#tw reader injury

[eiressofinspirationwrites]

Pieces, Panic, and Peace

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader (?)

Word Count: 4820

Warnings: depiction of a panic attack, blood, and injury to the reader

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

You’d known Steven since he started working at the museum and always admired his enthusiasm when it came to the exhibits. You could spend hours listening to him talk about Egyptology. He’s always so enthusiastic as he gets lost in the stories of his special interest and when he gets happily lost in his stories, you get lost in the pure energy that radiates from him as he does. If you were being honest, you’ve always had a love for all things mythology. Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse. You name it and you’ve either spent hours lost in research, scouring hundreds of pages for any information possible related to the subject, or at least know the basics. 

So when Steven asked you to the grand opening of their newest addition to the Egyptian wing of the museum, it sounded like the best date you could imagine, and enthusiastically accepted. 

It didn’t take long for you to fall head over heels in love with him. He was a bright spot in your life that had become so dull and monotonous in recent months since your job had taken over. The time you spent with each other was the best part of both of your days. Steven was absolutely smitten with you.

As your relationship blossomed, you spent enough time with him to notice strange things happening with him. He would disappear for days on end and you also took note of the times you spoke with him and he seemed like an entirely different person.

Sometimes he would forget plans the two of you had made together and even entire conversations on several occasions. After a while, you brought it up and Steven confessed to you what he’d been hiding. 

He had DID and had an alter named Marc. It took some time for you to adjust and fully understand what DID was and what that meant for your relationship with the system. You spent hours doing your own research and tried to be respectful with any questions you had.

Eventually, you officially met Marc, but you weren’t sure if you liked him at all. Sure he spoke to you, but he always ends up switching back with Steven or just not saying much at all. 

When Steven fronted there wasn’t usually much quiet between the two of you unless you were doing something else together, like reading or watching a documentary. 

Time alone with Marc was different. Despite how much time you’d spent with Steven, you weren’t sure what to do with Marc when he was fronting. He doesn't share really any of the same interests as Steven, so it was hard to start a conversation. That didn’t stop you from trying on so many occasions. You wanted to have a good relationship with the other most important person in your boyfriend’s life.

One night after Steven’s shift, he invited you to meet at his flat to watch a new National Geographic documentary that had just been released. He’d been messaging you all week until you both had time off work to watch it together. 

Unfortunately, the day leading up to your date had been rather dreadful. First, you overslept and ended up with a flat tire before you were even halfway to work on your bicycle. Then you had to walk the rest of the five blocks to work which made you even more late. From there, your day did not improve. Rude customers, lazy coworkers, the list went on and on.

The only thing that got you through the day was the promise of relaxing and spending time with Steven. So when 8 o'clock rolled around, you found yourself eagerly awaiting Steven to open the door with snacks in hand. It only took a few seconds before the door swung open and Steven’s beaming face greeted you. 

“You’re here! ” Steven exclaims, smiling wide as he gestured you inside his flat. 

You gave him a quick peck on the lips as you passed by him, returning his bright smile with one of your own as you moved around the stacks of books and miscellaneous obstacles to reach the table to put down your movie snacks. 

“You would not believe the day I have had!” you groaned, shaking your head as you flopped into one of the chairs and launched into the story of the day. 

Steven leaned against the kitchen counter as he listened, nodding along to indicate he was actively listening to you.

After telling Steven about the bicycle shop’s criminally long waitlist for tire repair, you finally ran out of steam and sat back with a huff. 

“Anyways, that was my day. How was yours?” you ask, just now noticing that Steven has had one hand behind his back the entire time you were venting.

“Oh, it was fine-” Steven trailed off, a smile creeping its way across his face. 

He noticed your attention on his arm and made his way to the table before presenting his prize to you. His action elicited a gasp as he placed an intricate figurine on the table. 

“It came?!” you squealed excitedly.

“Just this morning.” Steven was smiling even wider than before, “Pretty amazing, innit?”

“It looks amazing! Look at all of the little details!” you leaned forward to get a better look, “Absolutely beautiful!” 

It was a hand-blown glass sculpture of the goddess Isis that the two of you had seen advertised in a news article about small businesses in London. It had an astounding amount of detail for something as delicate as it was, but it looked incredible in the ad. Steven had ordered it without hesitation the two of you had been anxiously awaiting its arrival ever since.

“I just cleared a place just special for it right before you arrived,” Steven pointed at a spot on a bookshelf near Gus’ fish tank, “I’d be rather upset if I knocked it over in the middle of the night.”

“I know you’ve been waiting for it to come forever,” you nodded, “It looks so much better in person.” 

“Thanks, love. Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah? Just gotta use the toilet before we start the film. I won’t be long.” Steven says, stepping around the table and heading towards the bathroom. 

You waved a hand towards him in response as you moved to pop the bag of popcorn in the microwave to get it started. 

Once the microwave was going, you crouched down to start rummaging through the lower cupboards in search of the big bowl you traditionally used on movie nights with Steven. After a moment of looking you spotted it at the very back of the cupboard by the wall. You huff as you half-crawl into the space to get it out. Once the bowl is in your grasp, you jerk back up with a small cry of victory, thrusting the bowl up into the air like a trophy. 

The sudden momentum throws you off balance and a sharp pain shoots up your elbow as you stumble back into the edge of Steven’s kitchen table. You barely have time to process the pain before the sound of shattered glass reaches your ears. 

It feels like the blood in your veins turns to ice as you watch Steven’s new figurine break into dozens of pieces on the floor. In a panic, you scramble around the table. The sound of dropping the metal bowl in your rush causes you to flinch as your hands reach around on autopilot trying to do something, anything to fix what you'd done. Your heart pounds in your chest and you can feel your breath starting to pick up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the early signs of what's coming. 

“No no no no no no…” you mumble as you rush to pick up the pieces. Your hands shook violently as your mind raced, trying to think of what to do before Steven inevitably returns.

“Please, please, please…” you beg under your breath, futilely trying to fit the pieces of broken glass back together. 

The tears gathering in your eyes make it hard to see, but you can’t stop to do anything about it, you have to fix it. You have to. You don't have another choice. It's all on you. Steven was going to be crushed that you'd destroyed his new figurine before he'd even had a chance to properly enjoy it. It was all your fault. All your fault. 

Your hands continued to tremble as an ache intensified in your chest, but you can’t think of the breathing techniques you'd learned and should be doing to calm down. 

Steven’s voice calling your name cuts through your thoughts. Your head snaps up to see Steven standing by Gus’ fish tank, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Love, what’s happened?” He asks, "You alright?"

