#fluff whump

[sickiehugs]

There's something I really like about characters being taken care of for pretty normal, mundane accidents (well, much more mundane than most whump on tumblr).

A character drops a glass in the kitchen and they thought they swept up all the broken pieces, but hours later they step on a big shard. Their partner rushes to their aid, helping them to the sofa to carefully remove the glass and bandage up the deep cut left behind. They dote on them for the rest of the day, bringing them things and making sure they're resting, insisting that they don't walk on the injury for a day or two.

A character hits their head hard on something, and their partner immediately makes sure that the injury isn't serious and they check for a concussion. Once they know for sure that the character will be fine, they still let them take it super easy, promising to kiss it all better.

A character trips and falls in the hallway, twisting their ankle, and their partner insists on carrying them the rest of the way to wherever they need to go.

A skater takes a really nasty fall at the park and one of their friends calls the character's partner. They immediately rush over, gently carrying the protesting character to the car. Once they're both home, they give them a harsh talking-to about wearing protective gear and being less reckless, all while tenderly bandaging everything up. After all that tough love, they bring the character to bed and take care of them until everything is fully healed.

[snaillamp]

Sicktember - day 6

6. Sick and Injured

Whumpee coughed, feeling the vibrations ripple through their congested chest. Rolling over, they groaned, their head feeling heavy as another chill danced over their bones.

Pulling the blankets higher, they sniffed, curling into a ball as they shivered. Whumpee hated being sick. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe, they felt to hot and the minute they cooled down, they felt too cold. They were hungry but the second they tried to eat food they lost their appetite…

They couldn’t win.

They had decided to wear shorts and a loose singlet, nestling under blankets, the best compromise they could think of, even if their legs felt a bit cold and achy.

Sighing, Whumpee cleared their throat of slimy phlegm buildup and sat up, immediately regretting it as the world swayed, making them feel nauseous. They forced their weak, shaking legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it over their shoulders shuffling towards the kitchen.

Their work colleague, Caretaker had made some soup and left it for them in the fridge, telling them to warm it up if they wanted any. When Whumpee hadn’t turned up to work a few days ago, Caretaker, knowing Whumpee lived alone, had come by to check in on them, finding them curled up in bed, delirious with the flu. Caretaker had then spent the past few days visiting them when they could, attempting to help nurse Whumpee back to health.

Whumpee had long suspected Caretaker had a massive crush on them. Caretaker would take any opportunity they could to talk to Whumpee, and Whumpee had caught them on many an occasion staring at them while they worked. Whumpee didn't mind, they liked Caretaker as well, maybe as a good friend or maybe something more, they couldn’t be sure…

Whumpee pulled open the fridge, shivering as the cold air washed over them. They found the small plastic container, filled to the brim with a thick, creamy soup. Whumpee lifted it out with both hands, not strong enough to hold it with just one. Carrying it their microwave, their blanket fell from around their shoulders.

Sighing in annoyance, Whumpee lifted the container into the microwave, trying to decide how long to put it in for through their hazy mind. '40 seconds should do.'

They pulled off the lid, punching in a number and pressing the 'START' button without even checking the time they had set it to. Bending down with their aching joints, they grabbed their blanket, pulling it back over their shoulders.

Whumpee stared out their kitchen window, zoning out as they waited, the buzz of the microwave droning on and on in the back of their mind. After a while they frowned, ‘That’s been in there for a while, maybe I should check it.’

Turning to the microwave, they gasped, rushing forwards. “No, no, no, no!” They begged, hitting cancel. They had pressed to 4 too many times, setting the microwave to 4 minutes and 40 seconds. Ripping open the door, they lifted the scalding soup from the microwave with the tips of their fingers, but as they tried to place it in their sink to let the soft plastic cool, the sagging bottom of the container split open, sending boiling soup splashing onto Whumpee’s bare legs. They howled dropping to the floor and watching in horror as their skin turned scarlet.

Thinking quickly, the grabbed their blanket, wiping off what they could, before rolling over onto the ice cold tiles of the kitchen, sighing at the brief moment of relief they provided. They moaned in pain as they inched across the kitchen, if they could get it to their phone, they could call for help except… a sinking feeling set in.

Whumpee had left their phone charging in their room, all the way on the other side of their house… Sobbing, they continued to crawl, making it halfway to their room, before they collapsed in a shaking ball. They couldn’t do it, they were too sick… their shins and feet were too painful. They could feel the large blisters forming as they curled up on their side and shut their eyes, accepting their fate, the hazy fever consuming them.

~~

Caretaker lifted the doormat, finding the key and opening Whumpee's front door. The smell of Whumpee’s home washed over them as they stepped inside, followed by the smell of something... burnt?

“Hey, Whumpee? It’s Caretaker.” No reply. “Probably asleep…” Caretaker murmured to themself. Whumpee had been asleep a lot recently, given their condition. It wasn’t unlikey that they were asleep now, but that burnt smell was worrying them. Caretaker crept to Whumpee's room, expecting to find them huddled under a mountain of blankets, but their bed was empty. “Maybe they went to the bathroom.” Caretaker reasoned out loud. They crossed the hallway, into the bathroom. Nothing. “Huh… Maybe they moved to the main room?”

But when Caretaker entered the main part of the house, they gasped in horror. Whumpee was collapsed on the floor, unconscious, a trail of soup behind them. Caretaker ran over to them, shaking them awake.

“Whumpee, Whumpee, what happened?” Whumpee mumbled something incoherent, raising their head to look at Caretaker, before letting it drop back down to the ground. Caretaker looked them over, finding the burns on Whumpee’s legs and feet, causing them to gasp in shock.

Large, angry blisters were stretching over Whumpee’s burned legs.

Caretaker immediately jumped into action, picking up Whumpee under their arms and dragging their heavy, limp body to the bathroom. They heaved Whumpee into the bath and turned on the tap, letting it flood Whumpee's skin with cool, flowing water.

Whumpee moaned in relief, letting their head fall back against the rim of the tub. Their skin was still quite pale and sickly looking as Caretaker watched them with worry. “Whumpee, what happened?”

Whumpee was silent for a moment, before mumbling some slurred nonsense and a microwave and a sink. They sat together in silence for minutes, letting the water run over Whumpee’s burns until they moaned quietly, their eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted in pain. Caretaker watched in concern as Whumpee’s moans grew quieter, their shivering growing worse.

Resting their hand on Whumpee’s forehead, Caretaker felt their skin. It was ice cold. Caretaker shot up, running to Whumpee’s room to grabbing them a blanket, returning to Whumpee and wrapping the blanket around their freezing friend.

~~

“C-Care…” Whumpee mumbled, cracking open their eyes, turning their head slowly too look at Caretaker. “Too cold…” They whispered, shuddering as they wrapped their arms around their quacking body. They felt ice cold, unable to warm up, not even after Caretaker wrapped the blanket around them. Their lips were slowly turning blue, their eyes shutting as they slid down the edge of the tub, gasping and coughing as darkness began to creep into their vision. Their breathing grew faster as they tried to fight it off, but they were so, so cold…

Whumpee coughed, sliding down the edge of the bath, their body going limp as they fell unconscious. “Whumpee?” Caretaker asked, hauling Whumpee back up. Their head flopped back heavily, their skin cold and blue as Caretaker sat them up, shaking Whumpee to try and wake them. Whumpee didn’t move.

Caretaker felt sick, was Whumpee hypothermic? Had they done this to them? Whumpee was so cold and pale…

Pulling their phone from their pocket, Caretaker dialed the emergency number and waited for them to pick up. When Caretaker finally got through, they stumbled over their words as they explained to the operator what was happening.

Within minutes, paramedics had pulled up and were unpacking bags, asking Caretaker questions. “How long since they got burned, passed out, in the water, how long, when did, what is…?”

All the questions became a blur as they draped plastic wrap over Whumpee’s burns and lifted them from the bath, wrapping them in a silver sheet. Caretaker ended up in the back of the ambulance with Whumpee, watching their body jostle as the ambulance sped over bumps in the road. Whumpee looked so small and fragile strapped to the stretcher. Caretaker swallowed the urge to throw up as they watched their friend slipping away in front of them… and it was their fault.

~~

The ambulance pulled in the the ED and the paramedics carted Whumpee out straight away, leaving Caretaker to wander in behind them, dazed. They watched as Whumpee was treated, gripping their hands into tight fists, their knuckles beginning to ache until they released them.

A nurse invited Caretaker to sit by Whumpee and wait for them to wake up, which Caretaker did anxiously. Whumpee took ages to wake up, but when they did, the first thing they did was smile at Caretaker. “Whumpee, thank goodness you’re okay, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault...” Caretaker murmured, brushing some hair off of Whumpee’s forehead.

"No... it isn't..." Whumpee whispered, as Caretaker's gentle hands stroked their face.

Whumpee groaned softly, leaning into the pleasant sensation with a contented smile, before their face fell. “I feel… weird…” Caretaker sighed, trying to hold back a laugh. “It’s probably the drugs they put you on. They said you might feel a bit strange.” Whumpee nodded, before reaching for Caretaker’s hand gently stroking their face.

Caretaker’s stomach did a flip.

~~

Whumpee’s fingers brushed Caretaker���s, looking up at their friend's face, noticing how their cheeks were slightly pink. “Thank..you…” They grabbed Caretaker’s hand properly, pressing it into their cheek.

“If you hadn't…”

Caretaker’s eyes brimmed with tears as they leaned down and wrapped Whumpee in a massive hug. “I was so scared, Whumpee…” Caretaker whispered in their ear.

“I know, I was too, but when you were there, I knew I was safe…” Caretaker pulled back slightly, looking redder than a tomato. “What… what do you mean?” They stuttered, making Whumpee smirk as they shut their tired eyes.

“Later…” They mumbled, their hand relaxing as they passed out.

~~

When Whumpee checked out of the hospital, Caretaker was waiting there to pick them up. They hugged each other awkwardly, before getting into Caretaker’s car sitting in silence as Caretaker drove.

The curiosity soon got the better of Caretaker, and they turned to Whumpee. “Hey, so you said something back at the hospital… you never ended up explaining it.”

Whumpee frowned, “Honestly, I hardly remember anything, they had me doped up on so many drugs.” They laughed, running their hand though their hair nervously. “What was it?”

They glanced at Caretaker who glanced back briefly, before turning into the driveway of Whumpee’s house. “Oh, nothing, you just said that you were scared… until I was there…” Caretaker tried to sound casual as the car gently stopped in the driveway, but they began blushing hard, looking at their lap, embarrassed.

