#they determined no brain bleeding

[dottores]

BYE I HAD TO SHARE THESE THE EMPLOYEES AT THE BARNES AND NOBLE NEAR MY HOUSE NEED A RAISE

[trollbreak]

Girl help I’m on about peipre and yarrow hopelessly pining after each other the second the other one isn’t looking

[loveinhawkins]

It’s Dustin who saves Eddie.

He doesn’t try and carry him back to the trailer, nothing like that—if he could manage that on determination alone, then he would, but his throbbing leg has other ideas.

So he stays by Eddie’s side. Throws off his hoodie and starts to rip any piece of his clothing that he can, because he’s come a long way from when he once stuck bandaids on Steve’s beaten up face.

“What… what are you doing?” Eddie says in between gasping breaths.

Dustin would laugh if he wasn’t so scared. “Buying more time,” he echoes. Then he looks Eddie right in the eye and adds, voice wavering, “I’m really fucking sorry in advance.”

He takes a deep breath and presses the material to Eddie’s chest with force.

Eddie screams.

Dustin grits his teeth. Keeps going.

He creates makeshift tourniquets for Eddie’s arms, keeps tearing at his shirt, then takes it off entirely to use as a larger bandage, ignoring the shock of cold against his skin; the only thought in his head is that he has to stop the bleeding.

Eddie’s hand finds his bare shoulder. Squeezes weakly. “Tha’s enough,” he slurs. “D-Dustin, stop.”

And Dustin only does what he says because it doesn’t look like any more blood is soaking through the material. He keeps pressure on the worst of the wounds, tries to keep his elbows locked, as if that will stop his relentless shivering.

And when he looks up, he sees a tear fall from Eddie’s eye, down his temple, into his hair—and Dustin somehow knows that it’s not from pain alone, that Eddie’s crying just because he can see how cold he is.

“M’sorry,” Eddie whispers. “Never meant for… for you to—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, then hastily amends, “Actually, don’t shut up, just—just stay awake. They’ll be back soon, okay, Steve and Robin and Nancy, and they’ll—”

“Steve,” Eddie agrees. His voice goes up and down, like a little song: “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“Yeah, he’ll—hey, Eddie, eyes open.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie says faintly. “Eyes… oh, forgot to… you were right, H-Henderson, he’s… a badass. S’got pretty eyes, too, like wow. Pretty, pretty…”

And…

Well. That’s a development.

“You can tell me all about Steve’s pretty eyes if you keep yours open.”

And Eddie’s eyes do jolt open at that, like he’s received an electric shock. He groans in mortification.

“Jesus Christ. Didn’t mean to—fuck, feel like I’m drunk, man, I can’t… just kill me.”

Dustin thinks he probably would have found that request funny if Eddie wasn’t saying it through teeth flecked with blood.

Still, he does let out a strangled, hysterical giggle when he says, “I know how to keep you awake now.”

Eddie groans again. “Spare me the—”

“He sings in the shower, like, full blown Elvis impression, all that jazz. And he denies having lucky socks, but he wears the same pair whenever Lucas has a basketball game.”

“Huh?” Eddie says eloquently.

“Pay attention, dude, you need to know what you’re getting into! Oh, he said when he went to see The Fox and the Hound, he cried.”

Eddie chuckles. “That’s… oh, that’s sweet.” He smiles, eyes bright, and Dustin suddenly knows that they’re gonna be okay. “Keep going?”

Dustin does. He talks about how Steve always says, “Two for joy,” even when he sees a singular magpie, because he reasons that the second one is always just hiding. How he eats ice-cream too fast, does a comical hop in place when he inevitably gets brain freeze. That whenever he happens to pick up Dustin from school, he almost always has a Simon and Garfunkel tape playing, sings along to At the Zoo as he turns out of the parking lot.

Dustin doesn’t mention the Farrah Fawcett spray; a promise is a promise.

Eddie seems pretty damn well entertained with what he’s been given, anyway. He keeps smiling, lets out breathy chuckles that give Dustin hope: that he still has enough energy to laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” he says, “I’m so awake, jus’… you just relax.”

And it’s only when Dustin stops talking that he realises his teeth have been chattering the whole time.

Eddie gives an unhappy sounding hum, and his hand comes up to clumsily rub at Dustin’s forearm.

“Your lips are blue.”

“I’m f-fine.”

A sudden desperate yell splits through the air; Dustin didn’t know that Steve could sound quite like that.

“Here!” Dustin shouts as much as he can.

He hears three people running; Steve gets there first.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Steve,” he says, and Dustin’s seen enough movies to think that this could be it, the big moment, or at the very least that Eddie’s about to give another wandering speech on Steve’s eyes.

But instead—

“Steve, Steve,” Eddie repeats, “Dustin’s cold.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says; he’s already taking off his jacket, shoving Dustin into it with this frantic mixture of urgency and care.

Dustin’s shivers get even more pronounced as the jacket’s zipped up, as the warmth from Steve’s body heat hits him.

“Think E-Eddie’s—b-bleeding stopped,” he says, accidentally biting on his tongue thanks to his chattering teeth.

Steve looks over Dustin’s handiwork, eyes shining. “Yeah, you did good,” he says, choked, rubs his hands down Dustin’s forearms more effectually than Eddie had. “You did so good.”

“You must’ve been wearing your socks tonight, Harrington,” Eddie says.

Steve stares at him. It’s only when he starts to laugh that Dustin realises he’s crying at the same time. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Shh, s’okay,” Eddie says. “I cried at th’movie, too, don’ tell anyone. S’not fair what… s’posed to be a happy endin’…”

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, says, deadpan, even with a tear-streaked face, “Doc, I think we’re losing him.”

Dustin whacks him on the arm, because it’s so stupid, it’s so Steve, and, God, they're really gonna be okay.

“Dustin’s th’best doctor,” Eddie chants, “best, best, best…”

“Yeah, he’s a goddamn superhero,” Steve says sincerely.

There’s a look Steve has on his face while he lifts Eddie up, a fleeting softness right before he goes back into planning mode, scanning the trailer park in case of any more threats; where Eddie’s fingers curl around Steve’s neck, and Steve smiles down at him, and…

Dustin would put a bet on Steve thinking Eddie has pretty eyes, too.

At least, he would if he could stand up.

When Steve clocks his leg, his jaw works a couple of times before he speaks. “Hey, Robin, Nance?” He raises his voice, looking to some point in the distance. “Could you—help Dustin up, I’ve—uh, kinda got my hands full.”

His tone is light, but his chin trembles just a bit, like he might break down at the thought that he can’t carry Dustin out of here, too.

“Okay, c’mon superhero,” Robin says, suddenly by Dustin’s side; she counts down, and then Dustin’s being carefully lifted up, an arm flung around Nancy, too.

“I’m okay,” Dustin feels the need to say. Robin and Nancy are out of breath, and he can’t help noticing the vivid red marks around their necks.

“Yeah, you will be,” Robin corrects.

“Is—is Eddie—?”

“Look, he’s right in front,” Nancy says. “Steve’s got him.” She lowers her voice and when she says, “You were really brave, you know,” Dustin has to swallow a lump in his throat: for a moment feels thirteen years old, her hand in his at the Snow Ball.

And she’s right; Eddie is right in front. Dustin can see him trailing a hand up and down Steve’s arm, slow and soothing, and he’s talking, just too far away to be heard.

For a few steps, Dustin thinks that Eddie must be spilling more of what he’s learned, regurgitating the anecdotes.

But then Robin and Nancy pull him a little closer. And he can read Eddie’s lips.

He’s okay, Eddie is saying, looking away from Steve’s face to find where Dustin is. He’s right behind us, sweetheart. He’s okay.

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

[hawkinsbnbg]

While his ancestors were devoted to preying on virile men, Steve—a young succubus—chose to settle in Hawkins for a chance at a normal life.

Given his innate charm, he had become the top dog on his first day at school and reigned his subjects with an iron fist. That meant; no bullies nonsense, no ostracized students, and no making fun of less-privileged people.

Steve wasn’t a saint, mind you, but he always did what he deemed right, and reducing the high-school teenage toxicity helped assuage his headaches.

On the other hand, to cover up his tracks with some of the men (he had selected carefully) in the town, he played up the whole rich spoiled brat who had absent parents and was a womanizer part.

And for a long time, it worked.

It worked so well that Steve had become careless and slipped up.

After putting Nancy into a vivid dream of them having sex, he scented something foul and immediately knew there was a trespasser on his property.

That was how he had gotten to the pool in time to save Barb from a monster that resembled Snatcher.

Unfortunately, Jonathan Byers had caught him beating it on the camera and came begging for his help the following day.

Since Steve’s bleeding heart couldn’t take it, he ended up rescuing Will from the hellhole full of Snatcher-like creatures and flower-faced carnivores.

Naively, he had thought it was the end of it. But somehow, the Byers decided he was a part of them after he brought their youngest back from the underworld and always invited him over for dinner.

(Steve had shyly admitted to Joyce that it was kind of nice to have home-cooked meals with so many people for once. He had become the Byers’ permanent guest ever since then.)

Thanks to Will, he got to know The Party, learned about secret government labs and experimented children, and was dragged kicking and screaming into the Upside Down fiasco by the goddamm maternal he had for those gremlins.

(He guessed the list also included Nancy, Barb, Jonathan, Joyce Byers, and even Jim Hopper.)

Fast forward to S4 where everything derailed and went south so rapidly that Steve didn’t have time to respite. It resulted in his power being drained after having healed most of the bat’s bites and injuries he sustained.

Since they were on the run, his options were sort of limited, and although it would risk raising more suspicion on himself, Steve didn’t think Eddie would have the energy to mull over it too long once he was done.

Meanwhile, Eddie was perplexed and aghast when Steve Harrington pulled him to the back of the camper when no one noticed and proceeded to blow his brain the fuck out.

Eddie nearly combusted and died right then when Steve looked up at him through those pretty lashes, nuzzling his thigh and thanking him softly.

The sight went straight into Eddie’s spank bank and he didn’t even feel guilty about it. If anything, it just fueled his determination to kill Vecna so he could spend more time with his boy.

Much much later when everyone made it out alive and Eddie survived his horrible not-good spring break, he finally learned about Steve’s secret and offered the succubus a lifetime deal.

Eddie would be Steve’s personal charger for as long as he lived.

In response, Steve had jumped his bone right at that moment and didn’t stop until midnight.

Eddie had half a mind to worry about his kidneys’ welfare, but he soon decided it was future-Eddie’s problem. Present-Eddie was blissfully balls deep in Steve’s sweet hole and couldn’t care less.

[ma-yawntu]

for you, anything.

pairing: neteyam x female!omatikaya!reader

summary: you're mad at Neteyam for some reason and he's determined to find out why

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, mentions of parent death (father), fluffy, angst (sort of)

now playing... first love/late spring by mitski

Neteyam’s wound was angry and red, his skin raw with jagged cuts. Your skilled hands made quick work of his injuries, cleaning the area with fresh water to avoid infection, but despite your delicacy with his wounds; something was wrong. Neteyam could tell you were angry with him from the way you kept your lips drawn together instead of playfully lecturing him like you normally did. His ears were flat against his head as you worked, your eyes refusing to look up into his despite his obvious desperation for you to give him something– anything.

Neteyam wasn’t sure why you were angry with him, sitting there wracking his brain for possible causes of your turmoil. He knew you worried for him when he attended raids with his father and brother, but you worried for everyone. Unfortunately, it was in your nature to worry. Neteyam thought it was an admirable trait but you saw it was more of a curse.

For you, it was different with Neteyam. The two of you had been close since you were children, being born mere months apart meant you hit almost every milestone together. As children, the two of you were competitive, always pushing harder and harder to be better than the other… of course it was friendly competition. As you grew up though, you found yourself caring more and more about Neteyam as more than a friend. Of course you would never tell him– he was the Olo’eyktan’s son! Future clan leader of the Omatikaya and your best friend. You were absolutely dreaming if you thought anything could ever happen between the two of you.

That logical reasoning didn’t deter your feelings though, the heart unfortunately wants what it wants. Instead of facing the reality of your situation, you buried yourself in work. Work always needed to be done around High Camp. The Sky People closed in more and more every week and their war strategies were only getting bolder. 

You worked closely with Kiri and a few other healers under Mo’at, learning to tend to the sick and injured which only seemed to increase tenfold after every war party’s return. You wanted to be out fighting like everyone else– like Neteyam. But Jake would never allow it after you lost your father during a raid; he made Jake promise to never let you out in the field and that’s how you ended up stuck at High Camp working as a healer instead of where you were meant to be. 

“You are upset,” Neteyam mumbles after almost half an hour of uninterrupted silence as you run a damp cloth over his cuts and grazes. 

“I am not upset,” your tone alone was a dead giveaway that you were kind of upset. Neteyam’s ears flatten against his hair and he curls his lips inward, electing to give you some more time before he starts prying again. 

Your shoulders relaxed as your gaze flickered to his face. Neteyam was usually pretty unreadable; a product of his upbringing you assumed. Neteyam took after his mother in almost every way and that woman was terrifying, so it made sense. But you were always able to see through it, you’d grown up learning his tells and habits, you were sure you could understand him better than yourself most of the time. 

He seemed hurt by your short attitude with him; you weren’t even sure why you were mad in the first place, maybe it was because you were stressed and unintentionally taking it out on Neteyam. Or maybe it was because he got himself injured again and almost gave you a heart attack when Lo’ak and Jake had to carry him bleeding into the healer’s kelku because he was too injured to walk himself. It was likely a culmination of both things. 

Mo’at had originally dealt with him since you, Kiri and the other healers were busy tending to the several other injured warriors. But Mo’at was quickly called away, her expertise needed elsewhere and you were left to clean and stitch Neteyam’s body back together with shaky nervous hands.