Steven's eyes widen as he exclaims your name, rushing forward with his hands out. The panicked expression on his face jolts you into action. 

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you can’t seem to find any words. Your mind races faster than you can keep up with and you don’t know what to do. Your hands still on autopilot try to hide the pieces of the figurine they have already picked trying to keep them out of Steven’s line of sight.

All you can think of is hiding the shards somehow until you can do something to fix them. The movement has the opposite effect of what you wanted and instead draws Steven’s attention to the mess on the floor. 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Steven, I didn’t mean it! I-I-I can f-fix it! I’ll buy you a new one I promise. I’m so sorry,” you manage to sputter, hot tears fall down your face and you try to jerk away from Steven as he gets closer. 

You backpedal until your back collides with the wall. Your panicked mind clutches the pieces you'd tried to hide to your chest. 

Panic has a vice-like grip on your entire body and there isn’t anything you can do. Everything feels so overwhelming as your senses are flooded by every sound, sight, and smell in the room. As you're sent over the edge into sensory overload, you fold in on yourself. A flood of apologies keeps falling from your mouth as it's the only thing your mind can fixate on. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Your chest feels like it is about to burst. You can’t catch your breath and through the tears can see black spots starting to float on the edge of your vision. 

Suddenly a face fills your field of vision. It's blurred from the tears, but part of you recognizes it has to be Steven. 

A gentle hand tentatively rests on your face and another tries to pull your hands away from your chest.

You can see his mouth moving, but can’t hear anything he is saying. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest is deafening and blocks out everything else. You try to blink away the tears to clear your vision and Steven’s face becomes more focused. 

The first thing you notice is that Steven’s body language is completely different and his eyes are different. They lack their usual softness.

It finally clicks that it’s Marc kneeling in front of you, not Steven. 

That realization makes you even more upset. Your brain assumes that Steven must be so angry he can’t stand to deal with the crying mess you'd become. The brief moment of clarity you had quickly vanishes and your crying dissolves into sobs. 

You try to turn away, but Marc’s strong hand keeps a gentle pressure on your face, keeping it level with his. His mouth is still moving, clearly trying to say something. You know it has to be important. So, you direct every ounce of focus you can into meeting Marc's eyes, struggling to focus on slowing your breathing as you do so. 

“Sweetheart...need…down…me…-stand…can…kay?” Marc’s broken sentence filters through the fog surrounding your mind.

After what feels like an eternity, your ears start to process Marc's voice. Bits and pieces of what's being said start to filter into your mind as they’re processed. 

You have no idea what he’s asking but you’ll do whatever he wants. Whatever will fix what you’ve done and make Steven happy again. Anything to preserve your relationship with him.

Your silent response earns a smile from Marc as he nods with you. His hand that is still covering yours moves to gently guide them away from your chest. 

When you look down you’re shocked to find blood covering both your hands and Marc’s. The glass shards must have cut your hands while you were in full panic and Marc’s became bloody while he held yours.

Panic swells in your chest again as your eyes dart back to Marc’s. Hoping he isn’t mad at you, too. You know that you couldn’t take it if both Steven and Marc were cross with you but Marc doesn’t seem to be. He just keeps nodding and pulls your attention back down to your hands. His own hand tries to gently pry open your fingers to remove the glass from your grasp. 

Despite the numbness settling into your body, you manage to relax your hands enough for your fingers to uncurl. As they do, the pain finally hits you. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as the air hits the wounds and a stinging sensation fires across the cuts on your palms and fingers. After the hiss cuts its way through your tears it seems to be the reset you needed to pull a deep breath of air into your lungs. 

You stare at Marc as he turns his attention to removing the glass and try to steady your breathing. Now that your focus is pulled to other things, your body seems to relax back into its normal breathing patterns. As your breathing slows and returns to normal, you can finally hear what Marc’s saying, and the tenderness in his voice surprises you. In all the time you’ve known him, you had never realized how soft-spoken and gentle he can be. 

“That's good. Just like that, sweetheart. Just breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe.” Marc murmurs as he carefully works to remove the splintered glass from your flesh as carefully as he can, paying close attention to make sure not to cause more damage to the already torn skin. 

Again, it feels like an eternity before all of the glass is removed from your hands, but in reality, it didn’t take more than a few minutes. Before moving on to the next step, Marc looks over your hands one last time to make sure all the shards are gone. Satisfied that he’s removed every last piece, he looks up at your tear-stained face with a gentle smile.

“You gonna be okay if I go get the first aid kit from the bathroom? It won’t take long but I need to make sure we get the bleeding stopped,” Marc’s voice was softer than you’ve ever heard before. 

You nod silently. If you were being honest you could use a little bit of time to yourself.

As soon as he lets go, your eyes fall to your bloody hands. As you take in the sight, you can feel the shame and embarrassment creeping up your neck like a rash. 

You couldn’t believe you’d just had a total panic attack in your boyfriend’s apartment over a broken figurine. You’d been pretty stressed lately and the kind of day you’d had been admittedly pretty shitty, but a having full mental breakdown wasn’t the way you’d expected to spend your night.

Your eyes slip closed as you try to avoid driving yourself into another panic attack. As long as you can keep your breathing under control and your heart can start to slow down you know you’ll be okay. Panic attacks aren’t anything new. You’d been having them for years at this point and one thing never changed. Coming down from them was almost the worst part. 

“Hey,” Marc’s voice interrupts your thoughts. 

You open your eyes to see him back with a first aid kit under one arm and towels in the other. 

The way he was watching you was unlike anything you’d ever seen from him before. It was apprehensive and unsure yet concerned and gentle. A stark contrast from the blatant indifference he’d shown you before.

“I-I’m okay,” your voice was rough from the tears and harsh breathing pattern you’d experienced.

You could see he wasn’t entirely convinced but Marc knelt down in front of you again and began to remove the supplies he will need from the kit. He removes the bandages, tubes of ointment, and a small surgical sewing kit as well. 

As Marc neatly organizes the supplies, you take in just how messy the floor has become. It’s littered with broken and bloody glass and stained by the droplets of blood that had dripped from your hands.

“I am so sorry.” you manage to choke out, tears start to prick at your eyes again seeing the mess you’d made. 

“It’s okay. Really, everything is okay. The only thing that matters is that you’re safe,” He reassures you as he begins cleaning the blood from your hands.

“Besides,” He continues, “Do you really think I haven’t cleaned blood off of Steven’s floors before. Had to make sure he wasn’t going to be finding a bunch of mystery stains before he knew about me. Helped to have such dark carpet. You ever tried to clean blood out of a light-colored carpet? It’s a nightmare.” 

You appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood but it didn’t do much to actually make you feel better.

A blanket of silence falls over the pair as Marc continues to clean the blood from your skin. Once it’s all cleaned away, he carefully inspects each wound. Looking to see if they need stitches. After a while, he moves on and begins disinfecting the cuts.

“The good news is that you don’t need stitches. Looks like most of the pieces were big enough not to get stuck in the cuts, but small enough not to cause enough damage to warrant stitches,” He reports, then mutters an apology when your hand jerks in his grasp as the alcohol stings the tender flesh.

“Thank you,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say.

As Marc starts to wrap your hands in clean bandages, you think about everything that’s led up to this moment. Still dwelling on the guilt you felt for breaking something Steven had waited so long for and had been so excited about. Your mind also shifts to the way Marc has treated you since he fronted during your attack. You’re starting to see that he’s not as cold and indifferent to you as he’s tried to make you believe.

Once he finishes wrapping both hands and secures the ends of the bandages, Marc starts packing away the first aid supplies. When everything is stored back in the kit, he sits down, leaning back to rest against the table leg behind him. You’re quiet as you stare at each other, both waiting for the other. 

“Those are going to need to stay covered up for a few days to avoid infection,” Marc finally breaks the silence.

You answer him with a silent nod. Not quite ready to speak again.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Marc asks tentatively, “You don’t have to, but I know a panic attack when I see one. Steven and I get them sometimes.”

Your attention shifts to the fish tank across the room. Your eyes follow Gus as he swims around the tank. It’s almost hypnotic watching the goldfish glide through the water. 

Marc doesn’t push you to answer. He’s comfortable waiting until you’re ready.

“I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in high school,” you finally answer, “I thought I was dying the first time I had one. Th-they’re awful. Still are but at least I know now what’s happening. I don’t get them as often as I used to. Usually just when I’m stressed or scared.”

A beat of silence hangs in the air before Marc answers. 

“Did we scare you?” he asks, his voice so quiet you almost missed the question. 

“No,” your eyes widened in surprise, “Not Steven… or you. I just knew he was going to be upset about the broken figurine. Everything happened so fast and I panicked. It all just spiraled from there.”

Marc didn’t look convinced, so you sat up closer to him. “Honestly! I’ve just had a really crappy week and all these little things built up and then this one last thing was just the final drop in the bucket and I-” you paused, sitting back again. “Sometimes I just fall apart like a broken doll.”

Marc’s eyes flick from the stove next to you before looking back.

“Steven wants you to know that he isn’t mad at you. He was just worried. He didn’t mean to rush at you like that earlier,” Marc relays.

“He saw everything?” you winced.

“He saw the blood all over your hands and when you started to hyperventilate he felt lost,” Marc nodded, “He didn’t know what to do. He’s still up front but he thought I’d be able to help you more. He was worried.” 

Marc paused for a second before asking, “Do you want him to come back?” 

You weren’t sure how to respond. This is probably the most interaction you’ve ever had with Marc. Not to mention the feeling of embarrassment that was still settled in your gut. Even if Marc says Steven isn’t mad at you, part of you insists that he has to at least be partly upset that you broke his brand new figurine.

When your words fail you, you give an indifferent shrug, avoiding eye contact leaving the two to decide for themselves. Soon enough your eyes start to feel heavy and you have to fight back a yawn. 

An attack this bad wipes you out enough for your to require a nap at minimum soon after. Since you’re far from your own flat and don’t have a bike to ride home on, you know you have to get up and go soon. Otherwise, you risk falling asleep on the floor right where you are. So you shift to a position that’s easier to stand from and Marc moves as well. 

“I should get home,” you say as you try to stand up to leave.

When you sway a bit as you get to your feet, you have to brace yourself on the counter. This sends pain lancing through your bandaged hand comes as it contacts the counter.

It only takes a few seconds before a strong arm wraps around your waist, the warm limb steadies you and keeps you from toppling back to the floor.

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t think you should be going anywhere tonight. Not in this state,” Marc says leading you over to the kitchen chair to sit down. 

“But I have to get home.” you insist, your voice comes out a little more whiny than intended. 

As you move to try and stand again, Marc's hands press into your shoulders and guide you back to the seat. When you look up, his face is firmer than earlier but holds another emotion you can’t quite place.

“No. You’re gonna sleep here tonight,” Marc decides, “You already walked here and it's too late for you to walk home now. I can’t risk you not making it home safe in this condition. Wandering the streets at night, half asleep with freshly bandaged hands is like a neon sign to every creep in the city. There’s no guarantee you’d make it home safe.” 

“I’ve already caused enough trouble for you two. I’ll be fine,” you protest.

“No,” Marc said firmly, “If you don’t feel comfortable staying with us, I’ll get you a taxi or something, but I’m not letting you walk home tonight.” 

“I don’t have money for a taxi, and I won’t let either of you pay for one either,” you argue, hoping Marc will just give up and let you walk home soon.

“Sweetheart, you have two choices.” Marc says, still holding you firmly in place, “Either sleep here tonight or let me get you a ride. I know what happens at night in this city. Khonshu has had me take care of more than enough bad people to know what will happen to you if you run into the wrong people out there while you’re vulnerable.” 

If you weren’t so exhausted you’d put up more of a fight but you know that you don’t have the energy to push Marc into letting you leave on foot.

“Fine,” your shoulders slump in defeat, “but I don’t have anything to sleep in or wear tomorrow. I went straight to the bike shop after work then came straight here.”

“We’ve got plenty of clothes for you to wear,” Marc answers and lets you go to walk over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. 

You watch as he pulls out a set of joggers and a t-shirt. You knew the clothes were going to be too big but you were too tired to care. When Marc comes back and hands the clothes off, you take them with a nod of thanks. 

“I’ll just go-” you motion vaguely in the direction of the bathroom before you head over to change. 

By the time they come back out, Marc has set up a blanket and pillow on one of the armchairs in the sitting area but Marc blocks your path when you move to sit in it.

“Nope. You’re taking the bed. I’ll sleep here.” he turns you around by the shoulders before guiding you over to the bed. You protest weakly, but Marc gently pushes you over. You end up half sitting, half laying on the bed. 

“I’m not pushing you out of your own bed,” you say as Marc moves toward the chair he has set up. 

“Trust me, Steven barely sleeps in his bed as it is. I’ll be fine over here, you need to rest and you won’t get it sleeping upright all night,” Marc answers as he makes a few adjustments to his makeshift bed.

“I’m already stealing your clothes, don’t let me steal your bed,” you insist, “We’re both adults. We can share.”