~~

Whumpee looked at them, chuckling, before getting out of the car. They waited for a second before bending down and looking in.

“Well, you coming in, or what?”

Caretaker’s eyes sparked with excitement as they got out of the car, helping Whumpee back inside, making sure they were comfortable lying on their sofa. Squeezing in next to Whumpee, Caretaker blushed again, stealing a glance at them as they lay back a little, supporting themself on their elbows. Whumpee noticed, sighing slightly and smirking at them.

“I meant it, you know.” They piped up, looking at Caretaker’s face. They watched their friend frown as Whumpee moved slightly closer, sitting up a little more. “I was scared, until I knew you were there. I couldn’t move, but I knew I was okay, because I could hear your voice and you…” Whumpee’s eyes searched Caretaker’s their faces slowly growing closer.

Before Caretaker realised what was happening, Whumpee’s lips touched theirs. They felt a zing down their spine as Whumpee’s hand made it’s way up Caretaker’s back and neck, settling gently in their hair. Caretaker reciprocated, leaning into Whumpee’s body and melting into their arms. They straddled Whumpee's waist, tilting them back onto the sofa, both of them completely engulfed in each other’s presence until Caretaker’s foot brushed Whumpee’s burned leg.

Whumpee felt a sting flash like lightning through their shin, pulling back and gasping in pain. Caretaker sat up, panicked as they watched Whumpee groan in pain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Whumpee, I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just got a bit carried away and... Oh fuck, are you okay?!” Caretaker stumbled over their words, getting off Whumpee's hips and sliding away, mortified.

Whumpee smiled moving into a sitting position, legs safely out of the way. “No, it's fine... I think we should just stay up right for now…” They murmured, pulling Caretaker on top of them again. Caretaker met Whumpee halfway, giggling through the kisses, fingers becoming wrapped in each other’s hair, the both of them oblivious of the world around them.

All that mattered was that they had each other, and that nothing, not even 2nd degree burns were going to take that away from them.

~masterlist~

[pixelatedraindrops]

I made some changes to Chapter 1 of my RainCode sickfic making Yakou even more fatherly and warm a caretaker towards Yuma and made Yuma a bit more pathetic... xD

I just love them so much

The perfect father/son found family pair ☔️

At this point I’m just the CEO of making this poor boy suffer… 💦🌡️ I’m so sorry Yuma 😅

Full Fic

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

feeling called out today

credit: _ADWills

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo or fandom related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote!

[finleycannotdraw]

we need all types of art in fandoms

[johnny-depp-is-loved]

Reblog if you are employed / have a full time job and are a fanfic writer who still actively writes and posts new chapters / new works.

My friend says you can’t be an adult, have a full time job and be a fanfic writer at the same time, because you’ll have to sacrifice your writing, fandom activities, for your career. And I just… don’t think that’s the case? At all? Unless I’m missing something? Unless I’m doing it wrong by being employed and still writing fanfics?

[feveruary]

Here it is guys! The 2025 Feveruary prompts! We wanted them to be more generally comfort focused so then they be able to be interpreted in different ways to allow you guys to be as creative as you’d like!

We’re so excited to share these with you and we can’t wait to see what you write! As always feel free to ask any questions or share your excitement about this event! :D

We'll post more about how to submit your work and the AO3 collection closer to the time! For now though, we wish you goodluck and happy writing!

Text Version Below:

“How did you end up like this?” 

Burning Up then Freezing Cold 

Caught in the Rain 

Herbal Remedy 

“Could you just hold me?” 

Spoon-Feeding 

“I’m still not used to being taken care of.” 

“Couldn’t you keep your cold to yourself.” 

Face Masks 

“You’re safe, it was just a dream.” 

“You’re burning up!” 

Role Reversal – Medic to Sickie 

“I wouldn’t even trust you to boil tea in your condition!” 

Falling asleep in the wrong place 

Guiding sickie back to bed 

“Is it me or is it really warm in here?” 

“I know you want to help but you’re only making things worse.” 

Delirious 

“I know ice cream is good for sore throats but that’s way too much!” 

Lost Voice/Strep Throat 

From better to worse 

“Our date can wait! You’re far more important.” 

“You need a tissue?” 

“Don’t you think you should stay home today?” 

Standing Vigil 

“You sure I’m sick? Because I feel fine.” 

Vacation Disaster 

“Well, it sounds to me like you need a little bit of TLC.” 

Alternates:

Forced to work

Cool wash cloth

"I don't get sick!"

Sneezing Fit

[yourmidnightlover]

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite. 

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 

-

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 

and then there was a knock at the door. 

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad. 

[sickiehugs]

The most cold, blunt, reserved, imperious characters going completely soft when their cinnamon roll partner gets sick >>>>

Cuddles, pet names, spoiling them to heaven and back. Absolutely no regard for pride, all they're focused on is making sure their poor, sick little sweetheart doesn't have to lift a finger until they're fully recovered.

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ spencer reid fic recs *̥˚✧ part 6

a/n: do i even have to say anything anymore?

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I part 5 I part 6 I my cm masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

practice makes perfect by @cuzxai

through the lens by -//-

busy woman by @it-was-summer

every first, yours by @mrsholmesreid

echo chamber by @whisperedmeg

counter service by -//-

fuck being subtle by @heavenlybodies333

taste by @keirareidss

free use blurb 3 by @trampleddoves

free use blurb 2 by -//-

love you more by @dudeitiskarev

let me love you by @raekensluver

sub!spencer blurb by @missarchive

✧*̥˚ fluff*̥˚✧

living with spencer reid by @girllblogging777

heart eyes... and hardcovers by -//-

modely by @fawnnlvr

spencer reid x shy reader (insta posts) by @mariasont

bombshell reader x s.r. by @luveline

milk, honey and metaphors by @mortic2n

blankets by @thoughtwriter

uniform by @cherrygarcia-07

hcs by @minswriting

hopelessly devoted to youuuu by @goofygubegubler

i wanna be yours by @push-the-heartbrake

season 1!spencer hcs by @seasprincess

something about him was made for somebody like me by @cerisereids

✧*̥˚ angst & hurt/comfort*̥˚✧

thump thump thump by @inkydelusions

sick as a dog by @rauspberries

to love is to care by @cherrygarcia-07

atonement by @matt-murdockk

standing in the steps of mine by @3verythingiknowaboutlove

every shade by @certaimromance

the sound of heartbreak by @reidsism

behind the ribcage by @spencersmopbucket

insecure by @gf2bellamy

proposal by -//-

youth by -//-

mri scan by -//-

anger by -//-

ride by @seasprincess

✧*̥˚ special mention*̥˚✧

heat lightning by @burymagdalene part one I part two

if you want your work removed, dm me!

[ohtobeleah]

Young At Age, Old In Heart // Jack Abbot

Prologue: calm before the storm.

Summary: Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.

Warnings: 18+ content. Gun violence. Gun violence victims. Slow burn romance. Jack Abbot x F!reader. Age Gap! Older male x younger female. Mature content and themes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author Note: I’m trying to allow myself to enjoy the smaller things in life that bring me joy so here we are…ironically concocting some of the most gut wrenching whump you and I both have ever read. But for now…enjoy this slow burn prologue.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough.”

Dr. Jack Abbot…wasn’t expecting to see the new hire from down at the VA, with a patient in one of the examination rooms, the Pitt never seemed to have enough off. He caught the sound of your laugh, a mix of ‘this isn’t happening’ and ‘unbelievable’, peppered the pitch at which you let your laughter echo off the walls. Jack goes there on an infrequent basis, to the VA, that is, mainly when the nightmares get too out of control.

You’ve got this quick wit about you that the golden oldies love. The banter, the big personality. The way you show up and lead the room with nothing but a little conviction.

And now here you are…why were you here so early? And why were you wearing his jumper like it belonged to you?

“Hi!” Jack hears your voice as he makes his way across the Emergency Room with blinders to get to you. That first memory of you meeting played in the frontal cortex of Jack’s mind—all the while he watched you listen and take in all the Dr, you couldn’t remember her name, had to say. “I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet,” You explain graciously. “I’m Y/n, one of the new Personal Trainers here.”

“I gotta say, you’re a lot better looking than Aaron over there,” The man who shook your hand said loud enough for your colleague to hear. “I’m—“Before Jack could introduce himself to you, Aaron was shouting across the small but impactful space.

“Hey! It’s my old man, thought you fell off the perch for a second there, but I guess we aren’t that lucky?” Aaron teased as he took slow steps of confidence towards Jack. He could only begin to imagine what you were thinking after hearing such a welcome.

“Luck hasn’t got anything to do with it, and I’ll tell you that for free my brother—“ Jack reciprocated the friendly fire “How’s your mother anyway? She still call my name in her sleep—*oof*”

“Don’t mind the talking corpse in early-stage rigour mortis, Y/n,” Aaron sighed after his softly jabbed Jack in the gut. “That’s our boy Abbot, Dr. Jack Abbot, neighbour, friend and legend in and outta the combat zone.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mind me,” Jack coughed as he landed a hand on your colleague’s shoulder. He faked instability like he was trying to get a rise out of you. “Aaron here has one testicle, but–”

Okay, easy pops,” Aaron conceded to the ribbing event he’d started. “Jack here works down at the Pitt, stops by from time to time when he has some spare time, comes for a workout.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Jack,” You confirmed with a nod and a smile.

“You’ve got Y/n today, and please don’t fall victim to the cutiesy, I’m just a girl, innocence, she’s like a Venus fly trap.” Aaron turned his sights on you as his next victim. “But she goes alright, keeps the old vets in check.”

“Jack is just fine,” Jack smiled at you as you puffed your chest a little, living in the moment of the slightly backhanded compliment from Aaron.

“I think I’m gonna stick with Dr. Jack.” You left it at a wink, a small but telling gesture that Jack wasn’t too taken aback by. He gravitated towards flirtatious banter…

Because at his very core, Jack Abbot was a flirt. He was the flirt.

Jack had never been so perplexed before in the context of someone’s presence. Your smile was like a drug of sorts, like he was getting a sort of morphine straight to his veins whenever your lips curled up into a wide, bright curl.

The way you conducted yourself through the class. The energy, the passion that Jack could see so clearly. You were like a sort of espresso, a beautiful change in his mundane routine. One that he wanted to change somewhat. That’s why he was here to begin with.

The VA was a safe place. A community of people who may not have shared the same history…but understood the language.