You scooped up a heaping of Kiri’s yalna bark salve, applying the waxy substance to the jagged cut you had sewn shut along Neteyam’s chest. He winced at the slight sting, his brows knitting together at the feeling he would never get used to.

“Sorry,” you mutter, spreading the salve along the cut. You weren’t sure if you were apologising for your temper or for putting him in pain– possibly both. Now seeing his face and listening to him wince made your heart hurt and now you felt bad for being sort of mean to him. “I’m… I am not mad at you.”

Neteyam’s gaze lifts to yours and you give him a flicker of your eyes before you’re back to ignoring him and dressing his wounds. Your fingers work diligently to dress the wound but your movements quickly cease when Neteyam’s much larger hand wraps around your thin wrist. You stop what you’re doing and your eyes flicker up to meet him, falling victim to his intense golden eyes.

“Then what is wrong?” His voice is quiet, as if speaking at a normal volume would somehow scare you. 

You avert your eyes, a sigh rippling from your chest before you look at him again, heart drumming in your chest. “I was worried, that is all.”

“You always worry,” he doesn’t believe your answer but he is always gentle in his prying. 

“Then there is nothing more to say,” you retort, twisting your wrist out of his grip to get back to your work. 

Neteyam lets out a defeated sigh, “you know that is not how I meant it,” he cautions.

You know you’re being slightly unreasonable right now. But he simply doesn’t understand what it is like for you to see him like that; to see his limp body be dragged off his ikran, to see him covered in bruises, dirt and dried blood. It’s a horrifying sight to see, especially when it is someone you love and cherish. Yes, you love your best friend; you’re aware of the predicament.

You know that it won’t go anywhere. Sure, you can fight, heal and hold your own but you are nothing exceptional. There are far more pretty and talented Omatikaya women who are basically falling at Neteyam’s feet. You don’t stand a chance, you’re fully aware of that and you’ve tried to make your peace with it.

You almost feel like you have no right to worry over him the way you do. He is not yours and you are not his. You are forced to put on a brave face whenever you’re left to heal his wounds and act like it doesn’t twist your heart seeing him in pain.

You dress Neteyam’s wound and quickly move to gather your materials, completely disinterested in continuing your conversation. Your days at High Camp are never ending and at this point you’re beyond exhausted knowing you still have to clean the kelku top to bottom before you can even think about leaving.

“You need rest, no strenuous exercise or movements for at least a week or you’ll split your stitches,” you sigh, organising your materials back into their original places around the kelku. 

Neteyam’s eyes follow your body as you move around, still unconvinced by your behaviour and determined to get to the bottom of it before he leaves you alone for the night. He hates seeing you upset, it hurts him when he can’t fix things for you but it hurts even more you might be upset with him. 

Neteyam groans and winces as he stands up, his hand coming to clutch his side. You spin on your heel and let out a noise of frustration, “Neteyam, I’m serious.” You’re at his side in a second, your hands clutching his shoulder and arm to help him sit back down; he’s much heavier and taller than he was when the two of you dragged each other around as kids, you notice.

You allow him to get comfortable before you attempt to leave his side only for him to grab your arm, forcing you to stop. You peek over your shoulder and he looks so upset and your heart twists at the mere sight. 

“Talk to me,” Neteyam mutters, his eyes wide and pleading. 

You frown and sigh, relaxing in his grasp and letting him just hold your forearm for a moment. Your eyes meet his and you just crack under the overwhelming presence that is Neteyam. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, your jaw aching painfully as you attempt to hold back the flood that swirls around inside you. 

“Don’t cry,” Neteyam coos, using his other hand to pull you closer and wipe your tears with the rough pad of his thumb.

You sniffle and wipe your wet face with the back of your hand, eyes averting upward to will the tears to sink back down where they belong. You don’t know why you’re crying. You’re worried, angry, tired, frustrated; everything one person under immense pressure can feel.

Neteyam waits for you to calm down, his chest aching watching you heave and sniffle, your tears betraying you as they slip down your cheeks faster than he can catch them. His hands are holding yours, his thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands to help ground you. And he just watches you, afraid to take his eyes off you as if you’ll disappear. 

“I’m fine,” your voice comes out slightly broken and Neteyam just frowns.

“You’re crying,” Neteyam retorts.

You avert your eyes again. “Seriously, Neteyam. I’m just tired.”

“Please, sevin–”

“I worry about you!” You say rather loudly. Neteyam’s mouth presses closed and all he can do is wait with bated breath for you to continue. You sigh, eyes still glassy with tears, “I do not worry about you in the same way I worry about everyone else, Neteyam… You have to know that.”

He has to know how you feel by now, surely he is not that dense– then again, you’ve known him for a long time and he can be very dense (a trait courtesy of his father you assume). 

His brows are knitted together in a mixture of both confusion and worry as he stares at you, attempting to decipher what it is you’re trying to tell him. Neteyam has always felt something for you, how could he not? But he was so sure the two of you had grown apart because of your equally strenuous responsibilities. 

“When I watch you leave,” you start, your voice slightly shaking. “I just… I never know if you’re going to come back.”

Neteyam sighs, his hand reaching out to hold the side of your face, “I will always come back.”

“My father didn’t, Neteyam,” you reply, eyes falling shut as you will yourself to stop crying, knowing how much seeing you upset hurts Neteyam. Neteyam falters at your words and sighs sadly, his larger hand holding your jaw gently. Your lip quivers as you open your mouth to speak, another tear slipping down your cheek, “I… I cannot lose someone else, ‘Teyam.”

Neteyam feels his chest tighten at the sight of your sadness. “Sevin…”

“I cannot lose someone else that I love,” you whisper, your thumb stroking the back of Neteyam’s wrist. Your gaze finally meets his and your eyes are glossed with tears as the stress and anxiety pours out of you right in front of him. 

Neteyam’s heart pounds in his chest, he knows you love him, you’re his best friend. But you’ve never said it with such sincerity before. You’ve always been special to him, the only person who seemed to understand who Neteyam was outside of being the Olo’eyktan’s son. He’s always loved you, how could he not? But it was in this moment that he realised how desperate he was to keep you. 

Neteyam’s thumb strokes along your cheekbone and you let out a soft breath, completely drowning in the golden hues of his kind eyes. And without thinking, your body surges forward, your eyes falling shut as you plant your lips firmly against his. 

Your hands find purchase on the nape of his neck as you force his much taller frame down to meet you halfway. Neteyam’s free hand lands on the lower section of your ribs, his body stiff at the sudden contact. But the kiss is over as soon as it starts and you pull away, your face flushing and eyes blowing wide as you realise your actions.

“Shit,” you curse. “I’m… Neteyam, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–”

Neteyam is quick to shut you up when his hands reach out to cup your face and he kisses you again. His kiss is softer than yours, far more gentle than the awkward peck moments ago. He breathes hard against your lips between kisses, his body suddenly crippled with the urge to keep you close. 

Your smaller hand holds his cheek, careful to avoid the small cut along his cheekbone. You smile giddily against him and he pulls away to smile back at you, his thumb gently wiping away the last of your tears. 

“Now you really have to come back,” you whisper.

Neteyam smiles, “For you, anything.”

a/n: i know it's short but it's cute!!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[kinardsevan]

i can see the sun

nobody asked for a mini where BuckTommy meet in 2x18, but my brain wrote it anyway? enjoy!

-

Tommy never mentions the first time they met, mostly because he doesn’t think Evan remembers it, and honestly he wouldn’t blame him. That night was—as Evan still defines it today—the worst night of his life, and the last thing Tommy ever wants to do is bring those painful memories back to the surface. Still, in the time since they’ve gotten together, he can’t help dwelling on it from time to time, thinking about the strength he’d seen in Evan that night, the determination. 

“Howie!” 

Chimney spins on his feet, looking around him until his eyes fall on Tommy’s muscular build, the waves of his light brown hair. 

“Tommy? What are you doing down here? It’s not safe-..” 

“I was down the street,” he explains. “Thought I could help.” 

Chimney turns, looks back at Hen and then Bobby, holding his hands out like he’s not entirely sure what the answer should be. 

“We’re gonna need the help to get it off of him,” Bobby states. He looks past his subordinates briefly and then back at them. “Chim, there’s a girl down there with her hand bleeding from twisted metal,” he states, pointing. “Hen?” 

She passes off the bag of IV fluids to Bobby that they’ve hooked up to Buck and Tommy looks around again before glancing down at the man on the ground, shaking his head. 

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself. He shifts backwards and drops down, getting in front of the blonde with curly hair, blood all over his face. “Hey, kid.” 

Buck lifts his head off the ground, groaning in pain as he looks up at him. Tommy reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly. 

“You gotta fight,” he tells him, running his thumb over Evan’s fingers. They’re cold, and he can see the paleness in his face. Buck groans again. 

“Let’s lift this,” Bobby states, glancing down at them. Tommy looks up at him and nods. 

“Alright, kid, you can do this,” he tells him. They both hear the count off, and then the attempted lift and Evan screams like bloody murder, trying to pull his leg free from where it’s pinned beneath the truck, but barely gains any traction before it’s down again. Tommy glances up at Bobby and shakes his head. “You gotta lift higher. 

“I-…I…” Buck’s voice is choked, pained cries falling out of him faster than he can do anything to stop them. Tommy reaches out and curls a finger under his chin, making him look up. 

“Hey kid, you gotta focus,” he states firmly. 

“M-ma-addie,” he stammers. 

Tommy shakes his head again. “Whatever you have to tell Maddie can wait.” Tommy looks around them again, sees everyone trying to problem-solve the situation. He glances back down at the kid in front of him. “What’s your name?” 

His head bobs up and down weakly and Tommy squeezes his fingers again. 

“E-Evan,” he stammers. Tommy nods. 

“We’re going to get you out of here, Evan,” Tommy tells him. “Just hold on.” 

“One more time guys, ready,” Bobby states. They lift again, and again Evan screams, trying to move and again gaining no traction. Tommy looks up at Bobby again, shaking his head once more. 

“It’s too heavy,” Bobby states, talking to people around them. Evan is gasping for air in front of Tommy, silent sobs coming out of him with the struggle for air. “We need more people.” 

Suddenly there’s a crowd of people lining around them, and Tommy looks back at Evan, brushing a calming hand down his hair. 

“Hang on Evan,” he states firmly. “They’ve got you.” 

“One, two, three!” 

He watches as they lift the truck, higher than they’ve been able to, high enough that he can see the clearance between Evan’s leg and the truck, and he tugs him forward until he’s free of it and the crowd is settling the truck back on the ground. Evan’s team crowds around him and Tommy steps back, moving out of the way. Bobby rests a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at him. 

“Thanks for your help,” he tells him before stepping past him, joining the rest of the 118 as they gather around Evan and move him onto a stretcher. He doesn’t voice it out loud, but holds the notion in the back of his head that in another life, he would’ve been the one pinned under the truck. 

. . . 

“Where’s your head at,” Evan murmurs, late one night as Tommy sets his book on the nightstand. He’s been doing that thing where he read the same page three times over and still didn’t digest any of the information. Tommy looks over at him and gives him a soft smile, lifting his hand to brush along one of the barely-there scars on his chin. 

“Just thinking about you,” he admits. Evan gives him an awkward smile, reaching up and pulling his hand away. 

“Should I be concerned,” Evan asks, adjusting the blankets on his lap. “You seem…distracted.” 

Tommy shakes his head dismissively. “No, no.” 

“Then what’s up,” Evan asks, curious. “Where’s your head at.” 

Tommy looks over at him, contemplatively. He narrows his gaze at Evan briefly before licking his lips. “Do you…remember? The first time we met?” 

Evan squints at him with a curious smirk. “Harbor hangar. Stealing helicopters to fly into a hurricane and break at least a dozen different laws.” He drawls on like it’s basic information. 

Tommy chuckles softly. “Sure.” He nods, biting his bottom lip briefly. “Except, no.” 

Evan still has that gaze on his face, like he’s not entirely sure where Tommy is going with this. “Okay?” 

Tommy takes a breath, lifting his hand to Evan’s chin again, looking at the scar once more. 

“I don’t mention it because I don’t ever want to put you in a painful memory,” he states, thumbing the scar. “But I was there for this.” 

Evan doesn’t need to see his face to know what Tommy is talking about. He stares at the older man for a time, clearly searching his memory, only to come up with nothing. 

“I don’t…?” 

Tommy nods. “You were already pinned under the truck, and I got on the ground with you so that Hen and Howie could help with the truck.” 

Evan’s gaze shifts around at Tommy’s words, still searching his memory. After a moment, he looks up at him. “I always thought I made up someone rubbing my head. I mean, Hen would hold my hand, but-..” 

“You didn’t,” Tommy tells him. He’s quiet for a moment, his expression somber. “I could tell you were getting close to giving up. You wanted to say something to Maddie, and I told you no.” 

Evan nods, having the vaguest recollection of that. He looks back up at Tommy. “But then you just vanished into the ether.” 

Tommy shrugs. “I sent flowers. And besides, you had a girlfriend.” 

Evan narrows his gaze at him again, but this time there’s mirth in his expression as he pushes himself up and slots a leg over Tommy’s hips, straddling him. 

“You mean to tell me I could’ve had you five years ago,” he states, moving his hands down to the hem of Tommy’s shirt, sliding his fingers beneath it. Tommy jolts at the iciness of his fingers. He smirks at Evan as he reaches for his hands, squeezing them. He leans forward, kissing along his jawline. 

“Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun then,” he replies. “We were both still figuring stuff out.” 

Evan pushes his hands further inside Tommy’s shirt, fighting against his loose grip to press his cold palms flat against his abs. Tommy growls softly, biting on his jaw. Evan settles back on his haunches and tilts his head, reaching out for one of Tommy’s hands. He brushes his fingers gently along the scars on his face, down to his chin, and then over his heart. 

