have those arms wrapped around him.

Dennis shakes his head, trying to banish those thoughts. Usually he's good about compartmentalizing his massive crush on his attending during work hours. He blames the hunger again.

"What are you doing?" he asks, watching as Robby digs around on a nearby tray.

"You are going into blood withdrawal," Robby says, grabbing needles and gauze, laying out everything he needs for drawing blood out on the tray. "And we do not have time for a full transfusion protocol."

"Dr. Robby," Dennis protests, as Robby wraps a tourniquet around his bicep and swabs the inside of his elbow with alcohol. "This really isn't--"

Necessary, he wants to say, but the word dies on his lips the moment Robby punctures a vein and blood begins to trickle into the catheter. The flash of red draws his eye, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the hunger flaring.

Robby watches him for a moment, and if Dennis wasn't so focused on the blood filling the catheter he might catch the amused, slightly endeared look on the older man's face.

"Whitaker," he prompts, holding out the catheter.

"Huh?" Dennis drags his eyes away, back up to Robby's face, and then to the tube in his hand. He realizes what Robby means for him to do almost immediately.

It must look absurd, Dennis thinks vaguely, as he leans in and takes the catheter from Robby, wrapping his lips around the end of the thin tube. He glances up at Robby through his lashes, and there's a moment where they just look at each other, Dennis watching Robby watching Dennis.

"Dr. Robby?" he murmurs around the tube, the words slurred slightly.

Robby starts, his eyes flitting between Dennis's eyes and his lips. If Dennis didn't know any better, he would swear there's a blush under that salt-and-pepper beard.

"Sorry," Robby says, shaking his head slightly as though to clear his thoughts. "You ready?"

Dennis nods, and Robby unties the tourniquet. Blood fills the catheter, sliding its way through the tube and into Dennis's mouth. He waits, lets the blood gather on his tongue until his mouth is full, and then he swallows, a moan ripping through him as it cuts through the hunger. His eyes fall shut, savoring the rich, metallic taste of Robby's blood on his tongue as it continues to fill his mouth.

He isn't sure how long they stay like that, Robby bleeding himself while Dennis sucks it up like a soda on a hot day. It could be hours for all he knows, or just a few minutes. Eventually, though, Robby clamps the catheter, and Dennis whines, cheeks heating with embarrassment at the sound as he opens his eyes and practically pouts at Robby.

Robby chuckles warmly. "That's enough, Whitaker," he says, reaching up to pluck the tube from between Dennis's lips.

Dennis watches as Robby deftly removes the needle from his arm, a drop of blood welling up from the puncture site. The hunger still rolls his stomach at the sight, but it doesn't gnaw at him, like it's trying to climb its way out of him to get to the blood. For the first time all day, he actually feels clearheaded.

"Let me," he offers, grabbing the gauze and pressing it to the puncture site before Robby can. There's a slight tremor to his fingers as he wraps medical tape around Robby's arm, securing the gauze in place, and this time he knows he can't blame it on the hunger.

Robby hums gratefully, watching Dennis work, taking stock of his intern now that the blood-withdrawal crisis has been temporarily averted. "Feeling better?" he asks.

"Much better," Dennis nods, risking a glance up at Robby, the blush on his cheeks darkening a bit now that he has more blood in his system. "Thank you, Dr. Robby."

"Don't mention it," Robby mutters, and then, after a moment, "Seriously, don't. Gloria will have an aneurysm."

Dennis huffs a laugh and steps back, finished with Robby's arm. He watches as Robby disposes of everything properly, feeling the awkwardness beginning to creep in now that he is out of immediate danger of collapsing. It's entirely too intimate, being in this closed room with Robby, curtain drawn, the taste of Robby's blood still on his tongue. The crush he usually manages to keep locked in the back of his mind during work hours rears its ugly head, unwilling to be contained after what just happened.

"Take a couple of minutes," Robby says when he's done, peeling off his gloves. "Then back to work, alright?"

"Yes, Dr. Robby," Dennis nods. "And...thank you, again."

Robby gives him a smile, a real smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Of course," he says. "And Whitaker? Next time, come find me. Don't let it get this bad again."