“What are you doing in my E.R.?” Jack spoke calmly but firmly. Like he knew clarity was his best friend.

His voice sounded like a melodious symphony. Something you could listen to with intent all day long.

“Dr. Jack,” You smiled at the man who’d become…something, to you. “Danny here had a bit of a fall earlier this morning and I have a bad habit of giving these guys my phone number incase of emergencies,” You explained with care as you made sure your client and valued friend was comfortable. “Luckily, there’s nothing too serious that can’t be handled, right Danny?”

“Awful shame I didn’t catch the two of you sooner though,” Jack shrugged as he moved effortlessly around the room to get closer to you. Doing so in a way that wasn’t advertently obvious. You caught on straight away, watching him with every move he made. “My shifts just ended.”

“Y/n was just keeping me company till my sister could get here,” Danny explained as he sat with oxygen and some heavy duty pain killers. “She’s free to leave.”

“I wasn’t offering taxi service if that’s what you thought, Dan,” Jack teased as he checked over all of Danny’s vitals just to be sure. Brushing past you ever so slightly as he did. “I was just saying I’m going home, so if you code I’m not coming back to save your ass.”

“Semper Fi,” You mumbled just enough for Jack to hear you. He’d told you once while on an early morning run that it was a code. A life motto for any Marine. ‘Always faithful’. You already knew what it meant when he told you. You’d worked down at the VA for long enough to pick up a little lingo between the corps.

But you liked when you got to play student sometimes.

The look you received as Jack looked back at you over his shoulder was one that could turn anyone who ran hot…to ice in under three seconds.

“You need a ride home?” He asked just for the sake of pleasantries, knowing you didn’t need a ride, but would in fact be seeing him later for breakfast. A date. A planned adult interaction outside of work and his normal routine. Jack was working on it. The mundane that was.

“I got it, Pops,” Again, the glare nearly made you dizzy. The stern eyebrows, the tight lipped expression. “I’ll catch you later, Danny, please look after yourself and say hello to Carole for me.”

“Will do darling, and thanks again for coming.” Danny expressed his gratitude.

“Owe me a fifty, but I guess I’ll allow it just this once, for you.” You flirted back lightheartedly like you always did. They needed it. It was like a drug to them. The attention, the praise.

You liked it too. Older men. An older man that was. The man who was looking at you with such fire behind his dusty eyes. Clouded with swayed judgment and lust for the younger woman standing in the doorway.

“I knew I was your favourite.” Danny’s voice brought you back to earth, but your eyes never peeled away from the glare you were receiving.

“Oh I dunno about that, That spots already been taken.” You replied, knowing Jack would assume you were implying that he was in fact your favourite…

****************************

“Hey,” There you were, sitting right on the hood of Jack's truck as he sauntered across the hospital car park. The beat up piece of crude barely worked, but he sure loved it like it was an extension of himself. “Did you know the cafe here is actually decent?”

“Ah—“ Jack teased as he made it over to where you had perched up against his 1998 Ford Falcon. “Well, if it isn’t miss independent herself!” Jack mocks you playfully while you hand him the coffee you brought on his behalf. “Driving yourself places, I’m so proud of you! Graduating from the booster seat, also, that’s my jumper you said you nev—“

“Shut up for a minute would you?” You interrupted with a soft chuckle. “I got you these,” the bouquet of natives you had kept beside you was now on full display. “Stop by his grave and say hello later today?”

Jack didn’t respond as he reached out for the flowers. All far beyond perfect. He didn’t respond right away. He simply studied every possible angle of the natives in their perfect world of order and precision.

“How did you know?” Was all he managed to offer up, the tone in his voice now laced with a heaviness of grief no amount of time could heal.

“You’ve mentioned him and I listen,” You knew it was a hard subject to discuss, but the death of Dr. Adamson would never be forgotten. “But if you want a more intimate answer then I’d say you’ve been more on edge than usual,” You knew Jack thought he had it under wraps. “Just figured it was that.” You shrugged understandingly.

“Did you ask me out for breakfast—“ Once again, before Jack could finish, you interrupted. Finishing his sentence for him.

“So you wouldn’t jump off the roof? Yeah—”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re crushing my sprint here.” Jack faked a pained heart as he bumped his shoulder into yours. The pair of you were still leaning against the bonnet of his beat up shot box.

“Plus, you’ve been using my Doordash account and I dunno what to tell you besides you need to add an extra therapy session into your schedule.”

“God I hate you.” Jack didn’t. If anything he was beginning to question if he maybe subscribed to the other side of the coin. Love. Jack wasn’t capable of love in this sort of capacity.

Was he?

“Keep lying to yourself Dr. Jack,“ You teased with a soft laugh. “It doesn’t work on me.”

Another moment of silence passed the two of you by as you took in the crisp Pittsburgh air. That early morning mist. The soft glow of a radiant sunrise on the horizon.

“Does physical therapy count?” Jack broke the silence with a gentle knock of his foot against yours.

“Your runner's leg is—oh,” Your mind had immediately gone to Jack's prosthetic. It was still at the VA. “You were trying to seduce me, weren’t you?”

“Come home with me, I’ll make you breakfast?” It was a genuine offer that you couldn’t refuse. By why? What was Jack thinking about?

“Catch?” You counted. “And don’t give me any bullshit Abbot!”

Jack could feel your index finger poking him in the chest. You still sat beside him, but you’d turned yourself towards him. “No bullshit—no catch, let’s just see where the day takes us.”

“I gotta take Tate to Pittfest later, but I’m sure I’ve got time to play into your delusional old man fantasies.” You replied playfully with a Cheshire like grin smeared across your face.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel young, don’t you?” Jack sighed, faking defeat.

“Standard issue daddy issues, my friend,” You shrugged, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on Jack's scruff covered cheek. “Race ya.”

******************

[adhdduckie]

bloodied kisses - m.g. x reader

photo creds to @cribabey w perms.

my masterlist reqs open!!

synopsis: mark grayson, who removes himself quietly from your life as if he was never in it in the first place. as if he wasn't your best friend for years and years. who shows up to your house for the first time in months, beaten and bruised.

wc: 3.8k

a/n: i finished it, posted it, and then i deleted it by accident. had to rewrite ending and i hate myself rn because i deleted it.

your friendship with mark had started when you'd first moved in, just down the road. you'd been young, still baby faced at 11.

you'd been helping your mom move the boxes out of the moving truck when you heard a small "you need any help?"

it made you jump, seeing how you'd not heard him approaching, and when you turned around to face him, he saw the fear on your face and quickly apologised, "oh my god, i'm so sorry. my mom told me to come help"

you'd told him it wasn't a big deal, and he'd introduced himself to you. you'd done the same.

after that, he'd come over so many times, and soon enough, you'd been inseparable.

you'd joined his school once the summer was over, and you spent lunchtimes with william and mark together, always talking about that comic mark loved, seance dog.

while you didn't like the comics as much as they did, you loved to hear them talk about them, especially the way mark got so animated when arguing with william about it.

you realised at some point at a lunchtime during school that you'd liked him a lot more than a friend. he'd been leaning forward talking to you, and when he'd gotten too close, you'd gotten nervous. your heart thumping, palms sweaty kind of nervous.

and that made you scared. he was your friend, first and foremost, and your feelings for him were pushed down, deep, deep, deep. locked in a little box where your heart would have been, in a bigger box, in a bigger box. which was then locked in large steel chains.

a little bit of an overkill, but you really weren't risking shit.

your friendship was sweet, mark was sweet, and he especially was sweet to you. mark was too sweet, too good to you.

kind, charming and funny, always cracking jokes to you in class, teasing you just enough to get you flustered, but only as a joke, which he would say.

it hurt a little, but as you said before, friendship was more important to you.

problem was, as soon as you hit 16, he'd stopped. stopped talking to you in the halls, stopped talking to you in class, stopped coming over. he'd dodge you in the halls, and pretended not to be home when you'd come over.

william didn't get it either, saying how mark wouldn't tell him why he'd been avoiding you, and goddamn, it hurt.

you'd been hurt, so hurt, and you'd had enough. he stopped responding to your messages, and had just stopped leaving you on read, opting instead to leave you on delivered.

that was the last straw for you. so you stopped trying. stopped looking for him the halls, stopped going over to his house to look for him, stopped messaging him, and stopped sitting with them at lunch.

and as soon as you'd disappeared from their normal table at lunch, mark had gone back to sit with william.

you'd seen it happen first time. sitting next to a guy who'd been begging you to sit with you at lunch for months, you'd zoned out from the boring conversation as soon as he'd started. he was going on about something about being on the football team and being the MIP of the team, but you weren't listening.

your eyes were on mark as he made his way through the hustling and bustling cafeteria, his yellow shirt underneath his blue sweater always standing out.

his sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and you'd been able to see the muscle in them, flexing as he carried his tray with one hand. you hated how it still invoked the butterflies in your stomach, and it pissed the hell out of you.

you dragged your eyes forcefully away from him, trying to pay attention to jacob and whatever he was saying about his football. but no matter what happened, your eyes went right back at mark.

him laughing, talking with william and just acting completely unaffected by your absence.