“I love you,” Tommy murmurs, brushing his thumb back and forth on Evan’s chest. Evan leans into him, pulls him into a searing kiss as his hands find their way back under Tommy’s shirt with only one intention in mind. 

“I love you too.” 

[daryl-fucking-dixon]

Vamp!Daryl moodboard because oh my god I cannot get enough of him

I’m writing something for him on my main blog, but I also wanna write something else and I also don’t wanna delete what I’m already writing (because Im punishing myself)

I did in fact end up going into detail 🌞(ifykyk)

SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING

There was no place comfier and warmer than cuddled up right in your arms, nuzzled safely against your chest where Daryl’s 30/20 hearing could peacefully listen to the clear beat of your heart. It lulled him into a deep sleep almost every night, belly full and his hunger satisfied.

But a vampire could never be too full, and Daryl Dixon never sleeps without his senses guarding at all times, so the way he jerked slightly at the first hints of blood flooding into his nostrils was inevitable.

You barely stirred, which made it easy for Daryl to slip out of the cage that was your limp arms and quietly inspect your body.

He softly and gently lifted your shirt, helping himself to an eyeful of pretty tits once he determined your torso was unscathed, placing the fabric back down over you. His eyes fluttered down to your panties, brain loading for a moment before he dipped his head down, not even having to inhale before he was hit in the face with the overwhelming smell of blood.

This absolutely horrified him. Why were you bleeding, and why were you bleeding from your cunt? His cold little heart throbbed painfully, and he wasted no time pulling off your undies, shivering at the ruined fabric. It was bad, so bad. You had somehow hurt yourself in a sensitive area and needed obvious help, but first Daryl just had to take a deep whiff of your bloody panties, biting back a guttural moan when the pure smell made him dizzy, eyes almost rolling to the back of his skull as it traveled through his veins and damn-near made him cum. Not even the most expensive cocaine could get him that high.

His mouth was watering from just that alone, trying not to wake you as he quietly gasped for air, having literally suffocated himself in your underwear. He redirected his gaze to you and felt disgusting when he could feel his cock twitch at the sight of your bloody pussy.

No. He needed to help you. You were hurt and he needed to fix it, furrowing his brows as he built up his saliva in his mouth, hoping that if he coated you in enough of it, it would heal you much quicker.

When it was pooled on his tongue, he dropped down to be face to face with your cunt and forcibly swallowed the groan that formed in his throat from the smell wafting into his nose. All five of his senses were sky-high, and your skin almost felt like butter on his fingertips as he spread your bloody lips apart, running his slick tongue from top to bottom.

Your body trembled at the cold sensation, and soft sounds spilling from your lips as you reacted to his touch in your sleep. It made Daryl feel a little guilty, but it would make him feel guiltier if he just left you like this.

There was just blood all over you, and Daryl worked his tongue fervently to clean it all up. He tried not to enjoy it too much, running the wet muscle up the crease where your thigh met your labia, stopping to suck on your clit a little, cleaning off any blood with the tip of his tongue.

He was purposely trying to produce more saliva with every lick, ensuring that wherever your wound is, it’ll be completely coated in his healing spit. He wrapped his arms around your thighs so that he could pull your lower half flush against his face, slipping his tongue into your hole and swirling it around when he could taste the blood pooling inside, this time not being able to fight back his grunt at the taste. Oddly enough, it tasted so much better coming from your pretty pussy.

“Gonna make sure ya feel better doll, gotta make sure m’gorgeous girl is alright” He mumbled out loud but more so to himself, practically nose-deep as he protectively squeezed you impossibly closely, starting to get a little tipsy from all the blood he had already consumed.

You stirred slightly, grunting and wiggling your legs a little as you could feel the sturdy muscle of Daryl’s arms around them, shortly followed by the warm sensation of his muttering and licking between your pussy lips “Mm… Dar?”

He didn’t respond, nor did he move from his position, too far gone and deep between your legs.

“Daryl.” You forced your tired voice to call a little louder, coming out as more of a moan than anything else.

This time the movements of his tongue halted as his ears and head perked up, a very unexpected sight greeting you.

His red eyes were wide as they stared at you, beard stained blood red from where it dribbled down from around his equally stained lips, smeared across the tip of his nose and most likely painting his pink tongue a matching color.

It made you throb slightly, clenching as you softly stared at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Ya started bleedin'– Still don’ know-how, but ya did, ‘nd ‘wanted ta make sure ya’ weren’t hurtin’” He shook his head as he rambled, and you raised a brow at him.

“Bleeding?” You glanced at his position between your legs, and then back to his face, easily connecting the dots with a small ‘oh’ sound. “Oh Daryl, I’m not injured, sweetheart”

He gawked, flickering from your face to your cunt. “Ye-Yer not?”

A giggle rumbled in your chest at his poor ignorance, “No silly! I’m just on my period. It’s just my body getting rid of old blood. I didn’t even know you could eat that” reaching a hand down to cup his sweet messy face, the confused look on his face adorably tugging your heartstrings. Or maybe that’s just your hormones.

“Tasted good ta’ me… old?” Daryl mumbled, brain lagging behind to catch up with the new information that he was receiving.

You nodded, blushing a little at his words. “Old blood, bacteria, all that… how long have you been eating?”

“Not long, think it jus’ started or somethin’” He eyed your pussy, licking his lips. “Can I– Can I keep goin’?”

“Kinda gross don’t you think?” You cringe slightly at the idea of eating period blood, goosebumps dotting your skin.

Daryl scoffed at you, arms pulling you close to his face again as he had full intentions of leaving his plate absolutely clean. “Gross ain’t even in ma’ damn vocabulary”

I need him SO FUCKING BADLYYYABUAINA literally all my problems in life would be completely solved if I had vamp!daryl waking me up with his tongue just because he thought me starting my period was me somehow getting an injury

VAMPIRE DARYL IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE AND I HAVE DECIDED I NOT ONLY WANNA DIE ON THIS HILL BUT I WANNA BE FUCKING BURIED IN IT. SEVEN GODDAMN FEET UNDER.

no I do not care if you dont like this or if it made you uncomfortable have you ever tried reading the warnings or do your eyes only work when you dont fucking want them too

[fanfic-wonderland]

Lifesavers - Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus x Reader

Summary: You and Coriolanus have always competed for the top spot at the Academy. When you were both chosen as mentors for the 10th Hunger Games, your rivalry only increased, the two of you determined to come out as the victor. However, things changed when, while on a tour of the Capitol Arena, bombs began to go off, and you found yourself saving your rival's life while endangering yours.

Word count: 2.7k

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

Coriolanus woke up with a low groan and his back against a hard surface. He blinked through the dark surroundings while sitting up, trying to make sense of where he was and how he got there. It looked like he was in some sort of dark tunnel, but he couldn't catch sight of an exit or anything that indicated he could get out. As he forced his brain to remember what had happened before he blacked out, he heard a sarcastic voice nearby. “Well, good morning, sunshine,”

Snow blinks again when he turned his head in the direction of the voice, and he saw you sitting on the ground, your back against the wall facing him with folded arms. Of course, he thought. "Where are we?" He asked coolly.

“Stuck somewhere at the Capitol Arena,” You replied. “Until someone realizes we're gone, I suppose.”

Coriolanus's expression shifted as the memories from earlier came back to him all at once—the mentors and the tributes touring the arena, him discussing strategies with Lucy Gray… then, the bombing happened. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "How long have we been here?"

You shrugged. “It feels like It's been at least an hour, but who knows.”

"An hour…" He muttered under his breath, frowning. Surely someone must've noticed your absences by now, so what was taking them so long to come back for the two of you? He raised his gaze again, his eyes lingering on your shadowed figure for a few seconds before he spoke again. "And how did we get here?"

You stayed silent for a moment like you were debating whether to answer him or not. Coriolanus began to think you wouldn't say anything until he heard you sigh. "You were lying on the ground, already unconscious, and everyone else was running, so I just…” He heard you shifting slightly, a quiet wince escaping your mouth as you moved. “This was the safest place I could find before a bunch of debris fell and blocked the path.”

"And you... carried me? All the way here?" He asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied you through the dark. He knew that the two of you weren't exactly close and it seemed odd that you would care enough to save him.

You scoffed. "Well, I wasn't just going to let you die. I mean, I know we're not exactly friends, but I'm not evil.”

Coriolanus quirked a brow but said nothing. He hated the fact that it had to be you who had saved him. He focused his eyes on your face, and it was then that he noticed a cut on your forehead. The sight of it annoyed him for some reason, and he scowled. "You're bleeding." He pointed out.

Your fingers reached up to touch where his eyes were staring and, sure enough, you felt the thick liquid on your skin. "It's nothing," you said flatly.

Stubborn as always, Coriolanus thought. He could simply ignore your injury and let you deal with it, or... he could try to be somewhat decent and at least try to help you. You did save his life, after all. "Let me see it," He said after coming to a decision.

"I already told you, It’s nothing—”

"Don't be stubborn," He cut you off, a hint of irritation in his voice. He was suddenly moving closer before you could stop him. He reached with one hand and gently tilted your head, his eyes taking a better look at the cut.

You did your best to avoid eye contact with him, looking anywhere but his face as he examined your wound. "How bad is it, doctor?" You asked sarcastically. 

Your comment earned you a small glare from Coriolanus. Ignoring your attempt at humor, he continued to inspect the cut, his fingers gently hovering over the wound. "It's not too deep," He said, his voice quieter. "But it's still bleeding quite a bit.” His eyes flicked down to your abdominal area, realizing now that you weren't just folding your arms—you had your hand pressed to your right side underneath your uniform jacket. “Are you injured anywhere else?" He asked, his eyes meeting yours.

Your lips formed a straight line. “Why do you even—”

“Are you injured?” He asked again, his tone sharper this time.

You closed your mouth. Instead of replying, you began to remove your jacket defeatedly. The movement hurt like hell, but you managed to slip it out of your shoulders somehow. The side of your shirt had been slightly ripped and was soaked in your blood. Coriolanus's expression hardened as he stared down at it, his jaw clenched. “Why didn't you say anything?”

"Well, there isn't a lot we can do about it if we're stuck in here, can we?" You snapped back.

“Maybe not, but you still should've said something," He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. Letting out a frustrated sigh, his eyes went back to the injury. “Let me take a look,”

“Why?”

“We might have to apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding,” He said.

You didn't argue with him further, but you were still hesitant as you began to lift the side of your shirt. His eyes widened when he saw the extent of the injury. "This is bad," He muttered under his breath. The sight of the wound made him feel uneasy. He leaned closer to get a better look. "How did it even happen?" 

You shook your head. “I can't even remember. Everything was happening so fast, I…”

You remembered the sound of the screams, the bombs going off, and your heart drumming in your ear. You remembered the smoke and the people running around clouding your vision, but somehow spotting an unconscious Coriolanus with ease. You remembered dragging him to the most secluded corner you could find and debris falling everywhere, nearly crashing the two of you. During all of that, you must've hurt yourself without even feeling anything.

Coriolanus nodded, his eyes still focused on the wound. He could tell that it was pretty deep and that you were in serious pain. He looked back up, his eyes meeting yours. "I need you to trust me on this one," He said, his tone firm. He was not usually the one to take charge in a situation like this, but there was no other choice right now. He had to do something.

And you had no other choice but to trust him. “Okay,”

He was glad that you followed along without trying to argue. There was nothing that he could use to press to your wound, so he took off his jacket instead. “This might hurt,” he warned as he scooted closer to you. 

When you nodded, he slowly pressed the jacket against the wounded area, applying the slightest pressure. You hissed at the contact, pressing your lips together to suppress a scream. You shut your eyes, hands curling into fists. “I know, I know,” Coriolanus said, his voice softer than usual. “But It’s only for a little bit. The bleeding should be slowing down soon.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You took a few deep breaths, tears brimming in your eyes. You couldn’t remember the last time you experienced anything so painful. Coriolanus couldn’t help but watch you, an odd sensation tugging at him. He didn’t know what came over him, but he suddenly found himself wanting to offer you any sort of comfort. “Do you need to hold on to something?”

You nodded. It was the only thing you could manage. Coriolanus hesitated for a moment before placing his free hand on yours, his fingers firmly wrapped around your hand. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve smacked his hand away, but right now, it was your best bet. You squeezed it as tight as you could. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting you focus on the pain. However, he felt the need to distract you, to ease your suffering in any way that he could. “You’re doing good,” He said. “And you’re being surprisingly cooperative as well,”

You let out a weak chuckle, silently appreciating his attempt to distract you. "That's because I have no choice,"

Coriolanus laughed in a silent huff, the faint hint of a smile forming on his lips. "I suppose you’re right." He said. He couldn’t help but notice the slight shift in your voice, and he wondered if you were close to passing out. The thought worried him for a moment. He tried to be more careful with applying pressure against the wound. “Don’t pass out on me,”

You shook your head, although you were starting to feel unsure of how much longer you’d be able to stay awake. Your body was feeling heavier by the minute. Coriolanus seemed to notice. “Talk to me. It’ll keep you awake.”

“Okay, um..." You tried to think of anything to talk about, but your mind was blank. "What do you want to talk about?"

He pondered silently for a few seconds longer before he said the first topic that came to his mind. “Your family.”

You were taken aback by his suggestion. "You want to talk about my family?"

Coriolanus shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to talk about them.”

You blinked at him for a few moments, but eventually, you leaned back against the wall and began to speak. "Well, you already know that my dad is a doctor and my mom is a professor at the University, and, well, you also know I have a younger brother at the Academy," You pause. “Do you remember my older sister?”

“I do,” He nodded. “Tigris and her were friends back when they were still in school.”

You nodded as well. “Well, she got married to an architect, and they recently had a kid.”

