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medeasgirl · 2 days ago

Text

Softly

pair: kate bishop x reader

summary: you come home after a long shift to find kate at your door again, injured. you do all you can to patch her up, but that’s not all that’s wrong.

note: nothing graphic in this one! just some barely there angst, and a fluffy ending. reader’s a bit oblivious in this one. i love kate bishop so much, and this is my first time posting something on this blog, but there’ll be a lot more to come! requests are open <3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

It was past midnight when you arrived home, soaked from the rain, and kicked your shoes off with a sigh. It was miserable out, the storm brewing over the city had left the streets slick and especially dangerous, which hadn’t helped your shift at the hospital.

Your cat, Dante, purrs loudly from where he’s curled up on the couch. You mumble a greeting, stripping out of your coat. Your shift was especially tiring today, and you grab a carton of yesterday’s takeaway before joining Dante on the couch, turning on the news. They detail a shootout in the city, not far away from your place, and you furrow your brow as they play the footage. Is that—?

There’s a series of desperate knocks on your door, and you put your takeout down mournfully, leaving the news on. You have a sinking feeling in your chest as you open the door and double take.

“I- sorry,” Kate pants. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You take her in, hair disheveled, her purple suit stained with deep red at her stomach…

“Jesus, Kate,” you rasp and pull her inside. You know the drill by now. It’s not the first time she’s come to you. Though, this is the first time she’s taken a bullet to her side, and she winces as you tug her out of the doorway. You round on her. “That was you at that shootout, wasn’t it? What do you think—”

“Please,” Kate whines. “Save it for later?” Her vision is swimming, and everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges. She clutches at your kitchen counter with bloody hands, and you rush to her, suddenly afraid she might collapse.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself, scrambling for the first aid kits you’ve learned to keep since a superhero decided to start crashing at your place after missions. “Don’t know why you keep coming to me,” you huff, grabbing wrap bandages. Kate grins through the pain.

“You’re a nurse,” she reasons, lowering herself down to the floor with a groan. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, instead helping her to the ground. Dante the cat meows interestedly.

“Nurse in training,” you amend, shooing him away. “Can you take that off?”

Kate blinks and looks down at her suit. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, hold on.” She winces as she reaches back for the zipper and you grab her wrist quickly, stopping her before she hurts herself more.

“Alright, I’d better do that,” you say quickly, trying to hide the flush rising on your cheeks. You were able to remain professional in situations like this every day, so why was it that Kate Bishop rendered you useless? Granted she was pretty, really pretty, even when she was bleeding on your kitchen floor.

You unzip her suit carefully, down to the hip, revealing her toned stomach, littered with bruises, and her purple sports bra. You fight off a smile at the color. “Is that fine?” you ask shakily.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Is it bad?” You look down at her side, and prepare yourself for the worst. You press down lightly on the wound, and she bites back a whimper, her nails coming up to press into the skin of your arm. You murmur a soft apology, but breathe a sigh of relief when you assess the wound, noting that it’s not that deep.

“Just a scratch. Bled a lot, which is scary, but it’s not deep. Should heal just fine,” you press a finger to her chest lightly. “You got lucky.”

Kate smiles weakly. “I did, didn’t I?” she murmurs, looking at you in a way that is entirely too earnest. You feel your heart beating out of your chest and look down, away from her, fighting a blush.

You clean her wound in silence, only interrupted by the faint sounds of Dante’s paws against the tile and soft purrs. It might be domestic, in any other situation. You can feel Kate’s gaze on you, soft and genuine, and you can’t stop the warmth that bubbles in your chest.

“This might hurt,” you say softly, unscrewing the little tube of antibiotic ointment. You spread it with as gentle of a touch as you can manage, but Kate still hisses in pain. She grabs your arm. You shush her gently.

“Shit,” she laughs nervously, not removing her hand from your arm, instead squeezing softly. You finish quickly, making a show of putting the ointment away.