Marc starts to stammer and stutter at the proposal but falls silent after a few moments when his attention is caught by his reflection.

“Steven can come out,” Marc says after a short time, “I don’t want to make you or him uncomfortable. You’re the ones dating each other. You like him… not me.”

He whispers the last part so quietly you almost miss it. That’s when everything falls into place for you. You suddenly realize why he’s been so short with you ever since he first met you. He didn’t hate you or resent you.

He was afraid to open himself up to you because he was afraid you’d reject him. Afraid that you only would be able to love Steven.

“Marc, it’s okay,” you pull yourself out of the bed, somehow making it to his side without stumbling at all, “If Steven’s comfortable with it… I’m okay with it. I’ve been trying to get through to you for months. It’s hard to know if I like you if you won’t open up.”

He was at a loss for words as your hands found his. He couldn’t believe that you were really truly even able to think about opening yourself to loving him, too. 

“A-alright,” Marc said after he peeled his attention away from Steven’s in the reflection, “but if you feel uncomfortable at all-,” 

“You’ll be the first to know,” you promised.

His thumbs brushed across your hands lightly as he contemplated his next action, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You’ve been up way too long.”

This time you let Marc lead you to the bed without protest. He peeled back the blankets and let you climb in before he went around the other side and climbed in beside you. He placed himself as far away from you as possible, still unsure of what he should do.

You knew this had to be challenging for him so you let him decide what he was comfortable with. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as you curled into the bed and your eyes started to drift shut.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Marc whispered back, and part of you registered that was the fifth time he’d used that term of endearment tonight but you were too close to sleep to say anything tonight.

As you drifted to sleep, you decided that would be a conversation for morning.

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[miilkcandies]

the story i managed to create with all of you [4/4] [1] [2] [3]

[I love the Story I managed to create with all of you. Although we encountered many painful, sad things, we…] Even then, I loved this story so much so that I wished for it to continue on forever. -CH. 466

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

In Every Trio, There's Always A Duo

John Price X Reader

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

A/N:this is probably the angstiest fic I've written in a while lol, the idea popped up in my head after scrolling tiktok and now I'd like you all to suffer with me(also I know I promised the Gaz fic first, it is coming! I promise!) warnings:mentions of blood, injuries, wounds, gore, depressive thoughts, thoughts of suicide, mentions of death

Price had been the one to introduce you to everyone, saying that you were the newest member of their team. Gaz welcomed you with open arms and even offered to show you around so that you wouldn’t get lost. Soap was happy to greet you, talking too quickly for you to understand even half of what he’d been saying. Ghost was a little more closed off, friendly enough to say hello and introduce himself but didn’t go out of his way to be your friend. It was something you were used to, men in the military were one of three things. Friendly, flirty, or standoffish. While Ghost wasn’t your typical “I’m better than you” military meathead, he wasn’t an open book.

It was all fine though, you had gotten close to the rest of the group and made friends with all of them quick enough. Alejandro and Rudy were much friendlier during the first meeting, Rudy and you swapped recipes and talked about your interests. Ale joked that you would end up stealing his best friend right from under his nose. Of course you would never do that, stealing someone else’s best friend was a big no no in your book.

“I would never steal him away from you! Best friends are sacred.” You smiled over at Ale, watching the way he became flustered ever so slightly.

“Well, thank you then.” He wasn’t sure what to say, most people teased them for being such close friends, this was a nice change.

“Of course, no need to thank me.” Rudy pulled you back into the conversation, explaining how to properly cook one of his mother’s best dishes.

It went on like that for months, you making friends with everyone on the task force, along with Ale and Rudy. When everyone would go home for break you didn’t leave, assuring everyone that you would leave the following day. No one needed to know that you didn’t want to go back to your family, their toxicity pushing you to where you were now. Your mother had been an alcoholic your entire life, your father no better when he actually bothered to come around. Your brother had up and left the moment he turned eighteen, leaving you behind to suffer.

No one needed to know what happened in your past, to them things were good and you had a loving family. They didn’t need to know that you had nothing left waiting for you, no family, and no friends for if you succumbed to your death during a mission. You’d wanted to tell them the truth so badly, that you truly weren’t alright, but you couldn’t.

You were out at the bar with everyone, sitting between Gaz and Soap. The Scot had interrupted you nearly five times now, voice booming as he recalled a tale about how Price had embarrassed himself during a mission. You bit your lip, sinking into your seat and not bothering to try and speak up anymore. The night continued on like that, everyone talking about different things as the drinks flowed. You’d even learnt a little bit more about Ghost, how his parents weren’t the nicest of people, how he’d done what he could to help them. It reminded you of your own situation, abusive parents that refused to take accountability.

It continued on like that for months, you would head out with everyone and continue to turn into nothing but a shadow. Seven turned to six, six turned into five, and soon enough it was only you, Ghost, and Soap going out. Price was too busy with paperwork, Ale and Rudy had their own duties to attend to, and Gaz was seeing someone. You were happy for Gaz, he was a total catch and anyone with eyes could see how attractive he was. Though you missed his corny jokes at the tables when you’d go out. Soap was the main jokester, Ghost throwing in a few from time to time to throw the Scot off his game.

It was strange seeing Ghost without his mask, the first time your jaw dropped open but you refused to comment. Nothing more humiliating than bringing up someone’s scars to them when you’re in public. He ignored everyone who tried to flirt with him, shutting down their advances with a “not interested” before they could utter another word. That same night they left you behind at the pub, you’d gone to the bathroom to relieve yourself before heading back. When you walked out the table was empty and cleaned, surely they were waiting outside. However once you stepped foot outside you noticed the truck you’d all driven in was gone as well.

Your throat closed up as you realized they had completely forgotten you, the base was over ten miles away. Refusing to try and call them, you tugged your jacket closer to your body and made the journey on foot. Price was still awake when you arrived, feet nearly bleeding from the blisters you now had, and tears running down your face.

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Price abandoned his paperwork to rush over to you.

You lied and told him you were simply too intoxicated and had forgotten you had gone to the pub with Soap and Ghost, the two men soundly asleep in their own rooms. He didn’t look as if he believed you, but nonetheless he let it slide. You would tell him the truth when you finally felt ready. Instead of pushing for more answers he helped treat your wounds, and gave you some warmer clothes to sleep in for the night.

Your sleep had been restless that night, struggling to get over how much pain you were in physically, and emotionally. Maybe they had just forgotten because you hadn’t talked the entire night? Sure, that’s what it probably was.

