#I have to go to the doctor!!! the injury on my foot won’t heal

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 12

tw: medical jargon, allusions to sex,

“Oh, Si, I wish you were awake. I miss your voice.” 

“I left some hyacinths for you. I hope you can smell them in there.” 

“Johnny was released today. We’re just waiting for you, Si.” 

“We miss you, Si. We aren’t the same without you.” 

“They’re waking you up tomorrow.” 

The more you spoke to him, his visions would change more and more. One time you weren’t beaten so gravely before having your skin sliced open. The next time there wasn’t any torture, just you and him staring at each other. After that, you were free, standing in the room as you watched him. Then you were both unbound in the same cell. It continued until finally the pair of you were in your bedroom in your tiny flat, enjoying each other’s presence. 

When the haze finally lifted, he didn’t come out thrashing and cursing like he had before. He was calm, eyes blinking at the fluorescents. You lifted your head as you felt him twitch under your cheek. “Simon? Simon!” you gasped, hand flying up to cover your mouth while tears filled your water line. The doctors had lifted his sedation hours ago, stating it might take him a while to come out of it, if he did at all. 

A nurse flew into the room at your outburst, immediately coming to check on Simon’s vitals. A low growl filled the room and your hand grabbed his, giving it a light squeeze. “She’s just checking to make sure everything looks right. She’s not going to hurt you, Si,” you gave him a small smile as his dark eyes came to meet yours. A grunt and a nod were the only response he provided.

Once the nurse left, he opened his mouth to say something but you quickly shushed him, grabbing a cup of water from the table. Giving him the same treatment Kyle had given you and Johnny, you held the straw to his lips and let him drink down what he could. “You had a feeding tube so your throat is going to be sore,” you explained before retaking your seat and setting down the cup of water.

“Do you think you can write?” you asked and he nodded, giving you a pained look. “I know, my love. It sucks but we’ll get you taken care of. You’re already healing so fast. The doctors think you can leave in about three weeks. The rest of us are okay. Even Johnny. We’ve been waiting for you to be woken up.” You explained every bit of information you thought he needed from a list of everyone’s injuries to what you knew of the operation. “They won’t tell me what happened to Moses. I don’t have the clearance.” your voice conveyed your annoyance, but you’d been reassured that he’d been handled. How, you didn’t know. You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before grabbing the whiteboard and marker from your bag and laid it in his lap, removing the cap so he could use it. 

Are you okay?

“I am. I start seeing a therapist next week, but all of my physical injuries are mostly healed. Just have the shiner and the permanent choker,” you joked, lifting your chin so he could see the half healed wound across the front of your throat. 

He made a face at your joke, quickly erasing his words and writing something else down. 

Not funny

“Oh come on, Si. It’s a little funny,” you teased but sighed when his brow rose and he made a face. “Alright. It’s not funny. But I’m coping and it’s a reminder that I survived,” you reasoned, lifting a hand to run your fingertips over the tender, pink flesh. 

He scowled in response before his eyes widened at the intrusion of the other three into his room. “Aye, look who finally woke up!” Johnny called from the door as he came to sit on Simon’s other side. Kyle’s hands wrapped around the foot board of Simon’s bed, leaning on it as he examined the lieutenant on the bed. John pinched the bridge of his nose at Johnny’s excitement. “Alright, Si?” John grunted at the bedridden man and Si nodded back before furiously writing on his whiteboard.

Moses?

John just nodded, eyes darting to you then back. 

She deserves to know

“It’s not up to me. You know I’d tell her if I was allowed to,” John replied while you sat there, looking back and forth between the two men. Frustration was getting to you again. You wanted to know what happened to the man that had had you kidnapped. It was the least they could do.  

Tell her

John looked between you and Simon as he waged a war inside himself before sighing. “Everything I tell you here, you don’t know. If anyone asks, you claim you know nothing,” John looked at you with fierce eyes while Kyle went to close the door. You nodded, frowning a little at the seriousness of the situation. 

“He’s dead. Or will be at least. He’s being held in a secure location until they can charge him with everything,” John explained, watching your reactions. You nodded, letting the information worm its way into your brain. “So I’m safe? All of you are safe?” you queried, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yes, petal. We’re safe.” Johnny replied for John, giving you that wonderfully lopsided smile of his. 

Three Weeks Later. 

Simon groaned as John helped him from the bed while you watched from the wall. You weren’t nearly strong enough to help lift the behemoth of a man. You’d figured that out when you took Simon for a walk and he happened to stumble. You caught him, sure, but more as a landing pad than anything else. Since then, there was always a male nurse or one of the guys with you if you were the one to take him on his stroll. 

Once he was up and properly supported by John, you joined the two and took up Simon’s other arm. Laying it across your shoulders, you smiled up at him softly. He was still healing, but his doctors were no longer worried about his chest collapsing in and damaging his organs, so they released him. You were pretty sure they were relieved too. 

Simon hadn’t been a very good patient. Sneaking out of his bed in the middle of the night, just to be found at the end of the hallway on the floor when he slipped. Stealing extra food when he was finally able to shuffle around without falling. And he was always sneering at everyone. The nurses hated to come by, finally just asking you if he was good before skipping out after quickly reading over his monitors from the door. 

Getting him home had been another feat. He demanded to have real food, insisting on the diner down the road from his flat. Kyle had called ahead, running inside once there and collecting the massive order before returning to the truck. Simon immediately dug into his burger, silent as he ate the entire thing in the five minutes it took to get back to the flat. 

When they finally managed to get the hulking man up into the flat, there was another tussle. Johnny had left the dishes in the sink, Kyle hadn’t taken out the trash and the clicking sound still remained in the freezer despite John saying he’d take care of it. You seemed to be the only one who could do no wrong to Simon. 

He spent the first two hours he was home, tearing into all of them for not taking care of HIS flat. While they were all welcome to live there, he was still the one paying for everything and all he asked was that they cleaned up their messes. Eventually, you got him to leave them alone, shooting each of them a look that told them to scram and get their shit done.

It took another week before the five of you found a system. Simon still couldn’t lift anything so most things were left to the rest of you, but he always did the dishes. Johnny wasn’t supposed to lift things, but he found that taking out the trash didn’t pull his side. Kyle made dinner every night without fail and made sure you had lunch for the next day. John fixed the freezer. And the squeaky door hinges. And the flickering light in the hall. 

You’d been going to therapy for a month at that point and while you’d been cleared by both the doctor and your therapist, the boys refused to touch you. Before everything had happened, they couldn’t keep their hands off you. Someone was always touching you whether it was an arm around your shoulder or a hand on the small of your back. You even missed Simon and Johnny poking you randomly throughout the day. 

When John actually flattened himself against the wall when passing you so he didn’t accidentally brush against you, you snapped. “All of you, living room, now!” You practically screamed, puffing as you headed into the living room yourself. You never raised your voice so the increased volume had them tripping over themselves.

Johnny actually pushed Kyle out of the way in his fear, making the other man bump into the wall and groan. Once they were finally all seated, you stood before them with your arms crossed and a hard look on your face. “Will one of you please explain why you are all so terrified to touch me?” 

They all looked appropriately sheepish, even Simon who hadn’t had to move from where he’d been sitting on the couch. “Well, see, we just wanted to give you space, right? We didn’t think you’d want to be touched,” Johnny tried to explain, sufficiently nervous. You glared even harder and tapped your foot.

“Didya even think to ASK me? Ever think talking to me might have been a better way to do things?” You were glaring at John now, their captain and usually the leader of the ragtag group of men. “We just didn’t want to upset you, little bird. I know the therapist said you were okay, but we were scared we’d trigger something,” John tried to explain, looking up at you with those soft baby blues.

“Well, knock it off. I miss my boys,” you pouted at them, bottom lip jutted out and everything. John raised up onto his feet and stepped towards you, making your eyes travel up rather than down at him. The others joined him, surrounding you in a wall of big burly men. You swallowed hard, their gazes dark and filled with lust now that you’d given them permission. 

You’d never been with all of them at the same time. Usually, it was only one of them except for the few times that John would lean on the door frame and watch one of his boys ruin you while adjusting himself in his trousers. 

Simon stepped up behind you, pulling your hair back from your neck before ghosting his low, husky words across your skin. “Oh, luv, we miss you too.” 

Alright. We're getting so close to the end. Honestly, I know I just reposted the poll and said there'd be another part. But I think the epilogue is next.

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this series! I really appreciate every comment, reblog, and like. <3

[hagravenholm]

Okay

[pensat-i-fet]

My protector (Rúben Dias x Reader)

Word count: 2755

**Little fluff imagine we brainstormed one day. Enjoy it ❤️**

Masterlist

Wattpad

"And basically, I have to continue with the exercises for a couple of weeks and the foot will be healed", I tell my boyfriend who called me right after I left the doctor's office for my daily rehab session after my injury.

"Almost there, then. I swear your injury has felt eternal. Even worse than one of mine", he laughs.

"That's your overprotective nature. And…what's going on?"

"What happened?"

When I make my way into the building where I live, I see builders working there. They weren't here when I left and no one informed us of any future work that needed to be done.

"Eh…there are builders in the building. I'll see why they are here and call you later, ok?"

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything before my match".

"I will".

My worst fear seems to come true when I notice the builders are working on the lift.

"Excuse me? Is there something wrong with the lift?"

"Yes, ma'am. We were called because someone got stuck in it and found there were quite a few things that weren't working well. So we need to repair it urgently. If someone uses it, there could be an accident".

"Well, it's good you saw the problem before that happened. How long will it take you to fix it?"

"Around two weeks?", he says.

"Oh…that's a lot", I say, realising then these men are just doing their best and don't need my negativity. "Thanks for fixing it. I…I'll get the stairs, I guess".

"Sorry about that".

By the time I get to my floor, which is the 9th floor, I'm almost in tears. My foot hurts so much.

I lay down on the sofa, trying to will the pain to go away. But two weeks of this? All the work done to heal my injury will be gone. I'll probably injure the foot more.

My phone starts ringing and I see it's Rúben.

"Hey", I say, trying not to sound like someone who is about to cry.

"Hi! What were the builders doing then?"

"They…", but I can't continue without little sobs coming out of me.

"What's wrong?", I can hear the concern in Rúben's voice. "Did any of them do anything to you?"

"No. They were really polite but…I'm not going to be able to use the lift for two whole weeks, Rúben. My foot hurts so much from walking up the stairs".

Now I'm full-on crying.

"Don't cry, please. Not while I'm not there to comfort you. There is a very easy solution to that".

"Which is?"

"Move in with me while the builders are there".

"You sure?"

"More than sure", he laughs. "Get everything ready. I'll pick you up after training".

                                     **

A couple of hours later I’m feeling a lot better. The foot doesn’t hurt anymore and I’ve been able to walk around the apartment to collect my things. When my doorbell rings, I know it’s Rúben so I slowly make my way to the door.

“Hi”, I say, hugging him before he can even walk inside the house.

“Feeling better?”, he asks, kissing the top of my head.

“Yes. I’m not in pain anymore and knowing I won’t have to go up and down the stairs for the next few weeks cheered me up”.

“And you get to spend a lot more time with me”, he says, kissing my nose.

“Yeah, that’s the bad part but you have a few away matches. I’ll be able to rest then”.

“Hilarious”.

I move away from him, still laughing, and grab my bag.

“It’s all ready. Do you want to have something to drink before we go?”

“No, I’m good. Give me the bag”.

“Rúben”, we always have the same arguments, he won’t let me carry anything bigger than my handbag. “It’s not that heavy. I can carry it”.

“It’d be uncomfortable while we go down the stairs”.

“How?”

“Because I’ll carry you. It’s easier if it’s on my back and not yours”.

“You’re not carrying me down the stairs”.

“Of course I am, you’re injured”, he says, looking at me as if that was the only reasonable way to do things.

“But I can walk down the stairs. It’s fine”.

He walks towards me and grabs my face gently. 

“You were crying before because of how much your foot hurt. I’m not going to let you do something that’ll make you cry because of the pain when there is an easy way to avoid it”.

“But, what if you injure yourself?”, I say, trying to find an excuse.

“Come on, I lift weights that are heavier than you. I’ll be fine”.

“No you don’t…”, but then I see the look he’s giving me. “Well, you’re a freak”.

He shakes his head, laughing. And when we get to the door, he lifts me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and we go down the stairs.

                                      **

On our way to the doorway, we found several of my neighbours going up and down the stairs. Obviously, the lift doesn’t work for any of them either.

“This is so embarrassing”, I tell Rúben after one of the ladies from the 3rd floor spends almost five minutes telling him what a gentleman he is and touching his arms. 

“Not for me”.

After what feels like an eternity, we get to the doorway level and he puts me down. 

“Thank you”.

“Any time. You’re much nicer to hold than the weights”, he jokes, kissing my forehead.

“You know, I read once about forehead kisses and what they meant”.

“Yeah?”, he asks, his tone curious. “What do they mean? I do it without even noticing”.

“There are different theories but my favourite one is that we give those kisses to those we want to protect. Sounds a lot like you”.

“It does. And I do want to protect you. I hate knowing that I can’t always do it”.

“Well, you’re doing a great job anyways”.

We go to the car and then I get an idea.

"I'm going to Google forehead kisses to see which meaning you like best".

"I already liked the protection one but go ahead".

I search through different articles until I find one I like.

"Look", I start, "this says that kissing on the forehead denotes affection, adoration, and care for the person".

"Do you want me to tell you that I adore you?", he laughs. "A bit too corny".

"I think it's cute".

"Well", says Rúben, turning to grab my hand and kissing it since we are at a red light, "I do adore you". 

"Now you are going to make me look up hand kisses".

He just keeps on laughing and starts driving again.

"Oh my God! I love this part".

"Read it".

"When a man feels protective about the person he is in love with, he tries to express it in several ways. One of the ways is to place a kiss on their forehead. So, if you see that your partner is placing his arms around you to give you a hug followed by a forehead kiss, know that he wants to protect you from the worries of the world. He wants you to feel safe and secure in his arms and enjoy being there, keeping worries at bay".

"Wow".

"That's literally you", I say. "My protector".