Coriolanus’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Did she now? Good for her.”

“Yeah,” You smiled softly. 

His eyes lingered on you for a brief moment before he asked, “What about your brother? What has he been up to?”

“Being annoying, like always,” You replied with a scoff. Coriolanus chuckled. “What about your family? How are they doing?”

His expression faltered for a moment and he dropped his gaze, the question catching him off guard. He rarely spoke to anyone about his family, finding that, in conversations like this, the less attention he brought to the Snow name, the better. But he figured it didn’t matter at the moment. “Well, Tigris works with Fabricia Whatnot now, and the Grandma’am is… well, she’s just being the Grandma’am.”

You let out a laugh, another wave of pain suddenly hitting you. You fought back a wince. “I see. That sounds nice, though.” Coriolanus stayed quiet. It was far from being as nice as it seemed, but he wasn’t going to say that. "What... what else do you want to talk about?" You managed to ask him.

Coriolanus snapped out of his little trance and his eyes darted back to your face. You were growing paler and he could tell that the pain was getting worse. He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing your hand tighter, trying to think of anything to talk about until suddenly, a thought popped into his head. A subject that he wouldn’t normally bring up, but one that seemed fitting in the current situation, somehow. “You know, we’ve been rivals for years now…”

You nodded flatly. “We have,”

“Do you remember the first time we spoke?” He asked you.

You chuckled. That was way back when you two were still kids. "Surprisingly, I do," you said, thinking back to that day. "We were at the school's playground, and you approached me while Lysistrata and I were playing in the swing set. You pointed at a nearby tree and said that my hair looked like the bird's nest on top of it."

A small smirk formed on Coriolanus’s lips as he recalled the memory. “You were crying at the time, if I remember correctly.” He added, his voice slightly teasing.

You couldn’t contain another laughter, even when it sent yet another sharp pain through you. "I was. And then I believe I approached you afterward and pushed you into the sandbox."

Coriolanus laughed as well, his expression amused. “I still remember the sand getting in my eyes.” He said. “You were the first person ever to push me into the sand. I remember being angry at the time, but looking back…it was kind of hilarious.”

"It was," you said. Your eyes began to feel droopy. "We never did get along, did we?"

He noticed how heavy your eyelids looked, his eyes lingering on your face. You looked like you were about to pass out at any moment. “We didn’t,” He finally spoke again, his voice quiet. “But we also never tried to, either.”

You lightly shook your head slightly, tilting it back against the wall. "And now look at us... fighting for our lives together inside an arena... who would've thought..."

Coriolanus hesitated for a moment before he spoke, the words coming out in a soft murmur. “Just try to stay awake, okay? Stay with me a little longer.” 

Your grip on his hand loosened. You heard him speak, but he sounded distant now. He could sense that you were slipping away, and he desperately grabbed your hand again, squeezing it tighter. “No, no, no. Come on, don’t pass out yet. Just keep talking to me, okay?”

You hummed, doing your best to stay awake. "What do I talk about?"

“Anything,” He tried not to sound frantic as he wracked his mind to come up with something to keep you focused, to keep you awake. And suddenly, an idea popped into his head. “Tell me about your favorite childhood memory,”

You smiled faintly. "My favorite childhood memory..." You said, talking and blinking slowly. "It was probably when my parents took me and my siblings to the fair for the first time. You remember the fair?"

Coriolanus nodded quickly. He remembered the fair all too well - the colorful lights, the laughter and joyful screams of the people around him, the sweet smell of cotton candy, and the sound of the calliope in the background. “I remember.” He said, desperate to keep you talking. “So, you liked the fair?”

"It was my favorite place in the world back then. My sister and I rode nearly all of the rides, and I remember my brother crying because he still couldn't get into a lot of them..." You swallowed, struggling to continue. "I remember my dad buying us candy apples and popcorn and lemonade. Everything tasted like what I imagined heaven felt like as a child…"

Coriolanus listened to your words, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “That all sounds incredible,” he said.

“It was,” You agreed before letting out a long sigh. “I’m tired…”

His smile vanished and his eyes widened at your words, panic spiking within him once more. “No,” The hand holding the jacket against your wound went up to grip yours. “No, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little longer, okay?” You tried to speak, but it was like you couldn’t move your lips anymore. It was getting harder to keep your eyes open. "Stay awake, come on..."

In a moment of desperation, Coriolanus brought your intertwined hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss onto your knuckles, his eyes never leaving your face. He was the last thing you saw before your eyes gave up and closed completely. 

Coriolanus’s heart sank to his stomach. No no no…. He reached out to lightly shake your shoulder, trying to get a response from you, but nothing happened. You were completely unconscious now, and his mind was overwhelmed with panic and worry. You couldn’t die here. Not like this…

A low rumbling sound came from the large pile of debris blocking their path and his head snapped up, his eyes searching around quickly. In one moment, the pile collapsed, clearing out the exit, and a group of Peacekeepers walked in. They looked around the room with their flashlights until they spotted you and him on the ground. Coriolanus turned back to you as he heard them approach the two of you. Two of them helped him up while a third one crouched down next to you to check your pulse. After a moment, he turned to the others. "She's still breathing," he announced. “But we need to take her to get checked out right away, or else she won't make it.”

He could feel the relief and adrenaline coursing through his body as the Peacekeeper lifted you. You’re still alive. You’re alive.

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Could i please request something with reader getting a large slice on her arm and daryl has to stitch it shut as best he can because they’re on a long run?

Stitches and Kisses

Summary: He'd meant to take her on a date in the woods, well no, he'd meant to ask her on a date in the woods. But now she's bleeding and he's panicking, and is romance always this hard?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Blood. Medical procedures. Angst. Fluff. Nervous!Daryl. Friends to lovers. Prison-era.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. The idea staff in the crumbling factory that is my brain have gone on strike so I'm so grateful to everyone who's sent in requests to get my cogs turning again!

-

They’ve learnt, as a collective, never to say ‘it’ll be a simple run’, but he just fucking had to, didn’t he? Had to try and convince her to come out to the woods, because he thought he was ready to tell her he loved her. He’s never been romantic, has never had the opportunity or the inclination, but women liked this stuff, right? That’s what Merle had said, ‘chicks dig all that mushy shit’, and it’s not like he has access to candles and music and…teddy bears, maybe. But he had the woods, and she likes the woods, the birdsong and the flowers, the lack of walls. So he could take her to the trees and he could ask if maybe she likes him too, and shit asking was so much easier in front of the mirror in the prison showers.

It’s going great. So far he’s snapped at her because he was nervous, tripped on a stick of all things and spilled a full bottle of water all over the ground, they’ve been ambushed by an unexpected herd and now she’s gashed her arm open trying to pry the door open with the knife. He’s fucked it, royally, sideways and without a shadow of a doubt. You just can’t confess your affection for someone whilst covered in their blood and pouring alcohol into a wound, can you? It’s not the done thing.

In hindsight the knife thing might have been her fault, but when has that ever stopped him taking the blame? At least she’d gotten the door open, barricading it behind them before she realised how deep she’d sliced.

She sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the liquid hits the cut, and he flicks his glance quickly up to her face to catch her eyes squeezed closed. He’s never been okay at this part of runs, not really; he can sort an injury out, sure, he’s stitched himself up numerous times, he’s not bad at it, but even if he knows logically that its necessary it feels too much like inflicting harm. It eats at him for the rest of the day, every time, longer when its her.

“’M sorry” he mumbles, hovering his spare hand above her knee as she perches on the bench in front of him. He likes touching her, finds comfort in it usually but he’s never the one to initiate. She’d put her hand on top of his and hold it all day if she wasn’t squeezing her own fist closed quite so hard. The pain is awful, stinging and pulsing at the same time, but the look on his face is almost worse.

“If you apologise every time this hurts we’re never going to get it done”

He scoffs, blowing the hair out of his eye as he does so. It’s a deep cut, mere inches past where it could have hit something major, and he has to swallow hard around nothing as he puts the bottle down by his side. Walkers are groaning outside the door, unaware of their presence but far too close for him not to be concerned, he needs to get her stitched up. The bag rustles as he rummages with one hand for a needle and thread, he knows they’re in there somewhere, but a murmured curse leaves his dry lips as his panicking fingers fail to locate them.

“Daryl” finally pressing her palm to his knuckles, bringing his hand down to her leg with a gentle squeeze as if he’s the one that’s injured. His fingers still inside the bag, locking his eyes with hers, clocking the pained but confident determination on her face. “We’re going to be fine”

Nodding, he moves the hand off her knee with a brief pat before turning fully to the bag, reaching into it to locate the small plastic case that holds a sewing kit. Now still hands thread the needle carefully, gripping it firmly as he snaps his lighter, holding the end under the flame to sterilise.

“’S gon’ hurt”

“I know the drill” She smiles, reassuringly, and if he wasn’t so besotted with her he’d berate her for it, the overwhelming need she has to placate him, to work out his feelings before he’s had a chance to feel them. He usually finds comfort in it, relief that someone understands him well enough for him not to always have to explain himself. But now he’s irritated that she seems to be so set on how he’s doing when she’s bleeding right onto his fucking jeans.

He wants to smile back like he always does, but he hates it, can’t stand that she knows the drill, there shouldn’t be a drill, she should be warm and protected and happy in a normal world, far away from all of this. She’d be away from him but at least she’d be safe and he thinks maybe that’s a sacrifice he’d make it he could.

The thought is shaken away from him as the needle hooks under her skin and she lets out a low whine of pain, dragging an expletive under her breath. It burns. A different pain from the slicing of her flesh, which was at least quick, stitching a wound is slow, like fire poking at the surface in a drawn-out pierce.

“I know, ‘m sorry”

She slumps forward, resting her head on his shoulder so she doesn’t keep looking down at the needle going in, her body is hot and cold all at once, nausea coiling at the back of her throat, why did she have to look? He works as fast as he can whilst still being gentle, it’s impossible not to cause pain but if he can limit any of it he will. Maybe if he’d have told her he loved her this morning, before she’d hopped on the back of his bike, she’d know he didn’t mean any of the hurt he’s currently inflicting.

He turns slightly, voice low as he whispers in her ear. He can’t afford to get distracted now, but he can’t stand the way she’s whimpering against his collarbone so he pauses as he speaks, trying to ignore how it feels to have her cradled so close into him.

“’S’alright, almost done”

A punched chuckle against his shirt shoots from her when the needle pierces her skin again, its synced with a tight grip on her own knee, the kind of laugh that comes out instinctively with pain, the same one he heard when he had to pop her shoulder back into its socket once. On bad days, when his brain is somehow too busy and too quiet, he can still hear the crunch.

“Sorry, I’m being pathetic” she breathes against the fabric of his shirt, trying hard to resist the urge to bite the material for something to ground her.

“Nah, shit hurts, ya need t’ take a break?”

“No, keep going”

He wraps her arm in a spare bandage when he’s finished, watching her sway a little on the bench. Arms out in front of him in case she falls, he watches as she sips the small amount of water he’s handed over. She’s lost a fair amount of blood, not enough to kill her but enough that he’s worried about getting them back safely. Her fingers brush against his when she hands the bottle back, and he’s briefly thankful for the walkers that make him turn to look at the door, hiding his blush.

“We gotta get back t’ camp”

She hops off the bench with a slight wobble in her step, looking down to see if her arm is bleeding through the bandage; she’s unsurprised when it’s not, Daryl’s adept at a lot of things and anyone surprised that he’s as sufficient in care as he is in battle doesn’t know him very well.

“Daryl, we have stuff to get, there’s still at least three places that haven’t been raided”

Her face is pale and drawn. He knows she’s faking feeling alright because he’s been studying her every expression since the moment they met. He knows the way her face moves with each emotion, the arch in her brow, the set of her lips, the way her eyes change colour ever so slightly. He knows that she needs to see Hershel.

“Nah, ya need to get this sorted. I can come back”

“Daryl-“

“No” his voice is short and sharp, accent lost under the clipped insistence as he shoulders the bag of supplies, readying to take on the meandering walkers that remain between them and the bike “Ain’t risking ya, not for nothin’”

“People are relying on us, we need supplies”

He turns towards the door, takes three strides forward before stopping, fighting the battle in his head, he knows they need to keep going, but he’s almost out of water and she’s lost enough blood for him to be worried. Tense shoulders tighten.

“If it’s ya, or supplies, or anyone else, I pick ya, every time” His voice lowers as he turns, body stiff as he faces her, holds her line of sight in a way that should make him nervous but there’s something close to anger in his face, the resentment that she could possibly think he wouldn’t put her first “Dun’ ever make me choose”

“Why?” She studies him for a moment, eyes softening in realisation as she finally understands the way he looks at her, the way he’s always looked at her, the way she’s looked at him and been so blind not to notice. Hope starts squashing the insecurity she’s had over her feelings “Oh”

When he doesn’t move, eyes flicking full of panic between her and the floor, she steps towards him gingerly, one foot slowly treading the ground at a time to make sure he’s not about to turn and run the other way.

His eyes are wide as she rests a hand on his cheek, thumb running tentatively over his cheekbone. She feels him release a breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods, a stuttering shake of the head that has her almost laughing, she’s gotten used to his acerbic wit in the face of discomfort, he hasn’t been quiet with her in months, not like this. His breathing stutters, swallowing heavily as she kisses his jaw, slowly, unwilling to spook. She moves her lips across; never leaving his skin as she trails kisses all the way along to his lips, pausing at them.

She can feel his breath against her lips and she flicks her gaze up slowly to look at him, pupils blown dark and wide as his body stays stock still, as if he is afraid of scaring her off, afraid of running himself.