'fuck him'. you thought to yourself.

and just as easy that mark had come into your life, he disappeared from it.

a year had passed since then, and it was easier than it was before, but still not as easy as your friendship had been.

you still loved him, which pissed you off to no end, despite his completely lack of care for you.

initially you had tried to smile at him in the halls as you'd walked by in different directions, but he always stood straight, ignoring you completely, eyes ahead as you stumbled over your steps.

you told yourself it was for the better, that you didn't want his attention anymore, but that little box in of your heart ached every time you thought that.

william and you still spoke, but you'd found another group of friends, only ever talking to william when mark wasn't around.

and then, there was a new superhero.

invincible, (cue title card) or so he called himself. quite frankly, mark was horrible at hiding his identity.

ducking out of class, only minutes later invincible arriving on a scene. he had the same hair, same build and height, and that same….mark feeling.

but you didn't tell anyone, you didn't say anything to anyone, and god, why did it matter if you knew who he was. he wasn't your mark anymore, you weren't even friends.

you'd watched him as he changed over time, growing taller, broader and stronger.

you couldn't help but notice, and yet again it was something you cursed your stupid little heart box for.

in the halls it was easier to notice, he'd shot up over the summer, especially now that he's got his powers.

it's crazy to think that mark is invincible, especially the guy who was once your mark. well, he's no longer your mark, as you should be able to tell due to the complete and absolute avoidance of you.

still, with absolutely no reasoning whatsoever behind it.

william, even a year later, still urges you to speak to mark. but you refuse, saying that "it was completely unwarranted," And that "you didn't do anything that deserved this kind of treatment." all that could have possibly happened would be that he had enough of you.

he just stopped liking you and that there was absolutely no other reasoning behind it. which lowkey sucked but still, men ain't shit (says you who literally sometimes still cry remembering about how fucking upset you were when he just disappeared out your life.)

william is done. he really is. he's had enough of both you and mark, how mark just refuses to talk to you and how you just fucking won't talk to mark either.

it's not really your fault. you tried, you really did, messaging him, showing up, just anything you used to do together.

debbie, who you still see around occasionally, gives you a sad smile sometimes, like she knows what's happening. but you never ask, because maybe you don't want to know. but you also do, which is a big problem.

you're currently just hanging around at williams, watching TV with him when there's a news alert. 'Breaking, invincible in fight with (generic) villain'

you watch with bated breath, watching mark, or invincible, getting absolutely beaten up, quite frankly, and youre really worried for a moment there that you're gonna be attending a funeral.

but somehow, like normal he always managed to get out of it, but it leaves him bruised and bleeding. you're so irrevocably fucked, you want everything in the world to pause just so you can check if he's okay.

but you have to remind yourself you can't do that anymore, he's not your friend.

you're tired, so unbelievably tired. you're missing your conversations together, you're missing just being near him, being allowed to look at him with more than just stolen glances. you're just tired, and you want it all to go back to normal.

fuck normal, honestly.

you're done. with worrying and you don't want to see the news. knowing mark got out is enough, and you want to go home to cry.

william doesn't get why all of a sudden you're so tired, and you bode both him and rick goodbye as you leave, not really wanting to third wheel anymore.

rick's sweet, he is, but you just want to be home alone now, and not with anyone else.

the trek back home isn't a long one, but you soften the walk with some music. it's dark out, a little earlier than usual.

just as you reach your house, you look up to your room to see the light is on, and the windows open, which is strange because you swear you switched it off just before you headed out and closed your windows.

you can see the light shining down through the large oak tree in your front yard, and the way the light filters through the leaves is gorgeous.

you can see the curtains billowing from the night air, and you furrow your brows.

might have been a slip of the mind, you reckon.

nevertheless, you unlock your front door, setting down your coat on the hangers, dropping your keys onto the mantle, before heading into the kitchen to make yourself some quick noodles.

your parents are out again, on a date night, most likely. they won't be home for awhile.

as you're waiting for the water to boil, you're standing there rather impatiently. you just want to collapse into bed, it's been a tiring day.

your hands itch for your phone, to search up if invincible managed to get away compltely alright. but you won't. you have to remind yourself that you don't care, that you can't care.

next thing you know, you're letting out a sigh of relief, seeing that invincible got away alright, and then you're swearing at yourself for even caring.

but it's hard to switch it off like a switch, you just can't do that.

once your noodles are done, you're halfway up the stairs when you hear a shuffle coming from your room.

you freeze.

you're waiting for the sound to come again, and when it doesn't, you think it's just a trick of your mind, and you keep walking up.

stopping right at your door, something makes you pause but you're not sure what it is or why you're pausing, but you force yourself to move past it. you push open your door.

it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the rather bright light all of a sudden, coming from the rather dark hallway. once your eyes do adjust, you see it.

mark.

he's sitting on the floor of your room, holding a hand to his stomach, eyes closed as he rests his head on edge of your bed, his jaw sharp, his neck taut.

his mask is off, flung to the side. you can see it in the corner, and it's covered in blood. his or someone else's, you're not sure.

but the absence of a large abundance of blood on his face makes you think it's someone else's.

"what the fuck." you say, more annoyed than anything else.

then you process the blood. it's on your floor, which is stone, so it's not so bad to clean up, but his suit is torn, and he looks like he's in pain.

"what the fuck, mark." You repeat, and only then does he open his eyes, to look at you.

"hey." he says.

a year and a couple months and all you fucking get is a "hey" like it's only been hours since he's seen you last?

"don't 'hey' me." you snap, setting down your quick noodles and your glass of water, before you think again, picking it up and passing the glass of water to him. he takes it with a grateful look, trying to smile at you.

even his teeth are stained with blood. his injuries look a lot worse in person, rather than on TV.

you stare at him for a while, before you walk to your bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit that you'd once run out to buy once when mark had fallen from the tree in your front yard when you were 13, the one you had used to clean up his cuts back then.

it had sat unused for four years, just waiting to be used again, in the corner under your sink. you have to brush the dirt off of it.

then you have to wash your hands, for the fear of infection.

you come back out, pulling out everything you think you might need.

"what the fuck are you doing here, mark." you snap at him again, pissed that he just shows up after 16 months of absolutely nothing, pretending that everything's fine when he's covered in blood, and this is the first time you've seen him up close in a year.

you're taking out your scissors, cutting the cloth around his cuts, trying to stop the fabric from sticking to it. you hate how close this makes you, hate how it makes the box in your chest ache, hate how you want to be closer.

"i wanted to see you." he groans, when you pull a certain strip of fabric away from a particularly deep cut. even his voice has changed. it's deeper, far more self assured, and somehow just more…mark.

"you wanted to see me?" you scoff, setting your scissors down and picking up some antiseptic cream and a piece of gauze. "you haven't spoken to me in 16 months. you've ignored and dodged me at school, you've left me on read for months, and. you just show up, bleeding and beaten in your invincible suit just completely out of the blue?" you can feel your throat close up as you finish speaking, tears pricking at your eyes.

you rub at them with your sleeves, making sure that your hands remain clean. you put just a little too much iodine solution on the gauze, pressing a little bit harder than you need to.

he lets out a hiss of pain, and it doesn't make you feel better, unlike what you were hoping. "fuck you, mark" you say to him again.

he's silent. he's just staring at you, his face unreadable.

you can see how much he's changed since the last time you were this up close.

you avoid his eye contact, knowing that if you made eye contact with him, you wouldn't be able to hold back 16 months of anger and pain back.

"will you just fucking say something?" you demand, bandaging him up with the rolls and rolls of bandages, basically wrapping him up like a mummy.

"mark. please." you beg.

you feel his hand cup your jaw, making you look up at him, his eye contact making you nervy, tears threatening to spill over your lash lines.

he swallows, mouth dry before he says; "i just… couldn't be around you anymore."

that admission makes you crumble, and you automatically assume the worst. but the way he's handling you now, so soft and gently is at odds with his words.

"what..do you mean?" it's your turn to swallow now, and you realise how parched you really are.

he sighs, as your eyes hone in on a cut on his upper eyebrow, and you're picking up the gauze and iodine solution again, shuffling closer.

you're hesitant to dab at his eye, holding out the gauze out for a moment, to see if he's alright with you being this close to him.

he nods, once, but you notice. of course you notice. you can count the amount of tiny tiny scars he has on his face from here.

you can see the one that's just under his brow , the one he got from a branch when he fell down from the tree, the one you'd helped him clean.

you dab slowly, gently. you've slowed down a little, waiting for his response. you're trying to avoid direct eye contact with mark, but you can still feel his eyes zeroed in on you.

"mark, what do you mean." you repeat, demanding answers. you've had enough of this cat and mouse, where he's constantly running from you. you're not letting him go till you're getting your answers.

he sighs, seeming to understand that you aren't letting go.

"you know, i just couldn't control myself. i want you. like desperately. like more than a friend, more than a best friend. i knew it was more than you were willing to give me , so i tried to distance myself. and once i did, it was harder for me to go back to normal, so i couldn't."

wow. okay. erm. not what you were expecting. but still, that was still a completely dick move.

"you want me?" you ask him, shy. you're hopeful, needing him to say it. the chain around the boxes of your heart snaps.

"i don't just want you, I need you. do you know how much it killed me to see you sitting with that tool jacob?? you smiling at whatever he was saying, but still looking at me? do you know how hard it was for me to pretend like i didn't see you in the hallways? like it wasn't suffocating to walk by you and not talk to you?" your outer heart box splinters.

you want to say something, you really do, but you can't get anything in with the way he's rambling

"my heart squeezes every time i look at you, and it killed me to stay so far away from you." he says, looking up at you again. your hand has stilled from where you were dabbing at his cut, and you're breathless. when the admission sinks in, another shell around your heart breaks.

"i fucking love you, and i never said anything because i didn't want to ruin our friendship." he whispers, like it's hard for him to say it. it probably is. the final box that was keeping your feelings locked up and tucked away, just fucking breaks. you're crying, and you're trying not to show him.

"and i know, i ruined it by walking away, but i didn't want to ruin it by telling you i loved you. and i'm sorry, i'm sorry… i just can't stay away anymore. it really took me almost dying to realise how much i've been needing you." he says to you, his hand cupping your jaw again. his other hand reaches up to your cheek, and his thumb brushes away a tear.

his head is no longer resting against your bed edge, and now he's sitting up rather straight. he's moving into your space, he's so close you can feel his breath fanning across your lips. he smells like blood and the minty spider man toothpaste he's been using for years. he likes to pretend he uses adult toothpaste, but he used to always go back to it.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, and you can feel the words on your lips. "i'll do anything it takes to make it up to you."

"it really took you almost fucking dying to apologise, huh?" you say, voice cracking, brittle from tears. you're trying to play it off, make it seem a little funnier to show him that it's okay. well it's not okay, but you get what he means.

he's trying, and he's always been bad with feelings, and you know this. 16 months will take forever for him to make up for, but you just want him back. you want him back in your life. you want to sit with him at lunch again, you want to be close to him again.

he laughs, and even he sounds like he's been crying.

"you're too good to me." he says, and you're glad he knows it, because if it was anyone else, they'd have been dropped like hot potato.

when you rest your forehead against his, his hands move to your waist, and he lifts you so easily onto his lap. you forget he's a superhero now, and it's too easy for him it's unfair.

you swat him lightly on the chest, apologising when you hear him grunt in pain.

"are you going to kiss me?" you ask him, voice hushed, excited, nervous.

he laughs, and pulls you closer before he captures your lips in his.

he tastes just like he smells like; metallic and minty, a taste so addicting you don't want to come up for air. he somehow tastes sweet in your mouth too, and he groans when you bite him lightly on his bottom lip.

his hands are warm and heavy on your hips, and your knees are pressed against the stone floor on each side of his hips.

your hands tangle into his hair, pulling lightly at his roots. when your nails scratch gently at his scalp, he groans into the kiss.

his groan vibrates through him into your mouth, and you smile against his lips.

he's unrelenting, all fierce kisses and licks, as if he's trying to devour you.

he licks slightly at the line between your lips, and you open, pliant and obedient for him, his tongue snaking in to meet yours, dancing together.

he tastes sweet, if you haven't said before.

when you finally have to break away for air, you rest your forehead against his, breathing hard. he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lip, and you kiss another to the scar above his eye, underneath his brow, that he got when he tried to climb the tree up your yard into your room, the one he'd fallen down from.