“It’s done,” you promise. “I just have to wrap it now.”

She breathes shakily. “Sorry for bleeding all over your kitchen,” she jokes, but it comes out weak, and tired. You wonder how much sleep she’s gotten.

You unspool the bandages, smiling in spite of yourself. “You’re making a habit of it,” you hum, wrapping the bandage around her torso. Her skin is warm against your fingertips. She shivers lightly at your touch.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Sorry about that,” she says more genuinely, brow pinched as if she’s worried she might be intruding on you. It makes you want to laugh, almost. If only she knew how much she was on your mind.

“No, don’t be,” you rush out. “I mean, I don’t mind.” It comes out clumsily and you wince. Kate blinks.

“No?” she asks quietly, an edge of something like hope in her voice. Your hands still, looking up at her. There’s warmth in her cheeks again, and heat in her gaze, and you find your eyes drawn to the way her lips are slightly parted…

You squeak slightly. “No, no, I mean, it’s practice. Not everyone is on call to a superhero,” you tease.

Kate deflates slightly at that, sobering quickly. “Right,” she mutters.

Your fingers slacken around the bandage. Shit. Did she mean something else? “No, I meant—“

She clears her throat. “Yeah, um. Thanks for your help. Again,” she smiles weakly, taking the bandage from your loosened grip and fastening it tight around herself. You look on, dumbfounded, unable to shake the feeling that you’ve misunderstood.

You swallow thickly, nodding. “No problem.” She tries to pull herself up and you take her hand, steadying her. Kate’s hand is soft in yours, her finger tips a little calloused but still so gentle when they graze your palm. Then it hits you.

You don’t want her to leave.

You realize you’ve been holding on to her for too long, and drop her hand like a hot coal. Kate’s face falls.

“I’ll, uh. Just be going,” she mutters, moving past you with a hand on her side. Something inside you screams not to let her go and you can’t help but panic a little.

“Wait,” you say, sharper than you intended, and she flinches a bit. Guilt immediately washes over you. “I… did I say something wrong?” It comes out a little brokenly. The last thing you want to do is ruin this, whatever it is, the late nights in your kitchen, patching up a cut on her temple, so close you could just brush your lips against hers, softly. But you won’t, because if you screwed it up, you know you’d miss it too much. Miss her too much.

Kate looks miserable. “No,” she huffs. “No. I just misjudged something.” She zips her suit back up, not looking at you. “I have to go.”

“Kate,” you murmur. She meets your gaze silently, and you bring a hand to her cheek. You brush aside her hair to find a little scar, from a cut you patched up just a week ago. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know why I keep coming here. I’m sorry,” she whispers. “And I know, I know you don’t mind helping me, but I feel like I’m taking advantage—”

You frown. “Kate, what are you talking about?”

“I come here every week to bleed out in your kitchen. Just to see you, you realize that?”

You blink. Of everything, that had never occurred to you. That she could possibly look at you and feel the same bubbling warmth that you did. All the late night visits, all the times you were close enough to press your lips to her skin, and you didn’t, for fear of rejection… and now Kate thought you were rejecting her?

“But you. You were hurt—” you mumble stupidly.

Kate sighs. “You think I couldn’t fix that myself? I wanted you.” She fiddles with the fabric of her suit, her face hot against your hand, where it seems to be stuck. “And I misjudged it, clearly, I’m sorry.”

“You say sorry too much.”

“I— what?”

“Kate,” you mumble, bringing your other hand to her cheek, flushed a sweet pink. Your eyes dart down to her lips, bitten and a little bloodied, but looking so petal soft it makes you dizzy. “Kate,” you say thickly, tilting forward to press your forehead to hers, noses brushing.

She swallows, bringing a hand to your waist. It’s a delicate kiss, tentative, and you can taste the sharp tang of blood as your lips meet, but Kate’s mouth is sweet and warm. Her hand strokes up the small of your back, pressing you into her as her mouth moves softly against yours.