"I won't," Dennis says. Robby winks at him, and is out the door before the rest of what he said can catch up to Dennis.

The World Away - Buddy Daddies

Let Me Go - Link Click

Trapped - Link Click

The First Step - Persona 5

Redivivus - Fire Emblem Awakening

Squad Goals - The Owl House

(Walking on) Broken Glass - Persona 4

Flying Blind - The Owl House

Maybe It's Better This Way - Persona 4

Inseparable - Fire Emblem Engage

The Past Resurfaces - My Hero Academia (Sanctuary AU)

Snapshot - Link Click

Titanquake - The Owl House

Gehenna - Link Click

3:00 AM, Delacroix Apartment Building - Ace Attorney

Instant Noodles - Buddy Daddies

Scars and All - My Hero Academia (Sanctuary AU)

Heaven - Buddy Daddies

Six Hours Later - Ace Attorney

Fairy Tales - Ace Attorney

1: "Stay down." Rules | Unfair Fight | Dehumanization

After the remainders of the Wolf Pack return to Coruscant, Comet can't help himself and addresses Sinker's dehumanization. They punch it out and make up.

2: "You have to let me go." Bite (AP)

It is just his luck that Obi-Wan got bitten by a blood-feral rodent on Umbara and it is even more his luck that a certain lust for blood is now clinging to his every step too. Luckily, his medics have already found a cure. Responsible they are, there are a few strings attached.

3: "Don't move!" (AP) Grief (5) | Muzzled (27)

Thire is alone on patrol, finds a loth-cat and is coping badly with Rys' death. The Corrie's medic tries to push him towards acceptance.

4: "Hopefully." (AP) Dragged | Blankets | Scream (AP)

Obi-Wan Kenobi goes from apprentice to master in less than a week. With Qui-Gon Jinn dead, Mace Windu sees it as his duty to look after the young Jedi Knight while pointedly trying to ignore the shatterpoints that linger around Obi-Wan's young padawan.

5: "Why are you looking at me like this?" (24) Lost at Sea | Drowning (2) | Flood (15) | Near-death experience (30)

During a mission, a dam breaks right in front of Sev and pulls him under. When the water swallows him, he soon realizes that he might have to say goodbye to his life. Luckily, he still has his brothers with him, who are not willing to let him go yet.

6: "I won't leave you." (4) Denial | Quiet Company (22)

Thire griefs Rys who he lost on duty. Thorn finds him to talk it out. They don't need as much talking as their medic seems to belief. Sequel to Chapter 3 :)

7: "Can you hear me?" Adverse Reaction | Fever | Buried Alive

Reluctantly, Quinlan agrees to watch over a sick Anakin while Obi-Wan is away. Through the haze of fever, secrets are revealed that otherwise would have stayed buried forever. So, what exactly happened that night on Tatooine?

8: "Don't you dare." Protective | Bedridden (AP)

On Ryloth, Mace' support for Lightning Squadron's retreat gives him a bad case of Force Exhaustion. Ponds has a habit of getting anxious over his Jedi's well-being.

9: "I made a mistake." Crying | Friendly Fire | Broken Glass

One of the new shinies in the guard comes to Fox and admits he shot a Jedi. Fox is more than impressed and very worried until he learns that the Jedi in question is no stranger to the Coruscant Guard.

10: "Don't lie to me." (12) Injury Reveal (AP) | Dislocated (24) | Overthinking

Padawan Depa Billaba injures herself while sparring and somehow misses the chance to tell her master. Not that Master Windu won't figure her out, sooner or later. He is not as disappointed as she feared.

11: "You're next." (6) Blame (2) | Forced to Watch (6) | Anxiety

It is Flick's first week serving with the 501st as a Junior Medic and so far, he has been pretty content with his position. Until he knocks an ARC out all by himself. Maybe someone should have told him that Echo doesn't react well to needles.

12: "This isn't over." (21) Hidden Injury | Revealed Secret

Ahsoka is 12-years-old and when she scraps her knees, she comes to see her medic. That's what you do, after all, when you get injured. Kix appreciates it more than she knows.