"this alone isn't going to make up for 16 months," You tell him, despite the smile on your face. "you're not magically forgiven."

he leans in again, smiling against your lips as he whispers, "i know."

later, you're both lying on your bed, both of you tired and exhausted, leaning into each other, when he whispers to you, "weren't you surprised that i was invincible?"

"not really." you respond, not opening your eyes. your head is resting on his uninjured shoulder, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"why not?" he asks. you think about telling him that you recognised him almost immediately, from the curve of his back, the strong line of his jaw, and the light scar underneath his jaw.

but those things had only been memorised by you because you'd spent more timing staring at him then talking to him, so you decided not to tell him that. maybe you'd tell him one day. instead, you tell him, "i recognised your voice immediately."

he huffs in response.

a/n: goddamn i locked in for this. i had literally posted it and then tried to edit it to check word count but then accidentally deleted it and had to rewrite the entire thing from the kiss scene onwards. i was crying lowk.

anyway. hope you enjoyed!! as always, thank you if you made it all the way down here!!!

as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know if you have any comments!! i love reading them.

[whump-in-progress]

caretaker watching a movie or a show with whumpee when they turn to find them fast asleep. a warmth glows in their chest, and they smile; whumpee always dozes off with them whenever they feel safe. caretaker using the opportunity to softly touch whumpee's face, petting fingers along their forehead, caressing their cheeks with the back of their hand, tracing the bridge of their nose. curling up next to them and resting their faces together, basking in the closeness, the trust. caretaker feels safe too.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: Peeta helps Johanna unzip her dress in the elevator and it makes you jealous

Masterlist

“Can I have a hand?” Johanna asked as she turned her back to Peeta. Peeta looked at you and Haymitch for a split second before shrugging and taking ahold of her zipper.

“Oh. Sure.” He said as he pulled the zipper down her back. Your head slowly turned to Peter and you stared at him with a slack jaw. Peeta looked at you and his smile immediately dropped. He adverted his eyes as long as he could until they found their way back to the scene in front of him. Johanna was looking between you and Peeta with a smirk when she turned around to pull her sleeves off her arms. Peeta and Haymitch couldn’t help but watch her as she undressed and dropped her clothes onto the elevator floor. It appeared that you were the only one able to keep your eyes on the ceiling as Johanna stripped out of her last piece of clothing.

“Thanks. Let’s do it again sometime.” She said as the elevator doors opened. She walked into the hallway fully naked and left a silence when she left. Peeta and Haymitch chuckled and exchanged looks as the elevator went up another door. Peeta then made eye contact with you and gulped when he saw the daggers in your eyes. You could not believe he had just looked at her the way he did. Seeing him unzip her dress and watch her made your blood boil in your skin in a way it never had before. You were so consumed with your jealousy that you didn’t hear Peeta try to change the subject and only knew she spoke when you saw his lips move.

“What?” You asked him.

“I asked what outfit you liked the best.” Peeta repeated. “I thought District 5’s was kinda cool. But it didn’t look very comfortable.”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I wasn’t looking at the other tributes.” You said and eyed him up and down as the elevator doors opened on your floor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peeta’s face scrunched in confusion as he followed you out of the elevator.

“Nothing. I’m going to sleep.” You announced and headed straight for your room.

“You’re sleeping already? Aren’t you gonna eat?” Peeta asked with concern.

“I’m not hungry.” You said without looking back.

“I can meet you on the roof in a little bit if you want to hang out.” He offered.

“Not tonight.” You replied and disappeared into your bedroom. Peeta frowned and felt disappointment sink in over not getting the night with you that he thought he’d be getting.

“Uh oh.” Haymitch chuckled as he poured himself a drink.

“What was that?” Peeta asked and gestured to where you had just been.

“That, my friend, was you getting in trouble with your lady.”

“What?” Peeta blushed at what Haymitch called you. “She’s not even my lady.”

“But she wants to be.” Haymitch said pointedly and took a long sip.

“Y/n? There’s no way. She knows I like her and she made it very clear that she just wants to be friends.” Peeta insisted.

“Peeta, I don’t really know how they do things in 12 nowadays, so let me spell things out for you. That girl wants you but she’s way too stubborn to admit it to you or even herself. She doesn’t want to tell you how she feels because she wants you to just know. And she definitely didn’t want to see you undressing another girl right in front of her.”

“I wasn’t undressing her. I just helped her unzip her…” Peeta trailed off when he saw Haymitch raise his eyebrows in amusement. He realized how bad the moment in the elevator must’ve looked to you and began to panic.

“Oh no.” Peeta gulped. “Is she really mad at me?”

“Definitely.”

“What do I do?” He whined.

“Talk to her. And prepare to get hit a couple times.” Haymitch chuckled and patted Peeta’s shoulder as he passed him. Peeta thought about it for a moment and then went up to your room to do what Haymitch said and talk to you. He knocked on your door and you opened it pretty quickly as if you were expecting him. You had ditched your parade outfit and were now in some silky yellow pajamas.

“Hey.” Peeta smiled at you.

“What do you want?” You replied, making his smile drop.

“Just to talk. And I wanted to see you.”

“I’m really tired. I’m not in the mood to talk tonight.”

“Oh, okay. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want. I’m tired too. We can just sleep.” Peeta offered. You usually slept in the same bed to keep the nightmares away but there was no way you were letting him in your bed after what happened in the elevator.

“I’m gonna sleep alone tonight.” You told him with a tight smile.

“Oh. Okay.” Peeta said again and felt his disappointment settle in a pit in his stomach. Your cold expression suddenly melted to one of insecurity and you looked down the hallway as if you were expecting someone else to be there.

“Are you?” You asked quietly.

“Huh? Who else would I be sleeping with?” Peeta genuinely wondered, not realizing you were asking about Johanna.

“I don’t know.” You said quickly. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. See you-“ Peeta was cut off by you closing the door in his face. He sighed and put his hand on your door before walking away.

“Tomorrow.” He mumbled.

When tomorrow came, he woke up in his lonely bed and went straight to your room. Your door was open and you weren’t inside so he assumed you already went downstairs. You weren’t there when he got to the table and let out another sigh. You were clearly avoiding him and he was not handling it very well. Peeta decided not to let it get to him and busied himself by making you a plate of all your favorite breakfast food. Haymitch watched Peeta scrambling to get back in your good graces and laughed to himself. You came down just as Peeta was finishing your plate and eyed him curiously.

“Good morning.” He greeted with you a smile.

“Morning.” You replied without looking at him.

“I made you a plate.” He said and put the plate in front of you. You stared at the plate for a minute and almost gave it and apologized for your cold behavior until you remembered the way he looked at Johanna last night. That was enough to make you lose your appetite so you pushed the plate away.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You’re not? But you didn’t eat last night.” Peeta said worriedly as he sat beside you.

“Yes she did. For a hunter, you’re not very quiet. I could hear you rummaging for food all the way from my room.” Haymitch said to you.

“You came down to eat?” Peeta asked. “You should’ve gotten me. I would’ve kept you company.”

“Maybe I didn’t want your company.” You shrugged, making Peeta frown.

“Oh. Ice cold, sweetheart.” Haymitch chuckled. “You better watch your back in the games, Peeta. This one has death in her eyes.”

“You’re still mad at me?” Peeta whispered to you.

“Who said I’m mad at you?” You said without looking at him.

“I know you are. We usually talk on the rooftop and then sleep in the same bed. And then come down to eat breakfast together. You didn’t let me do any of those things.”

“Maybe I just need some space. We spend every hour together every single day. Excuse me for wanting some privacy for a little while.”

“We should be spending every hour together before we don’t get the chance. How long are you gonna be mad at me?”

“I already told you, I’m not mad.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. You’re not mad. But when can we be friends again?” Peeta asked and tugged on your sleeve.

“Peeta.” You said warningly and pushed his hand away.

“Come on. I miss you.” He whined and tugged on your sleeve.

“I’m right here.” You scoffed but started to feel guilty for your behavior.

“No you’re not.” He pouted. “You’re far away.”

“Stop whining so much. You sound like my cat. And I hate that cat.”

“So you hate me now? All because I un-“

“Don’t.” You cut him off and got up from the table. You passed Effie in the hallway as you went back to your room.

“What’s going on? Y/n just told me she wants to train alone today.” Effie said as he joined the boys at the table.

“She’s mad at loverboy.” Haymitch said and pointed to Peeta.

“What did you do?” Effie asked him.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

“He unzipped Johanna Masons dress in the elevator.” Haymitch tattled.

“What? Are you insane?” Effie gasped. “You can’t do something like that in front of your lady.”

“Why does everyone keep calling her my lady?” Peeta asked. “She doesn’t even like me.”

“Of course she likes you. That’s why she’s so upset. She’s jealous.” Effie laughed like it was obvious.

“Jealous? Of me and Johanna? I don’t think I even said a word to her. I just pulled the zipper.”

“It’s not about Johanna, silly. It’s about you giving attention to another girl. That’s why she’s jealous. She wants to be the one you’re unzipping.” Effie explained, making Peeta choke on the water he had just sipped. He wiped his mouth once he stopped choking and sighed.

“I need to fix this.”

“Yeah. You do. Before she makes you her first target.” Haymitch told him.

“She wouldn’t do that. Oh my God. Wait. Would she?” Peeta worried.

“She might.” Effie shrugged and Haymitch nodded in agreement.

“Well what do I do? She won’t talk to me.”

“So don’t give her a choice. Go in there and show her that she’s your only lady.” Haymitch instructed.

“What if she tells me to go away?” Peeta asked.

“Stay.” Effie answered. Peeta nodded his head and got out of his seat to go talk to you. He knocked on your door but this time, you didn’t answer. Peeta took a deep breath before opening the door and going in. You were on your bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. You gasped when he came in and threw a pillow at his head.

“What are you doing in here? Get out.”

“No. We’re talking.” Peeta said and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too bad. Because I want to talk to you. Please? I can’t take it that you’re mad at me. I don’t want to go in the arena without hearing your voice. Can’t we just talk?” Peeta begged.