Price kept you on light work for the next two weeks, letting your feet heal before putting you into weapons and basic training. You were being sent out on a mission in a few days and he wanted everyone to be prepared. You stuck close by Gaz and Price for the most part, not wanting a repeat of the pub again. Training was easy, you excelled with each weapon you were given and surpassed everyone else, even Ghost.

Laswell was happy with the progress you’d made since joining, happy to know you had integrated so well with everyone else on the team. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know the entire truth, or that you were miserable deep down. She lead the briefing for your next mission, you were to get the intel required and get out, taking out any hostels if needed. You were a little nervous, the last firefight you’d gone into had nearly gotten you killed. Had Rudy not yanked you down behind the pillar you wouldn’t be standing there.

The helicopter hovered as you rappelled down onto the ground, unclipping your belt and grabbing your gun. There was no one as far as you were able to see, though you couldn’t be too careful, enemies were trained to hide in plain sight. Price and Ghost lead the group, guns raised as they begin a slow but cautious walk towards the building. No one noticed the enemy as they slid from behind their own hiding spots. 

The bullets were raining down on the group before any of the guys or yourself could take cover. Price had thrown Gaz behind one of the pillars, Ghost doing the same with Soap to help prevent his teammate from becoming swiss cheese. Alejandro wrapped his arms around Rudy and tackled him to the ground, laying completely still until the sound of the enemy reloading calmed his nerves. It wasn’t until they realized that you were laying out in the open, screams ripping the air apart as you began to slowly bleed out. Ghost’s heart stopped, how the hell did they completely forget about another person! 

“Shit!” Soap turned to run around Soap’s bulky frame, grunting as Ghost grabbed the collar of his tac vest.

“You do that an’ you’re both dead!” Ghost couldn’t risk someone else getting injured, they needed to neutralize the threat.

“We need to save her!” Soap couldn’t watch you bleed out, it would destroy him.

“Stand down!” Ghost winced as the gunfire drew closer, they needed to retreat before they lost anyone else.

The group slowly retreated, watching the way your frame became smaller and smaller with each step they took. Ghost was gnawing the inside of his jaw, angry that he’d let something like this happen under his watch. Shit, they’d have to figure out how to get you back before you ended up bleeding out on the field.

“Ghost!” Gaz was staring over at the older man, eyes wide with terror.

The enemy had grabbed you, running off while they seemed to be too preoccupied figuring out a plan to stop them in their tracks. His blood ran cold, they were surely going to kill you if they couldn’t rescue you soon enough.

“Stop them!” Ghost raised the gun in his arms, aiming down the scope to try and get a shot off.

It was with a sickening realization that he noticed they were all gone, nothing but dust kicked up in the air as they fled. He’d always kept everyone safe, or as safe as he could when they were in enemy territory. This? This was his worst nightmare come to life, someone getting injured and captured because of his actions. How the hell had he not realized you were near him? While you were quiet when needed you always made your presence known.

“We’ll get them back, but we can’t go in with our heads up in the clouds.” Price was angry, they were split up into two groups. 

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

“You let her get hurt, you were too busy keeping an eye on Soap that she got hurt!” Gaz stood up harshly, stomping over to where Ghost and Soap were crouched.

“Hey! Let’s not start going at each other’s throats.” Price grabbed onto his tac vest, stopping him before he could reach the other two.

“I saw it, she was walking too far from Ghost and instead of remembering that she was even there he saved Soap instead, and now she’s been taken by the fucking enemy!” Gaz was angry, angrier than he’d been in quite a while.

Ghost wanted to deny it, that he had been keeping an eye on you the entire time, but it would’ve been a dirty lie. It had been obvious over the last few months how little attention they ever spared you, especially him and Soap. The three of you would go out during your leave together and it was simply as if you didn’t exist to them. You were the third wheel during their conversations, trying your hardest to speak up only to be ignored.

Everyone had gone out for a night of drinks and dinner, mainly because Price all but demanded on getting off base for at least one night. Things had been silent for a little while and he needed to release some tension. You and Gaz were up getting drinks for everyone at the bar, the waitress already swinging by to get everyone’s order for food. Price had seen how sullen your expression was, the sparkle your eyes usually had seemed so dull now. Maybe this would help bring it back and things would go back to normal. You were his favorite(don’t tell Simon)and he would do his damndest to make sure you were okay.

“Sorry about the wait, bar was a little busier than expected.” You and Gaz set down all the drinks, being careful not to spill any liquid onto the, for now, clean table.

“No worries love, food won’t be out for a little while anyway.” Price smiled at the way your face flushed, proud that he could still have you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

The conversation seemed to flow easily with everyone, Gaz was telling a story from his teenage years that had everyone laughing. He’d embarrassed himself trying to impress a girl and refused to even look her in the eye afterwards. You opened your mouth to make a comment before Soap cut you off, the entire table echoing with laughter. Clearing your throat quietly you took a quick sip of your drink. 

The chatter died down once the food was brought out, everyone eating in near silence, save for the bustle of the restaurant around you. You wanted to talk about something, anything, but the timing never felt right. So instead of opening your mouth to talk you kept eating, your stomach turning slightly as you pushed the food around the plate. The chance to strike up a new conversation was dulled entirely once Ghost started talking about something. You didn’t bother to listen, eyes locked onto your plate as you tried to muster up the energy to keep eating.

Everyone was pulled into the conversation, offering their own bits and pieces here and there, everyone except for you. Why bother speaking to people who clearly didn’t notice when you did anyway? It would be a waste of energy and you needed to worry about what would happen on your next mission. Only you didn’t notice the way Price’s gaze lingered on you, a frown marring his nearly perfect features.

“If you don’t get them back, then I sure the fuck will.” Gaz knew the risks that rescuing you would entail and right now he was willing to take that risk.

“Kyle, if you go running in there you’ll be dead before you can get to her. I’ll go with you.” Price was willing to do whatever it took to get you back.

“Sir.” Soap felt terrible, had he kept a closer eye on you this wouldn’t have happened.

“No, we need to start thinking about how we’re going to rescue her, I’ll call Laswell.” Price turned and walked off without waiting for anyone to follow.

Ale and Rudy were horrified, they’d known the men for quite a while, having only just met you a few months prior, and watching the way this had gone down? It sickened them, but they wouldn’t voice those opinions out loud. They’d do whatever needed to be done to rescue you, to make sure that you came back home alive.

You, Ghost, and Soap were all sitting in the cafeteria, trying to enjoy the MRE’s that had been given to you earlier that day. A new shipment wouldn’t be in for a few more days so you were suffering through what had been left over. They weren’t terrible, but it was obvious why these were the ones left over from everyone else. Ghost and Soap had been keeping conversation going between them from the moment you sat down. You didn’t bother to say a word, simply ate your rather dry and tasteless food and waited for it to be gone so you could leave.