Now I'm the one looking at him like I adore him.

                                     **

Living with Rúben is…interesting. All the times I’ve stayed at his place, he was focused on being present for me, so he made small changes to his routine. Now I get to see it all…and I’ve never felt so lazy in my life.

“Do you really need to go to a yoga class now?”, I ask when we finish dinner.

“I don’t have to but it’s nice. Stretching is important. Do you want to come?”

“I can’t really do yoga right now”.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just keep me company”, he says, leaning down to hug my shoulders and to put his head on one of them. “Pleaaaaase”.

“Aren’t you tired of me?”, I laugh.

“Never!”

So we go to the class. His teacher welcomes me with a big hug and makes a big fuss about me coming back once I'm fit.

"He won't shut up about you", she says, "it's so nice to find out you actually exist".

I laugh at her words. "I do exist, yeah. But only believe the good things he says".

"As if he would say something bad about you", she shakes her head. "You sure you can't do any of the moves?"

"No, it's ok. I'm really tired from the rehab session I had this morning anyways".

"You can change your mind later if you want".

But I don't. I just sit down and enjoy the view. And take some photos too. Who can blame me?

                                      **

Back home, I need to do a couple more exercises for my foot before bed and Rúben decides to join me.

“Actually, I did that one when I injured my foot years ago”, he says, while trying to replicate my moves.

“I love seeing we have so much in common”, I joke. “Ok, one more and then I can reward myself with some tea and biscuits”.

“What do you say about having your tea and biscuits while you’re taking a relaxing bath”.

“I say I love the way you think”.

“I’ll start running it while you get the food and drink ready”.

I stare at Rúben’s figure while he walks to the bathroom. Saying he’s been spoiling me would be an understatement. I almost feel a bit guilty that he’s always doing so much for me. 

“You ready?”, he asks when I get to the bath, holding my mug and my little bowl full of chocolate digestives.

“Yes, that smells so good”.

“I saw this bath thing the other day and thought of you. I know you love everything that smells like peaches”.

I put my arms around his neck so I can stand on my tiptoes, with one foot only, and kiss him. 

“I don’t think queens are treated as well as you treat me”, I tell him.

“Well, we don’t have queens in Portugal but I can give you the honorary title if you want to”.

“Queen of the Dias kingdom?”

“You might have to fight my mum for that title but you are already on princess level”.

When I get in the bath, I close my eyes and just enjoy the warm water and the perfect smell. I almost even forget the food I brought with me.

                                      **

Once I’m out of the bath, I start doing my night routine. 

“Can I come in?”, asks Rúben after knocking on the door.

“Sure”.

“I heard you moving and guessed you were out of the bath. Was it good?”

“Perfect”, I tell him with a smile. “I’d give you a thank you kiss but I have a mask on”.

“And you’ve never looked better”, he laughs, seeing the bright pink colour of the mask I applied.

“You should try it. It might remove the ugly from your face”.

He ignores me and walks towards the sink until he’s behind me and can hug me and start peppering kisses on the back of my neck.

“You seem to be content with my ugliness so I’ll stay the same”.

When I wash my face to remove the mask, I get one of my face rollers to massage my face.

“What’s that?”, asks Rúben.

“A roller. For the face”.

“What does it do?”

“You know? I’m not sure, but it feels nice”.

When I’m done with it, I put it back on the shelf but Rúben takes it and looks at it.

“So you use it like this?”, he asks, trying to imitate what I was doing.

“No”, I say, holding his hand so I can move the roller in the right way. “Like that”.

“Am I pretty now?”

“Never been prettier”, I say, giving him a quick kiss.

After applying some moisturizer, I go to the bed and start braiding my long hair like I do every night.

“Can I have a go at that?”

“At what?”

“Your braid”, he says, pointing at the almost-done braid I’m holding. “You always do it before bed and I was wondering if I could try doing it too. It looks relaxing”.

“Sure…do you want to try now?”

“Can I?”, he says, looking so excited about something so simple, so I nod and I undo all the hair I had managed to braid.

“We have to brush it first”, I say, giving him my brush.

“I know. Ok…from the ends to the roots”.

“You really have been paying attention, huh?”

“Isn’t that something good for a boyfriend?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not complaining”.

He keeps muttering things, both in English and Portuguese, while doing the braid until he’s done.

“Can I see it?”

“Wait”, he says, getting up to get a mirror so I can see his masterpiece.

“That’s actually really good. Have you been practising?”

“Who would I practice with?”, he laughs.

“I don’t know. Haaland?”

I can’t stop staring at my hair. It’s so cute that he even wanted to give it a try. 

“I’ll teach you more hairstyles for when I can’t be bothered doing my hair. You can be my personal hairdresser”.

“Fine. But I’m not curling your hair. You always complain about burning your fingers and you’ve been doing that for years. I’ll probably end up in the emergency room”.

“So dramatic”, I laugh.

After half an hour of reading, I finally feel sleepy enough so I put my Kindle away. When I turn to look at Rúben, I see he’s still on his phone.

“I’m going to sleep now”, I say.

“Ok”.

He puts his phone away and turns the lights off.

“You don’t have to sleep when I do, Rúben”, I tell him again. “I know it’s a bit early for you”.

“Worth it for the cuddles”.

And it is. The cuddles and the forehead kisses. I’ve always struggled with falling asleep, but when I have Rúben's strong arms around me, it only takes me a couple of minutes to fall asleep. The article couldn't be more right about how safe I feel when he silently shows me how much he'll protect me. 

                                    **

“I need to leave now”, says Rúben from the front door and I walk as fast as I can to go say goodbye to him.

“I’m coming!”

“Don’t walk too fast”.

“It’s fine. You know I’m almost done with rehab. It feels so good to not be in pain”, I laugh, finally reaching him. 

“I’ll miss you”, he says, hugging me tightly.

“You’ll be back tomorrow night. And I’ll stay up just for you”.

“I want to tell you not to, but I also really want to see you when I come back”, he says, frowning.

“It’s fine. I want to see you too, so we are both being selfish”.

We kiss again, making the most out of every second he can stay home before leaving.

“Now I really need to go”.

“Ok, I’ll start packing while you are away, by the way”.

“Why?”, he asks, turning to look at me.

“The lift is fixed. I can go back home”.

“But your rehab isn’t finished”, he complains.

“Yeah, but it’s only 4 more days so it’s fine”.

“But…”.

“Rúben, my love, you need to go”, I tell him after looking at my watch. 

“And you don’t”, he says, confusing me.

“I know. I don’t think Pep can find a place for me in the line-up”.

“No, I mean you don’t need to go. I don’t want you to go”.

Is he insinuating what I think he’s insinuating?

“These last two weeks have been perfect for me. Have they not been good for you?”

“Of course they have, Rúben but…”.

“But would you want to stay here for, you know, longer?”

I can’t help but smile at how much he’s struggling to ask a simple question. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know, forever?”

“It’s almost as if you were asking me to move in with you or something, you know?”, I tease him.

“I am. Would you? Would you move in with me?”

“I’d love to”.

He drops his bag to lift me and kiss me.

“We’ll talk about this more when I come back”.

“Don’t worry, we have all the time in the world. Now go and win that match or I’ll change my mind”.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober23 day twenty-three

"No, you won't understand, ever."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 744

cw: mentions of child abuse, injury

Most times, the walk from his house to the Coello-Sterling home was nothing more than a stroll across the street. Hugo could practically do the journey blindfolded, if not for the danger of getting hit by a car. 

But now, every step felt excruciating. It was even worse going to Haley’s window, knocking on the glass. Though her parents had no problem with him coming over, climbing through the window was his typical way in. Even if it wasn’t necessarily a big window. 

He was having trouble keeping his footing as he weaved through the flower bushes, let alone thinking of climbing a window. Yet Hugo still knocked, more urgently than he would usually. 

It was a bit until she came to open the curtains, looking out at him in confusion. Her short curls were parted into messy braids, barely brushing the shoulders of her pink nightgown. She slid the window open. “Hugo?”

“Hey, yeah,” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. His mind was foggy from pain and the headache starting to build being his temples. It was taking all his attention to stay upright, so he braced himself against the window ledge. “Can you unlock the door for me? I can’t really- climb through there this time.”

She furrowed her eyebrows together. “What happened?”

Hugo glanced back to his house. The windows were still dark. “We can talk inside.”

Haley looked behind him, then sighed. “Alright.”

By the time Hugo limped his way to the porch, the door was unlocked. Once he opened it and crossed the threshold, his left leg finally gave up on him. He pitched forward, crashing onto the floor and at Haley’s feet with a thud. The falling hurt, especially since he had a feeling the bruise would be sticking around for a while, but the floor was nice and cold. 

“Oh my God, Hugo!” She reached around him to close the door before she crouched down. As she did, she looked down at his leg. Though he though his leg had healed up pretty quick on the surface, he knew she saw the dried blood, the frayed hole in his jeans. “What did he do?”

“Well, you know, trying to give me a burnout,” he said. A weak laugh tumbled out of him. “He might have succeeded this time, though.”

She cupped his face. “It certainly feels like you have a fever,” she muttered. “I should call my mom, or get my dad to drive you to the hospital-”

Hugo grabbed her wrist, his mind suddenly clear. “No. No hospitals.”

“You’re obviously in rough shape, you need a doctor-”

“That’s why I came here.” He met her eyes. “Please.”

“She’ll tell you the same thing I did. And she’s right. Hugo, this isn’t something you can just sleep off, you need actual medical attention,” Haley told him. 

“You don’t understand. No, you won’t understand, ever,” Hugo said, squeezing her wrist with the strength he still had. “If my dad hears, he’ll just yank me out of the hospital anyways. I’d rather be here than have my dad try to play nurse. Why do you think I snuck the fuck out?”

“Don’t-” Haley ripped her wrist away. “I know your dad is a fucker. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be lying on my living room floor.”

“Please, Haley,” he said. “I can’t go back. Not right now.”

She glanced back at the rest of the house. “Fine. I’ll get you to the couch, then I’ll get my mom.”

“Thank you.”

Haley stood back up and grabbed his arms. With his uninjured leg, he pushed himself up, and threw an arm around her shoulders. 

“If you don’t go to the hospital, my mom’s gonna try to get you to stay here.”

“Good. Better here than my dad’s.”

“I meant forever.”

“Oh.”

She looked back at him. “Were you really going to go back?”

Hugo didn’t want to admit the truth - that maybe if his Talent was actually gone, his dad would be nicer to him. Maybe this burnout could be a good thing. 

Instead, he said, “I don’t know if I have a choice.”

Haley helped him get settled on the couch, propping a pillow under his left foot. As she adjusted it, she looked him in the eyes. “If I know you, I know you’ll make one.”

Hugo sank into the couch cushions. He hoped that one day she would be right about that.

[wkemeup]

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  

Not that you’d let them know.  

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”  

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  

“Y/n! Thank God.”  

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  

“Were you ever going to tell us?”  

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  

“Were you ever going to tell me?”  

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  

So, you told him as much.  

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  

No one until Bucky.  

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[piratesfromspace]

You Again (Frank Castle/Reader)

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 1.5k TW: light description of wound and bruises, implied rape attempt, mention of alcohol, canon-typical violence, reader has ✨issues✨

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Some hurt/comfort with Frank Castle. For unknown reasons, reader can’t go see a normal doctor. This story was inspired by an unpublished fanfic written by a dear friend of mine, in which Frank already helps reader.

MASTERLIST

“You. Again.”

You never had been so happy to hear his gruff voice. 

“And you’re a fuckin’ mess.” Frank added, tone flat.

“You should see the other guy.” you croaked, trying as best as you could to smile despite the cut on your lower lip.

You were, indeed, a mess. 

Battered and bloody, you were sitting - or more accurately slouching - on the dirty floor, in front of one of Castle’s hideouts door, on a random Tuesday night. Your right hand was badly hiding the knife’s wound on your stomach, the gash in your blood-soaked T-shirt obvious behind your feeble fingers. Angry bruises were already blooming around your wrist, adding yet another painful layer to your miserable appearance. 

“Fuck.” He let the word slip between gritted teeth while scanning your body. You were not in great shape. 

“Fine, come here, don’t bleed out on my front porch.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, while you tried to put yourself on your feet, before admitting you were too weak to accomplish the simple task.

“I-I can’t... stand up.” 

Frank closed his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose, just like he would do to try and calm himself to avoid scolding a child. He eventually crouched beside you, slipping an arm under the crook of your knees, and the other behind your shoulders, gathering you in his arms and lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. 

The door closed behind him thanks to a powerful kick of his foot, and you finally allowed yourself to relax a little, feeling safe for the first time in days. 

The dingy flat was nowhere near the level of comfort you would wish for yourself, but he was here, in this room, breathing and alive and focusing on you, and that was all that mattered at this moment. 

---

“I’m the first choice when it comes to patching you up I guess.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

Frank was trying his best to stitch the wound on your stomach without hurting you too much, but the lack of anesthesia was making it difficult. The witty banter was one way of distracting you, and you were grateful for it.

“Done.” 

The needle clattered on the plate he had put on the floor next to the mattress you were lying on. You let out the breath you were holding, pain slowly radiating through your whole body, making his lazy way from the cut on your belly to the rest of your limbs, awakening in its path the dozens of bruises littering your skin. Your vision got blurry for a moment, ears ringing.

“Hey, stay with me.” his hand was on the side of your face, cradling your cheek while avoiding to touch the cuts on your lips. His warm and callused fingertips against your cheek gently brought you back to reality. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, cataloguing every cut and scratch, and you did not miss the way his eyes just narrowed for a second when they fell on your neck, his fingers hovering above the bruises there. 

“Are you hurt elsewhere?”

“No.” you knew the moment the word escaped your mouth that you had answered way too fast and way too loud for you to be believable.

“You’re so bad at lying it hurts to see you try, you know?”

“I’m f-fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Since you’re the one bleeding on MY mattress, I would argue that it’s also my business now.” 

Your defense was pathetic and he was so patient with you, you wondered why you had to be such a defensive jerk sometimes. You slouched a little more, you wanted to disappear into his mattress. 