“Fine. What do you want to say?” You asked him.

“That you’re a big baby.” Peeta replied.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes widened when you didn’t get the apology you were expecting.

“You are.” He insisted. “You don’t get to be mad at me for unzipping Johanna’s dress when I didn’t even know what was happening.”

“What?” You laughed nervously. “I’m not mad at you for unzipping her dress. Why would I care about that?”

“I don’t know why you care. But I know that you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Oh, please.” You scoffed and got off the bed to get away from Peeta.

“It’s okay to admit it.” Peeta said calmly. “I admit that I was jealous when I saw you talking to Finnick. And his giant muscles that are always out.”

“They are, aren’t they?” You smiled coyly.

“Hey.” Peeta said defensively.

“You’re the one who’s jealous. Not me.” You said and pointed to him.

“Then how come you’ve been mad at me ever since I unzipped her dress?” Peeta asked and walked over to you.

“It’s not about the dress!” You exclaimed.

“Then what is this about?” He asked. You scoffed again and folded your arms to close yourself off. Peeta wasn’t about to give up that easy and put his hands on your shoulders.

“Please tell me. I miss my friend.” He said quietly. You sighed and looked into his big sad eyes.

“I don’t care that you unzipped her dress.” You admitted. “You were just doing what she asked. I care that you were looking at her when she took her clothes off.”

“In my defense, I’ve never seen boobs before.” Peeta stated, making you laugh for second.

“Me either.”

“Not…not your own?” Peeta whispered in disbelief.

“Yes my own. Never another girls.” You explained and smacked his arm.

“Oh. I was gonna say. I know we don’t have a lot of mirrors in 12 but I think they’d be kinda hard to avoid- “

“I don’t want you looking at Johanna, okay?” You cut him off. “Or any other girls. I hated it. It made my blood feel hot and my stomach dropped to the floor. And then I couldn’t sleep because I kept replaying it in my head. What is that?”

“Thats jealousy.” Peeta explained with a pleased smile now that he knew Effie was right.

“Oh. Well I don’t want to feel it ever again. I didn’t like it.”

“Well I didn’t like when you didn’t talk to me.” Peeta said quietly.

“I’m sorry. I feel like my life is completely out of my hands lately. But you and I are the one thing I have a say in. So when it felt like our relationship was threatened, I tried to gain control by shutting you out.”

“It’s okay. I probably would’ve curled into a ball and cried right in front of you if I saw you unzip some guys pants.” He admitted, making you laugh again. You chuckled and pulled him into a hug to apologize for being so cold towards him. When you pulled out of the hug, you kept your arms around his neck and looked into his eyes.

“So seeing me with Finnick really made you jealous?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah. I was questioning our alliance the second I heard him make you laugh.” Peeta replied, making you laugh.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

“Why do you think we got so jealous seeing each other around other people?” Peeta wondered. You looked down at the floor and sighed.

“I think maybe we underestimated our feelings for each other.” You admitted.

“We?” Peeta raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I underestimated my feelings. When I saw you looking at another girl, I realized the only one I want you looking at is me.”

“As if theres anything in this world that could make me take my eyes off you.” Peeta said softly.

“Except for Johanna’s boobs.” You mumbled under your breath.

“You’re the only one I’m looking at right now.” He assured you. You smiled for a second, then frowned.

“But you’re not thinking about them, right?” You asked him.

“I’m about to if you don’t stop bringing them up.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe I can take your mind off it?” You asked with a shrug.

“How?” Peeta barely got the word out before you were kissing him. He wrapped his arms around you to deepen the kiss as your hands found their way to his hair. There were no cameras and no witnesses because it was just yours.

“So we’re friends again?” Peeta asked once you pulled away.

“I don’t know. I don’t get jealous like over just my friends.” You said coyly. Peeta picked up on what you were saying and felt his face heat up. He pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes.

“Good.” He said. “Because I never wanted to be just friends with you.”

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

What if Sebastian and MC are fighting some Ashwinders. Sebastian finishes the last one off and turns to MC with a huge grin on his face only for it to drop when he sees her crumpled on the ground, not moving. He realises she's dying and just starts sobbing and babbling because he can't do anything else. It doesn't have to end with MC dying but just reading a distraught Sebastian in love with MC holding them bleeding out in his arms in your phenomenal writing would be gut wrenching and beautiful and I need it.

Between Life and Death | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~6,200

Tags: Violence, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Sebastian had always been good in a fight.

It was the one thing he could rely on, the one skill that had carried him through every reckless decision, every brush with death. And tonight, he was in his element—moving like a shadow through the barn, his wand a blur of motion, spells tearing through the air as he cut down Ashwinders one by one.

It was almost fun—if he ignored the fact that he’d nearly died about a hundred times in the past ten minutes.

He ducked low, rolling behind an overturned cart as a jet of green light shattered the wooden beams where his head had been a second ago. He barely had time to breathe before he was up again, wand snapping forward, Expulso sending a wave of concussive force into an advancing foe, throwing the man back so hard he crumpled into the splintered remains of a stall door.

Sebastian grinned, breathless, a sharp rush of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The barn reeked of damp hay, smoke, and blood, the air shimmering with heat from the relentless spellfire. He pivoted just in time to deflect a Bombarda, the impact knocking him back a step, but he recovered fast—too fast for the poor bastard who had thrown it. With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched the Ashwinder’s wand from his grip, then sent a Diffindo slicing through the air. The man hit the ground with a strangled cry, unmoving.

That was the last of them.

Sebastian exhaled hard, wiping a line of blood from his brow where a near miss had grazed him. He should have felt triumphant. He should have felt relieved.

But instead, he felt uneasy.

It had been a bad idea to split up.

The two of you never did that—never needed to. You had fought and bled together for years, perfecting a rhythm that didn’t require words. It wasn’t just trust, it was instinct. And yet, when you insisted, all stubborn confidence and reckless certainty, he had let you go.

He shouldn’t have.

Because the barn was clear, and you weren’t back yet.

Sebastian turned on his heel, bolting through the side door and into the open field beyond. The night air was thick with the scent of burning ozone, the grass scorched where spells had landed. In the distance, flashes of magic still clashed, illuminating the darkened farm in jagged bursts. Red, green, white, blue.

And then your voice. Strained. Furious. Tired.

Sebastian sprinted toward the sound, heart slamming against his ribs. He caught sight of you just beyond the treeline, tangled in a final skirmish against one last Ashwinder. You were still on your feet, still fighting, but something was wrong.

You were hurt.

Your stance was off—your left side sluggish, your dodges not as sharp as they should have been. Blood darkened your robes where a wound had already torn through fabric, your wand arm trembling under the effort of holding your defense.

Sebastian ran toward you, wand already snapping up as he fired off a volley of Basic Casts. The spells shot through the air in quick succession, streaks of gold against the dark. But the Ashwinder barely reacted—his wand flicked lazily, deflecting each attack with a casual ease that made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

"Ah, there you are," the Ashwinder drawled, sidestepping a stray blast that sent dirt flying. His lips curled into a smirk as his gaze flicked between you and Sebastian. "You Aurors always come in pairs, don’t you? Like a matched set."

Sebastian barely heard him. He was too focused on you. The fight had gone on too long, and you were exhausted.

Sebastian held the Ashwinder off with a flurry of casts, slipping seamlessly to your side. He kept his wand raised, breath coming quick and shallow, sweat dampening his collar as he positioned himself between you and the threat. His body thrummed with adrenaline, his mind racing through every possible outcome, every spell that could end this now.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said breathlessly.

You huffed a breath—almost a laugh, but too ragged, too weak. "You took your time."

"Had to make a dramatic entrance."

The Ashwinder tilted his head, unconcerned, his wand still held lazily at his side. There was something about the way he stood—casual, relaxed, too comfortable for a man facing two Aurors in a fight to the death. He was unbothered. Amused. Like he had already won.

"This isn’t going to end the way you want it to, you know." His voice was calm. Certain.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

He’s stalling.

The realization cut through the haze of adrenaline, sending warning bells shrieking through his mind. He had seen this before, too many times, too many fights that had turned just before the final blow landed.

And then he saw it.

The flick of the man’s wrist. A subtle, practiced movement, too smooth to be anything but deliberate, his fingers curling around his wand as an incantation left his mouth.

Sebastian knew dark magic when he saw it. He had spent a lifetime running from it, pretending his hands weren’t just as stained. He had seen spells most would never dare utter, watched them take root in the bones of men who had deserved far worse. And in that instant, he knew.

This wasn’t just any curse. This was meant to kill.

The spell tore from the Ashwinder’s wand in a flash of crimson, slicing through the air like a blade. It was too quick, too vicious, aimed straight for Sebastian's chest, but before he could react—before he could cast, or dodge, or breathe—

You were already moving. There was no hesitation. No pause. No second-guessing. Just you shoving him aside.

Sebastian stumbled, the force of you knocking the air from his lungs. His boots skidded against the scorched earth, hands grasping at nothing as he lost balance for half a heartbeat.

The night exploded in red light, a sickening crack tearing through the air. It was the sound of flesh meeting force, of limbs jerking in ways they weren’t meant to, your body snapping like a marionette with its strings cut.

Then you hit the ground with a horrible, lifeless thud.

Sebastian’s breath locked in his throat. It was like time had collapsed in on itself, like the world had narrowed down to the unbearable stillness of your body sprawled in the dirt.

“No—NO.”

Sebastian turned sharply, wand raised, ready to kill. Ready to rip the Ashwinder apart, to end him with whatever unforgivable curse came to mind first—

But there was nothing. The Ashwinder was gone. Vanished.

With the danger gone, he fell to his knees beside you, hands reaching, grasping, shaking as he hovered over you.

Your body twitched. Shaking like an exposed wire, snapping with electricity, the aftershocks of magic still crackling through your limbs.

Sebastian reached for your face. “Hey—hey, look at me, you’re fine, it’s fine—”

Blood dripped from your lips. Thick and dark, slipping down your chin, staining your skin.

You weren’t fine.

You weren’t fine, and Sebastian—he should have been faster. He should have seen that spell coming, should have moved in time. In fact, he should have ripped that bastard apart before he had the chance to even cast it.

Sebastian’s breath was a harsh, ragged thing in the back of his throat. His pulse thundered so loudly it drowned out everything else. He was shaking, rage burning through his blood so violently it felt like it might split him apart. But he had bigger problems.