“I’d pick you too”

She’s wanted him for so long the moment her lips touch his she’s pretty sure she’s actually died and is well on her way to thanking her lucky stars when his hands settle against her hips, pulling her against him firmly. It’s the shake in the arm that she tries to move around his waist that makes him pull away; breath heavy and lids drooping but his demeanour is firm when she tries to lean back in. He doesn’t want her to regret this when she’s not worn out from injury so he stops her.

He brushes a strand of hair out of her face, other hand giving her hip a gentle squeeze, thumb resting on the waistline of her jeans. A small, quirk of a lip smile graces his face.

“Nah, ya can kiss me ‘gain when ya got all ya blood back, c’mon”

[ohtobeleah]

Concussed In Love // Jake Seresin

Summary: When Bradley & Jake take their playful banter to a new level, Jake ends up with a concussion. Bradley knows all to well the hell he just created when he knows there’s a pretty good chance you’ll be your fiancés attending ER nurse.

Warnings: Inaccurate medical lingo. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Mentions on blood & mild head trauma.

Word Count: 3.3k

Author Note: Happy Sunday! Here’s an attempt at some fluff on fluff on fluff.

The moment Bradley Bradshaw witnessed Jake Seresins' egotistical and slightly overbearing head collide with a crack against the pavement, he knew there would be ramifications to his actions. 

What started as a normal, average, run of the mill argument for the plot quickly escalated into something a little more serious. Rooster was determined to put Jake in his place after a game of pool— even if it had just started like any other argument they ever had over the last few months, simply play. All talk no action—all bark no bite. 

But when Jake rolled over, an agonising groan left his parted lips as his eyes squeezed shut to keep any form of light out. Bradley felt all the adrenaline in his body cores through his veins, he felt the blood pumping to his head so quickly he thought he was going to pass the fuck out. 

“Hangman, you good? I didn’t mean to—“ But there it was, the dark crimson blood had begun to pool on the ground behind Jake's head. In the moment Rooster felt his heart sink out of his arse—the arse you were surely going to beat for this. “Holy shit you're bleeding.” Bradley’s voice was full of concern for his now bleeding Wingman as he laid on the ground just outside the Hard Deck. 

Bradley didn’t know what to do, with all his emergency response training nothing seemed to want to kick in as he looked down at Jake bleeding on the pavement after losing his footing in the skuffle the pair had just had. So Rooster reached into his back pocket for his phone to call the only person he knew would actually be able to help him in his current situation, You, Jake's long-term girlfriend and recently announced fiancée. 

You were an Emergency Room nurse and were the most qualified to help Jake more than the average person probably was. You worked well under pressure and would know exactly how to handle Jake’s current state of mind. Before Bradley could connect the call Jake's hand wrapped around his ankle, it was like he knew what his bird brain best friend was about to do as he pulled his attention to his wingman. When Bradley looked down again he saw Jake trying to sit up. 

“Rooster, I swear if you call Y/n I'll kill you before she has the chance to kill you herself.” Bradley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Jake definitely had a grade A concussion. Rooster was a deadman walking, he knew it. 

“Jake, are you kidding me! you’re BLEEDING from your fucking head!” Bradley ran his hands through his hair unable to register properly what was going on. “You can’t be serious right now—” 

“Bradshaw we both know she’ll skin you alive for causing such a drama, not to mention she’s at work!” There was a moment of silence as Jake tried to stop his head from spinning as he bent his legs and placed his elbows on his knees. “Just take me home, I’m fine.” Jake was adamant about the fact he was fine. He didn’t want to worry you, he didn’t want to bother you at work. You were the better half of Jake Hangman Seresin and didn’t he know it. To worry you would be a disservice on your ability to help others. 

“Hangman, I don’t think it's that quick of a fix this time, you’re bleeding pretty bad, you might have a concussion and judging by the gash man you need actual stitches.” Bradley was frantically pacing back and forth around the front of the Hard Deck, Jake  fumbled down onto the outdoor couch as he tried to stand, his fingers went to touch the throbbing area on the side of his head. As Jake looked at his blood covered fingers it didn’t take long to convince him he needed something to help stop the bleeding. 

Yep. He’d cooked the goose pretty bad this time.

“Can you go get the super glue from the first aid kit behind the bar? Shits not stopping.” He mumbled as he struggled to keep his eyes open, feeling extremely tired and weak all of a sudden. It wasn’t often Jake Seresin was ever knocked on his arse, but Rooster had surely done a number on him this time. 

Jake was definitely going to have to get him back for this. A sudden ant infestation in his Bronco would do it. But that was a revenge plan for another day. When he tried to stand Jake fell straight back to the ground. His knees felt weak and the world around him refused to steady. You were his anchor—even your unconditional love was no match for this concussion. 

“Jake, I'm taking you to the ER.” It wasn’t exactly how Bradley planned his afternoon going and it surely wasn’t what Jake had in mind for his weekend off but he couldn’t help but grin as a light chuckle left his lips. “What's so funny, what could possibly be making you laugh right now? you're most likely concussed and I’m about to be buried alive!” Bradley asks through a frustrated sigh as he helped Jake up off the ground with a gruff over to the Bronco, being careful to hold Jake's head so the blood wouldn’t run down any further on his face. It was to no avail though. Blood was everywhere—Jake would be out of action for at least a solid week because of this. Rooster was never going to hear the bloody end of it either. 

Jake just chuckled to himself, he loved you so much, you were his absolute best friend but even with a pretty good head knock he knew Rooster was in for it. So Jake grinned ear to bloody ear as he laughed softly in his best friend's face as he was haphazardly carried to the Bronco. 

“My wife is gonna kill you.” 

 ***~***~***~***~***~****~***

“Roo?” Jake grumbled from the passenger’s seat softly as he leaned his head against the cold window, fighting to keep his eyes open as blood smeared everywhere. 

“Yeah Jake?” It was going to take Bradley ages to remove the blood that had soaked into his seat cushion. 

“Y/n’s not gonna wanna marry me now I’m broken.” The sentence that came from his wingman's mouth really stunned Bradley, he wasn’t sure how to respond to such a ridiculous statement. But it kind of broke his heart a little to hear at the same time. 

“Jake Y/n would marry you regardless, besides your not broken just concussed, maybe—“ 

“She always tells me her biggest fear is seeing me on one of her ER beds, Rooster. She's gonna hate me, won't wanna marry me anymore.” Jake reached out for the plain silver ring hanging from his dog tags, you had given him the simple yet sentimental ring one month into your engagement “I wanted to give you something just as special bub.” Jake could remember you saying as he opened the tiny ring box, your hands were massaging his shoulders from behind. “I got such a pretty ring, you deserved something too.” 

Bradley couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for the way Jake was feeling right now, he was just as worried about your reaction when they would arrive, although Bradley adored you like his own sister, you scared the bejeebers out of him when you were angry.

You were normally a quiet person—well mannered and reserved. In most ways you were the complete opposite to Jake Seresin, with his loud personality and all in attitude. But sometimes you just needed to remind the six foot hooligans you loved so much that they were in fact mortal men. 

You spent a lot of your time seeing some of the world’s most unholy injuries, you would make it very known that you were unimpressed with the shenanigans the two aviators would get up to sometimes. As Bradley drove your now concussed fiance closer and closer to the hospital, all he could hear in his mind was you saying— “One day you’ll be sitting in my ER Bradshaw and ill flog the ever living fuck out of you for whatever reason it may be, and YOU Jake aren’t untouchable either, I want a LONG life with you! don’t you dare cut it short by being stupid!” You knew there wasn’t an awful lot you could do about his career and the dangers that came along with it—but you would be damned if you were going to lose the love of your life to something like a petty tussle outside of the Hard Deck. 

To say the very least, Bradley was terrified of seeing you, hoping for a miracle that for some unknown reason Jake wouldn’t be placed in his own fiancée’s care. It was like he was begging his own guardian angels to look after him, even if they had already turned their backs on him and dusted their hands the second Jake's head hit the ground. This wasn’t their problem to fix. 

“You’ll be alright Hangman, Y/n loves you too much to ever truly hate you, that’s something I'll bet my life on.”

“If I know my girl you won’t have a life to bet on for very long, Rooster—“ To be clear, this was entirely Bradley Bradshaw's fault. He just didn’t feel it was entirely necessary to have to be reminded every five minutes. 

***~***~***~***~***~

In the middle of your break, your only chance to sit during your twelve hour shift– you were interrupted mid-sip of your triple shot coffee. “Paging nurse Y/L/N to ER one, paging nurse Y/L/N to ER one thankyou.” You let out a frustrated moan that came from the back of your throat as you left the quiet tranquillity of the breakroom. It wasn't often at all that you got a break, and even if you were frustrated–you understood your services were needed. Someone needed you. 

“This better be good” You thought to yourself as you walked down the hall in a huff, swiping your name tag hanging from your hip that looped into your scrubs which opened the automatic doors. They lead you right to the ER section of the hospital.

“Ronda–” You whined as you leaned on your elbows on the reception desk. “This better be life-threatening or I'll be threatening you.” You joked as you took the file from Ronda who was already holding in the air for you– she was far too busy to even look up at you from her computer screen.

“Room one if you didn’t hear, Lieutenant Jake Seresin, suspected concussion with laceration–” She mumbled as she typed away on the next report. Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach, that was your Jake, your Jake was Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Why was he here? What had he done that caused him to need an Emergency Room trip. Your mind was racing a thousand miles an hour and in all your thoughts you never once thought to open the file now shaking in your grasp.

“Did you say Jake Seresin? That’s my fiancée, why is he here?” All the questions in the world were flying a hundred and ten miles out of your mouth. “Ronda, did you see him? Did you notice if he was, hmm I don't know severely hurt!!” You were off in a minute, racing towards ER one where you immediately noticed Bradley talking to a nurse, your co-worked Sally. 

“We’re just waiting on the head nurse, last time I checked she was on her break but should be here any moment.” Sally caught the sight of a panicked you running down the hall, the file you were carrying crumbled under the weight of your fisted hand. “Ah, here she is now.” The look of pure terror that took over Bradley’s face when he saw you rushing towards him in your scrubs immediately told you he was involved with this little excursion. He tried turning to make a quick getaway but wasn’t fast enough. You outstretched your arm to grab Bradley by the back of his Hawaiian collar.

“Not so fast Bradshaw, What did you do and why am I carrying Jake's file in my hand right now!!” You whisper-yelled through gritted teeth. He looked pale, all the colour had been sucked from his complexion as he started stuttering.

“Y/n it isn't as b-bad as you think, he’s going to live j-just a little–”

“Rooster! What happened!” You released him from your grip, although Bradley was ten times bigger than you and ten times stronger than you, you had always been the thing of nightmares when you were angry. 

“We were messing around, shooting a few trick shots at the pool table when we got a bit too intense.” Bradley rubbed at the back of his head as he followed you into the closed-off waiting room where Jake was sitting up on the bed hoping his fiancée wasn’t assigned his case, not wanting to burden you or cause you any more stress than need be. “I pushed him off me when we were arguing in the lot out the front but he stumbled back a bit and hit his head on the concrete, I’m really sorry Y/n we were just–”

“Messing around, yeah I got that part, Rooster.” You shot him a look he wished he would never have to see again, he could see why Jake loved you so dearly, you were the most caring, kind and compassionate women they both knew but something about your fiery attitude got Jake all hot and bothered. “Hi honey, what have you done to yourself?” Your tone instantly calmed seeing him still alive. Your soon to be husband, the love of your life. 

“Babe, I think I’m hurt.” Jake whimpered as he touched his head, it was clear he had lost enough blood to make him feel groggy. “Can you help me?” You couldn’t help but smirk as you gently caressed his blood-stained cheek. Jake, albeit strong headed, sometimes arrogant and obnoxiously intelligent, was the softest soul you had ever met. 

He swept you off your feet one afternoon when he’d come to check in on two of his squadron buddies that you had been overseeing for observations after a pretty eventful training accident a few years ago. Phoenix still to this day thought it was egomaniacal of Jake to hit on the attending nurse who was making sure she didn't have any life threatening injuries–you however, well, you thought it was quite endearing. 

“I know babe but i'll fix you up yeah? Just have to take a look at you first.” Jake’s face fell dramatically, his eyes trained so heavily on your bluish coloured scrubs. 

“Is that? Is that my blood?” He questioned as he reached out to touch it before you took a step back.

“No hun it's not yours, it's just old stains, now will you let me look at your head?” Jake nodded slowly, any slight movement made his head spin. “Oh Jake, honey when will you learn?”

 “T’wasn’t me darlin’, Bradshaw did it.” He mumbled almost incoherently. You couldn't help but to feel bad for the guy, he looked so defeated, you'd never seen Jake like this before and it just broke your heart. “He hit me.” It came out almost like an alleged allegation.  

“Oh okay just blame it all on me! like you weren’t the one who star–” Bradley didn't get through half of what he wanted to say before you turned to look at him over your shoulder. He could have died on the spot at the look you gave him. He pressed his lips together so tight his moustache ate his bottom lip. He was in so much trouble, he felt like a kid again, being shouted at by Carole for drawing on the white walls with red crayons. 

“Rooster, don’t you dare think about yelling at him while he’s like this!” You fired as you looked over your shoulder. He’d turned on his heels to avoid your glare–focusing his attention to the first thing he could focus on which had been the bandages and medical supplies sitting on your trolley. 

“Should’ve heard the stuff he was rambling on about in the car Y/n he’s so scared you’re not going to marry him now he’s quote-unquote broken.” Your heart warmed as you cleaned Jake's head, trying to minimise the pain as much as you possibly could as you cleaned it with antiseptic and saline. 

“Jake–” You sighed “I'll always love you, regardless if you’re an idiot, you're the love of my life, see?” As you slowly and ever so gently pulled your hand away from Jake's face, you held her left hand up after degloving to show him the ring you wore around her finger.