“Truth is… I-I don’t really know.” 

“Let me take a look.” It was not a question, but he waited nonetheless for you to nod your approval before helping you shimmy out of your torned jeans. You winced, the movement cruelly reminding you of the freshly stitched wound on your abs. 

“Do I need to kill someone?” was his only reaction when the galaxy of black and purple bruises on your thighs appeared from under your pants. 

“He’s already dead.” 

He knew you were not lying this time, the proudness in your soft voice too earnest to be faked. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice so low and caring, like he was talking to a wounded animal.

“You know what happened.” you answered sternly.

Frank wasn’t dumb and it would only take half a brain to do the maths and understand the situation given the bruises on your neck, wrists and thighs, and the broken zipper of your jeans.

“Do you need medication? Something for...” he seemed lost all of a sudden.

“No, Frank, I killed him before anything happened. That was the plan.”

“The plan? You planned on being attacked and… “ he froze, his mind working to make sense of your words. He quickly understood, his expression suddenly changing. If he was looking sorry a few seconds ago, now he was angry.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been up with this vigilante bullshit again?” 

“That’s rich coming from you.” you scoffed.

“You’re not a 6-foot-tall trained marine.”

“That’s the point, I can easily lure those guys, unlike you.” You cut him off.

“You should have told me first.”

“What? I don’t need your permission.”

“You need my protection.” he was starting to lose his patience.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Says the girl bleeding on my doorstep.” he snorted.

The bastard got a point.

“At least I’m trying to be useful.” you retorted, in a low blow, a foolish attempt to not lose too quickly.

“You won’t be useful when you’re dead.”

“Right now I wish I was.” you grumbled, running out of replies.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

“Fuck you Frank. Fuck you.” 

He was tiring. You should have known you had zero chance of winning this argument from the get go. You couldn’t even go and dramatically slam the door on your way out. Your shaking legs would barely carry you up. Ok, maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe it was a bad idea, and your injured body was just the proof of his implacable logic.

Frank rose on his feet slowly, a hand rubbing on the back on his head - he always did that when he was stressed and thinking too much. 

“Stay here until you’re somewhat healed.” his eyes were avoiding yours, his voice too soft whereas you wished he would be mad, because he would be way easier to fight him this way. “Please.”

It’s not like you were physically able to go anywhere else, and truth be told it’s not like you wanted to go anywhere else. The hurt in his voice made your heart clench. You had been unfair, just like usual. A stupid defense mechanism.

You thought about the last time he had to patch you up. A mean fever. Found you unconscious in a dark alley. Frank had taken good care of you, slowly bathed you in cold water to lower the fever, before tucking you against him under a blanket and nursing you back to life the following days. He had even kissed you that first night, and the next morning, when you felt better, he had pressed his body against yours and made you feel even better, this time with different means than some cold water. The memory of his kindness contrasting with your current ungratefulness had you on the verge of tears. 

You were mad at yourself. 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” you offered after what seemed like an eternity. 

”And… thank you.” you added, trying your best to not burst out crying right there. 

Castle said nothing, he just left for the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, before squatting next to you and handing you the precious liquid. You gulped the whole shot down, you had not realized before how parched you were. 

“You lost some blood, that’s why you’re dehydrated.” he explained matter of factly, voice devoid of hurt or anger, like your little scene had not existed. And that’s why I’m saying nonsense, you thought to yourself.

“I’ll bring you some more.” 

Before he could rise up again, you reached out to touch his face. The sudden movement sent sparks of pain through your guts but you did not flinch. His eyes bore into yours and you closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft then fierce, it felt like finally letting go of something that was burning you from the inside, your injury forgotten the second his lips touched yours. The taste of blood in your mouth was soon replaced by the taste of him and the lingering notes of the whiskey he surely drank before you arrived. 

Castle fell slowly on his knees, carefully hugging you, breaking the kiss only to bury his face in the crook of your neck and whisper inaudible praises between two “silly girl”. 

You closed your eyes. It felt like finally being home. Finally being safe.

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

[fireflykaizoku]

You know I loved the body swap au! Can I please have one for Marco please <3 gn reader if I may

Hiii love! Of course, i hope you like it! ❤ — Now make a wish. — your friends said, waiting for you to blow out the candles. — But remember, you can’t tell us or else it won't come true.

— Okay, okay. — you giggled, closing your eyes thinking about what to wish. You already had many things you wanted, but the only thing missing now was your other half.

“I want to meet my soulmate soon”, you repeated in your head over and over again as you blew out the candles, closing your eyes as if you were trying to manifest it, or at least try to make it happen faster.

Your friends stayed at your place until late talking and imagining how your soulmate was.

— How do you imagine them? — one of your friends asked you.

— Well… I don’t want to be picky, but… — you thought for a second. — Tall and blonde? Smart, respectful and with a good personality. The rest doesn’t matter, I guess.

That night you fell asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow.

You woke up feeling annoyed with the loud noises outside, all the people singing and talking loud that early in the morning got you irritated. Assuming it was one of your neighbors, you opened your eyes ready to jump out of the bed to complain. But it wasn’t your room. The bed was smaller, but the place seemed to be very clean and organized; there was also a desk with an organized pile of papers.

You looked down and also noticed the toned tattooed chest wasn’t yours.

It could only mean one thing.

That man was your soulmate.

When you noticed the porthole and the room started shaking slightly, you realized you were in a ship. And not seeing any uniforms, you assumed it was a pirate ship. That sounded exciting, being with a pirate!

“Well, it was quicker than I was expecting”, you thought. You weren’t complaining, though. But you were surprised knowing your wish came true in such a short time. You wanted to know more about him, so you started looking for things around his room. One of the papers on his desk said “Dr. Marco”. Was your soulmate a doctor? You were fascinated, reading his notes, or trying to, with his handwriting. Sadly, your soulmate didn’t have a mirror in his room.

You opened the bedroom door, looking around to see if anyone was near. The hall was empty, so you ran towards one of the bathrooms, and finally found a small mirror. It was a little broken, but you could still see the reflection very well. He was very handsome, apparently a bit older than you, thin eyebrows and a different hair, that reminded you of a pineapple. It was very cute. He was the way you wished your soulmate to be.

"Tall and blonde? Smart..."

Hearing some steps approaching the door, you left the bathroom quickly.

— Good morning, Marco! — one of the men passing by said, smiling.

You greeted him with a friendly smile, trying to act normal. Before you could think of anything, a few other man were running towards you trying to help another man to walk. You raised an eyebrow at the scene.

— Marco! You need to help him, this dumbass dropped a knife on his foot! — one of them tried to explain.

— Do you think he’ll lose a toe? — another man asked, sounding very desperate.

You started freaking out when you remembered that now youwere the doctor.

— Let’s go to the infirmary. — you said. They needed to have an infirmary, right? So they ran to one of the rooms, and you followed.

They helped the injured man sit on the bed, and surprisingly the man didn’t seem too worried. You and the other men stared at each other, waiting for them to say anything.

— Well, you two can leave now. Thank you. — they nodded and left.

You tried to act like a doctor, getting a paper to write some information about your patient.

— So, what’s your name? — you asked, trying to sound professional.

— What do you mean with that? — his eyes widened. — I’m Thatch! I’m losing blood and you’re the one who gets confused?

— Ah, yes. Sorry, Thatch.

The room went silent when you were trying to remember any first aid tips you had at school, or anything that could help.

— Can you heal me with your devil fruit powers, then?

Devil fruit powers? Your soulmate had devil fruit powers that could cure people? But your question was: could you use them now that you were in his body? You took too long to say anything or show a reaction, so your patient sighed.

— Don’t tell me you finally switched bodies with your soulmate? — he broke the silence.

You nodded, as if you were guilty.

— Marco, that was the worst timing!

— I’m not Marco. I’m (Y/N). — you turned back, trying to find something to clean his wound and maybe fix it somehow. How hard could it be? Maybe the injury wasn’t even that serious.

— I’m going to lose my toe. — Thatch said, dramatically. — Please, let’s call Marco. We have a den den mushi, but don’t let me lose my toe.

You had a short time to find the Captain, which to your surprise, was Edward Newgate. You didn’t even have time to be shocked. In five minutes, you explained the whole situation, begged for a den den mushi and called Marco.

Your soulmate was worried, but was laughing at his crewmate being dramatic in the background. He had a nice calm voice, and was patiently helping you through the phone, how to patch your patient up. When you finished, his toe looked decent and hopefully would get better soon.

— Now we need to switch back, yoi. — he said.

— We need to find a place to meet, and fast. I don’t know what to do if another crewmate of yours get hurt.

Turns out your island wasn’t far from where you were right now, so in a few hours you’d be face to face with your soulmate.

You dreamed about it since you were a child, when your friends kept saying how they imagined their soulmate to be, how the kiss would be, the wedding and the house you two would have.

You spent the next few hours feeling anxious, as if the butterflies in your stomach couldn’t just be quiet. A part of you wondered if you should practice the kiss so everything could go perfect, but soon you dismissed the idea. If you two are soulmates, the kiss will be perfect anyway.

It was almost night, the sky was beautiful with the sunset, and the Moby Dick finally docked. And much to your surprise, your soulmate was there too. Fidgeting with his fingers and walking around in circles and apparently, waiting for you.

— Is that him? — they asked, you nodded. — Oi Marco! — the crewmates screamed, seeing his figure, or well, your figure, from far.

As soon as you left the ship, the walk towards him seemed long, even though you weren’t that far from each other. Not wanting to take any longer, he also started walking in your direction. And finally you were in front of him. After long years, and an even longer day.

You just looked at each other for a minute, he held your hand, squeezing it gently, as to help you, or him, to relax.

Marco was taking too long to make a move, so taking a deep breath and trying to be as brave as ever, your lips found his in a quick move. His eyes widened in surprise for a second, until the doctor finally closed them and enjoyed the moment. The kiss was soft, gentle at first, since the two of you were still shy. Until Marco heated the kiss, pulling you close as if he wanted you two to become one. Your both hands holding his face, the man’s hand on your hips. And of course, the Whitebeard Pirates cheering in the back.

— How did that work so fast yoi? We just met. — he giggled.

— Because you're exactly how I always imagined you to be. — you smiled.

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

To love a hero

A/n: So I'm really sad right now and I'm gonna project that onto my writings, sorry in advance

Plot: Loving a hero is a difficult and heart wrenching task

Pairing: Peter parker x male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: lotta angst, happy ending because I’m not a monster, cussing, major character injury

Word count: 1774

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker went way back, even farther than Peter and Ned. The two had been friends since Pre-K, and only grew closer as the years went by. The two were almost interpretable, if one of the boys was seen, the other was close by.

No one really understood their friendship, but no one questioned it either. In high school the two boys became impossibly closer, Y/n was the first to know about Peter’s abilities, the brunette couldn’t keep something so big from his best friend. Y/n was there and helped make his first suit, the boy was there to soothe his aching bones and to nurse his blossoming bruises.

The pair shared an unbreakable bond, they were what love stories depicted. The love between them was seen by everyone but the two. Of course, Peter knew he was in love with Y/n and vice versa, but for two genius’ they were both dumbasses. Hell, even Tony stark noticed the young love blossoming, the billionaire could see how much the pair adored each other.  

On multiple occasions he’d tried to coerce the young superhero into admitting his feelings but was always given the same response.

“Y/n doesn’t like me like that Mr. Stark, I’m not ruining our friendship over my feelings.” Simple and to the point, but it drove Tony insane that the young genius was so fucking blind. He opted against bringing it up again after seeing such clear pain in Peter’s eyes every time they talked about it, being a bystander as time passed by.

Maybe Peter couldn’t see how enamored Y/n was with him, but Tony could. Especially as he clutched the said boy against his chest as he let out guttural and heart wrenching sobs.

It had all started off as a normal Saturday, Peter was over at Y/n’s the two sitting on the couch and watching some unknown movie, it was purely background noise. The two boys were to focused on each other and their conversation to care about the movie. The domestic peace was ruined by Peter’s phone chiming, a familiar sound that always caused dread to run down Y/n’s spine.

It was the sound of Peter’s police scanner, hearing the radio chatter begin. “Unknown entity in central park, currently creating a perimeter and pushing back civilians, backup requested.” The look of determination crossed over Peter’s features, and if Y/n knew Peter would listen, he’d beg for him to let the avengers take care of it.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see you later N/n!” Peter did a mock salute to his best friend, easily escaping the home via window. For some unknown reason Y/n felt on edge, his gut tightening painfully. He immediately flicked on the news, only having to wait a few moments before the familiar figure of spiderman flung into frame.

The fight was nerve wrecking, watching as the Villain and superhero alike exchanged punches and kicks, and Y/n knew Peter was probably making stupid quips to keep his anxiety under control. The H/c haired boy gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched the fight escalate, getting more violent by the second.

The villain had hit Peter with all their might, and Y/n could only watch as the boy he loved more than anything was flung against a building before he crumpled to the ground. It was as the world stood still, stealing all the breath from Y/n’s lungs as the figure of spiderman didn’t budge, he didn’t get up. Peter promised he’d always get back up.

He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on, air was to thick to breathe and he could feel the moisture running down his face and the devastated cry that left his lips went unheard. The boy couldn’t really remember when Happy arrived at his house, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the disheveled teenager.

Y/n couldn’t remember the drive to the compound, it was as if his brain had just shut down, leaving him devoid of any life. Maybe that’s what Peter was like right now, devoid of life. His constant chatter silenced, his jittery movements stilled, his beautiful face pulled into the blank look of death.

The teenage boy could remember that Happy had to pull over so Y/n could vomit on the side of the road, silent sobs clenching his lungs in their vice. Never in all of his short life had he felt so much pain, never had he begged for the sweet release of darkness as he did now.

The H/c haired boy begged any god that would listen for this to be a nightmare, that he’d wake up and he and Peter would still be on the couch. The brunette would tease him for falling asleep, but he’d take anything to make this pain go away.