Like the way blood was dripping from your mouth and your nose and your ears. The way you clawed weakly at his robes, desperate for something—for him—as your chest heaved in shallow, gurgling breaths. The way your lips trembled, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

Sebastian could feel panic rising. He could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, curling around his ribs, clawing at his throat like a vice—but he couldn’t let it take hold. He had to stay calm. He had to fix this.

He was already moving, tugging at the front of your coat, ripping through buttons and fabric as he yanked it open. His fingers fumbled at your shirt, hands tearing at the fabric, desperate to find the wound.

Sebastian's hands slid over your chest, your sternum, your stomach, pressing desperately, trying to stop the bleeding that had no source, his fingers slick with your blood.

“Where—” His voice broke. “Where is it?”

There was nothing.

No. That didn’t make sense. The spell had hit you dead center. It should have burned through you, should have split skin and shattered ribs, and yet—

No gaping hole, no shattered ribs, no jagged tear of flesh where the spell should have struck. No injury to bandage, no visible wound to close.

Only evidence.

Scarring, curling across your skin in intricate, fractal-like patterns branching out from where the curse had struck, winding across your chest and shoulders like the roots of something hungry. And blood. Not from a single source—not pooling from a wound he could heal—but everywhere. Your nose. Your ears. Your mouth. Your eyes.

Your chest rose in shallow, desperate breaths, each one a ragged, gurgling effort that sent fresh rivulets of blood spilling down your chin. Your fingers twitched against his wrist, gripping at him like he was the only thing tethering you here.

Sebastian’s stomach lurched. You were drowning in your own blood.

You were dying.

This was a curse. Not a wound. Not something he could stitch up or set right with a simple spell. This was something deeper. Something worse.

No. No, no, no.

“Stay with me.” Sebastian wiped your mouth with frantic, shaking fingers as he tried to keep his focus, tried to think. He knew dark magic, had studied it in ways he wasn’t proud of, had seen the aftermath of curses that twisted people apart from the inside out. This wasn’t just an attack—this was designed to ruin. To erase.

He needed to counter it.

Sebastian forced magic into his wand, too much, too fast, the raw surge of it crackling along his arm as he pressed the tip to your chest.

The spell nearly shattered on impact, the sheer force of his desperation threatening to unravel it before it could even take shape. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care., he just had to fix this.

He ran through every healing charm he knew by heart, ones he had practiced for years, ones he had murmured over you a hundred times before, through broken bones and deep gashes, through the bruises and burns of battles past.

"Vulnera Sanentur." His voice trembled, his grip so tight on his wand that his knuckles turned white.

Nothing.

"Episkey." Another pulse of magic, another useless attempt.

"Ferula—"

"Brackium Emendo—"

Every spell bounced off you, the energy dispersing into the air, wasted, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers.

Sebastian’s breaths came sharp and ragged, frustration clawing at his ribs as he tried again. And again. And again.

"Reparifors."

Nothing.

"Anapneo—" His voice cracked. He could hear the blood clear momentarily from your throat, your breath rattling as you sucked in a breath, your chest struggling beneath his hands, but it only took a moment before blood still bubbled from your lips again, your body still shaking, still deteriorating.

"No, no, no—come on—" Sebastian pressed harder, forcing magic into you, trying to make it work, trying to force the spell to take, but the harder he pushed, the worse it got. His own magic sparked, burning too hot, too wild, and it wasn’t fixing you—it wasn’t doing anything. t was like throwing a lifeline into the abyss and feeling it slip through empty air. Like trying to hold back the tide with bare hands.

This wasn’t something he could heal. This wasn't something Sebastian could fix, not by himself.

The realization sent a sickening, leaden weight crashing into his chest, something so final, so wrong, that for a moment, he thought it might break him.

Sebastian had spent years clawing his way out of the darkness, had fought tooth and nail against the temptations of the past, against the reckless desperation that had once led him down paths he couldn’t take back. But right now, with you dying, he would have burned the entire world to ash if it meant saving you.

"Fuck—" His voice broke as he moved, hands desperate as he gathered you against him, pulling you up and into his lap with an urgency that bordered on frantic. His arms locked around you, his body curling protectively around yours like he could somehow shield you from what was happening.

You were feverish. Your skin was slick with sweat and blood, burning against him despite how violently you were shivering. Every breath you took was a ragged, struggling thing, each one sounding more painful than the last.

Sebastian’s hand fumbled for his wand again, clumsy with panic. He cast Anapneo without thinking, without pausing, forcing the magic through even as his voice trembled on the incantation.

A brief moment of relief.

The blood in your throat cleared just enough for you to suck in another gasping, rattling breath. But it wasn’t enough. The moment the magic faded, the blood pooled again, slipping past your lips in sluggish, crimson trails, soaking into your collar, your torn shirt, his hands.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, tugging at his sleeve, using the fabric to wipe at your face, brushing away the fresh blood streaking your chin, catching the slow dribble from your nose, but the blood kept coming, staining the fabric, staining his fingers, staining you.

Another cast. Anapneo. eEnough for another breath, another heartbeat, another second of you still here.

"Hey," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You're okay. You're—you're gonna be okay."

But he could see it in your eyes.

Fear.

It was deep and wide, unmistakable even as you fought to keep your expression steady. You had faced death a hundred times before, had stood beside him in battle without hesitation, had bled for your duty, for him. And never—not once—had he seen you afraid. But now, your eyes were wide, darting, searching, looking to him for something he couldn’t give you.

You knew you were dying.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. His pulse pounded, his vision tunneling to nothing but you—you, shaking, struggling, fading.

Sebastian had seen bodies before. Had watched people die a thousand times in battle, in back alleys, in the ruins of homes left burning, in the aftermath of violence and choices made too late. He had seen blood soak the earth, had heard the final, rattling gasps of those who didn’t make it, had felt the cold, empty weight of knowing that nothing could be done.

But it was never supposed to be you.

His breath hitched—sharp, broken—panic eclipsing instinct, smothering logic, drowning out the training drilled into him over years of war. He was losing you. The realization hollowed him out, left something splintering and raw in its wake.

And then—

Then he was crying.

Not the restrained, bitter tears of grief he had learned to swallow down, but helpless, frantic sobs, shaking him from the inside out, tearing through his chest with every word, every desperate, useless attempt to keep you here.

"No, no, no—" His voice cracked, hoarse and broken, as his hands pressed against your face, as if he could hold you here, as if his grip alone could keep youalive.

Sebastian sobbed, rocking slightly with you cradled against his chest, his forehead pressed against yours. His free hand tangled in your hair, brushing it back from your damp forehead, his thumb skimming across your temple in a helpless, desperate attempt to soothe, to comfort.

"I should have never left you." The words spilled from him before he could stop them, breaking apart at the edges, raw and unfiltered. "I should have—I never should have let you go off alone, I should have stayed, I—fuck, I should have been faster—”

Another tremor wracked your body, and Sebastian choked on his own breath, panic clawing at his ribs, making it impossible to think.

"No, no, no, stay with me—" He cast Anapneo again, frantic. His vision blurred with hot, stinging tears as you sucked in another shuddering breath, but he knew—he knew—this wasn’t going to last. Eventually, you would lose too much blood. Eventually, no spell would be enough to keep your lungs working.

Sebastian let out a strangled noise, something desperate and untamed, something that sounded more like an animal in pain than a person.

His hand smoothed over your hair again, trembling fingers carding through it as he pressed his lips to your forehead, his tears slipping into your hair.

"You shouldn’t have had to take that curse for me." His voice broke completely, all the air knocked out of him as the weight of it crushed him. "Why did you do that? Why the fuck did you do that? That should have been me—I would have taken it, I would have—" He sucked in a sharp, gasping breath. "I should have protected you. I should have—" His jaw clenched so hard it ached, another sob forcing its way up his throat.

You made a sound—weak, barely there. Your fingers twitched at his sleeve, trying to grasp at him, trying to tell him something.

His arms curled tighter around you, his fingers gripping the back of your neck, pressing you closer.

"I love you."

The words tumbled out before Sebastian could think better of it, before he could stop them.

Because they were true. So fucking true.

"I love you—I should have said it, I should have said it sooner, I—I thought—" A shuddering breath, a ragged sob. "I thought I had more time."

His hands pressed to your cheeks, his thumbs smoothing over bloodied skin, his lips ghosting over your forehead, over your hair, over everywhere as if he could somehow kiss you back to life.

"I love you—" Another whisper, another broken, wrecked admission, his heart tearing itself to shreds in his chest. "Please, you have to stay with me, please—don’t leave me."

His voice cracked. His whole body cracked.

Sebastian Sallow, who had spent his entire life fighting, clawing, surviving, was begging. Praying to every fucking god there was, every single god he didn’t believe in, that something—anything would hear him. That some force greater than himself, greater than the world would take pity on him, on you, and undo this.

Because this was losing you. This was your fingers twitching weakly at his robes before going still. This was your lips parting as if to speak only to fall silent. This was your breath—ragged, struggling, fading.

"You are not dying, you hear me?" His voice was wrecked, shaking as he crushed you against him. "You are not fucking dying, I won’t let you—"

Footsteps. Distant. Faint. Like echoes through water, like a sound trying to reach him from a place that didn’t exist anymore. Then shouting. Urgent, frantic voices cutting through the thick, suffocating haze of his grief, his panic, his desperation.

"Sebastian!"

He knew that voice.

Ominis.

Another followed. "Where is she?"

Anne.

There were others too—more voices he should have recognized, voices calling his name, voices filled with alarm and urgency—but none of them mattered. None of them fucking mattered.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into you, his arms curling impossibly tighter around you as his forehead pressed against yours, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. Your skin was so warm, too warm, feverish and slick with sweat, but your chest—

Your chest wasn’t rising.

Your lips had parted just slightly, as if you had meant to speak, to answer him, to tell him something, but there was nothing. No sound. No breath. No pulse beneath his fingertips.

A strangled noise ripped its way from his throat.

"NO—NO, PLEASE—"

Then hands. Hands on him. Grabbing, tugging, trying to pull him away from you, to separate you, and something deep inside of him snapped.

Sebastian screamed.

It was raw, violent, a gut-wrenching, hollowed-out kind of sound that could tear the heavens apart if the gods fucking cared enough to listen. His whole body locked up, every muscle tensing as he fought, thrashing against the hands pulling at him, his grip on you turning bruising, his fingers refusing to let go.

"Don’t fucking touch me—DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME—"

"Sebastian, let go!" Someone was pleading with him, voice trembling, but he couldn’t.