“You wear it at work?” Jake questioned, eyes shining and full of love. You took it off during most of your shift. You had a plain simple chain that you would hoop it through but on your break you had placed it back on your finger. 

“Course I do, never take it off Jake, now hold still while I fix you up yeah? Need some stitches put in.” You were gentle and calm, never hesitating from the first stitch to the last. Jake  whimpers filling the room as Bradley watched on with a guilt ridden conscience.

“Roo, he’s really concussed alright I’d really appreciate it if you got him home and into bed yeah. But don’t let him sleep until he’s responding fluently like he normally does so you’ll have to keep an eye on him for a little while.” Jake had never looked sadder as you stood between his legs. It would have been inappropriate for any other patient to hold your hips and keep you close but this was your Jake, your Hangman. 

“You’re not coming home with me?” He pouted with emerald green pools of despair. “Oh god this is it you’re really leaving me aren’t you.” Jake's voice was the saddest you'd ever heard. He really believed you were mad at him, that you were leaving him for a bump on the head.

“No honey, you're just concussed. I'll be home in a few hours, gotta finish up here first, deal with more idiots like yourself–” But Jake wasn’t buying it, he held your hips tighter before he pulled you into a tight hug.

“I'll never let you go.” He whispered in your ear, a smile took over your face almost instantly as Bradle captured the moment  on his phone, most likely to blackmail your fiancé at a later date and to show the rest of the Daggers who were still waiting on an update. “I love you, with all my heart.” He said calmly before placing a gentle peck on your cheek.

“Paging nurse Y/L/N to trauma room three, nurse Y/L/N to trauma room three–” A loud voice came over the speaker causing Jake to shutter from the echoes in his head. You simply gave him a soft kiss against his forehead, whispering an angelic “I love you.” Before turning to Bradley.

“Just so you know you aren’t off the hook yet Bradshaw, you can bet your life ill flog the fuck outta you.” You raised your hand pointing directly at once again pale Bradley “Get him home before I change my mind and beat your ass right here.” You proclaimed before rushing out of the room to attend to your next not so handsome patient, leaving Bradley to take care of a concussed Jake, which he had coincidentally caused.

“Come on Jake, let's get you home” Bradley said, wrapping his arm under and around Jake  as they walked out of the room.

“You’re not as pretty as my wife Rooster, I'd rather have her take care of me.” Bradley couldn’t help but laugh.

“She's not your wife yet Jake, but she will be soon and she’ll always be around to take care of you.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~****~****

[slut4thebroken]

good weird

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Dark!Jason Todd x innocent Batgirl!reader

Summary | You’re determined to make Jason feel better after finding out that you’ve made him hurt almost every day for the past few months (his dick was hard lmao)

Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, emotional manipulation, coercion, unprotected sex, breeding, first time, corruption kink, bleeding during first time, painful first time, no female orgasms, lowkey misogynistic!Jason lol, adopted siblings, but like… he doesn’t think of her that way and neither does she.

Words | 2.4k

Notes | This is the first part of a collection of dark!jason x innocent!reader fics (Impossible challenge: find a good gif or picture that works with the fic😭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Other innocent!reader fics

“Jay?” You squeaked through the barely parted door. He sat up in bed a little, the covers falling down his bare chest. 

“Another bad dream?” He asked softly. You nodded and he told you to come inside, then held the covers up for you to slide under. You laid your head on his chest and snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around your body.

“Did I wake you?” You asked quietly after a moment of silence. 

“Nah. Couldn’t sleep.” He started dragging soothing fingers up and down your back. 

“Oh. Why not?” 

“Just a lot on my mind. Wanna talk about your dream?” 

“Same one. This time mostly about you though.” Most nights you either dreamt of your parent’s deaths, or your new family’s deaths. Watching your mother and father die was probably the cause of these dreams, but your new family’s night activities only exacerbated it. Most of the time your brain would make up ways your father and oldest brother could die, but with Jason it was always the same. Always the crowbar, always alone and scared. 

“I’m sorry, princess.” He mumbled as he kissed the top of your head. The dream about Jason always hurts the most. You just have a different kind of bond with him than with Dick, and especially with your father. You don’t know what kind of bond it is, but your stomach always flutters and your head feels light whenever you’re around him. Whenever he touches you, it always feels good. Not a normal good though. It makes your core start to ache and you feel like you have to pee. The more you continued thinking about it, the more you started to feel it. 

“Jay?” You asked timidly. He hummed in response, telling you to continue, and you tried to let the vibrations of his chest calm you. “How come whenever you touch me it- it makes me feel weird?” His hand froze on your back and you stiffened, worried you said something wrong. 

“Weird how?” You could feel your cheeks grow warm as you tried to think of an answer. 

“Good weird.” Was all you could make yourself say. 

“Where does it feel good?” His hand resumed the motions on your back. 

“My tummy and- and my,” This time he stiffened below you. 

“Where, princess?” He urged you to continue, but you just whined and buried your face in his chest. His free hand brushed your inner thigh and he lightly dragged it up. When he just barely brushed his fingers over your covered heat, your breath hitched as you jumped. “Here?” He rasped. You nodded and let out a quiet “mhm” in response. 

“Do you know what this is?” That made you frown- you’re not stupid. 

“Of course I do.” Your tone made him chuckle under his breath. 

“Have you ever touched here before?” He gruffed, making you almost whimper. 

“No… ‘m not supposed to.” You muttered, feeling your hips start to chase the pressure of his fingers. 

“Who told you that?” You knew if you looked at him, he’d be frowning. 

“School…” You said quietly. You never like to talk about the fact that you went to a religious school- people always make fun of you for it. He hummed in acknowledgment, then removed his hand, making you let out a needy whine and buck your hips forward. Instead of responding, he just took your hand, and gently moved it down, under the covers. When he placed it on his bulge, you gasped and tried to remove it, but he held you there, making you feel him. 

“You know what this is?” He asked and you bit your lip as you nodded. “Good. Do you know why I’m hard?” This time, you shook your head. “Because of you, princess.” 

“Me?” You lifted your head to look at him. 

“Mhm. Always you. Everytime you sit on my lap, cuddle with me, whimper when we spar and I go a little too rough- you always make me so hard, baby.” You stared at him with wide eyes, watching the color of his almost completely disappear from the size of his pupils. “And everytime, I have to come in here or go to the bathroom and jerk myself off to make it better. And it’s all your fault, sweetheart.” That made you frown as your brows furrowed. You didn’t mean to make him feel like that. 

“‘m sorry. Didn’t mean to, Jay.” He brushed some of your hair behind your ear then cupped your cheek, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. 

“It’s okay, baby. But if you want to make me feel better, you have to do something.” You wanted to help him, you wanted to make up for all the times you made him feel like this. 

“What? Anything.” Instead of answering, he just helped you on top of him, so your front was completely pressed to his. You placed your hands on his chest and he grabbed your hips, then started dragging your core over his bulge. 

“Anything?” He asked. You nodded, holding down a whimper. 

“Just wanna make you feel better.” 

“Good girl. You’re so good, princess.” He cooed, giving you a soft smile that made your heart flutter. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” 

“No,” You said quietly, glancing away from him, embarrassed at your lack of experience. 

“Good.” He all but growled. Jason removed a hand from your hips and placed it on the back of your neck, then pulled you down, only stopping once your lips brushed his. Your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, you weren’t sure what to expect from this. 

Finally, he pressed his lips to yours, slowly kissing you to get you used to it. After a moment, he deepened the kiss. The warm, wet sensation on your lips made you gasp and he slid his tongue in your now open mouth. It was weird. But good weird. 

By now, your hips were rutting against his as you grew more desperate. He was barely guiding your movements anymore while you chased the pleasure. When he pulled back, your eyes fluttered open, lips still parted and chest heaving. You never knew kissing could feel like that. Part of you regrets wanting to wait until marriage. That thought made you stiffen. 

“W-wait, Jay, we shouldn’t be doing this. You’re my brother and- I was supposed to wait until marriage.” You said quietly. 

“I thought you said you wanted to make me feel better?” He frowned, making your stomach drop. 

“I- I do, but,” 

“There’s no “but.” Either you want to help me or you don’t.” His brows furrowed, intensifying his frown. “You’re the reason I feel like this. You seriously just want to leave me in pain?” 

Pain? You didn’t know it was hurting. You figured it was the same feeling you had. 

“It hurts?” You squeaked, brows furrowing in concern. 

“You’ve never heard of blue balls?” You shook your head, so he continued. “It’s incredibly painful, sweetheart. Only feels better once I can bury it in a tight, warm cunt. And you’ve made me feel like this for months.” 

“I- I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t know…” You whimpered, chest aching at the thought of you being the cause of his pain. 

“I don’t forgive you. Not yet anyway.” Tears welled in your eyes from his words. 

“I want to help. Please,” He shushed you and cupped your cheek again. 

“You sure?” 

“Please. Wanna make you feel better.” You whimpered and the corners of his lips turned up at your words. 

“Okay, princess. I’ll let you help me.” 

“Thank you.” Before you could even finish, he was rolling you both over so he was on top. He settled between your legs and leaned up on his knees. 

“First, this has to come off.” He said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it off. “You’ll only really be able to make me feel better if you’re naked.” He explained, when he saw your confused expression. “These too.” He pulled your sleep shorts and panties down your legs, making you blush. Letting out a low groan, he swiped his thumb through your folds, then circled your clit lightly, making your hips buck into the friction.  

“You’re helping already.” He smirked and you glanced at the tent in his underwear. It didn’t look like you were helping. You whined when he removed his hand, but he quickly moved down to your hole and inserted a finger, letting out a low groan at your tight heat. 

As he fingered you, he debated what to do. While part of him wanted to prep you, make it as easy on you as possible, a larger part wanted to fuck your virgin cunt right now, before it could get any looser. He didn’t have to think about it for a second longer before he was removing his finger and shoving his pants down his thighs. When you saw his cock, your eyes widened as your lips parted in shock at his size. He took it in his hand and stroked it slowly. 

“Just the tip, okay? I promise, baby. Just need to put the tip inside, then I’ll feel better.” He said, to ease your anxiety. You whined, but agreed anyway. He leaned over you and you wrapped your arms over his shoulders as he lined his length up with your hole. “Relax, princess. It’s okay.” He whispered against your ear. You couldn’t help but obey. It took a lot of pressure before his cock was able to breach your hole. Once he pushed in though, you tensed up again. 

“Hurts.” You whimpered, eyes burning with unshed tears. Your pussy was trying to force him out, not used to the intrusion yet. 

“I know, baby. Just relax.” His voice was strained with arousal and he reached a hand down to rub circles on your clit, making walls flutter around his cock. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. 

“God- I know I said just the tip, but it feels so good. Can you take just a little bit more?” 

“Jay, it hurts.” You whined. 

“I know, princess. You gotta relax, it’ll feel good soon.” He slowly pushed in farther and you cried out, digging your nails into his back. “So fucking good. Your little cunt feels so good.” He said through a moan. He pulled back, then pushed in again, continuing the slow rhythm. 

“This is just what I needed, baby. You’re doing such a good job for me.” You tried to focus on his words and the stimulation on your clit, rather than the constant pain from the stretch. “Good girl. Good fucking girl- take it.” He growled on a particularly sharp thrust that made you let out a choked sob. 

“You fucking owe me for all the times you gave me blue balls. I’m gonna fuck you every night now to make up for it.” He hissed, voice getting progressively breathier as the speed of his thrusts increased. “Gonna bury my cock balls deep and fill you up with my come- fuckin breed you, every single night.” He growled. His pace turned bruising and you could barely release any sounds because of the way your breath was being punched out of you with every thrust. 

“You deserve to be my little breeding bitch after all the months you made me fucking come on my hand instead of in this tight, little cunt.” He spat, placing a hand on your neck and squeezing. “What’ll your daddy say, huh? When you go to him asking for birth control. Or are you just gonna let me knock you up?” You let out a whimper, feeling your cheeks heat up at just the thought of the embarrassing conversation. 

“Maybe you will just have to let me knock you up. After all, it’s not like you can tell him you let your big brother fuck you.” 

“Jay,” You sobbed, too overwhelmed emotionally and physically. 

“From now on, you’re going to come in here every night. And I’m going to use your little cunt until I fuck my load into you. Do you understand?” He growled, making you whimper. “This is your own fucking fault so stop bitching about it. You’re the one who decided to be a fucking tease around me.” You let out a choked sob, knowing that he’s right. You didn’t tease him on purpose, but you still made him hurt everyday for months. 

His thrusts turned frenzied as he buried his face in the crook of your neck again. Only a few thrusts later and he was pushing all the way inside, the pressure on your cervix almost painful as he forced his cock in. He let out a low groan and you could feel him twitching against your walls as started to fill you. He stilled for a moment, breathing heavy, then leaned up to sit on his heels. 

He slowly pulled out, eyes never leaving your cunt, and cursed under his breath when his come started dripping out. Ignoring the blood on his dick, he swiped his fingers through the mess and pushed it back in your hole. As he watched some of it leak down to your ass, he made a mental note to buy some lube so he can fuck that soon too. 

“Did- did I help?” You whimpered, making his gaze move to you. He eyed your fucked out face, the way your cheeks were still wet with tears and your hair was tousaled, and gave you a small smile. 

“You did, princess. Thank you. But this isn’t a permanent fix, okay? I meant what I said about you coming here every night.” Despite the softness of his voice, it was still stern, letting you know that this wasn’t a request, it was an order. You let out a quiet whimper at the thought of having to do this again, but as long as you were making him feel better, any pain you felt would be worth it. 

He grabbed your underwear to clean his cock, then pulled them back up your legs. You already made enough of a mess on his sheets, he didn’t need his come adding to it any more than it already did. When he laid back down and pulled you into him, you hissed in pain as you moved but eventually got comfortable enough to sleep. 

“Love you so much, princess. Did such a good job for me.” He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, making you smile. 