It was becoming more obvious as each day passed how little they liked having you around, from the way they would simply ignore you, to even brushing you off when you tried to join the conversation. It had stung in the beginning, but this was something that happened quite often, and you weren’t going to sit there and whine like a child. No, instead you learned to hide the disappointment and hurt deep down inside. If John ever found out how you were mentally, he’d have you discharged before you could even blink and stop him.

“‘M tellin’ ya! You nevah believe me!” Soap was laughing at something Ghost had said, you were sure of that, but the effort to even pretend to listen was too much.

“Oh will you stop with that? I don’t need to believe ya if I don’ want to.” Ghost rolled his eyes, shoving another forkful of…something into his mouth.

Neither of them had so much as glanced at you in the twenty minutes it had been since you’d sat down, another reminder that you weren’t wanted. Your throat closed up slightly, a sickening feeling clawing at your chest as you tried to keep the negative thoughts at bay. That was all wiped away when Price walked in, your back straightened immediately. It was a habit you had tried to break so often but never seemed to be able to.

“At ease soldier, just here to let you know that we’ll be headed out at 0400, so I suggest you get ready to go.” Price nodded at you before heading out.

You would all be debriefed on the plane ride over, it was something Price had begun to do so you went into the mission with the details fresh in your mind. Unless things were sensitive, then he wouldn’t run the risk of the wrong person hearing. Maybe this would finally be the mission you’d be left behind, a girl could have dreams right?

Soap was pacing the room, mumbling to himself to figure out how he could even try and get back on your good side. It was his fault that you were not only shot, but also captured. Price had gotten into contact with Laswell the moment they were back to safety. She was furious, asking how you’d managed to get captured when it was a simple recon. Gaz had exploded then, telling her how Ghost and Soap had been too caught up in each other to keep an eye on you. Price had to calm him down, nearly threatening him.

“There’s been an update, and before any of you say anything I need you to watch this and not rip out each other’s throats.” Laswell turned towards the screen, hitting play.

The screen was blurry for a few seconds before your slumped over form became clearer, it was obvious they’d done a shitty patch up job to your wounds. Your wrists and ankles were bound to the chair, blood dripping down your temple.

“If you want her back, we want something as well.” A voice, presumably someone behind the camera, spoke.

You laughed loudly, the sound surely causing your head to throb as you struggled to sit upright in the wooden chair.

“You couldn’t have picked anyone worse to ransom. Everyone knows I'm expendable on the team, nothing but a throwaway.” Your smile tore at Price’s heart, you looked defeated, ready for the comforting embrace of death.

They growled in anger, fist colliding with your jaw as a sickening crack echoed through the speakers. You groaned, spitting blood onto the floor with a huff.

“You don’t understand, they’re never going to come back for me. You’re better off letting me just die.” Your body was begging for death now, pain surging through every nerve ending.

The man turned towards the camera, angry that you seemed so unwilling to help get whatever they were so desperate for.

“You have two days.” The screen suddenly went black, leaving the room completely silent.

Price walked over to Laswell, afraid of what answer he was going to get for the million questions running through his mind.

“How long do we have?” The video wasn’t brand new, they would never actually give the men enough time to properly plan.

“Less than twenty four hours, we found her location from that bracelet you gave her a few months ago.” Ghost’s head whipped around, why was his captain giving you gifts?

“Everyone gear up, we need to get her back before it’s too late.” Price wasn’t going to waste another second, not when you were so close to death.

The plane was fueled up and ready to go by the time everyone headed out, briefing over the plan during the flight. Gaz would go in guns blazing if it meant saving you, and he’d force Ghost and Soap to wait until they got you. It was reckless to think that way of course, and being angry with his teammates wouldn’t do him any good either. Once you were back and safe with them he’d reprimand the other two. It didn’t matter that Ghost ranked higher than him, he’d give those two an earful they’d never forget.

“Rudy, do you have eyes on her?” Price walked over to check the monitor, a small sigh of relief when he saw your outline.

You were still breathing, the motions slow and labored as you struggled with each breath. Rudy was going to stay on the plane, keeping an eye out to make sure no one tried to sneak on. It was a risky move, especially considering he’d be sitting alone, save for Nikolai. They each geared up, checking their weapons ammunition to make sure everything was loaded.

“Hold down the fort til we get back.” Price slapped a hand against Rudy’s shoulder, nodding towards Gaz and Ale to follow him.

Ghost knew better than to argue, Price was their leader and right now he was definitely on his shit list. Soap wasn’t getting off scot free either, it had been both of them that caused this entire situation. No, the focus was solely on you, Ghost could deal with the repercussions later on when you were safe.

Their footsteps were silent, Gaz lockpicking the door before heading inside behind Price and Ale, guns drawn high as they looked around for enemies. The air was thick with tension, sweat beading up underneath Price's hat as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The sound of fists colliding with skin they picked up pace. They’d managed to find you quicker than expected, but what awaited them beyond those doors?

“Tell us where they are!” It was the same voice as your abuser from the tape, they were enraged at how you simply laughed at their anger.

“I’m tellin’ ya, don’ know shit.” You groaned as his fist collided with your stomach, doubling over in the chair as much as you physically could.

They’d been interrogating you for hours, doing whatever they could to get any information from you before they’d finally send you into the afterlife. The pain was excruciating, resonating through your body like a livewire. How long would you last before you would finally succumb to the wounds that adorned your skin?

The sound of gunshots echoed inside the tiny room, deafening you as the pain in your skull amplified by a thousand. You’d surely had a concussion, if the amount of times you’d been punched had anything else to do with it. The scent of gunpowder and blood filled the air, though you were positive almost half of the blood was yours. A hand grabbing your face caused you to flinch back violently, a terrified screaming ripping from your lips.

“Please! No more!” Whoever had killed your captors wouldn’t have the best intentions for you.

“Sweetheart it’s me, we’re here to get you.” Gaz’s voice was calm, even if his heart was nearly beating out of his chest.

“Gaz.” Your eyes filled with tears, staring back at your teammate and friend.

Price stood right behind him, eyes filled with worry at your state, they needed to get you to a medic immediately. Gaz cut through the ropes binding you to the chair, helping you to stand up. It became obvious that one of your legs was broken as you stumbled in his hold, grabbing onto your thigh with a vice grip.

“Fuck, I’m gonna let Price carry you to the plane, we’ll get you hooked up to an IV to get some fluids in you, alright?” You could barely nod but it was enough of a confirmation to hand you over to Price.