She pulls away, and presses a kiss to your forehead, leaving you slightly breathless, your body tingling with warmth. Against your skin, she smiles.

“So does this mean I can keep crashing at yours?” She wags an eyebrow.

Dante purrs in approval from where he’s curled around Kate’s feet. And you smile, pulling her in once again.

#kate bishop #fanfiction #kate bishop x reader #marvel #wlw writing #hawkeye #kate bishop x you #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop imagine #hawkeye series

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happypopcornprincess · 1 day ago

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Chapter 4 || The Great War

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - will they survive the great war?

Word Count - 4.7K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, mentions of death

a/n - so a short storytime about the delay in the updates, well, long short I was off with family for Holi and almost got caught writing smut :) sprained my hand, which is why I couldn't type for days but I pulled through as injuries can wait but not my will to complete Joaquin and y/n's story. also imp. note that the narratives will now skip between a lot of characters so please let me know if there is any confusion :) thank you for sticking around <3 hope you would like this chapter.

<< Chapter 3 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 5 [26/Mar]

Scorching sun rays on your body, and the hot desert wind on your face, You squinted through the binoculars, but your focus was split. Kingpin’s lavish bungalow, his desert stronghold, was a fortress, and you weren’t just watching—you were breaching it.

You could have done a better job at it, if it wasn't for Joaquin, who'd decided to join you, armed with binoculars.

"You know," you said, your focus unbroken from your screen, "we could have just sent a drone. Less chance of getting sunburned."

"Drones get spotted," Joaquin replied, his voice flat. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't pass out and roll down this hill."

"Oh, I'm touched," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“When I said ‘I want to help you Sam’, I meant fighting by his side, not babysitting you.” Joaquin muttered loud enough for you to listen.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” you snapped, your eyes still glued to the scene before you.

“Give me one good reason why I'm stuck with you here and not on the scene with the team?”

“You volunteered for this, very enthusiastically, might I add,” you mutter under your breath.

“I just want to say if this fails… I’ll personally haunt you in the afterlife.” Joaquin growls.

“And I just wanna say if you keep running your mouth I might have to punch you.” you retorted, your fingers flying across the tab. The bungalow’s security system was a labyrinth, but you were navigating it, line by line.

“And I just wanna say, if I had a gun, I’d have already put a bullet through my skull,” Kate interjected, her voice laced with dark humor that made you both whirl around.

She settled between the two of you, pulling out her own binoculars, though her gaze was drawn to your screen. "And before you ask, no, I didn’t crawl up here for the view. I’m here to make sure you two don’t fry a circuit—or each other."

"Oh," you muttered, your focus intensely on the code scrolling across your screen. "Almost got past the third firewall..."

“No, ‘oh kate i’m so glad you’re alive?’ or ‘i’m sorry for being a jerk, kate.’ or, ‘hey how about we go to the movies after this to forget how we almost kicked each other’s butts the other day.’”

“You can just say you want to watch a movie with me,” you muttered, your eyes still trained on the gates.

“Seriously, Y/N?” she whined, but the edge in her voice was gone. “I’m sorry. I was… riled up. Watching Frank and Daredevil crash our mission, and the fact that he wanted to kill Fisk… I took it out on you.”

Kate’s voice dropped, becoming softer, almost hesitant. “And I said some really hurtful things to you. I wish I could take them back. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of her apology settling on you, but your hands never stopped typing. "I know," you replied, your voice tight. "It’s alright. I get it." You patted her arm awkwardly, a brief, almost clumsy gesture, before returning to your screen. "Almost there… bypassing the internal sensors… got it!"

Joaquin, however, didn’t miss the subtle shift in your demeanor. His gaze lingered on you as he watched you work.

"What are you doing now?" He asked.