When he finally got to the compound and saw Tony waiting, the same grim look on his face as happy, it felt like every last shred of his strength and control was gone. Y/n collapsed into Tony’s arms, breaking into pieces. He only processed a few words “surgery” “critical” and “I’m so sorry.” Everything blended together as the billionaire led him to the medical wing, holding onto the breaking teenager, as if his touch would mend him.

Hours felt like eternity, it was hellish. The sobs that once left the teenager were turned into deafening silence, the occasional sniffle leaving the boy, comforting Tony that the child was in fact still alive.

May had shown up at some point, Y/n couldn’t honestly remember when, or honestly care. Not when he felt like part of himself was missing, leaving a gaping hole where Peter once was.

Good news came in the form of a doctor informing them, at hour 4 of waiting, that Peter had survived the surgery and was now stable. If it wasn’t for his healing factor, the teenager would’ve been dead. He was under sedatives currently, so his body could work solely on healing.

It felt like a weight off of everyone’s chest, he was okay, alive and breathing. The 3 walked in silence to Peter’s room, May and Y/n taking their respective sides on Peter, as Tony sat at the foot of the bed.

Hours were spent in silence, May haven fallen asleep not to long after receiving the news that Peter was okay. Tony and Y/n stayed awake, both lost in their own thoughts. The teenager held Peter’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles silently. His eyes rarely left the still form, scared that if he looked away the boy would disappear from his grasp.

“Yknow what sucks about loving a hero?” Y/n’s broken voice cut through the silence, starling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t reply, his gaze falling on the teenager. Y/n looked over at Tony and fuck that look should never be on a child. He looked so broken, so tired.

“I know he’s going to die long before me, and I’ll be stuck in this fucked up world without him.” A humorless laugh broke through the boys’ lips, it sounded watery and oh so broken. “I’m not ready to live without him Tony.” A quiet sob left his lips, his free hand going to stifle it.

“I love him so much, and it scares me so fucking bad.” Y/n’s eyes moved back over to Peter, shakily bringing the sleeping boy’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Tony felt his chest tighten painfully; this was really a reminder that they were just kids who grew up way to fast.

“He’s not going to die Y/n, not if I have anything to say about it.” Tony replied in a surprisingly gentle but determined tone. He’d be damned if he let this pair get separated, Peter and Y/n deserved to be together. To grow up together and create a life.

The room fell into silence after that, neither of them wanting to broach the topic again. In the early hours of the morning Peter’s doe like eyes opened once more. Every inch of his body ached with an indescribable pain, and he had to hold back a grimace. He was surprised to see the 3 most important people in his life strewn about the room, two fast asleep. Y/n was still awake though, clasping Peter’s hand like a lifeline has his tired eyes burned into the sheets.

Peter gave his best friends hand a gentle squeeze, but it was enough for the boy’s head to shoot up so fast Peter was scared he’d get whiplash. “Peter! Oh, thank God.” The H/c haired boy breathed out, and even through his eyes were red and puffy from tears and purple bags so dark they looked like bruises bloomed under his eyes, he was still the most gorgeous creature Peter had ever seen.

Peter gave a weak smile, squeezing his hand once more. “How long have I been out?” He questioned; head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “About 12 hours.” Y/n replied, voice cracking slightly.

The gentle aura Y/n held around him quickly disappeared into one of anger. “If you ever do that to me again Peter I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” Y/n spit out angrily, but the anger was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“I thought you died, and that was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I love you, and I’d rather you be with the land of the living.” The confession was made by a boy to tired to process he had said it.

Peter felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the boy’s confession. He knew now wasn’t the time to talk on the subject. “I’m okay N/n and trust me I won’t be doing that again any time soon. Why don’t we sleep and talk again in the morning?”

Peter was exhausted, and he knew his best friend was too, they could talk about this at a later date. As Y/n made a sound of agreement, laying his head against the mattress, Peter knew that everything would be okay. It didn’t matter what horrors he faced, or what pain he went through. He had made a promise to Y/n. He’d get up every time, and he’d be damned if he ever made the Boy he loved go through that pain again.

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

In a Heartbeat ~ Doctor!Bucky x Reader Oneshot

A/N: Title subject to change. This is a GIANT CONGRATULATIONS PRESENT for my fave Doctor!Bucky lover and yours @captainscanadian Because my girl finished undergrad today! Congrats, bby! Enjoy this doctor!bucky fluff that I said I would write a million years ago. ;) I'm so proud of you!!

Summary: What should have been a fun night out ends in the ER. At least your doctor is handsome?

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: Injuries (fractured ankle), hospital, getting a cast, xrays and catscan. I think that's it. Fluff

Word Count: 2190

For the first hour of your stay in the ER you couldn’t decide if the constant beeping from the machine beside you was calming or irritating.

As it rolled into the second hour, you settled on irritating. You glared down at your ankle even though it was hidden under the blanket. You moved it ever so slightly, wincing as it caught on the sheet.

You unlocked your phone, letting your friends know that yes you were still here. And no you didn’t have any updates. And no they shouldn’t feel guilty.

A small part of you had blamed them in the first moments, after all they were the ones who convinced you to celebrate the end of finals with some drinking and dancing.

You checked your make up in the mirror next to your front door before locking up. You glanced at the door across the hall, hoping to catch the eye of your hunky neighbor before heading out. But no dice.

Oh well. At least your dress would likely be appreciated at the club. You’d even pulled out your comfy heels. Heels which were now mocking you from their spot on the chair next to your purse.

You’d been feeling good strutting down the stairs of your apartment building when a group of college kids who had clearly been pre-gaming, thundered past you, forcing you to press up against the wall. When you’d taken your next step your heel broke and you went sliding down 15 stairs.

You’d thought your ass had taken the worst of it until you tried to stand up and immediately cried out in pain.

So instead of ferrying you to a club, the Uber your friends arrived in took you to the hospital. You’d sent your friends on their way once you’d been processed and were waiting to be admitted. No need to spoil everyone’s night.

But now five hours later and bored out of your skull you were regretting that decision. You were going to lose your mind. You’d only left the room twice. Once for an x-ray and once for a CT scan.

You turned on the TV and settled on the game show network, letting the episode of family feud distract you.

You were on your third episode when a nurse came in.

“Hello. I’m Wanda, the night shift nurse. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I’m just eager to get out of here.”

“I’ll bet you are. Dr. Barnes should be in soon,” she assured you. “He just finished up a surgery.”

“Sounds good.”

She checked your chart, noting your vitals and making sure that you weren’t tangled in any wires.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Can I have some water?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Wanda brought back a cup of water and a warm blanket.

“Thought you might be cold,” she explained.

“Actually yeah. Thanks. Is there any way I can take this off?” You gestured to the heart rate monitor on your finger.

She shot you an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. It’s protocol.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrugged.

“I’ll come and check on you in a little bit.”

“Thank you.”

She bustled out of the room and you turned your attention back to the TV which had moved on the Price is Right reruns.

You must have drifted off because the next thing you know you were being gently shaken. Your eyes were finally able to focus on a pair of entirely too blue eyes.

As your brain caught up, you realized the blue eyes were set in a very handsome face. A familiar handsome face at that.

“2A?” you asked cocking your head to the side.

He chuckled as you readjusted yourself trying to discretely check that you hadn’t drooled in your sleep.

“Most people call me Dr. Barnes. Or Bucky.”

“Bucky?”

That made even less sense. You were certain the name on his mailbox was James.

“My middle name is Buchanan. And what shall I call you, 2B?”

“Y/n.”

“Well it’s very nice to officially meet you, Y/n. Although I wish it were under better circumstances. Let’s take a look at this ankle shall we?”

You nodded, and he took that as an assent to lift the blanket. He folded in neatly up over your knee leaving most of your lap covered. You grimaced when you saw the swelling was even worse now than when you arrived.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

You relayed your story to him, omitting the bit about hoping to run into him. He listened intently, making the occasional note but mainly he just nodded.

“I’m going to examine it now,” he announced.

His hands were sure and practiced as he gently turned your ankle from side to side. It twinged occasionally, so you focused on his features to distract yourself.

You catalogued each in turn but lingered on his sharp jawline. Your thoughts drifted to peppering kisses along it and down his neck.

You were startled when his cerulean gaze met yours with a concerned look.

“Did that hurt?”

“Not really. Why?”

You were genuinely confused by the question. You hadn’t noticed anything amiss in his examination.

“Your heart rate was elevated. And you, ummm,” he broke eye contact for the first time.

“I what?”

“Squeaked.”

Your eyes widened and your chest felt hot with embarrassment. You glanced at the traitorous machine which was live casting your racing heart. Although that probably was less of the issue than the fact that you squeaked.

“I guess the hospital just makes me nervous,” you lied lamely.

He didn’t look convinced but thankfully let it go.

“I just need to check one more angle.”

This time it was painful and you yelped.

“Sorry.” He gingerly placed your foot back on the pillow that had been elevating it and covered it with the blanket.

He held the CT scans and X-rays up to the light as you watched him. You once again failed to notice your heart rate climbing as you admired the bulge of his bicep.

Dr. Barnes however definitely noticed. He smiled over at you reassuringly, which failed to help the issue at all. He glanced at the erratically beeping machine, before looking back to you. You would swear that there was a hint of smugness in his expression. But he kept it well hidden.

“Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

“Lay it on me, doc.”

“Well, the good news is that you will not be needing surgery. It’s a minor fracture.”

“And the bad news?”

“It’s a minor fracture that requires a cast.”

“How long?”

“Eight weeks. Total.”

“Eight weeks on crutches?” You whined.

“You should only be on crutches for the first four. After that, assuming everything is healing well, you’ll be in a walking cast.”

You groaned and shot a murderous glare at your heels once again.

“The price we pay for fashion.”

“I’ll have Wanda prepare everything now. It should only take about an hour.”

“Well, that sure cuts into my dancing plans,” you joked, frustrated by being stuck there for another hour.

It would be morning before you got home.

“Is that where you were headed?” he asked as he pressed the call button.

“Yeah. My friends finally convinced me to go out with them for once and look where it got me,” you laughed humorlessly. “Well at least I’m done for the summer. So the leg won’t mess me up too bad.”

Wanda appeared in the doorway.

“What do you need, doctor Barnes?”

“I need a cast kit. For the ankle.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

You expected Bucky to leave then, but he continued bustling around the room.

“You said you’re done for the summer. Are you a teacher?”

“Kinda.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I’m a graduate student. So I just finished up TAing for the semester.”

“Ahh. Are you doing research then?”

“I’m finishing up the edits on my thesis actually. So this might actually make me do it instead of procrastinating," you giggled.

“What’s your thesis on?”

You were in the middle of explaining your thesis, when Wanda returned. Genuinely interested in your area of research, Bucky continued asking you questions as he wrapped the liner around your leg.

From time to time he would grin up at you and the damn heart rate monitor would go off all over again. You’d gotten over your embarrassment for the most part, until Wanda had to suppress a giggle because your heart actually skipped a beat.

“Alright. You are all set. Wanda will grab you your crutches and your discharge papers. You’ll need to make a follow up with your Orthopedic in four weeks.”

“Since I don’t have an orthopedic on speed dial, do you know any good ones?”

Bucky chuckled.

“I’ll have her put my practice’s number on the sheet.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“No problem. Do you have any questions before I go?”

“How long do you think getting all the paperwork sorted will take?”

“Not long. Twenty minutes or so. Why?”

“Just wondering if I should order my Uber now or wait.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. His fingers drummed against the clipboard in his hand as he momentarily mulled something over.

“If you’re willing to wait another forty-five minutes, I can drive you home when I get off my shift.”

You immediately shook your head.

“You so don’t need to do that.”

“Please. It’s literally on my way home.”

You nibbled on your lip. It would be a lot easier.

“If you’re sure.”

He seemed almost relieved when you accepted.

“Absolutely. It’s been pretty quiet tonight, so you can just hang out in here until I get back.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He smiled, softer than the other ones he’d given you so far before hanging your chart on the end of your bed and exiting the room, bumping into the glass door as he went. You stifled a giggle. Maybe you weren’t the only one affected.

It took a little over thirty minutes to get you processed. And before you knew it Bucky was helping you into his car. You went in butt first and then swung your cast leg, followed by your good leg in just a hospital sock. Bucky handed you your shoes and purse.

“So, do you chauffer all of your patients home?” You teased as you left the parking lot.

“Only the ones who live across the hall. Speaking of which, I am sorry this is the first time we’ve gotten to meet properly. Not very neighborly of me.”

“I can’t imagine why you haven’t made your way over with your loads of free time,” you deadpanned, earning you an eyeroll. “But however it happened, I’m glad that we met. It was getting to the awkward stage.”

“Yeah, seven months of passing waves is a long time.”

You hummed your agreement.

“So, how did you get into medicine?”

“Family business.”

He told you all about his surgeon mom and physician father as you drove home. His siblings were also in medicine and even his childhood best friend.

“That is so many medical degrees in one house. Must be rousing holiday dinner conversations.”

“We actually have a no shop talk rule.”

“And how long does that last?” you asked knowingly.

“Through appetizers… maybe.”

“Your family sounds amazing.”

“They are. I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” he admitted as he parked his car.

Bucky carefully helped you out of the car and up to your apartment. You’d never been so glad to live in a building with an elevator.

“I feel like I should offer you breakfast for bringing me home,” you admitted as you plopped down on the couch, and lifted your foot onto the coffee table exhausted from the crutches.

“You need to stay off that foot. But I’m sure you’re starving and so am I. Got any pancake mix?”

“Doctor Barnes, you really don’t have to do that.”

“It’s Bucky. We’re back to just neighbors here. And I want to.”

“How can I repay you?”

“Think about going out on a date with me when your leg is all healed.”

You cocked your head, as you appraised him.

“Just think about it?”

He scratched behind his ear as he shrugged a little.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you out for well… about seven months. But I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. Because you don’t. I would have brought any of my neighbors home,” he rambled.

“You’re a really good guy,” you hummed.

“Could you tell my Ma that?” he joked, though his ears tinged pink.

“Happily. And I’d love to think about going on a date with you.”

He beamed back at you.

“I’ll take it. So pancakes?”

“In the cabinet above the fridge. Next to the chocolate chips.”