He lifted you gently, cradling you in his arms as Gaz and Ale lead the way back out. Ghost and Soap were checking for any stragglers, not wanting to leave anyone else alive. They hadn’t managed to find anyone, or anything else of importance when they met back up with you. Soap could see the way Price was holding you, as if you would turn into dust in his arms. The two men wanted to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness but with Price it wouldn’t be allowed. You needed to make that decision on your own.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you back to base soon enough,” Price had let the team medic take over, checking your vitals and setting up an IV drip.

Ghost opened his mouth to apologize before Gaz’s glare stopped him in his tracks, Soap quietly sat down in a seat without so much as glancing at you. Clearly some things needed to be worked out, and right now they weren’t going to be talked about. Ghost never backed down from a challenge, not when it came to his teammates. He’d gotten enough shit from Soap to last him a lifetime, lord knows the other man never knew when to stop.

That was the whole point though, wasn’t it? He was being taught a very important lesson about how blind he’d become. Maybe not literally, but Ghost was focusing on the wrong things and it was biting him in the ass now. Soap didn’t seem any better, silently sulking in his seat as he went through a million different scenarios in his head. How long had you been suffering in silence while they simply ignored you? How terrible of a friend was he that he didn’t even notice what was going on.

“We left her at the pub one night.” Ghost nearly missed Soap’s words over the engine of the plane.

“What?” His head whipped around, when the hell had they genuinely forgotten you during a night out?

“Remember O’Malley’s? It was that one.” Soap felt the guilt eating at his soul.

Everything began to hit him like a freight train, they were neglecting you both and off the battlefield. You were an amazing teammate and an even better friend and they’d completely taken you for granted. They didn’t know anything about you aside from that you’d joined the army at eighteen and were now with the task force. The first thing Ghost would do was apologize and do whatever he could to help ease your pain.

“We’re about to land, already let them know we’ve got injuries.” The routine medic, a man named Jacob that couldn’t be any older than twenty two, began to prep you for departure.

You’d need surgery to set your leg properly, the break was most likely a shatter which would cause an intense infection. Nurses ran out to grab the gurney, rushing you inside to get you prepped and ready. Price stood at the top of the ramp, back turned towards everyone else.

“You will not go near her at all, she’s going to need space to process and heal. Do I make myself clear?” Price glanced over his shoulder at Soap and Ghost.

“Sir I-” “I said, do I make myself clear sergeant?” Price couldn’t let his emotions take over, but losing a teammate because of someone else’s negligence.

“Yes sir.” Soap straightened up in his seat, ignoring the way he felt like a scorned child.

“Good, we’ll have a debrief once she’s out of surgery.” You wouldn’t be joining, but once he knew you would be alright Price could finally relax.

The doctor and nurses worked quickly to fix the broken bones littered across your body, extracting pieces of bone that had dug into the muscle of your thigh. It took them over five hours to fix you completely, relaying the news to Price. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, the worry that you wouldn’t pull through finally gone. Now it was all about making sure you healed properly.

Laswell called them to the debriefing, waiting until everyone was seated before beginning with getting every piece of information. Her expression didn’t give away any emotion of how she felt, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, getting attached to the task force. She was a little upset with them though, being unaware of your surroundings could cost your life.

“Unfortunately, she’s going to have to be discharged..permanently.” Price slammed his hands down.

“Absolutely not! You are not sending her off after everything that’s happened.” How could they just throw you away so easily?!

“I’m sorry John, this is even outside of my own jurisdiction. She got injured during a mission and might not be able to walk properly for a few years.” Fuck, you were going to be devastated hearing this.

“If she’s gone, then so am I.” Price was risking a lot for you, but you’d saved his life countless times before.

Laswell sighed, running a hand over her face before heading off to contact god knows who and see if they could keep you as part of the task force. He hadn’t fought to get this team together for nothing, and he would do whatever he could to keep everyone together. Things would work out, they had to.

—---------

You’d been struggling through physical therapy, learning to walk after having your right femur reconstructed was not easy. Price had found you the best physical therapist in all of England, determined to make sure you made a full recovery. It warmed your heart that he was so willing to help, to make sure that you were safe. He’d been by your side for months, helping you settle into your apartment and all but moving into the spare bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you’re doing amazing.” Price was standing at the opposite end of the walk way, ready to catch you in case you lost your balance.

“Fucking hurts.” You winced, arms shaking as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Price hadn’t wanted to tell you, but Ghost and Soap had wanted to apologize, to sit down and have a discussion about everything. He wouldn’t push the subject if you disagreed, you deserved to be treated with respect first and foremost. It would be better to wait until you were back in the apartment where you could relax. Maybe he could give you one of his sweaters to wear, you always seemed to relax when wearing his clothes.

Your physical therapist was happy with your progress, saying that you were exceeding expectations and could possibly go down to three days a week instead of four. It made you feel a little bit better, knowing you were doing so well. You hadn’t been in the apartment for longer than two minutes before Price was wrapping one of his jackets around your shoulders. It was something he tended to do when he had bad news.

“Now you have every right to say no, but Johnny and Simon want to come by and talk.” John waited to see how you would react, knowing physical therapy had been a good day he felt optimistic.

“What’s there to even talk about? That they don’t see me as anything other than an annoyance? John, we're having a good day, I don’t want to ruin it.” Your eyes were pleading with him.

He wanted to argue that this conversation needed to happen or else things would only get worse for everyone. So, instead of listening to your pleas of “don’t you dare call them” John let them know to come over. He’d make it up to you later with a great dinner and some dessert. After all it was the very least he could do after subjecting you to their antics. Hopefully Johnny didn’t end up saying the wrong thing and pissing you off even more.

—-----

No one had dared utter a word for nearly ten minutes once Johnny and Simon arrived. The taller of the two had forgone even his surgical mask, muttering how it felt wrong to hide. Johnny was twiddling his thumbs, waiting for someone to break the ice so that he could make amends. John had made you a cup of cocoa(extra marshmallows and whipped cream as always). Simon sighed to himself before straightening up in his seat on the couch.

“No amount of I’m sorries will ever be enough for what happened. We never truly realized how shitty our actions were because we’d gotten so used to routine that adding someone else didn’t feel natural. I’m not saying that as an excuse, you didn’t deserve what happened, and I fully blame myself for you getting taken and for all of this.” Simon gestured vaguely to where you were perched in what was apparently John’s favorite chair.

You glanced at Simon over the rim of your mug, sipping the warm liquid as you soaked in his words. Simon wanted to mention the dollop of whipped cream on the end of your nose, but John beat him to it. He reached over and gently turned your head to face him, wiping off the cream with his thumb. Your smile was radiant, eyes sparkling as you stared back at your captain. 