“Love you too, Jay.” You mumbled sleepily. 

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Left Unsaid

Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, angst (happy ending!), sex, fingering, explicit language, surgery times (duh), (let me know if I missed anything!) Word count: 1.8k

Summary: You used to be Dr. Shepherd's favorite resident, but something had happened in the last month that drove you further apart than ever. Will it get resolved (hint: yes, it does)?

“You, out!”

You stood, flabbergasted, in full scrub, suctioning blood out of someone’s brain-deep head wound. The OR had gone deathly silent, and if they could’ve seen your face under your surgical mask, they would have seen you blushing bright red.

All you’d done was ask a question. All you’d wanted to know was why Dr. Shepherd had gone after the brain bleed at the angle she did, because it wasn’t the angle you’d expected. You were a surgical resident. Asking questions is what you were supposed to do.

“Dr. Shepherd, I–”

“Uh-uh. You? Out of here. You’re distracting me, Y/L/N. And if you can’t focus on saving this man’s life, you don’t need to be in here.”

Frustrated and more than a little embarrassed, you handed off the suction tube to another resident and quickly burst through the doors and into the scrub room, washing your hands furiously. You felt like crying. You didn’t know what was going on these days.

During your intern year, you’d gotten really close with Dr. Shepherd. She’d sort of take you under her wing, said you had the right mind and hands for neuro. You worked well together, almost read each other’s thoughts sometimes, it seemed. But the last month or so, she’d all but banished you from her service.

You knew part of it had to be Webber’s new initiative for “well-rounded surgeons,” a new protocol where residents were cycled between attendings at random, with no favoritism or preference allowed. But even when you were assigned to neuro, Dr. Shepherd always put you on the other neurosurgeon’s service. She hardly talked to you at all.

You wondered if you’d done something wrong, something to completely ruin the mentorship–no, the friendship–you’d felt like you were forming with Dr. Shepherd. Not only did you miss her company, miss working with her, but you missed neuro.

You spent the rest of your day on neuro doing glorified scut alongside the interns. Humiliating. And when you finally went home, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch and order Chinese food. But a text from your cohort group chat reminded you that tonight was the annual Surgeons for Surgeons benefit gala. And unless you wanted to be fired, you’d have to show up, bells on, ready to mix and mingle and convince Seattle’s rich and famous to donate to the program that connected Seattle-Grace with its partner hospital in Nairobi.

You stared at yourself in the mirror before leaving. Thanks to a very artful layer of makeup, you looked a little less exhausted than you really were. And you had to admit, you looked good in a suit.

By the time you and your friends arrived at the gala, things were in full swing. Wine, music, twinkling lights, the whole shebang. You were determined to have fun with your friends, despite whatever weird stuff was going on with Dr. Shepherd. You’d had a few glasses of wine, had danced with a few other residents, and had generally avoided Dr. Shepherd, even though once or twice you’d caught her watching you. Let her feel bad, you thought. She was out of line.

But when you were on your way back from the bathroom, a hand shot out of a hallway and gently grabbed your arm.

“Jesus, Dr. Shepherd,” you complained, straightening your suit as she crossed her arms and looked at you, leaning against the hallway wall.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “You just…” She threw up her hands. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. I didn’t know how else to talk to you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I’ve been avoiding you!?” You scoffed. “Dr. Shepherd, you haven’t talked to me in over a month. I went from being the de facto neuro resident to being bottom of the barrel in your OR. So forgive me if I’m not jumping at the opportunity to chat with you.”

Dr. Shepherd looked at the ground. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You sighed. “Look, I don’t care if we’re friends, okay? I– I would have liked it. I like you. But my career comes first. And whatever’s going on with us got in the way of that today. So whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry. Okay? But I love neuro. And I’m good at it. You don’t have to talk to me ever, outside of work, but you cannot keep me from surgery.”

You started to walk away, but she stopped you.

“Y/N!” she called, grabbing your hand and holding it for just a moment too long. You were taken aback by her use of your first name. She always called you Dr. Y/L/N. “I don’t want that.”

“Okay…” You shrugged. “So put me back on your service.”

“No, I mean…” She exhaled sharply and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. You liked Dr. Shepherd. You really liked her. You thought she’d liked you. You thought that in another life… But it didn’t matter now.

“Message received,” you said, avoiding her eyes.

“God, that’s not what I meant. I’m fucking this up.” She looked at you almost like she was in pain. As if there were words she just couldn’t get out. “What the hell,” she finally mumbled, then grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. But her lips felt so good against yours, her hands warm and soft against your skin. This was what Dr. Shepherd had wanted with you, why she’d been avoiding you. And, if you were honest with yourself, it was what you’d wanted to, you’d just been too scared to let yourself admit it.

You wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing her into the wall to deepen the kiss. She whined into your mouth, her tongue fighting for entrance, and you knew–by the arousal shooting down through your very core, the wetness pooling in your underwear–that this would not end here tonight. Amelia’s arms snaked underneath your blazer, searching for skin.

“Why do you have so many clothes on?” Amelia muttered breathlessly, painstakingly unbuttoning the collar of your dress shirt, then continuing on to the lower ones.

“Whoa!” You grabbed her wrists, pushing them away. “We’re in a public hallway, Dr. Shepherd.”

She huffed, pulling you by the arm into the closest room, which turned out to be some poor soul’s vacated office at this event venue. She slammed the door, taking her own turn to push you against a surface. It took your breath away.

“Don’t call me Dr. Shepherd when we’re about to have sex,” she said, trailing kisses down your neck.

“Fine, Amelia,” you retorted, and she smiled into a kiss. She liked a little sass in a woman.

With one hand, you rolled her nipple between your fingers. With the other, you moved slowly down her body, gently pulling up her dress to slip a hand into her underwear.

She gasped as you brushed lightly over her clit. “Fuck,” she breathed, throwing her head back. You smiled, happy to have a little power. Amelia might have all the power in the OR, but you had all the power here. You could tell by the way her hips rolled toward you, by the way she leaned heavily on the desk at her back–she wanted you bad.

She breathed heavily, squeezing your arms as she pushed her hips into you, desperate for the friction, the pressure. You grinned wickedly and removed your hand, licking her arousal off your fingers.

“Y/N!” she protested, glaring at you.

“Hmm.” You pretended to be thinking deeply, circling the rest of her vulva so that you were close, so close, to where she needed you, but not quite there. “You know what? I bet this feels a lot like being knee deep in a surgery and then being pulled for no reason at all.”

“I said I was sorry! Please, Y/N.” You had her squirming and writhing and you were getting drunk off her desperation.

You pushed two of your fingers into her warmth, already so wet, so ready for you, and she moaned. “I mean, I guess, if you insist.” You smirked at her, loving to see her lose control. She was always so in control at work. It was honestly something you admired about her. But right now? All you wanted was to see her coming apart.

There was a part of you that wanted to tell all the residents, to tell everyone that you were fucking Dr. Amelia Shepherd. But there was another part of you–deeper, softer, more you–that wanted to keep her all to yourself. Because some part of you knew that it wasn’t just sex, no matter how much easier it’d be if it was.

Amelia’s breathing grew ragged, her walls pulsing around you and you knew she was close. You circled her clit with your thumb, and she thrust her hips up into your touch, chest heaving, legs shaking. And when she finally, finally hit her peak, you scooped your arm around her back to hold her up, keeping your rhythm steady until she came down, resting her head on your shoulder, a thin sheen of sweat on her face.

“Fuck!” she breathed, lifting her head to grin at you and tuck your hair behind your hair. “Your hands.”

“That’s why I’m such a good surgeon.” You winked at her.

“That’s why you’re good at a number of things, apparently.” Amelia pulled her underwear up, straightening her dress.

“Well,” she shrugged. “Should we go back in?”

You scoffed. “I’m certainly not.”

“Why?!”

“Are you kidding me!? There’s a fucking lake in my underwear right now. I gotta go home.”

Amelia smirked, pulling you down by your collar for another kiss. You couldn’t take much more of this. You needed her. Or a vibrator. Or a dildo. Or something.

“You want help?” she asked, playing with the hair at the nape of your neck.

You blushed. The tables had turned all of a sudden, and she was the one with the power now. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, that’d be… that’d be good.”

She laced her hand in yours, squeezing it. “Take me home, Dr. Y/L/N.”

“What if someone sees us!?” you hissed, looking both ways out the office door.

“We’ll slip out the back.”

“Sneaky.” You nodded. “I like this side of you.”

Glancing furtively around, she leaned forward and sunk her teeth into your neck, taking you by surprise. You gasped.

She pressed her lips against your ear. “I’ve got a lot of sides you haven’t seen yet.”

God, you couldn’t wait to see them.

[mythicalmyles]

Hiya myth! Is it okay for me to request?

Because if it is, then can I request for a reader who is just a big ball of sunshine and a virgin?

You can put any creepy pastas and kinks c: That's all! Thank you :D

-🍀

Naga!Toby x Sunshine!Curious!Reader

(18+, Ovi, Overstimulation, Double pen, Dubcon, rimming, sex venom, breeding)

You stumbled over a branch, letting out a gasp as one sliced across your cheek. You let out a whine as you rubbed your cheek, fingertips coming back red. You pouted and slumped your shoulders, rolling your eyes as you shuffled back to your feet. Your lip twisted as you rooted through your bag, pulling out some antiseptic spray.

You tended your wound as best as you could, hissing as the liquid burned your wound. Luckily you didn't think it was that deep. Part of you was ready to give up, it had already been hours since you had set out on your exploration. But curiosity kept your feet moving, determined to see if the reports were real. Part of you knew it was stupid, for god's sake it was a report from almost 100 years ago.

But when you found it, you knew you had to find out. It was locked up in an old government building for a reason.

And that was that, you booked the flight and bought a boat. It had taken almost a year for you to get to the island, completely isolated and abandoned. It was thick with foliage, leaves almost triple your size. You pulled out a bottle of water, quickly downing the sweet liquid but careful to ration it. It didn't rain often but it was enough to not have to worry too much. The island was also ripe with fruits, it wasn't the best but it could keep you going as far as you needed.

You took in the sight for a moment as you mindlessly slipped your water bottle back into your bag, vibrant greens purples and reds filled your vision. It was breath taking, almost hard to believe somewhere existed on earth that was so beautiful.

You froze for a moment, focusing hard as you tried to listen closer to the sound. You let out a small breath as a smile spread wide across your features, quickly pulling the report out of your bag. It had been burnt but there was at least something to go on.

'Water ran red with blood

Everyone d'

There was water, and you could hear the sound of a very distant waterfall. It sounded really far away but hope overrode your brain and you hastily made your way towards it, batting leaves out of your way.

The sound got louder as you got closer, cementing that you were going in the right direction. You must've been speed walking for an hour before you finally had to stop, chest heaving as you practically dropped against a tree. Your mouth felt as dry as a bone in the desert, you practically ripped your bag open to get your water. Care going out the window as you chugged down the sweet liquid, you drank the entire bottle thanking the stars you at least had two more.

You popped the now empty bottle back into your bag, letting yourself breath as you stared up at the trees. You pulled out the report again, going to the page about its appearance.

'It had a long dark green patterned, scaled tail, it must have went on for at least four foot. It had long black spikes down its back and a ferocious human face permanently set in a scowl. It bleeds black as the night sky as it hisses and spits venom at those who dare get too close. It has already taken out five men

Gus torn in half beast gripped his ne

wont last much lo'

You read as best as you could around the burned edges, feeling bad for the poor creature. It probably just wanted to be alone, instead it was ganged up on and attacked. You knew there was a danger to what you were doing, it wouldn't trust humans. You knew that much. But you hoped coming alone and unarmed might make it see you wouldn't hurt it, you just needed to know more.

If what they had written was true and there really was a Naga out there, you had fixated on the being since you had first read about. Utterly hypnotised and hungry to learn more. A half snake half man, you almost shook in excitement. Surely if it wasn't entirely human then it wouldn't have a human life cycle? It was what you prayed for anyway.

Once you had finally relaxed into the tree you rose yourself back up, shaking out tense thighs and cracking your neck. "Let's go." You whispered to yourself, beginning your journey again.

Just as you felt you were going to drop dead, you finally saw it through the trees. A large pound and the waterfall that sounded like heavens trumpets. With a newfound energy you surged forward, ignoring the leaves and branches that scratched at your skin.

At this point all you could think about was the sweet water, all thoughts flung out of your mind as you raced towards the pond. You dropped to your knees as you cupped your palms and gulped up the water. It could be infected with something but at this point you didn't care, all that mattered was the cold liquid sliding down your throat as you guzzled it down.

You stretched forward, sliding your body into the water and letting out a groan of appreciation as the cool water sloshed against your skin. The heat on the island had gotten unbearable at this point and you finally relaxed as you felt the hot sticky sweat coating your body washed away.

You pushed your self up, shaking the water out of your hair as you finally took a look around. Eyes quickly drawn to the large green striped lump, eyes doubling as you scrambled up and ran over to it. You saw it laying passed out on the ground, you couldn't deny the fact your breath got sucked out of your lungs.

He was gorgeous, thick brown hair framing his pale face. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his chest was defined, his biceps thick. You had no doubt it could kill you in a heart beat, the thought alone excited you in a twisted way. You brushed the thoughts away, bending down and searching him for any obvious wounds. You found what looked like a tip of a spear stuck into his tail, mind thinking back to the report. From the angle it was, he wouldn't have been able to properly grip and pry it out himself.

You frowned, you didn't know it's anatomy. Just what humans guessed was it's anatomy. For all you knew you could tear a vein pulling it out, yet the thick yellow and black crust that had built up around it had your chances limited. It was clearly infected, it had to be removed.