He nodded, taking the hint on your favorite add on.

“I’m on it.”

Eight weeks later when your walking cast came off, you and Bucky went out for dinner… for your two month anniversary.

Your heart definitely still raced when he smiled at you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: There we have it! I hope you enjoyed @captainscanadian.

[anotherspnfanfic]

Overloaded

Pairing: Dr Dean x nurse reader

Word count: 1584

Warnings: minor injury

Squares filled: Hospital AU for @spndeanbingo and Doctor AU for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me a Story Bingo

Summary: Working too many hours and being short handed leads to a breaking point.

~~~

Gabe pushed the wheelchair off the elevator into the ED. She bit her lip to muffle her whimper as the small bump jostled her foot. “Sorry,” Gabe murmured as he wheeled her towards the nurses station. “Hey, Charlie, you got an open room? She needs an x-ray.”

Charlie turned to see who Gabe was referring to. “Oh, what happened?” she asked, seeing the pain on her friend’s face.

Before either of them could explain, Dean came out of an exam room and spotted her. “My nurses are not supposed to be in wheelchairs. Especially not my favorite one,” he said as he walked over and squatted down to her level. He noticed her puffy eyes as he carefully pulled up the pant leg on her elevated foot. He echoed Charlie’s question, “What happened, sweetheart?”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead as she glanced at the floor. “I missed a step, or maybe two. I landed wrong on my ankle. I'm pretty sure it’s broken. It hurts a lot.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he stood and moved to take over Gabe’s position. “Okay, let's get you checked out.”

“Exam 4 is open,” Charlie said.

Dean turned to Gabe as he pushed her toward the room. “Can you go grab the portable x-ray and 25 mcg fentanyl, please?”

Once they were in the exam room, Dean offered his hand to help her stand on her good leg. He leaned over and lifted her carefully and then set her on the bed. She tried not to whine as the movement sent pain shooting up her leg. “Damn it. This sucks,” she said.

He situated the bed so she was laid nearly flat and got her foot elevated on a couple pillows. “1-10—how’s the pain?” Dean asked, as he tossed a blanket over her.

“Uhh, about a 6.”

Dean nodded. “Gabe should be back with the pain meds in a minute. So, you missed a step?” he asked as he started to check her vitals.

“Yeah, I was playing with my phone and I missed it,” she explained. He gave her a skeptical look.

Before he could say anything more, Gabe appeared and handed Dean a syringe. “I figured you’d want that first. I’ll be right back with the x-ray.”

Dean finished recording her temp and BP, then pushed the sleeve of her scrubs up her shoulder and cleaned a spot with an alcohol wipe. “Little pinch,” he warned. “Babe, you can maneuver all the stairs in this building backwards, hands full, and with your eyes closed. You sure you just missed it?” he asked.

She broke eye contact as she contemplated her answer carefully, knowing he could tell when she was lying. “No,” she mumbled. “I might have been a little dizzy, too.”

He reached his index finger under her chin to force her eyes to meet his. “Any guesses why you were dizzy?”

She pulled away enough to drop her gaze back down to the bed and shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Low blood sugar, maybe? Probably,” she mumbled the last word. She fiddled with the corner of the blanket almost nervously, not wanting to see the disappointment and concern on his face.

He hummed. “So you didn’t miss a step. You fainted?”

She sighed in defeat. “Yeah.”

“Have you eaten anything since the granola bar I brought you,” he paused to check his watch, “five hours ago?”

She shook her head and pulled the barely-touched bar from her pocket. “I got busy and then I forgot it was there.”

“What about water? Have you been drinking?” he probed. She simply shook her head, still refusing to make eye contact. “So you’re probably dehydrated, too.”

She shrugged.

He sighed. “You really have got to take better care of yourself. I love how much you care for everyone around you, but you have to come first once in a while. Otherwise, you won’t be able to help anyone.”

“I just get so busy that I forget sometimes.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “We are going to work on that.”

Before she could add anything, Gabe pushed the x-ray into the room, and within a few minutes, they had all the images they needed of her ankle.

“Definitely very broken,” Dean stated. “Gabe, can you run a CBC and BMP and then start an IV of normal saline while I go page Sammy, please?”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wait!” she yelled before he could disappear out the door. “Why are you paging Sam?”

He turned back to face her. “Did you hit your head, too? You broke your ankle; we need an ortho consult. That would be Sam.”

She let out a frustrated groan as Dean left.

Gabe patted her shoulder before wrapping the tourniquet around her arm. “Maybe try not falling down the stairs next time.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away from what he was doing. “Oh, my god. Why didn’t I think of that?!”

He finished the blood draw and got the IV set up. Next, he carefully fluffed the pillows under her foot to ensure it was elevated enough. “You are all set. Do you need anything else right now?”

“Not unless you have a time machine.”

“A day do-over? Let’s see.” Gabe snapped his fingers and then spun around. “Damn. It was worth a shot.”

She tried to contain her smile as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks for trying, I guess.”

Ten minutes later, she was dozing off when Dean returned with Sam close behind. Dean ran a comforting hand over her head to ensure she was awake.

Sam took a few minutes to read over the x-rays. He turned away from the light board and walked over to the foot of the bed. “Unstable bimalleolar fracture,” he stated as he inspected her ankle. “You just bought yourself surgery and a vacation.”

“No way,” she blurted. “I can’t. We’re already short staffed.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s not exactly optional. Good news, though: the swelling isn’t too bad yet, I happen to be free in 45 minutes, and you haven’t eaten anything in hours. So we can do this today.”

Charlie joined them to give Dean her lab results. He turned to address her. “Just like I thought: mild dehydration and your blood sugar is at 58.” Dean flipped through the info again before handing it over to Sam. “Okay. So I’ll add glucose to her IV and get her up to pre-op.”

“Perfect. Make sure you keep her foot elevated.”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. “Do you think this is my first day?”

Sam shrugged. “Just making sure, Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled quietly.

Sam turned his attention back to her. “I’ll see you soon, Shortie. I’ll getcha all fixed up. Sound like a plan?”

She gave him a lazy thumbs up. “Thanks, Gigantor.”

“Can you send Gabe back in here on your way past?” Dean requested. Sam simply nodded as he turned to leave.

Dean returned his focus to her. “How’s the pain now?”

She scrunched up her nose as she considered her answer. “Um, about one and a half.” She laughed at herself.

“That’s good. I see you’re loopy, too.”

She scowled at him. “You’re loopy.”

He just shook his head. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Gabe returned and Dean gave him the med order and asked him to take her up to the OR.

“You’re not coming up?” She pouted.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll be there when you wake up, though, I promise.” He took her hand and placed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

As if on cue, Charlie leaned into the room. “Dean, trauma incoming. MVA car vs pedestrian. Ambo is two minutes out.”

“Okay, I'll be there in a second.” He gave her hand one more squeeze before he turned to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

~

Roughly three hours later, Sam found Dean in the lounge pouring a cup of coffee. He nodded and offered over the now-full cup.

“Thank you.” Sam took a sip of the dark liquid. “We got her all set up in recovery. She should be awake soon.”

“Okay. I’ll head up there in a minute.” Dean took a sip of his own coffee. “Everything went smoothly?”

“I’d have paged you if it hadn’t.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam nodded. “Yes, it went perfectly. It’ll heal up just fine.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Wandering into her room, he couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful she looked. He placed his hand softly against her cheek, sweeping his thumb slowly over the skin. She nuzzled into the touch as she lazily opened her eyes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She gave him a goofy smile. “I like when you call me that.”

“I know you do.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy.” She yawned. “And I’m starving. Can you bring me some fries?”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad your appetite is back. You get a little more sleep and I’ll bring you fries.”

“And pizza,” she added. Before he could agree, she gasped. “Ice cream!”

“Tell you what: I will get you fries from the cafeteria for you to munch on on the way home and then we can order pizza.”

She pouted as her eyelids started to droop. “What about ice cream?”

His eyebrows scrunched together as he asked, “When do we ever not have ice cream at home?”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She smiled as she finally let herself drift off once more.

~~~

Tags: @deanwasscaredbyacat @babypieandwhiskey @muchamusedaboutnothing @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

[random-imagines-blog]

Love Peas {Hiram Lodge x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1894 Summary: Hiram comes home after a very rough night. Notes: Mentions of death

Shifting under the covers, you heard a noise coming from downstairs. The house was usually quiet save for the murmur of the appliances and electronics, a sound that you had gotten used to over the months of living here with your boyfriend, Hiram. So each and every footstep on the ground sounded like a racket. You laid still, expecting the security system to trigger, saying that there was an intruder, but it did no such thing. The power was still on, you could hear the hum still, that little electrical buzz that was your constant background noise. So that meant whoever was in your house had the keycode. Hiram.

There was even more clamor from downstairs. A groaning sound. Now you knew for sure it was Hiram. You’ve heard him, unfortunately, be in pain on more than one occasion through your relationship. It was the price that he paid for being in the ‘business’ that he was.

You swept the blankets off of you, your bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. You pulled your robe closed over your pajamas as you made your way quickly to the door, through the hallway, and then started down the stairs to see what the damage was this time. You were always terrified that he was going to come home covered in blood, battered beyond repair. That you were going to hold him and hear nothing but the death rattle right before he would be gone. It was a scene that ran through your nightmares. A scene that if it were in front of you, you were ill-prepared to deal with.

There was nothing lazy, or just-woken up about your movements. Foot descending after foot on the runner of the stairs, keeping the chilliness of the hard floors at bay. Through the moonlight coming in through the windows, you were able to see a form just slipping out of the foyer, making it’s way to the kitchens. “Hiram?" You asked, reaching the bottom of the staircase and turning to follow. He was hurt, though there was no blood on the floor. There wasn’t a trail leading after him. But by the way that his leg was sliding behind him, it looked like it was broken at the very least. You flicked the switch and the kitchen came to life with bright lights, revealing everything. Under those florescent s, there was no room to hide.

Though Hiram was trying pretty hard to hide.

He sat down on the floor, head leaning back against the wooden cabinets. He was bruised, but that was an understatement. He was severely bruised. Black eye. Split lip. His usually perfect hair was tousled in a not-unattractive way but the very fact that he hadn’t immediately took a come to it scared you a little. If that was the state of his face, you were very concerned about the rest of him. You got down on your knees next to him, ignoring the discomfort, nervous to even touch him. He looked like he would break if he did.

“I can explain...” Hiram started off by saying, but then realized that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. He’d look up into your face, and then would immediately try to cut off the eye contact, looking down at the ground instead.

“I think this is going a bit beyond the first aid box’s capabilities,” You winced upon seeing the other side of his face. Oh lord, even that eye was starting to swell up. He was close to being a human bruise at this point. That poor, gorgeous face of his. “Maybe we should get you to a hospital. Is anything broken? How did you get home?”

“Cab,” Hiram admitted, ignoring your first question. “The driver was - taking care of things while I left.”

“Christ, Hiram,” You groaned. You got up to your feet, dashing towards the bathroom to get the first aid kit that was in there. The amount of times that you had to replace this thing. The pharmacy probably thought that you were in an abusive relationship. You came back to see that he hardly moved, other than to wipe a bit of blood that was coming from the deep cut in his bottom lip. You sat back down beside him, opened up the first aid kit, tore into a package that contained an alcohol wipe and started to blot.

“Do we got any ice packs?” Hiram moaned. You stood up to go and check, looking through the contents of the freezer. You rummaged past the frozen vegetables, frozen pizzas, bottles of alcohol to find that - no, there were no ice packs in the freezer.

“Have to do with some vegetables,” You said, grabbing a bag of frozen peas. You held it up to his face, pressing it as tenderly as you could against the rougher looking eye. He hissed, and brought his hand up to grab it, only to show you how damaged that looked too. Bloody knuckles were the least of his worries. “We’re going to have to get that looked at,” You said, pointing towards his hand.

“It’s fine,” He muttered, letting it rest on the bag, which was resting on his face. It looked like it hurt. You didn’t know how he wasn’t crying out for a hospital. You would be if you sustained even half of those injuries.

“As much as we love peas in this house, I don’t think they’re going to be granting you any miracles,” You said, and went back to dabbing with the alcohol wipe. “Your lip is going to need stitches. The cuts too big. It won’t heal right.” “So call my Doctor,” Hiram growled, grumpily. By instinct, you slapped the top of his thigh, making him gasp out in pain and drop the frozen bag onto the ground. It broke open, the little green vegetables scattering across the tiled floor.

“I don’t care how hurt you are, you don’t talk to me like that,” You said, shaking your finger in his face. “I’m just worried about you. I don’t know how many more of these you can take before you have some serious internal injuries. Even Houdini died from a punch to the stomach, and you’re not nearly as good at escaping trouble as he is.”

“Mi amor, comparing me to a dead man,” Hiram groaned, pushing peas off of his lap. You got up again, your legs getting a work out from all of the squats that you were doing tonight, and grabbed another bag of frozen peas. It was weird that there were so many, but even rich people buy stuff that’s on sale sometimes. It’s how you stayed rich.

“You keep this up and you will be a dead man,” You quipped, putting the fresh bag on his face, holding it this time instead of letting him do it. “At least let me look at you, please?”

He finally gave a nod, and you slowly lifted his shirt to see all of the markings and bruises that were on his abdomen. His torso looked like a Jackson Pollock painting with the different shades of colors everywhere. You winced, bringing the shirt back down. You really hated seeing him look like this. You’ve been pleading with him to retire since the last time that he had received a beating like this. Or at the very least, hire someone younger to take his place in these fights. He was getting too old for this. “You should see the other guys,” He quipped.

“I don’t doubt it. And what were they - half your age?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, moving the bag from one eye to the other. “Hiram, my love, don’t you think it’s about time that you think about retiring? We can move away from Riverdale. We can get a spot on the beach somewhere, where it never snows. Where it’s never warm. Where the only damage you have to worry about is getting too much sun. Getting burned. But I’ll take care of you and always put sunscreen on you. Aloe vera if you do end up getting burned. Just - think about it, okay? For me?”