"Disabling the cameras, and internal sensors." You reply without looking up. "Once I do that, I can let the team know where the blind spots are, and they can go in… Got it!”

You smile, and speak into the comms, “Sam, defenses down. All data is with redwing you can proceed. Good luck.”

Kate tapped both your shoulders, “good luck.” and she went back.

Joaquin stood up, deploying his falcon suit, and you followed, tightening your utility belt and strapping your tab inside your vest.

You winced, “ah!” gripping your wound as it sent a jolt up your body. Joaquin’s hand raised to reach for you, but he retreated as you walked to him, his stance rigid. It was hard to read his eyes, now covered with his visor lenses.

“Don’t you dare drop me.” you state, locking your arms around his shoulders.

He let out a dry laugh, “ha, I wish I could.” saying so, he pulled you in by your waist, harshly, and took off into the sky.

The wind whipped at your face, stealing your breath. As on instinct, you clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You swore he held you closer, but maybe it was just the wind, or the way your mind was playing tricks on you. It was too easy, the way your body fit against his.

It was like muscle memory, an echo of a time when you were friends, before the tangled mess of your arrangement.

On you apartment’s fire escape, Joaquin sat on the stairs, holding out his hand, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Come on.”

“I can’t!” you whined.

“You can’t be scared of heights when your best friend is the Falcon,” he laughed with a playful challenge.

“Y/N, I thought I was your best friend!” Peter’s voice echoed, and you looked up to see him hanging upside down just above you.

“Can you stop doing that?” you snapped, your stomach twisting with anxiety, a strange warmth spreading through you when you looked at Joaquin.

“Look, it’s only the fourth floor. It’s not that high! You know, I once flew next to an F-15 with Sam. You know how high that is?” Joaquin insisted.

“That does not make me feel better, Joaquin!” you scream.

“I’m here just in case you fall. I’ll web you up!” Peter offered, but his upside-down presence only amplified your anxiety.

“No.”

“Okay, that leaves us only one other way,” Shang-Chi spoke up from behind you, before literally hauling you up and pushing you out onto the fire escape. You screamed and thrashed a bit, but calmed down once you felt Joaquin’s hand hold you tight by your waist.

You breathed hard, but Joaquin let you wrap your hands around him, rubbing your back, his laugh vibrating through you.

“I got you.” he urged you to look at him and you did. His calm demeanor and his touch on your skin should have calmed you, but your heart raced faster. You shift your gaze to the New York skyline, the sun disappearing behind the tall buildings, the bustling crowds beneath you and the cold wind on your face.

Shang Chi sat next to you, placing his arms behind your body, and you calmed down completely.

“Incoming!” Kate laughed before rolling down from the railing above and lying down on your legs, laughing, all while Peter hung upside down.

You saw the new york sunset together, and sat there in silence until the sky turned blue.

That’s when you hit Shang Chi’s arm.

“Ow!”

“That was for pushing me out.” you laugh.

Kate gasped, hitting Shang Chi, “You pushed her out on the fire escape?”

“Can you both stop hitting me?” he protests.

“Okay, time out!” Joaquin leaned to make Kate stop hitting Shang Chi, and sneakily made a face, making you laugh.

“Can you move?” Joaquin’s voice vibrates through you, making you realise your legs were touching the ground.

You jerked away from him, as he disengaged his helmet, meeting your gaze with disappointment.

The comms came to life with Bucky’s voice, “we’re in! Y/n, you have 10 minutes tops, starting now!”

You crashed back to reality, all your focus shifting to your mission, “Roger that.” Saying so, you ran with Joaquin on your heels, the lingering warmth of his touch a ghost on your skin.

But as you moved, a dangerous, sudden realization slammed into your chest with the force of a physical blow.

You were falling for him.

And you were terrified.

It was the specific, visceral terror of falling for him.

Joaquin, the man who had been your friend, your confidant, your… something else entirely. The man who had declared it was over, who had built his own walls, colder and taller than yours.