"She’s not breathing!" His voice cracked, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs, his body shaking so violently it felt like he was falling apart. "She’s—she’s not breathing, I—" He gasped, curling over you, shielding you, clutching you so tight it hurt, but he couldn’t let go. "I can’t—I can’t—I can’t let her go—"

"Sebastian, listen to me—*"

"DO SOMETHING!" His head snapped up, his tear-streaked, blood-smeared face twisting with something wild, something feral, something beyond words. "FUCKING DO SOMETHING!"

Anne lunged forward. Her hands clamped around Sebastian’s wrists, firm and unyielding, forcing them away, forcing him away from you. But Sebastian fought.

"Garreth, grab his arm!" A voice snapped, urgency threading through her voice.

Sebastian barely had time to react before strong, freckled hands locked around his bicep, yanking him back. "Sebastian, stop!" Garreth gritted out, struggling against the sheer wildness of him, the way he thrashed like a caged animal, desperate to get back to you.

"I’ve got him—" The other voice came again and an arm hooked around his other side, her grip like iron, "pull him back!"

Sebastian screamed.

"NO—NO—LET ME GO—LET ME GO—"

His voice shattered the air around them, a wrecked, raw agony that vibrated down to his fucking bones, that twisted through his ribs like something that would never heal.

"Sebastian, you have to let them help her!" The woman shouted, struggling to keep hold of him.

"She’s not breathing!" Sebastian roared, his face streaked with tears and blood, his body writhing, his feet digging into the dirt.

"Anne’s got her—" Garreth gritted out, his own voice tight, "Sebastian, stop! You need to come with Natty and I—"

But he couldn’t stop because you were dead. You were fucking dead.

Sebastian's body snapped forward, another frenzied attempt to break loose, and Natty cursed under her breath, her fingers slipping from his arm.

"Garreth, hold on to him—" she ordered before letting go.

Sebastian lurched forward, nearly wrenching free, but Garreth held, struggling to keep him back.

Natsai came into view, her expression grim, her jaw tight. "I’m sorry, Sebastian."

He barely processed the way she raised her wand, the flick of her wrist, the sorrow laced through her voice as she spoke the words—

"Incarcerous."

Ropes lashed around him before he could react. Thick, unyielding ropes snapped tight around his arms, his chest, his legs, dragging him down, binding him, trapping him.

Garreth stumbled slightly as he let go, quickly joining Natsai, Ominis, and Anne at your side.

Sebastian could only watch.

Bound, restrained, helples, his body shaking, his breath coming in sharp, ragged sobs as he knelt in the dirt, completely and utterly fucking useless while the others moved.

Somewhere, buried beneath the all-consuming panic, he knew there was nobody else he could trust with this.

Garreth and Natty—the other top duo in the Auror department, second only to you and him. They had saved more lives than he could count, had fought beside the both of you in battle after battle, had survived things that should have killed them.

Anne—his sister, a professional Healer, with hands steady enough to stitch together miracles.

Ominis—the best fucking Cursebreaker that Sebastian had ever known, with magic deeper than most could ever comprehend.

They were the best of the best.

And still—

Even as Anne worked desperately to force life into you, pressing her wand to your chest, even as Garreth and Natty wiped the blood from your face, their hands trembling as they tried to cool your fevered body, even as they did everything possible to bring you back to life, it wouldn't matter. Because in the end, it came down to breaking the curse, and your life was in Ominis' hands.

All because of Sebastian. Because he had failed. Because he had let you go alone.

Sebastian's vision tunneled in on Ominis, on the precise way he moved, the slow, deliberate motion of his wand over your skin, over the fractal-like curse marks that pulsed against your fevered flesh.

It was taking too long. It was all taking too fucking long.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, his breath coming in sharp, shaking gasps as he yanked at the ropes. “Ominis,” he ground out, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Ominis didn’t respond. His brow was furrowed, his expression drawn in tight, sharp lines as he carefully guided his wand, as if even breathing too hard might unravel everything.

Sebastian struggled against the binds again, his voice rising. “Hurry up! She doesn’t have time for this—”

Ominis snapped.

“If you want her to survive this, then shut the fuck up.”

Sebastian’s breath stalled, the sheer force of Ominis’ voice slamming into him like a hex to the gut.

He had never heard him like this before. Never.

Ominis was always composed, always measured. But now—

Sebastian stared, chest heaving, watching as his best friend hovered over you, his wand moving with painstaking precision, his shoulders tense, his jaw locked so tightly it looked painful.

“If I make one wrong move—if I slip, if I miscalculate, if I rush—” Ominis exhaled sharply, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusted his grip. “There will be nothing left to save.”

Sebastian felt like the world had tilted beneath him. A cold sweat broke out over his skin, his pulse thundering so violently he thought he might vomit.

Ominis didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the way the air had gone deathly silent, didn’t ease the unbearable weight of those words. He just kept moving, slow and meticulous, his wand following the curse marks like he was tracing something delicate, something on the verge of breaking.

Another moment passed. Another eternity.

Sebastian’s breath came sharp and shallow, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lifted his head, watching, waiting, pleading, and then—

A sound. A sharp, gasping breath. A choking, wet inhale.

Sebastian barely had time to process it before Anne gasped, her hands flying to your chest as your body convulsed, your limbs twitching violently, blood dribbling from the corner of your lips as you breathed.

The sound was awful. Rattling, broken, strangled. But it was breathing.

Sebastian’s whole body went taut, his throat constricting with something wild and aching as Anne let out a huff of pure relief.

“She’s— she’s breathing—"

Anne didn’t waste another second.

"Garreth, diagnostics, now!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of fear still choking the air. "Natty, I need a Blood-Replenishing Potion—check my bag, it’s in the side pocket. Ominis, keep the counter-curse steady. If it falters for even a second—"

“I know,” Ominis snapped, his fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

Sebastian barely heard them. because you were breathing again.

His whole body went weak, his vision blurring as another sob tore from his throat. His head dropped forward, his shoulders shaking violently, every inch of him trembling with the unbearable weight of relief and grief and fucking everything.

Sebastian didn't even notice when ropes binding him disappeared. Didn’t feel the shift of magic as it loosened, didn’t realize his hands were free, didn’t register anything beyond the raw, gasping breaths rattling in his chest.

Because you were breathing.

His whole body trembled, his lungs struggling to keep up with the weight pressing against them—grief and relief colliding so violently inside him that he wasn’t sure how to handle it besides weep.

Then a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

Garreth.

"You're alright, mate," he murmured, voice low. "She's alright. Just breathe, yeah?"

Sebastian didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. But when his shoulders gave out and his body slumped forward, Garreth caught him without a word. His arm wrapped solidly around Sebastian's back, his other hand firm against his shoulder.

Time blurred. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t fucking matter.

All Sebastian knew was that at some point, Anne inhaled sharply and leaned over you, her expression flickering with something urgent, something new.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached him—

“She’s asking for Sebastian.”

Everything else fell away. The noise. The movement. The air itself.

Sebastian moved. He didn’t even know how he moved given his exhaustion, didn’t remember breaking free from Garreth’s steadying grip, didn’t remember pushing forward until he was there—until he was kneeling right there, his hands grasping for you before he could stop himself.

You were still too warm, feverish and clammy, but your fingers twitched weakly when Sebastian reached for you, curling toward him, grasping at his sleeve.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, shuddering breath. The he was leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, his whole body curling around you like he could somehow shield you from everything that had already happened.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “I’m here, I’m right here—”

Your lips parted, barely moving.

“…Sebastian.”

A whisper. A breath. A single, fragile word. And yet, it was everything.

A sob ripped from his throat, raw and unrestrained, and he didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care that his hands were still shaking as they smoothed over your hair, your cheek, brushing away the damp strands clinging to your fevered skin. Didn’t care that the others were still there, watching. Didn’t care about anything except you.

"You’re okay," he whispered, his voice breaking apart at the edges, hoarse from screaming, from sobbing, from losing you. "You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay."

Your fingers twitched again, curling weakly around his sleeve, barely gripping, but trying. The effort it took for you to do even that made something sharp lodge itself in his throat.

Sebastian turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against your temple, his breath shaking against your skin. He needed you to know he was here. That he wouldn’t let go.

Your lips parted, the corners barely twitching—too small to be a smile, too exhausted to be anything more than an attempt.

But then, your voice.

Faint. Weak. Barely there. But real.

“…Didn’t… mean to worry you.”

Sebastian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, wet with relief and something close to hysteria.

“You nearly died,” he rasped, his voice rough, wrecked. “You did die.”

Your lips parted slightly, another flicker of movement, your brows barely furrowing.

“…But I didn’t.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, something caught between a sob and a laugh, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He pulled back just slightly, his fingers smoothing over your forehead, your cheek, memorizing every inch of you, grounding himself in the fact that you were still warm. Still here.

His lips hovered over your temple, pressing barely-there kisses against your skin, murmuring half-broken words between every breath.

“I love you.” The words spilled from him before he could stop them, raw and aching and uncontrolled. His chest heaved, his body trembling from the weight of everything. "I love you so much. I should've told you sooner—I should've—fuck, I should've done everything sooner—"

Your fingers twitched against him. Sebastian barely heard your response—so quiet, so weak—but he felt it, the way your lips moved, the way you pressed ever so slightly into him.

"—love you too."

Sebastian stilled. His throat tightened. His heart stopped.

For a moment, he thought he imagined it. Thought his exhausted, grief-addled mind had conjured the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

But then—then you smiled.

And he knew.

You had said it.

You had said it.

A sharp, wrecked breath tore from his throat, his chest constricting so violently it hurt.

He didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve to hear those words, not after everything. Not after how he’d failed to protect you, how he’d let you get hurt, how he’d let you die.

But you had said it anyway.

Sebastian let out a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. His heart was a mess, a tangled knot of fear and relief and love so overwhelming that it threatened to consume him whole.

He had nearly lost you. Had watched you slip away, had felt the unbearable weight of helplessness pressing down on him as your life balanced on the razor’s edge. And now, you were here. Weak, barely holding on, but here.

And you had said it.

You said it.

Sebastian exhaled, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted his head, as he pressed his lips to your forehead, your temple, then your cheek, his nose nudging against yours as his breath hitched.

And then, slowly, carefully—so much more carefully than he had ever done anything in his life—he pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t how he had imagined his first kiss with you would go.

Not with blood still drying on your skin, not with the taste of salt from his own tears mixing between you, not with your body still weak and trembling beneath his hands.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you were alive.