“I can’t give up my business like that,” Hiram shook his head, not even considering the possibility. You sighed. You knew that was going to be his answer. You hadn’t been expecting anything else. And yet you were still disappointed. As per usual. “I cannot be seen as weak or everything that I’ve done so far will have been for nothing. All of that work. I can’t pull out yet.”

“Of course you can’t,” You sighed. “At the very least, can you plan on it in the future? I don’t want to be putting this bag on your eyes when you’re well into your seventies.”

“Do you think we’ll still love peas then, mi amor?” He asked, breaking into a smile despite what must be a lot of pain, especially in his lip area.

“I think the better question is will I still love you them,” You teased. pressing a kiss onto one of the few parts of his face that wasn’t mottled with bruises. “But yes, to both. These are lovepeas, don’t you know. Rumor says that if you put them on the black eye of the person that you love, you’ll be together until the ends of the Earth. Or until there are no more peas. But given how the bees are dying out, that might not even be until the ends of the earth.”

“And your creativity is why I love you, and why I always come home,” Hiram said, taking your wrists around his hands. You smiled gently, loving that he cared about the weird side of you. Not just the well made-up person who was always by his side at work events. He always had a way of making you feel like you were someone special. Someone worth adoring.

Now if only you could actually get him out of the criminal business and move somewhere like Mexico where you can lie on the beach together.

“Do you love me enough to let me leave for a moment to call the Doctor? I am worried about this lip of yours. I need it stitched up and better so I can kiss you again.”

“Yes, I suppose I love you that much.” His thumbs would rub at the underside of your wrists for a moment, and then he would gently release you so you could get up and walk back to the bedroom where your cellphone was waiting. Even leaving him that long seemed like an eternity. You called the doctor while you were on your way back down the stairs, hanging up as you entered the kitchen, just in time to see Hiram picking one of the frozen peas off of the ground and popping it into his mouth.

“What are you doing?” You asked, going for the broom and dustpan to finally clean that mess up.

“Oh, I thought these were the feel-better peas. You eat a couple and then you feel all better until the end of time?” He’d ask, showing his very rare funny side. You laughed and shook your head.

“Let me clean these up then I’ll get you to your chair. The doctor is on his way.”

[morganaspendragonss]

fic request because i am d e s p e r a t e : tarlos carlos whump with supportive gabriel reyes ??? if you’re down to write him that is. i love ur work n ur whump n i think u would write a p good gabe. 🥰

holly’s august extravaganza day 1: against all odds (we're still here)

i'm always down to write gabriel! thanks for the prompt trick, i hope you like it!

ao3 | 2k | car accidents, whump, major character injury, angst with a happy ending

“I told you we should have brought the car.”

Carlos scowls over at TK, shifting one of the many bags he’s carrying higher on his arm. It cuts painfully into his skin, his good mood from earlier long since soured. The knowledge that TK is, of course, right isn’t exactly helping matters.

“In my defence,” he starts, for probably the fifth or sixth time, “when we texted your dad to see if he wanted us to pick up anything from the store, I wasn’t expecting a full list.”

“We could have told him no.”

“TK, he’s your dad and we are literally crashing his home right now. I’m not gonna tell him no.”

TK opens his mouth, presumably to retort with a comment about how his dad loves Carlos and loves having them around. Both of which are things Carlos knows perfectly well, thanks, but he’s still not interested in testing it by refusing to get Owen’s kale chips or that specific brand of shampoo which took half an hour—and two stores—to track down.

Whatever TK was about to say is abandoned when one of his own bags slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground with a depressing thud. It bursts open—because why wouldn’t it—and spills their purchases across the sidewalk. The only solace is that nothing breaks, but that’s where the good news begins and ends; Carlos’s eyes track a can as it rolls down the street and into the gutter, landing in a puddle of dirty water. TK looks forlornly between the dropped bag and those still balanced on his arms, then heaves a long-suffering sigh and crouches awkwardly, easing the other bags down as carefully as he can manage.

“Call an Uber,” he grumbles. “We are not walking home like this.”

On that point, they’re in agreement. Carlos spares himself a moment of idle amusement at TK’s predicament before beginning the arduous task of extracting his phone from his pocket without dropping any of his own shopping.

He’ll hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

Oh my god!

Someone call 911!

Are they even alive?

Just hold on, son, you’re going to be just fine.

*

Beeping.

Carlos frowns, slowly blinking his heavy eyelids open. It takes a minute to register his surroundings for what they are—a hospital room—and a further minute to notice the presence at his side. It’s his father, looking exhausted, turning his cowboy hat in his hands as he stares at the floor.

“Dad?” he croaks, wincing at the soreness in his throat. “What happened?”

His father’s head jerks up, his eyes going wide as he sees Carlos awake. “Mijo. It’s good to see you awake.”

“Dad, why am I here? What happened?”

He sighs, reaching out to pat Carlos’s arm. “There was an accident,” he explains. “A drunk driver lost control of his car and mounted the curb right where you boys were standing. He was speeding, so he hit you pretty hard. Your foot was crushed under a wheel, you have a fractured wrist, and you bumped your head when you fell so you probably have a concussion. The doctors say you should heal just fine, though, gracias a Dios.”

Carlos lifts his head to look down at his body, only just registering the casts on his arm and foot. There’s a dull ache radiating through his entire body and his head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, but he’s alive and he’ll heal. He should be happy about that, but the only thing occupying his mind is his dad’s silence on TK.

“What about TK?” he asks, part of him dreading the answer. “I remember him pushing me; is he okay?”

“He’s…” His dad hesitates, sending a cold slither of fear down Carlos’s spine. “Alive.”

Carlos stares, the beginnings of panic stealing his breath. “What does that mean?”

His father blows out a long breath. “It means you were right,” he says, meeting Carlos’s eyes. “He did push you, so he took the brunt of the hit. He suffered a serious open pelvic fracture and broken ribs, which punctured his lung. Last I heard, they managed to fix him up and they’re not expecting any further complications, but we won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

“He hasn’t woken up?”

“Not yet. He will, you’ll see.”

“I want to see him.”

And Carlos knows what the answer will be to that—a resounding no. He also knows that he won’t be able to argue; his father is incredibly stubborn, and when he digs his heels in, there’s no moving him. But he needs to at least try—he’s not going to stop worrying about TK until he sees him, and probably not for a long time after that.

His dad sighs and fixes him with a firm look. “Carlitos, you and I both know that’s out of the question,” he says. “You’ve only just woken up, you need to give yourself time to heal before exerting your body even more. Besides, he’s in good hands and Owen is with him, so we’ll know as soon as there’s any change.”

“Joder, Papá, I know all that,” Carlos cries, frustrated, barely able to refrain from throwing his head back on the pillow. “I just hate that he’s here, hurt, and I can’t even see him.”

“Lo sé,” His dad smiles gently, something that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but really only gets on Carlos’s nerves. “Escúchame, hijo. Descansa. Cúrate. Then you can focus on TK.”

It’s easier said than done and his father knows it, but Carlos has no choice. The conversation is effectively put to an end by his dad reaching over and pressing the call button next to the bed. A nurse comes in and quickly sets about checking his vitals and asking enough questions to make Carlos’s head spin. His probable concussion becomes definite, but otherwise he’s in good shape, all things considered.

He can’t help but wish he weren’t.

*

Two days later, Carlos is deemed fit to be discharged, providing he has someone to help him and providing he agrees to rest and not do anything even close to strenuous. TK is also awake now but, according to Owen, he’ll be kept in the hospital for at least another week. The break to his pelvis was bad, so he’ll need a wheelchair for a while even after discharge, and his refusal to take strong painkillers means his recovery is going to be long and painful.

Carlos is itching to see him. It’s been torture cooped up in his room without knowing how TK was doing—there’s only so much relief messages passed through their fathers can bring. It had only been his father’s stern and steady presence that had kept him in that bed when he felt like he was losing his mind with worry.

But now, finally, he’s being wheeled into TK’s room and helped onto the chair next to the bed. Owen stands off to the side, watching the two of them with a mixture of affection and sadness in his gaze, and his dad hovers behind him, but Carlos only has eyes for TK.

He looks incredibly tired, but he attempts a smile when he rolls his head to look at Carlos, extending his hand out across the distance between them.

“Hey, Ty,” Carlos says softly, taking TK’s hand in his good one. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better. Not sure if I’ve been worse. I think this might just beat getting shot to that title.”

“That’s not funny.”

TK just hums, his eyes drifting closed for a second. “Maybe not.”

“Why did you push me?”

TK’s eyes fly open at the question, confusion overtaking his expression as he stares at Carlos. He moves as if to sit upright before groaning in pain, his face screwing up. Carlos reaches out for him, but he’s beaten to it by his father, who places a reassuring hand on TK’s shoulder.

“Take it easy, son,” he says gently. “Don’t move too much.”

“I hate this,” TK mutters, his body relaxing bit by bit. His gaze is still clouded when he looks back over at Carlos, but he manages a soft smile all the same. “I pushed you because I didn’t want you to get hurt. The car would have hit me either way; I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get you out of the way in time.”

Carlos blinks at him, dumbfounded. “You’re sorry?” he asks, disbelief colouring his tone. “Ty, you’re in the hospital, seriously injured, because you chose to save me instead of yourself. Why would you do that?”

“You know why.”

Carlos does; of course he does, but it’s not enough to assuage the guilt still bubbling in his stomach at the sight of TK in the bed.

TK sighs, squeezing his hand. “You would have done the same for me,” he points out. “We both know you would have, so don’t you dare ask me to apologise for my choices.”

“I know. I won’t.” Carlos closes his eyes, deflating a little. “I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“And I hate seeing you hurt, so maybe you can do us both a favour and go home. I’ll be fine.”

Carlos must need his hearing tested, because there’s no way TK just said that. There’s no way his boyfriend told him to leave right after calling him out for hypocrisy. Except apparently he did, because he’s trying to disentangle their hands, and Carlos is not having that.

He grips onto TK even tighter and glares at him. “TK, if you think I’m leaving you here—”

“Carlos,” TK interrupts quietly. “I get it. But, babe, you need to rest and heal, and you can’t do either of those things sitting here.”

“Watch me.”

“No.” TK shifts his gaze over Carlos’s shoulder, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “Mr Reyes, can you make sure he rests?”

His dad laughs, leaning over to pat TK’s shoulder. “Of course. I’m sure once his mother sees him, she won’t let him out of her sight for a week anyway.”

TK grins. “Good to know.” He yawns and resettles himself slightly in the bed, his eyes fluttering shut. “Carlos, if you’re still here when I next open my eyes, I’m not kissing you for a month.”

“You shouldn’t make threats you know you can’t follow through with.”

“Don’t make me make it two.”

Despite himself, Carlos laughs. He leans over and presses a lingering kiss to TK’s temple, then stands as well as he’s able, leaning on his dad for support. “Alright, I’m going. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

TK already sounds half-asleep when he mumbles, “Love you too,” back, and Carlos can’t even be embarrassed by how ridiculously smitten he must look, even though he’s in front of both their fathers.

He allows his dad to move him back to the wheelchair and says a quick goodbye to Owen, keeping his eyes on TK for as long as he can. Just as they reach the door, he catches TK’s eyes opening to slivers, obviously checking to see if Carlos is actually leaving. Carlos shakes his head at him, causing TK to flush at the knowledge he’s been caught. His eyes slam shut again, his tongue poking out childishly, and Carlos laughs, a lightness settling in his heart even as TK’s room disappears from view.

It’s going to be a long few months for the both of them, but they have family behind them to help them get through it.

And they have each other. Which, given everything, Carlos thinks is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.

[aspiringharlot]

y/n takes takes care of bratty, sub, shiggy.

Ok! Eeeee! I did it! First y/n and first BNHA story done! This one is about a bratty sub Shiggy! There are some points where it’s clear I wasn’t sure what a bratty sub Shigaraki would say but hopefully overtime as I become more familiar with the characters that will change! I think I did this one pretty quickly so, forgive me, there are probably a few mistakes in terms of tense and grammar that I didn’t catch. Another little thing, this story ended up a lot fluffier/mild than I thought I was capable of and I even ended up dropping an L-bomb!

(Story Includes, mention of injury and bullet wounds, bondage elements, brat elements, l-bomb, sneak peek of little spoon Shiggy and of course, sex )

(minors please do not interact)

(tagging @palbabor-writes and @kugutsuu cause they seemed interested, p.s. don’t worry @palbabor-writes public sex and degradation Hawks is up next!)

EDIT: adding @tod0oki to the tags, happy to have you!

Enjoy!

It was hard work, keeping Tomura Shigaraki in line. Sure, you allowed him control on most days, heaven knows he needed to feel some sense of control in his life, but really there was no doubt, at the end of the day, you made the decisions in the relationship. That never stopped your Shiggy from being a brat though.

Today was just as bad as any other day wrangling your lover, only this time with the added difficulty of having to literally prevent Shigaraki from moving as he pleased. Hesitant as you were to admit it, you did not possess the brute strength required for the task. Instead you relied on a sly trick. Tying him up in bondage gear which was typically used on you.

When he was finally secured, Shigaraki whined, pulling at the restraints. Around his narrow wrists were sturdy leather straps, fitted tightly and anchored to the metal bed posts in order to restrict his movements. Your lover was red faced, lying down on his bed, dirty sheets bunched around his sweating form.

‘I should change those out soon,’ you thought before returning your attention to Tomura.

“oh, Tomura, come on… if you refuse to rest Kurogiri and I are just going to keep you tied up longer.” You lowered yourself to sit beside him on the full-sized bed, moving your hand to his head and smoothing his hair down.

Shigaraki grunted, shaking his head out of your hand in defiance. You scowled down at him.

“You know, for a man who’s been shot four times you have far too much energy.” Swiftly you stood up, dusting crumbs of food from your jeans. You really should change those sheets out… If you wait much longer there’ll be an ecosystem thriving in the cotton threads. Meh, you’ll work on it later when Shigaraki is asleep and infinitely more manageable.

Come to think of it, you should change his bandages soon. Kurogiri or the others weren’t around to do it this time, meaning you’d have to tame the beast all by yourself.