You squatted down, hands grasping the spear tip as you pulled with all your might. His skin was thick and clung to it, but you finally got it, throwing it as far away as you could. Blood quickly ran from the wound and without a second thought you pulled your shirt off and used it to try and clot the wound. A sudden hiss and you dipped down just in time to miss venom that had been shot at you.

"I want to help!" You yelled out, keeping pressure on the wound. "Please don't move." He stilled, looking at you with an untrusting glare. Yet he made no move as you kept pushing down on his wound, his black blood soaking through your shirt and coating your hands.

"Why?" He hissed, baring his fangs at you in warning. "You didn't deserve what happened. I just. Want to know more about you." You hoped he was see the sincerity on your face, instead he spat again. At least he didn't aim for you. You tumbled back onto your ass as it rose up, towering over you and making you feel tiny.

You anxiously gazed up at him, fear sparking through your body. "Ssso you can tell other humanss where I am?" His voice bellowed and you swore it shook the entire forest. You threw your hands up, shaking them and your head. "No! I swear! I wont ever tell anyone." You gasped out as you slid back, his eyes glowing as his slit pupils constricted. His eyes searched your body. "You wont. You can't leave now." Your face dropped when he suddenly ripped you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"You would look ssssoo pretty full of my eggss." Your eyes bulged out as you choked. "Wh-what?" You shrieked out, panic swimming through your veins and stabbing you straight into the heart. "Theress no otherss like me. You will do." He chuckled as a long tongue suddenly ran up your neck, you let out a deep breath as you froze.

His abnormally long tongue ran over your neck, leaving saliva in its trail as it explored you. Whimpers left you when his tongue finally found your nipple, massaging the bud and smirking as you twitched in his grasp. He had no idea humans were so sensitive. He pulled you off of him, dropping you to the floor before quickly turning you around and shoving you face first into the ground.

You whined as he yanked off your shorts, clawed hands grasping your ass and spreading it apart. You dug your nails into the ground, yelping when you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your ass. "Wha-wha." You choked out, getting cut off when he dove his tongue into you. "A-Ah!" You whined out, back arching as his tongue dug deep inside of you rubbing the most sensitive parts of you.

You shook in his hold as he ate you out, his cheeks pressing against you as drool dripped down your ballsack. You sobbed as you rocked back, lost in the feeling of his tongue twisting inside of you. Your voice only got higher, his fingers leaving bruises on your ass as he gripped you tight, trying to keep you in place.

"Puh-please." You begged, entire body shaking. He slipped a finger into you, slurping obscenely around the digit. You came hard, you hadn't ever felt anything like this. You hadn't been touched by anyone before, and here a supposed mythical creature was tongue deep inside of you and you felt like you were floating away.

Despite already cuming you whined when he pulled his fingers and tongue out, a chuckle coming from him as he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his hips. He pulled you close, mouthing your neck before biting down onto your flesh. You let out a groan at the pain, face scrunching up as your body began loosing up.

"What. Are you doing?" You questioned, voice lethargic. "You could never take me with out thiss." Instead of questioning him you rested your chin on top of his shoulder, almost passing out in his arms.

The feeling of something slimy rubbing against your hole had you moaning and pulling back, lidded eyes gazing at the naga. His hand wrapped around your neck, keeping your face in his view as he began sinking you down onto his cock. You whined desperately the further he pushed in, lungs sinking as you were stretched beyond your limit. Desperate begging falling from your lips as he bottomed out inside of you.

You looked down to see your stomach bulge with his cock, lips dropping and moaning at the sight of it. "You will do very good indeed." Toby thanked the god's for this, finally he had been provided a suitable mate to store his eggs inside of.

He easily bounced you on his cock, drinking in every moan that left your lips. Smirk coating his face as he watched his little mate writhe with pleasure all because of him. You were reduced to a moaning whining mess, crying in his arms as pleasure tore your very being apart.

You mindlessly rode him, head flung back as his hand around your neck kept you tethered to reality. You could barley take a breath, his cock hitting deep inside of you. You yelped when he slid two fingers into you, gasping at the burning stretch. "N-no. Too much." You rasped out. He chcukled. "it'ss okay. You can take it. I need to fertilisse my eggss." He grinned before he dove into your neck, sucking into your flesh.

"Aa-." You groaned out, voice wreaked. Once toby had worked four more fingers into you he pulled them out, laughing at the way you whined. "Don't worry. You'll be full sssooon." He drawled out, teeth gleaming in the now moonlight. You hadn't even noticed it hadn't gotten dark.

The feeling of another cock penetrating you threw all thoughts out of the window, breath and body freezing as you gaped at Toby. Choking as he slid his other appendage deep into you. He let out a loud groan. "F-fuck. Ssso goo-good." He groaned out, his self control leaving him as he began ramming into you. He punched the breath back into you and if you could be embarrassed you would, your voice was incredibly pitched and whiney.

You freely cried, moaning as you sobbed. Completely overwhelmed was how you felt as the Naga impaled you on not one but two cocks. You thrashed in his arms as your body shook, cum shooting out of your cock and coating both of your chests. Toby felt victorious, his mate clearly enjoyed their breeding. It made him ecstatic.

It wasn't long before you felt something push into you, before you knew it a few more somethings were shooting into you. You whined in confusion and slight fear, the idea of the naga actually inserting egg's in to you shaking you to your core. "You ca-can take it." You just whined pitifully, fully spent as your body spasmed around his cock.

You watched as your own stomach expanded, jaw dropping. You couldn't tell if you were horrified or excited. Before you could stop yourself you pressed your lips to his, whining into his mouth as his cum flooded inside of you. It felt almost unbearable.

He gently fucked you through it, stopping once he had finally given you all he could. "Ssso pretty. My pretty mate." He grinned while petting your hair, keeping his cocks buried deep inside of you so he didn't spill any of his precious eggs.

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 15:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Heavy whump in this one - blood, broken bones, pain. Loneliness.

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

The cold seeped from the damp ground, settling stiffly in your aching bones. Shattered, whimpering gasps sucked desperately through panicked lungs, burned as if the air around you was poison. You blinked, letting out a groan to dispel the awful groggy confusion, desperately trying to wake yourself from whatever nightmare you’d fallen into.

Panic flooded your veins, threatening to consume you in its blaze. It was dark - so suffocatingly dark.

Stop. Stop.

You tried to calm the race of spiraling thoughts before they inevitably became too much and you lost control.

Panicking will not help you here. Breathe. Focus. Please.

Screwing your eyes shut, you tried to concentrate, to calm the rushing beat of your heart.

What can I see? What can I smell? What can I feel? What can I taste? What can I hear?

You forced yourself to open your eyes. Dark. But as your eyes adjusted, the smothering inky blackness slowly abated into rocky shadows dimly illuminated by the constant twilight far above where you had fallen.

The deep musk of damp dirt sank through your senses. It was somehow calming, grounding. The earthy scent that lingered in the air, reminded you of Hunter.

Everything reminded you of Hunter.

That was when the panic hit again, spiking into a new high as you shifted on the ground, sending lightning bolts of pain riveting through limbs that wouldn’t move. Each breath suddenly tore at your lungs with such a sharpness as if there were some creature trying to gouge its way out. The agony beneath you wrenched a scream with startling ferocity only to find it cut off by spasming lungs as muscles tensed and locked to protect themselves from further harm.

It took several long seconds to relax once again, crying out softly through clenched teeth, determined not to fight against the pain, but to let it wash over you.

Fighting only made things worse. It took discipline and a lifetime of practice but now you feared it was all in vain. This white hot fire, that burning, freezing, grating pain felt all consuming and ready to swallow you whole.

You weren’t a clone but you were trained for this - trained to endure the pain that threatened to overcome all reasoning and logic.

Pain is only a symptom. Find the source.

Hunter’s voice. Hunter’s voice echoed training that had been drilled into your brain time and time again. Of course, he would have received similar training, but that didn’t matter now. Why was it his voice that your mind conjured up in its panic to stay alert? Why was it Hunter’s voice that so calmly soothed fiery nerves? That professional and strict command laced with a hint of compassion and genuine concern - the perfect mixture that made him so complex. A puzzle you so desperately wanted to solve.

Breathy whimpers and half-conscious groans slipped over bleeding and bitten lips.

It hurts, I know. But you need to focus.

Closing your eyes, you fell back to that training, guided along by that handsomely rugged voice keeping you grounded.

My hands are still bound behind me.

You took another breathe, hissing through your teeth at the renewed explosion of tortured nerves. My ribs…. Definitely broken. A stuttering groan leaked from quickening lungs that once again threatened to rip themselves free like the tears that leaked down your face. That pressing pain and panic surged, no matter how little you forced your lungs to inflate in the vain hope of lessening that sickening grate of what was surely must be bone against bone.

Focus!

His voice spoke again from your mind, this time with an edge. Firm and impossible to ignore.

You’re bound with rope of some sort. Your ribs are most likely badly bruised or broken. What else? Breathe through the pain. In and out. Come on, you know how this works.

Eyes, now well adjusted to the darkness, scanned the area. Mind, falling back on that trained discipline, spoke again in Hunter’s voice. Your leg. Do you feel it?

You did. You had been, though a sense of denial still seemed so desperate to dampen the growing dread. That deadly sharp throbbing that shot up your leg had now become impossible to ignore, yet you still couldn’t bring your eyes down to look.

You can do this, cyar'ika. His voice was softer now - more compassionate - though it still held that air of authority that would compel you to obey his direct command. That little nickname of his cyar'ika, what did it mean? The voice inside you that was Hunter, begged for you to come back and find out.

You have to survive. You have to make it back.

Steeling yourself, you pushed onwards, forcing yourself to draw your eyes down to the pain screaming for emergent attention.

Oh kriff. No. No, no. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

It seemed surreal, like looking down on your own body from miles above. Legs weren’t supposed to bend like that. Bones aren’t meant to jut out in awkwardly violent angles.

Almost as if on instinct, through suddenly heavy, lidded eyes, you pulled your wrists closer, moving through violent bursts of pain, to find a rock, or anything that might cut a rope.

Good. Good girl.

Nothing felt quite real anymore. You were floating - like in a dream.

Just a little more wiggling and the bonds would be loose enough for you to pull your hands through. Tears fell automatically from your eyes as every movement sent white hot razors up your leg from where it sat beneath you, bent awkwardly, bone protruding from the skin

The familiar cold chill of clammy sweat sprang up from your skin, soaking your ruined clothes. Nausea gripped your stomach in a vice as you felt your vision tunnel once again.

No. No. No. Cyar’ika no. Open your eyes. Breathe. Cyar’ika come back to me! That subconscious voice seemed to wither and beg. Come on. Please.

You grit your teeth, inhaling a long, shaky breath, then slowly let it out. The process repeated once more as you willed the nausea and lightheadedness to pass.

There. Got it.

Another dizzying wave of pain shot up your leg, but at least your hands were free.

So much blood. Gotta fix that.

Your hands shook and you could only watch as they seemed to take on a life on their own.

Stars danced before your eyes, stomach flipping before suddenly exploding upwards in a dizzy sick as you vomited into the rocks beside you.

The cool damp of the ground felt soothing now, as you found your cheek suddenly pressed against the dirt.

“...H-Hunter…” the name slipped over numb lips in a quiet whisper. Funny how that was still an instinct. But now that calming subconscious voice was quiet. Gone, not unlike the real thing. Reality was cruel and ruthless.

Hunter’s not here. Hunter can’t save you. None of them can. That voice of stark reason and logic seemed laced with a bitter and vicious mockery. It’s only you now. It always has been. It always will be.

“Trust no one” had always been your mantra. Until you met that strange little group who called themselves the Bad Batch. They ran like soldiers, expedient and efficient, yet they acted like a family. Against your better judgment, you’d let yourself grow attached. You allowed this small, insignificant group of clones to take down your walls and worm inside like a disease, filling all those cracks and edges with their quirks and ideals.

And Hunter.

Ever strong and ever confident to the physical eye, though you knew the uncertainty and fear of failure that lay beneath scarred skin. It was similar to your own. Hunter understood you, better than the others did. You thought like him, slow to trust, yet now you felt protected by him and he knew you’d do the same for him. You made a good team - perfectly combining your own sense of adventure and duty with his own.

A sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

I love him. I'm in love with him.

The realization hurt more than the sickening angle of your leg and the throbbing of your ribs.

I never got to tell him. I'm going to die alone.

He thought you hated him.

It hit you just then, the full weight of loneliness, of trying so hard to be self-sufficient despite knowing that you would never be enough. The self-sabotaging cycle of craving to belong, yet running from those who offered a hand. Always running, never stopping lest that hanging sword above saw fit to drop and cut you down.

Now it had. This cold and unforgiving moon was going to swallow you, chewing with rocks for teeth and the awful rumble of its tectonic stomach that threatened to digest. Its mocking voice whispering in every cloud of dust:

You are alone and there is no one to blame but yourself.

No one but Cid knew where you were and you’d made her promise not to tell. Even the treasure hunting mercenaries were gone, taking with them any hope of dialog - no matter how crude and hurtful the language, at least it was a voice. Now the silence was loud, but your own thoughts were deafening.

Alone. Alone. Alone. You’re going to die alone.

Perhaps the others would come looking for you, but they would not find you - that greed born of anger and hurt had drawn you to a place where you were not strong enough to survive.

But another voice - another piece of your broken consciousness - stirred, whispering beneath that oppressive blanket of doubt.

They will find me. Hunter will find me. Hunter always finds me. We are iron and though we can be dulled, iron was made to sharpen.

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

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @the-rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rogue @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @ghostlyembassy @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023 @jedipoodoo @reader6898 @all-mights-babygirl @arcsimper5 @red-robin-yum08 @wintersnnowie @whore-of-many-hot-men @theeyesofasoldier @griffedeloup @starswhores @totallyunidentified @waytooldforthis78

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️