13: "I just want to forget." Touch Aversion | Lost | Locked Door (AP)

Rex comes to find Ahsoka after the Zygerria Arc ends. Surprisingly, sending a female teen Togruta out there disguised as a slave was a bad idea.

14: "I'm so sorry." (AP) Darkness | Trembling | Major Character Death (19)

The aftermath of Umbara is no less a war zone than the actual battle. After being put in front of a firing squad, Jesse can't live on. Kix lets him leave. It's the only thing he can think of doing.

15: "Watch Out!" Earthquake | Claustrophobia (6) | Trapped (3)

During the mercy mission to Aleen, more earthquakes shake up the surface. Sinker is at the wrong place during the wrong time and gets buried under a stone slide.

16: "Where am I?" (10) Kidnapping | Curse | Whimper

After getting his ribs broken on Brentaal IV, Agen seeks comfort within Eeth's quarters. Good thing he was cleared from the Halls of Healing already, right?

17: "I'm worried about you." Missing Time | Dissociation (21) | Mind Control (29)

After Fox kills Fives, the memory disappears into a familiar fog. Tal, the CMO of the Coruscant Guard, has been suspicious about the happenings for a while now.

18: "How long have you been like this?" Withheld Medication | Below Zero | Weak

Plo Koon is pretty hard to kill, that much is true. His major weakness: the breathing apparatus on his face. Stranded in an ice desert and without a medic near, Wolffe is forced to switch out the filters by himself.

19: "Whatever happens..." Unreliable (23) | Concussion (17)

Late at night, Tholme receives a call from Obi-Wan who got injured during an exercise of tracking in the lower levels of Coruscant. Tholme comes to pick up a kid who is his own in every way that matters.

20: "It'll be fine." Self-Surgery

During the Second Battle of Geonosis, the 212th is stretched far. The same counts for their medics. It's bad luck that Bacta now has to remove the shrapnel in his thigh all by himself. Well, maybe not entirely alone, after all.

21: "You'll be okay. Maybe." (AP) Heatwave | Spite

Kit and his squad return exhausted from an assignment to a desert planet. Shark is worried that the Jedi is running at risk of overheating. If only Kit and Monnk would take his concerns a little more seriously.

22: "You're still you." Recovery | Stabilization (12)

After being tortured by General Grievous, Eeth returns to the Jedi Temple alive. Agen and Mace come to visit their friend during his recovery. In good old Zabrak fashion, cuddles are non-negotiable.

23: "Maybe it's better this way." (11) Innocence | Guilt (30)

After Boba Fett is taken into custody on Coruscant, Mace ponders whether killing Jango Fett was the right decision. Depa has very clear opinions about it.

24: "Are you scared yet?" Drugged

Quinlan gets drugged during an interrogation. He escapes and luckily makes his way to the camp of the 212th. Bacta feels duty towards his General's best friend. At least his Junior Medic is thoroughly entertained.

25: "This is all my fault." Fool | Pushed Away | Touch Starved (AP)

Fox hasn't preened his wings in weeks. He simply doesn't have time to ask someone for help, nor to do it himself. He wouldn't mind some gentle contact either. Ponds is startled by the state of his vod's wings and enlists their brothers for some cuddles.

26: "You're only making it worse." Flare | Confession (25)

After months of stunner training, Ahsoka has developed pain in her arms that flares up every now and then. While en route to Coruscant with the Wolfpack, Vet coincidentally finds out about Anakin's training methods. He is not amused at all.

27: "You're pathetic." Pressure (11) | Manipulation

Boss breaks his arm and is a little stubborn about it. Fixer uses the opportunity to steal medication. It's a regular day for Delta Squad.

28: "Trust me." (29) Photograph | Obsession (AP) | Plea (23)

Tal, Vet and Kix have been suspicious about the happenings within the Coruscant Guard for a while. They bring their theories up to the only Jedi they think will believe them: Quinlan Vos. Sequel to Chapter 17

29: "Stay with me." (AP) Regret (19) | Disability (22)

After Master Tholme dies, his cat refuses to eat. Quinlan finds Mace in an attempt to feed her. Maybe Quinlan needed his help more than the loth-cat.

30: "I thought you were dead." Dying Alone (2) | Carry (19)