“ts.” You clicked your tongue. “I’ll be back,”

You exited the room without giving Shigaraki the chance to retort, heading straight for the kitchen cabinet responsible for holding the everyday vitamin and mineral supplements you’d feed Shigaraki. Now, however, you rummaged past the gummy vitamins, searching for a bottle of Nyquil. Upon its acquisition you turned back on your heel making your way to the bedroom your lover was restrained in. You stopped in the bathroom on your way back, collecting a pair of cosmetic scissors and gauze amongst other wound supplies. As you balanced all the items in your arms you could hear a distinct clanking noise. The noise of the restrains being tested and fought against.

You came back into the room with a sigh, looking at Tomura with dead and unamused eyes. He was fruitlessly trying to decay the leather wrapped around him, his own wrist disallowing the angle to make such a thing possible.

“Could you just, I don’t know… cooperate? Maybe, allow yourself some time to heal so you get better faster?” The eye contact you made with Shigaraki was aggressive. Testy. He smiled, curling his upper lip into a sneer.

“Make me.” He taunted.

You could see the thoughts behind his eyes. His exact line of thinking. ‘What’s y/n gonna do? Put me in time out? Make me stay in here an extra hour so I think about what I’ve done?’

In frustration you made a low noise in the back of your throat- the past two days have been utter hell. First the League’s failure at that dumb hero thing and more importantly, the four bullet wounds permeating your lover. Then there was the 12 hours you spent waiting for an underground doctor to come and dig the lead out of Shigaraki’s skin. That was 12 hours of relentless worry you had to deal with! And now, for the past day and a half you’ve had to deal with Tomura’s mood swings.

Now, it wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You were aware of the crushing feeling of personal failure which came with a train wreck you conducted. Still, you were willing to wait on Shiggy hand and foot, your only request that he allow you to take control and make him better.

But he just had to keep fighting you. Making you take drastic measures.

Your attention is caught up by the straps holding Shigaraki down, reminding you of the nights he would fuck you hard and rough, making you gasp in unrelenting pleasure. When he was done, you’d always be like putty in his hands, laying there blissfully exhausted and compliant. You curl your lips into a grinch-like smile. Of course. There was your ticket to Shigaraki’s submission.

You just have to fuck the fight out of him.

“Okay.” You finally said, nodding your head nonchalantly. “Okay. I’ll make you.” Calmly you set the supplies you gathered on the dresser top across from the bed, keeping only the scissors in your hand.

Coming up to the side of the bed you gave the scissors a few experimental snips, the metal making a distinct phip sound.

Shigaraki pressed himself back into the mattress, raising a scarred eyebrow up when you traced the scissor across the gray cotton t shirt. That single eyebrow multiplied into two as you took the scissors to begin cutting through his shirt.

Shigaraki started to squirm as he felt the cool, stale air of his room settle on his skin.

“What are you-“ you paused your delicate snipping to roughly grab the bottom half of his face in your hand, squeezing him to make his mouth fall open and halt his speaking.

“I’m making you cooperate…” You roughly released his face.

Ignoring his continued struggling, you went back to cutting his shirt open, until you were able to peel it off his body- the sweatpants he wore were next though you were hesitant to cut them. They were a grey pair which hung deliciously low on his hips and slid down lower and lower throughout the day. You decided against cutting them, instead shimmying them down to sit close to his shins. His underwear though, that was fair game. You took it off eagerly and drank in the sight of Shigaraki naked before you.

He was pale, still recovering from the blood loss he’d endured only two days prior, and his skin seemed especially swallow- giving off the appearance of fragility. You knew better however- Shigaraki, as weak as he may seem by appearance alone, was a force of nature.

Today you were making your way to the eye of the storm.

“Is getting me naked supposed to make me listen to you?” Tomura asked, his eyes narrowed to cynical slits.

“No… hah.” You let out a breathless laugh. “But this will.”

You were down between his knees in an instant, breathing hot breath over Shiggy’s cock. Before Shigaraki could fully process what you were doing, he’s hard, not that that was unusual, your lover was an easy guy to excite. Still, despite his nudity, he was not expecting this kind of attention, especially after being such a brat.

You were gentle at first, getting his cock used to the stimulation, stroking it languidly, licking at the slit of his cock a few times. You shuddered in satisfaction when you made your way down to his balls and heard him sigh in pleasure at the sensation of your warm tongue lapping at each testicle. Still, you knew better than to think a simple blow job would tame Tomura Shigaraki, successor of All For One.

For now, as you pleased him, he’d act all bashful but, as soon as you exert full control over the pacing of this intimate encounter, he’d start bratting again. When that happens, you’ll just have to take things to eleven.

“Ohh… fuck…” with a jolt, Shiggy thrust his hips up into your soft hand. To him, the pleasure was a most welcome distraction to the sharp aches of the bullet wounds scattered across his body. He’d been playing stoic about the pain for the past two days, but the wounds felt like hot agony for most of the day. He needed this pleasure.

“Your uh, your mouth.” He said, pinching his eyes up in pleasure. “y/n use your mouth on my cock.”

Immediately you ceased all contact with him. His eyes flew open.

“No.” you said with a shrug.  

Shigaraki scrunched up his eyebrows and wiggled his hips childishly, making his cock swing like a metronome. “Yes!”

You firmly locked your hands on his hips, stilling the movement, “No.”

“W- Why? “ he whined. “Why aren’t you rubbing my cock anymore?” his voice pitched up, revealing how badly he wanted to feel your touch.

“Well,” You start. “You haven’t been very cooperative with me. I mean, why should you make all the decisions? Why do you get to dictate both what you do and what I do, Hmm? That doesn’t seem very fair.” Your own voice took on a condescending lilt and you tilted his head up with your finger so you could properly look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide with lust and along his temple you could faintly see a pulse point pumping blood in time with the throbbing of his erection.

He wanted it. Bad.

“Let me take care of you, just leave everything to me…” you brought yourself down to his level to softly mutter in his ear. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

You didn’t have to wait for his response to know what he was going to say.

“Suck my cock, now.” He growled.

You took a deep breath and pulled your own shirt off over your head, not as you normally would, but as women do in tv and movies, all in one fluid motion. Your jeans were next, as you slid them off your bare legs, your panties joining them on the floor moments later.

With the grace of a swan you climbed over Shigaraki, positioning yourself on your hands and knees as you backed yourself up to his face.

“Oh so now y/n’s gonna be a big, strong, woman and make me- mhfmfmfm!” You grinded your pussy against his face, enjoying the psychological pleasure more than the physical. Grinding your labia against any ole thing wouldn’t really do it for you- but knowing that Tomura could barely breathe around your pussy as it sat right on his face gave you butterflies and made your hole start to gush.

“There you go… Good Boy…” You panted. Finally you pulled yourself away from Tomura’s mouth and flipped around, now straddling him cowgirl. In seconds, your hand wrapped around his member and positioned it to slide right in your hole. You sat down and took in the shocked, but pleasure-ridden face of Tomura.

You started to grind your hips down and bounce experimentally. In the past, the two of you have refrained from cowgirl, Shigaraki always wanting to hold full control over the action of fucking your pussy. As he laid back and felt his toes start to curl and twitch in pleasure he wondered if he was an idiot.

“See, Tomura~” you cooed as you leaned down, dangling your clothed breasts in his face. “Wasn’t my course of action so much better? Now you get to feel my wet pussy against your cock, isn’t that so much better?”

At a loss for words Shigaraki nodded his head frantically. He was already close. You smiled.

“So does that mean you’re gonna listen to me? Cooperate and do what I say?” that particular phrasing removed him from his headspace of ecstatic compliance.

“Nuh- No!” he choked out as you bounce faster and harder. Shigaraki started gasping and clenching his eyes shut, trying to block out the pleasure to last longer.

“Yes~ you’re gonna give in to me, Tomu-”

“Nu- oh fuck!”  he shook his head before tensing up, his whole body becoming stiff underneath you as you felt three hot spurts of cum fill your pussy. You chuckled, you didn’t even have to clench down on his cock to make him come, just the sensation of you bouncing on his cock was enough.

You stilled yourself as he laid under you, gauging his reaction to the orgasm.

He was flushed, and still panting heavily, meaning he came pretty hard. You clench down as his sensitive cock remains in your pussy and giggled when he let out a high pitched keen.

“So, are you gonna be good now? Are you gonna stay in bed for me?” Shigaraki blinked heavily, coming back to himself.

“You’re never…hah… going to get me to…hah… cooperate… hah…” His eyes fluttered shut despite themselves. You bit your lip. It couldn’t be helped. You were gonna have to keep riding him.

Just as Shigaraki’s breath started to even out you rose off of him, only to sink back down at full force. Shigaraki was taken out of his cool down by both the pain coming from the irritation of his bullet wounds and the pleasure of his cock being stimulated.

“Whuu? No, no it’s too sensitive!” he cried out. You said nothing, grinding down into him, fucking him like an animal.

As you continued fucking him Shigaraki trembled beneath you, whimpering in unrestrained pleasure, pulling against the leather cuffs which restricted his free reign. The noises he made were downright sinful, varieties of “ah, ah, ah”’s  and “oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”’s being commonly repeated noises.

You gazed down at his face- his eyes rolling around in his skull, frequently fluttering shut only to shoot open when you switched up the rhythm you used. His skin was flushed to hell and back- making him look obscenely cute as he whined out in pleasure, mouth open, drool dripping from the corners of his lips. As you continued looking, you had an epiphany. You loved Tomura. You loved, loved Tomura. You want him to get better and you want to see him let go like this every day.

In the moment you say it.

“I love you.”

Shigaraki flooded your pussy with more cum- gasping loudly as he rode out his orgasm. There’s no way he heard your little confession. And you were okay with that. It’d probably be better to reveal that when he’s not confined to his bed.

You pulled yourself off his cock and felt cum drip down from your thighs. You yourself haven’t cum, but you have accomplished your goal. One look at Shiggy told you that he was too blissed out to fight against your care. Your hand went to rest on his cheek.

“You’re going to be good, yeah? Let me do what I need to do?” you stroked the patch of dry skin under your fingertips.

Shiggy sleepily nodded. Looks like you wouldn’t be need the Nyquil.

Shigaraki laid still as you moved to tend to his wounds- tenderly cleaning them and re bandaging the sore holes. His joints would be sore as well. You decided to uncuff Shigaraki and maneuver his funky gloves on his hands.

When you’re done you pulled your lover’s sweatpants back up and crawl into bed behind him, For tonight you decided against changing the sheets. Instead you got comfortable in the well-used sheets, repositioning Shiggy so he could be your little spoon. You took a deep breath and smelled his hair. It was a little ew, but you didn’t mind. Just as you thought about your revelation, you heard a soft sigh.  

You smiled and cuddled closer, whispering those three words.

“I love you.”

And though you couldn’t see it, Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes widened from their slitted state for just a moment before a soft yet excited smile graced his features.  Slowly, his eyes slid shut again as he relaxed into your arms.

[starfleetbotanist]

Physician, Heal Thyself (But Not Always)

🌹

It had been stupid, even he would admit that. Academy students were typically supposed to avoid bar fights. But Cupcake had been talking smack, and he'd had a few too many, so he had allowed the inevitable to happen. What he hadn't expected was for six other cadets to decide to use him as a punching bag. More surprising, though, was Bones.

He'd vaguely heard Bones trying to reason with his assailants before the roar in his ears drowned him out, but a fist to the stomach is a much more pressing matter than a pacifist doctor trying to tell you logic you don't want to hear, so he'd more or less written him off. That is, until he saw a cadet fall at his feet and turned to see his friend wading- and punching- through the crowd towards him.

He leapt at one of Cupcakes cronies as he landed a solid punch to Bones' face, causing the man to stumble back, a protectiveness he hadn't felt since Tarsus rising in him. But Bones regained his footing and gave as good as he'd gotten, before finally reaching Jim. Then he grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and dragged him from the bar, much like a mama cat with her errant kitten.

He stared at him, stunned, the entire way back to their room, Bones loudly scolding him about safety and rules the whole way, wiping blood from his now evidently broken nose. A sick feeling overcame him. What happened now? Was Bones going to leave, like Sam had?

He found himself dumped on the couch in an ungraceful heap as Bones' angry footsteps carried him to the bathroom and back. He sat on the coffee table, and Jim was relieved to see his medkit resting on his knee. He was (mostly) a model patient as Bones scrubbed at his cuts with antiseptic before using the portable dermal regen.

"You've got too damn good a brain, Jim, to go and get it knocked around by fools like that, y'hear me?"

He blinked. No, he hadn't heard him. Upon realizing that, Bones rolled his eyes before reaching over and lightly slapping his head- a move too gentle to actually hurt, and which he immediately followed with an affectionate ruffle of Jim's hair.

"This, your brain. Use it."

With that, he got up and headed back to the bathroom. Jim followed on his heels.

"That's it? You're not... More angry?"

"Jim, I knew when I signed up to be your friend there'd be risks. If a bar fight's the most danger we get in together I'd be surprised."

"But you got hurt!"

"Yeah, and you owe me for that."

He stopped in front of the mirror, opening his case again and finding the regen and a hypo. He reached up and, with a grunt, popped his nose back into place. He swore as he turned the hypo on himself, eyes watering.

"Scratch that, you really owe me," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," Jim replied. He meant it. He hated seeing Bones hurt.

"Just-- use your head next time. Okay?"

"Yeah-- yeah, okay, Bones. I promise."

"Good." He washed the blood on his face and hands before turning back to face him. "Then we can forget about it."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Okay. Thanks, Bones."

"Anytime, kid."

🌹

Nyota held her wrist to her chest, waiting in the academy clinic. She had hurt it in combat class that day, but thankfully not too badly. The clinic was understaffed that day, and she had told Christine she was fine waiting. It was just her and two other cadets in the waiting room, after all. Not everyone was quite so patient, though.

One of the others, a command cadet, was complaining loudly, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, and bouncing his leg in agitation.

"How much longer is this gonna take?" He asked when Christine opened the door to call another patient back.

"Doctor McCoy or Doctor M'Benga will be able to see you soon, sir," she answered. "We will get to you as soon as we can."