This was a dangerous game, where the stakes were your heart, and the opponent was someone who knew exactly how to dismantle your defenses.

As you entered the enemy territory, the realization sent a shiver down your spine. You pushed it down, shoved it into a locked box in the deepest part of your mind, where it wouldn't interfere with the mission.

But the fear lingered, a cold, hard knot in your stomach, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were now on.

—/—/—

The moment you stepped through the reinforced door, the world shifted, a stark and unsettling contrast to the harsh desert landscape you'd just left. The bungalow’s interior was a crafted miracle, a bizarre blend of mid-century modern and Renaissance, as if a set designer had suffered a stylish, schizophrenic break.

It wasn't just a house; it was a stage.

The walls painted a blinding, almost clinical white, stretched into high, vaulted ceilings, creating an echoing space. The walls were a gallery, a bizarre collection of paintings that seemed to have been plucked from different eras and styles. The air itself felt different, sterile, a faint tone of rose underlying in it.

Every surface, every object, was eerily pristine, untouched by dust. It was as if the entire space was a museum exhibit, where nothing was allowed to be out of place.

The halls of the mansion were empty, no soldiers in sight. You found a staircase leading upstairs, but your focus was to find a hidden wall or a door that leads downstairs; that’s where all the fun was.

Joaquin whispered, “y/n, look.” you turn towards the room he was pointing in, and see it; a huge 9-feet oil painting of Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Fisk, standing ominously, their gaze pouring into you both like a warning of not coming any closer.

Walking closer, you both quickly set to analyze the edges for some mechanism, or a hint towards an opening, moving your fingers around the edges, and suddenly a sharp click broke the silence.

Joaquin and you looked at each other, and he gave you a thumbs up. The painting started to move, slowly opening on the outside to reveal an elevator. You both rush in, and find only two buttons on it; G and -1. Clicking on the -1 button, the doors closed, and the elevator roared to life.

When the doors opened, you found yourself looking at a lavish living room; the walls painted maroon, the furniture all black, and a small kitchen counter on a corner filled with canned food… right next to a computer system with two screens stacked on top of each other.

Gotcha

“It’s a safe house within a safe house.” Joaquin muttered, as you made a run for the computers.

“Y/n!” the comms roared back to life, Peter's voice a shout in the midst of gunfire, “did you find it?”

“Yes!” you scream, your fingers itching to get to work.

“Finish up as soon as you can!” Kate screamed next, grunting, probably shooting arrows, “these soldiers are playing real dirty.”

“Got it.” your fingers fly on the keyboard as you fish out the tab from within your vest, shoving it at joaquin, “find me a passage to the dark web.”

“What?” he looks at you, dumbfounded.

“You heard me.” you command, without removing your eyes from the desktop.

Joaquin got to work, and you bypass the security and passcodes with algorithms to access the files. Writing a code for accessing all files at once, you find both screens filled with every single file from the computer.

And you froze.

Whatever you were expecting, this wasn't it.

“Ay dios mío” Joaquin muttered.

The screens were filled with videos of every single person on your team.

“Goddamn, He'd steal the pennies off a dead man's eyes” you exclaimed, your Texan drawl slipping through.

Bucky and Sam on the Flag Smashers mission, Frank Castle murdering a room filled with mercenaries, Kate with Clint on the streets of new york, but the most shocking one was of Peter changing into his spidey suit in an alleyway, and the Daredevil on a rooftop, pulling off his mask to reveal his identity.

“Mathew Murdock? The lawyer from Hell’s kitchen!” Joaquin’s voice was filled with disbelief, “but he’s blind!”

You shake your head, trying not to get distracted by the sudden revelations, and you type in another code to reveal only the statistical and recorded data over the years; logs of purchases, black money turning white, reports of how many corrupt officials were there in the system, and the most important, proof of all the crimes, and murders he had committed in the past years. You put them all in one, single, mega file, and readied to upload it on the dark web, “Joaquin, how long?”