Nyota prided herself on her ability to read people, and what she saw from the other cadet was not encouraging. He jumped up to his feet, crossing over to Christine with surprising speed.

"You can't just come back here!" She said, positioning herself between the cadet and the door.

"Watch me!" He snapped, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her out of the way.

Nyota rose, but she didn't need to interfere. Just as he was stepping into the hallway, he ran face first into Doctor McCoy, summoned by Christine's shout.

"Didn't you hear the lady? She said you ain't gettin' in here!" He snapped, though Nyota could see him running a clinical eye over the cadet. "Easy now. Looks like you're in withdrawal. How many stims have you taken?"

"None of your business!" The man snapped, and before anyone could stop him, caught McCoy on the side of the head with a right cross.

Christine leapt in, then, getting him into a safe hold and grabbing his arm to pin behind him as McCoy called for M'Benga to bring a sedative.

"Dammit," he swore as the other doctor handed him the hypo. "Sucker punches harder than he looks."

Once he was sedated, security called, and a treatment plan discussed for the over-use of stims to get him through the command courses, the cadet was taken to Starfleet Medical for a proper detox.

"You okay, Chris?" McCoy asked. Nyota had come to Christine's side as the cadet was taken away. The two had been friends since their first year.

"Just fine," she promised. "Didn't even fall. What about you?"

"I'll be fine," he shrugged. "Happens sometimes. Nothin' the regen can't fix."

"You might want to get on that before it swells too much, Len" M'Benga said. "I can finish up here."

"It'll hold," McCoy insisted. "But you can take that patient we just called back. C'mon, Ny, I only need one eye to see the swelling in that wrist."

"Only if you fix your eye, too," she threatened, following him back to one of the rooms.

"Wrist first," he said, taking out his tricorder. She answered his questions, let him strap the regen unit to her, and stared him into submission until he began treating himself while they waited.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She asked once they had both finished.

"Ain't that my line? Any residual pain?"

"None, thank you. Now answer me."

"I'm okay," he promised. "Not my first rodeo with someone hyped up on stims, and it won't be my last."

"Can't say I envy you."

"Yeah, well, it happens. Now, you be careful in that combat class, okay? Stretch right, and be careful which moves you use on which partners."

"I will. Thanks, Len."

"Sure, Ny."

🌹

"Scotty."

He looked up from the manual he was reading at the sound from the bathroom door.

"Ah, Doc! What can I do for you?"

"You can take a break from straining your eyes and come have some coffee."

He laughed, lowering the PADD he was reading from.

"Aye, that sounds good. What're you doin' up so early?"

He followed him into his room, where he could smell fresh coffee brewing. Like many things, McCoy seemed to prefer real coffee, and while Scotty tended to be more of a tea man, he never turned down real foods or drinks.

"Haven't been to bed yet- don't tell Jim or Spock."

He poured them both a cup, handing Scotty one of them and motioning to the sugar and creamer he'd set out.

"Aren't you the one always telling the crew the importance of a good sleep schedule?"

"Yeah, and that's why I'm askin' you not to tell on me," he grinned.

"Can you not sleep?"

"No, not really. I've been goin' over that last accident in Engineering. I've written up a few training proposals, and wanted you to read through them and tell me which you think'll work best before I submit them."

"Have you been working on this all day?"

"Since my shift ended, yeah."

Scotty saw him take two tiny pills from a bottle on his desk and take them before rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, headache. Ibuprofen. Been at this a little too long, I think."

"Why push yourself like this, then?"

He scanned the proposals, an interdisciplinary first aid course specific to Engineering and the various injuries and accidents that could happen, a triage proposal to better prepare medical staff for what to expect when an accident is called in, and new safety guidelines and equipment inspection schedules.

"Well, every second counts, you know that. The sooner we get this smoothed out, the better. It could be life or death, and I'm not about to play games there."

"You never do," Scotty grinned, picking up a stylus and making a few notes. "I like this so far. I hope you made a lot of coffee, because I have a few ideas, too."

"I hoped you would," McCoy grinned, and the two sat down to begin work.

🌹

"You called me, Doc?"

"Mr Sulu, perfect timing!"

Doctor McCoy was standing by a selection of plants, studying them intensely.

"The botany department sent these up. They're medicinal. But the labels got mixed up, and we don't really know what's what."

"That's unusual," Sulu grinned, looking down at the selection. "She's usually more organized when making deliveries."

He began to catalogue the plants, calling to mind their uses.

"Fever few, plantain... Several of these are for stopping bleeding."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping for. We're training our medics to learn other ways to heal in the field."

"Good idea," Sulu nodded, fixing the lables.

"Thank you for the help," McCoy grinned. "Oh, Lieutenant Lyle brought another plant, but I'm not sure what it does. It was bigger than the others, so I set it in the office. Little bastard scratched me, too."

Sulu laughed, plucking a plantain leaf and handing it to him.

"Chew on that for a minute and put it on the cut, that will help."

He heard McCoy's thanks as he went into the office. He gasped. On the desk was a rare Andorian Passionflower- spiked where its Earth counterpart was not, and blue instead of purple. In place of a label there was a note, and he recognized the handwriting.

"Ben?"

"Surprise," McCoy said, stepping in. He had the chewed leaf against his finger. "We were asked not to tell you anything."

He opened the envelope. It was handwritten anniversary card. He smiled, warmth filling him.

"Happy anniversary, you two," McCoy said, patting him on the shoulder. "There's minutes on my computer for subspace communication. He's waiting for you to call."

"Thanks, Doc," he answered, wiping sudden tears from his eyes.

McCoy patted his back again before leaving him to his call.

🌹

"Doctor?"

"Mhm?"

"Why did you do it?"

McCoy looked at Chekov, who was eyeing wound on his arm with deep concern.

"Reflex," he lied, finishing ripping his uniform shirt into bandages. He turned his eyes away, focusing on tying off and tending the wound until the ion storm ended and they could contact the Enterprise.

"Captain Kirk is right. You are a terrible liar, sir."

He snorted, tying off his makeshift sling. He'd taken a rather severe cut from a spear from one of the inhabitants of this supposedly uninhabited planet. The spear had been aimed at Chekov, but he had managed to push the kid out of the way just in time.

"Captain Kirk can mind his own business."

"Doctor..."

McCoy sighed, leaning back against the cave wall. Chekov joined him, still looking at him with wide-eyed worry.

"You remind me of Joanna."

"Huh?"

"I did it because you remind me of Joanna."

"Who is Joanna?"

"My daughter. My whole world. I don't get to see her often, but she's my pride and joy."

"And I remind you of her?"

"Yeah. Can't explain it. It's probably because you're so young, or some misplaced guilt about not being there to protect JoJo that makes me want to look out for you instead that the psychologist really doesn't wanna think too much about."

He shrugged, closing his eyes.

"That, and I'm a doctor, and your senior officer. Not gonna let you get hurt if I can help it."

Running for their lives had worn him out, it seems. Chekov studied him for a moment before placing his head on his shoulder.

"You are very much the papa I always wanted. My grandmother, she told me stories about him. He was a good man. If he was... If I had known him longer, I would have liked for him to be like you, Doctor."

He felt a strong hand ruffle his hair.

"Get some rest, kid. I'll keep watch."

Chekov smiled, allowing his own eyes to close. He fell asleep wondering if McCoy would laugh or be angry that he had become, as the captain said, a "mama bear."

🌹

Spock stood beside Captain Kirk's hospital bed, arms folded behind his back. He had come to check on the progress of McCoy's serum on their friend. But, also, he was here to check on McCoy. Nyota had expressed worry over him that morning after visiting.

"You want a seat, Spock?"

He turned as the doctor entered the room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other.

"No, thank you, Doctor."

McCoy set the coffee aside, moving to the bed to compare the data on the PADD to the biobed readings. As Spock watched him, he began to really notice the state the doctor was in. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed in dark circles, his hair sticking at odd angles, as though he had run his fingers through it many times. He hadn't shaved, and was looking rather gaunt.

"When did you last sleep, Leonard?"

"Does it matter, Spock?"

"I think it would matter to the captain. And... I admit to a concern, as well."

"May miracles never cease," McCoy muttered, and they both knew what miracle he was praying for.

"Doctor, you must rest. The captain's status is unlikely to change in the time it would take for you to eat and sleep."

"I can't, Spock. Not right now."

"Why?"

"Because he needs me."

"He needs all of you, Leonard. Not a shell of yourself."

McCoy's shoulders sagged at that.

"I don't want to leave him," he admitted. "I promised I wouldn't leave him."

"You do not have to leave him. You could bring a cot into this room, perhaps. Shower in the en suite, and eat the meals Nyota has been bringing you."

"When I try to sleep, Spock, all I can see is him in that chamber. In that damn body bag in my medbay. It... It hurts, Spock. In a very human way, it hurts. It- this grief, it's like a wound, Spock."

"As you so often tell me, Leonard, you are a doctor. You treat wounds, better than most. You are healing the captain. The best way to heal that grief is to continue to do so. But if you damage yourself with overwork, you will not be able to care for him to the best of your abilities."

McCoy was silent for a moment before nodding.

"You're right... Thank you, Spock."

"It is... My pleasure, Leonard."

When he visited again that night, he found McCoy asleep on a cot not far from Kirk's bed, PADD still in hand. He had showered and shaved. The plate Nyota had sent him was now empty, and someone, presumably nurse Chapel, had covered him with the knitted blanket that he usually kept on the couch in his office.

Spock allowed himself to feel relieved, and quietly retreated, turning down the lights as he did so. The next morning, Kirk woke up.

🌹

"He may be a little disoriented when he wakes up," M'Benga told the assembled officers. "It was touch and go there, and we nearly lost him a few times. But I do believe he will make a full recovery."

"You are sure?" Chekov asked, his face pale. Sulu had his hand on his back for support.

"Yes. He is stable. Now all he needs is rest."

"Thank you," Kirk spoke up, gripping one of McCoy's hands from his place beside his bed. "Bones couldn't have been in better hands."

"You remind him of that when he wakes up," M'Benga laughed quietly, his calm manner helping ease the tension in the crowd. "You can talk to him now, too. Even if he doesn't hear you, it'll help him to have friendly voices around."

Scotty coughed to hide a relieved sniffle, and patted Kirk's shoulder amiably.

"Why don't you start, Captain?"

Kirk nodded, thinking.

"Bones, you know we all love you, right? So you've gotta come back to us. It's not the same without you here yelling at me."

"Indeed, Doctor. Your colorful metaphors are... Missed." Spock looked down the line of visitors expectantly.

"Da, and you promised to let us talk to Joanna next time she called you!" Chekov watched the sleeping man eagerly.

"Yeah, she and Demora are going to space camp together," Sulu pitched in. "If you don't wake up soon, who's gonna tell them how dangerous it is?"

Nyota laughed at that, and everyone (save Spock) grinned.

"Aye, Len. And you're gonna have to be the one to tell Jaylah what happened, you know," Scotty said. "Otherwise the lassie's likely to steal a ship and come all the way from Earth to make sure you aren't still hurt."

"What about you, Uhura?" Kirk asked. "You know how he likes to hear you sing. Why don't you sing one of his favorites."

"Good idea," she nodded, thinking. "I know just the one."

Soon the medbay was filled with her soft, comforting voice.

"I'll keep you safe..."

🌹 This was a long one! Thank you for reading! This was based on a prompt by @hlabounty96 ! I hope you enjoyed! 🌹

[flamingredanon]

Because I feel angsty (and slightly evil) today, what if Henry stepped on the trap and not Randy? Be as angsty as you feel like. Break my heart.

Henry felt a searing sharp pain shoot through his foot as the bear trap went off, causing Henry to let out the most agonized blood curdling scream he could possibly give. Randy's face went white at the sight of his son's foot caught in the bear trap, his son screaming and crying in agony.

Wilford and Terrence were there moments after hearing Henry scream, seeing the awful sight below them. Wilford removed the trap and Randy wrapped Henry's foot with his coat, trying to stop the massive blood loss already happening. Terrence had already started the truck and soon they were all off to the hospital.

Halfway through the trip, Henry's pained crying was replaced with Henry telling his dads he felt funny and really tired. Wilford saw how pale Henry had gotten and was trying to keep him awake, trying to keep Henry talking. But Henry's body went limp as he fell unconscious from blood loss, with Wilford being unable to wake him up. Randy was screaming over the phone for the hospital to be ready, that Henry had passed out from the blood loss from his injury.

The truck pulled up to the front of the hospital and several doctors grabbed Henry and wheeled him into the emergency ward, with Randy, Terrence and Wilford waiting in the waiting room for hopefully good news.

Hours ticked by and the three worried fathers still had no news. Eventually some doctors came into the waiting room with good and bad news. The bad news was that the blood loss had caused some minor injury to Henry's brain and he seemed to have completely forgotten how to talk and some trouble with hand eye coordination.

But the doctors were able to barely save Henry's foot, making a note that he probably won't be walking on it as well as before once it healed. The doctors let Henry's dads visit one at a time due to Henry still recovering from everything.

Henry hugged each of his dad tightly, with Henry hugging Randy extra tight, tears rolling down his eyes as Randy told him it was ok, that it was no one's fault. Randy stayed the night by Henry's bedside, with each dad switching every night.

Terrence's old boss and practically Henry's uncle, Dmitri, found out what happened to Henry and had the neighbors arrested and had his men search around their property and the neighbor's property, removing every bear trap that they careless set up.

After about a month, Henry was allowed to go home, alittle wobbly on his crutches at first, but he eventually got the hang of it. Henry didn't like going outside in the snow for the longest awhile, completely terrified that the scary metal thing would snatch his leg again.

Henry's hand eye coordination got better with time and therapy, though it would be years before Henry even began to talk verbally again.

Uncle Dmitri visited often, spoiling Henry and getting first dibs at writing on Henry's leg cast. Dmitri knew how traumatizing this event was probably on everyone and would lend a hand whenever he could.

None of the fathers let Henry run off too far, though Henry stuck close to his dads anyways, especially with his foot now. And Randy and Henry especially had nightmares from that day, and while they faded over time, they never went away.