“30 seconds.” he answers, his hands flying across the tab.

“Looks like you’re winning, y/l/n.”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you turned around, whipping out your gun at the man standing behind you. Joaquin dropped the tablet, kneeling next to you with two Glocks in his hands.

Benjamin Pointdexter, instead of rotting in jail, was standing right infront of you, smirking, his hands twirling two razor sharp knives, “I know you don’t go by that name anymore, it’s just y/n now, right?”

Your mind raced to stall for time, you knew you stood no chance in front of a psychotic individual who could make impossible shots with his knives, earning him the nickname of Bullseye.

“Your folks back in Texas would be sad about you not taking your last name.” he laughed, “traditions and all, you know.”

“How did you find us?” Joaquin grumbled.

“You found me, actually. You really thought Mr. Fisk would leave this room unguarded?” he started to walk towards you, his fingers spinning the knives faster than ever, “any last wishes?”

Joaquin looks at you, and speaks just a single word, “10 seconds.” before opening fire at Dexter.

—/—/—

Those 10 seconds were the longest 10 seconds of your life.

You leapt towards the tab, pressing upload on all the files to the dark web. Opening the comms, you screamed, “Backup, lower ground… fisk’s portrait!”

You whipped around, and your blood ran cold. A knife was hurtling towards Joaquin's neck. He reacted by twisting away, a blade flashing from his own jacket, plunging into Dexter's thigh. Dexter roared, an agonizing sound leaving his throat, kicking Joaquin away as he grabbed razor-sharp shards from his suit.

"NO!" a sound of pure terror ripped from your throat watching him about to throw them at Joaquin. You lunged, slamming into Dexter, sending you both crashing to the floor. You pound your fists against him, a frenzy of precise but desperate blows, but he just laughed, a chilling, maniacal sound before catching your fist mid-swing, twisting your wrist with brutal force.

A scream tore from your lips, the pain white-hot, unbearable. But you were beyond pain, fueled by rage. You punched him again, ignoring the agony.

You saw Dexter's smile twist into something truly sinister. Before you could react, before you could even brace yourself, he stabbed you, the knives sinking into the same wound, the same place you'd been shot before.

He kicked you away, the force of it sending you sprawling. He pulled more knives, ready to inflict more damage. But Joaquin was on him with a whirlwind of furious strikes with his knife, only to have Dexter’s own blade slash across his neck.

A crimson spray burst out of his neck, a horrifying sight.

It was as if time had completely stopped.

Joaquin. Your Joaquin. The one whose laughter echoed in your ears, a constant, comforting sound. The one who had held you steady when you felt utterly adrift. The one you’d treated with a reckless, careless abandon, like a moth drawn to a dangerous flame, even though he deserved nothing but love.

And now, he was hunched over, clutching his neck, his fingers stained crimson.

The sight was a brutal, visceral punch to your gut, a stark, horrifying image that burned itself into your mind. His comforting embrace after training, his laughter on the fire escape, his glances across the room searching for you at any moment, the night you two first met. Every laugh you’d shared, every moment you spent together, it all seemed to flash before your eyes in that horrifying moment.

The guilt, a heavy, suffocating weight, pressed down on you, threatening to crush you. How could you have been so careless with the man that you…

With the man that you loved.

The image ignited a fire in you, a desperate attempt of adrenaline pumping inside you,and you were moving like a broken thing driven by pure instinct.

You stumbled at Dexter, your body screaming in protest, but you couldn't stop.

Then Dexter was throwing knives, every blade he had, a lethal rain aimed at you.

You coughed as they pierced through your body, a gurgling sound, blood bubbling up in your throat. Your vision swam, the pain a relentless, crushing wave. Your body was betraying you, cold and numb, but you fought, crawling towards the computer, a desperate last attempt to see if you were successful.

But Dexter was there, a dark shadow, his knives slashing, destroying the system. Sparks flew, screens flickered and died. All that work, all that pain, for nothing.

He loomed over you, a dagger in his hand, his eyes cold and cruel. "Well, this is a shame," he hissed, his voice a low, mocking growl. "I would have loved to have more fun with you."

His twisted smile was the last clear image you saw, before the world dissolved into a blurry darkness.

—/—/—

Gunshots.

A heavy thud of weight landed right next to you.

Shuffling of bodies, and somebody shouted your name from a far away distance.

"Dammit! Peter, get the Quinjet!" Bucky's shout echoed through.

Your name was called out again.

Your body felt lightweight, as if you were floating in air.

And then it was bright all of a sudden.

Your vision returned just to have a look at the crystal blue afternoon sky, the whirl of quinjet’s engine in the distance.

A sob went through your ears, a voice so familiar, "Stay with me y/n, baby, please."

Joaquin.

He was alright.

His voice was the last thing you heard before being catapulted into darkness.

—/—/—

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" Bucky roared, his voice cracking, his eyes glued to Y/N's still form on the Quinjet’s platform.

The minute he had entered Kingpin’s den his eyes had landed right on her. She was so pale, her skin like cold, lifeless marble. It sent Bucky to empty his barrel into Dexter who lay dead right next to y/n. The pool of blood beneath her was a sickening crimson stain, enough to send a wave of nausea crashing over him. He'd wanted to snatch her up, hold her close, but Sam's hand on his arm held him back, a silent, firm restraint.

Shang-Chi's rings glowed at that moment, and like a shimmering golden shield cradling her body, the rings lifted her gently off the ground. He was carrying her, floating, trying to minimize any further damage as they rushed her into the Quinjet.

"Scan complete. Multiple organ failure, massive blood loss, ruptured lungs, heart rate decreasing rapidly," F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's flat, emotionless voice filled the cramped space, each word a brutal blow.

"Any damage to the heart?" his voice was tight, strained.

"No critical damage detected."

"Okay... uh... okay..." Bucky's stomach churned. He couldn't look at the knives sticking out of her, couldn't bear the sight of her broken body. He turned away, but it didn't help.

Peter and Frank were with Joaquin, trying to stop the flow of blood from his neck. The cut wasn't deep, just above his collarbone, but his vest was soaked, a dark, horrifying stain. He'd passed out as they boarded the jet, his delirious cries for Y/N echoing in the small space, a desperate, broken sound that tore at Bucky's heart.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y... get the med bay ready," Bucky commanded, his voice rough.

"Shang-Chi—" Bucky started, but Shang-Chi cut him off, his face grim.

"The rings are creating a field to keep her blood from getting out. They will also keep her heart beating, just in case..." He shared a look with Bucky, a look that spoke of unspoken fears, of the very real possibility of losing her. A look Bucky hated.

Kate and Peter were at the controls, their faces tight, Kate occasionally getting a glance back at y/n, flying them back to the compound. Daredevil, mask off, sat huddled in a corner, his gaze fixed on the floor. Bucky was seconds away from snapping, from unleashing his pent-up rage, when he saw the object clutched in Daredevil's hand: a silver cross.

He was praying, silently. He was a man desperately hoping for a miracle.

Bucky's own throat tightened. He remembered a secret, a truth he'd only shared with Sam: Y/N reminded him of a person so close to him back then, it physically hurt him to even think about her; his sister, Beatrice.

Hauntingly familiar, just like her. The same mischievous grin before she did something mischievous, the same laughter that could fill any room with joy.

He closed his eyes, a silent prayer escaping his lips, a desperate plea to whatever power might be listening…

Please, save her.

-/-/-

Joaquin's eyes fluttered open to the sterile white of the med bay ceiling, the smell of spirit overwhelming his senses.

He was alive. His forehead ached like he could feel the blood flow in his head, and a sharp sting from the gash on his neck burned as he opened his mouth, but he was alive.

His first thought, a desperate, clawing panic, was for Y/N.

"Y/N?" His voice was a raw whisper, barely audible. "Is she…"

Shang Chi helped him sit up on the hospital bed, and he was met with Peter and Kate’s grim faces, etched with a silence that sent a chill through him. They avoided his gaze, their bodies stiff, their silence heavy.

"Sam got Kingpin," Peter said, his voice flat, his shoulders slumped. "He's on his way to New York. Going to trial for everything you and Y/N exposed."

Joaquin barely registered the words. A terrifying feeling invaded his heart as it beat faster; why was Peter avoiding his question? His eyes were fixed on them, searching for the truth they were so clearly trying to hide. "And Y/N?" he repeated, his voice strained.

“Joaquin, how about you rest up a bit…” Kate says calmly as she approaches his side, but Joaquin shakes his head, repeating his question.

"She's… she's in surgery," Kate said, her voice trembling slightly. "It's… we can’t tell if she-" she choked on her words, falling on the chair next to his bed.

The words hung in the air. A wave of nausea washed over him, a cold, sickening dread.

Shang-Chi placed a hand on his shoulder, sighing, a gesture that was meant to be comforting, but felt like a lead weight. "She's strong, Joaquin. She'll pull through.”

Joaquin saw the flicker in Shang-Chi's eyes, the carefully neutral expression that masked the unspoken fear. He knew they were holding back about her, trying to shield him from the truth.

A small part of him still wished this was all a dream. A bad one, but still. Any minute now, he would wake up, right next to her sleeping form, and he’ll hold her, hug her, tell her she’s gonna be okay.

Then he heard Kate and Peter's hushed conversation next to him, the words cutting through the sterile silence of the room. "...we need to contact him."

“But, Kate…”

“Connor is her emergency contact peter, this could be the last time they-”

"Connor?" Joaquin's voice was sharp, a sudden jolt of confusion. "Who's Connor?"

The others exchanged a look, filled with confusion.

"You don’t know about Connor?" Peter said, his voice barely a whisper, “he’s her brother.”

Joaquin's breath hitched. Her brother. He knew she had a brother, but he had never known his name, never had any real details. Why did she never tell him before? Why was her brother the emergency contact? What about her parents?

His heart dropped when he recalled her behaviour. Overtly self dependent, her episode at the apartment, her smile disappearing at any mention of family, the phone call the day before the mission. His mind raced as he joined the dots in his head. Could it be…

"I need to see her," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

"Joaquin, you need to stay here," Shang-Chi said, his voice low but stern, "You need to get yourself together."

"Get myself together?" Joaquin's voice rose with his anger, a raw, broken sound, "She's dying! And you want me to get myself together?"

He tried to get out of the bed to stand, but his legs were weak, his body trembling. He stumbled, only to be caught by Shang Chi.

"Joaquin!" Shang-Chi's voice was sharp, a rare scolding tone. "You're not going anywhere. You're lost too much blood, you need rest. You will only make things worse."

Joquin breathed hard, clouded by the single thought of her. y/n smiling down at him from the fire escape, how she fitted right into his arms, her heartfelt laughter ringing in his ears, how her existence made him brighter.

Joaquin sank back onto the bed, his body shaking, his eyes filled with a desperate, agonizing helplessness. He closed his eyes, hoping to see her image sitting next to him bathed in sunlight… alive.

But instead, he saw her face in the Kingpin's den, frozen, blank, seconds before Dexter's knives plunged into her. A replay of his worst nightmare. He remembered his desperate attempt to reach her before Dexter could do the unthinkable.

The way her eyes had flickered, then gone blank.

The weight of suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him entirely loomed over him. He was alone, and the only light he ever cared about, was fading away.

To Be Continued...

<< Chapter 3 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 5 [26/Mar]

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

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