Oh.

Oh.

This was something entirely new, but it also explained why John had been so angry that you were going to be discharged originally. Somehow they’d convinced Laswell, and whoever else, that you were too much of an essential player to lose. You were in love, and here they were intruding on an otherwise very personal moment. John suddenly seemed to remember the other two were there, awkwardly clearing his throat before sitting back in his seat.

“It’s going to take a while before I can fully trust you guys again, I’ve been through a lot in my life but having my teammates basically throw me to the wolves? It fucking hurts.” Maybe it was time to finally come clean about your life and who you truly were.

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, telling them about your abusive home life growing up before finally making it out and finding a purpose in life. How on every break you would stay on base and make sure it looked like you’d left when they all came back home. You didn’t want their pity, you just needed them to finally understand why you were hurt by their actions.

John had carefully scooped you up and placed you into his lap when tears began to slide down your cheeks, comforting you the best way he could. Simon could understand your pain, having dealt with abuse from his own father growing up. It was a reminder that sometimes the strongest people were often hiding the darkest past. He’d done the same thing for years, refusing to open up and let anyone close.

“We really just wanted to apologize for treating you like shit, and wanting to make sure that you were doing better now.” Johnny could see that even being shot, tortured, and left for dead that you still had that shine to you.

“I know, I’m just going to need time to process everything, it hasn’t been easy.” You wanted to forgive them, but deep down the feeling that it would happen all over again ate at your mind.

“I understand lass.” Johnny nodded, he would gladly give you time to process and even see if you could forgive him.

John set you back into the chair so he could walk Johnny and Simon out, promising to keep in touch if anything changed. He wouldn’t disrespect your decision, and with the other two being on board he wasn’t going to argue. Now it was time to sit and think about what he could make for you to make up for everything.

“Hey, I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve been doing, it means a lot.” You pushed yourself off the chair slowly, stepping over to John who looked seconds away from panicking.

“You don’t need to thank me love, it’s my pleasure.” He kept his hands out, ready to help in case you needed it.

“You’re doing a lot more than you might think, so yes, I do need to thank you.” You rested your hands on his shoulders, slightly winded at how far you’d had to walk.

John’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. He wanted to lie and say it was only because he was afraid you’d stumble. How would you react to hearing about his true feelings? Knowing that he’d harbored a crush for frankly much too long than was appropriate to be honest. Your gaze landed on his face, lips parted as you watched the way his eyes dilated ever so slightly. John couldn’t stop himself before he was kissing you, lips pressed softly against yours. You would be a liar if you’d said you hadn’t dreamt of this before, hoping that John felt the same way towards you.

You were the first to pull away, face flushed and lungs desperate for air as you clung to the cotton shirt John wore. A small chuckle slipped through his lips, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your bodies closer.

“I’ve wanted to do that for quite a while if I’m being honest.” Your heart was racing, had you really heard him correctly?

“So have I.” You rested your forehead against his chest, relishing in the warmth he exuded.

Neither of you made to move from the kitchen, simply wrapped in each other’s embrace. You couldn’t forgive Simon and Johnny for causing the damage they did. But maybe they helped push you into the right direction. tagging: @gaylemonshark

[strawberry-cowmilk]

the brothers when they realise mc will die one day

-> brothers x mc

a/n: it's been a good minute since I wrote actual ultimate painful angst so here you go while I wait for my hot makeup sponge soap soup to help me clean the things

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: angst, death, crying, sports injury

-----

Lucifer

he was peacefully listening to a new record he got with you next to him

lucifer was a great fan of this certain composer so he started to talk a little about the music and the meaning behind it

'the composer wrote this piece for their deceased partner-' he suddenly went quiet once he realised he will be like the composer one day

you had already fallen asleep to hear what he said, lucifer carefully pressed you close, afraid of waking you up and afraid of the day you'll leave him

Mammon

mammon was very bored since lucifer took away his card as a punishment, so he decided to watch tv

he was just browsing the channels and ended up watching the news

mammon was already upset about not having his card, and all the depressing stuff on the news made him more sad, and one certain report hit him with the reality that humans die way before demons

tears stung at his eyes as he instantly called you, asking where you are and if you're willing to cuddle him

Leviathan

he got a new game off of akuzon and you're playing it together

it just happens that you're absolutely terrible at this game so you keep dying every two minutes

it was funny at first, you and levi were laughing about it until he suddenly went quiet and started crying

before you could ask him what happened he hugged you and started begging you to not die for real

it took some while for him to calm down a little, you're his (only) friend, how will he live without you?

Satan

he was working on a group rad project with solomon, eventually he started talking about how he accidentally made himself immortal

eventually satan demanded to know how he did it, and he was pretty angrily asking too, during the conversation he realised you are not immortal (unlike solomon)

the prof literally had to separate them because satan was getting too angry

satan wasted no time, he went to look for you so he can spend time with you and forget his awful thoughts

Asmodeus

there was some fashion week event in the devildom and some high fashion brand asked asmo to model for them (he accepted)

but on the day of the event, it got cancelled

asmo was not pleased with this, but you told him it's ok and you can watch him on the catwalk next time he gets invited, but the thing is that probably won't be until another 500 years-

he realised there's a very good chance you won't be alive for the next time, he cried and clung to you, denying reality

Beelzebub

beel was playing the finals of his fangol game and things were getting very serious, there were players getting tackled left and right pretty badly

his mind started to drift away from the game for a while, and remembered that time you asked him to play with you

but if you, a human, were on this field, you'd probably get badly injured, or worse

the coach had to get a time out because the team's got beel literally crying his eyes out on the bench

the team won, but beel is not in the mood for celebrating

Belphegor

it just randomly hit him

he was looking at the stars next to you in the planetarium and something about the stars today made him think about everything, and eventually the fact that humans don't live long compared to demons

he turned to you, said something along the lines of 'don't go' and curled up against you, falling asleep

belphie needed to give himself a good dream right now otherwise he feels like he won't be able to handle it now

[darkdemeter]

WOLF AT YOUR DOOR

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — I thought that this idea would be my smut ice breaker after it popped into my head when listening to some music. I have written smut before but it's been a while, especially in a form for others to read; so please excuse me if I'm a little rusty. This isn't exactly tied to anything particular regarding either Habits or Convict, but you may interpret this x reader however you wish. Have fun with the oneshot! I've tried to keep this as both descriptive and gender neutral as possible, but it may not be as on par with people who have become well accustomed to writing gn smut.

WORD COUNT — 4.2k

READER DISCRETION — Enemies to lovers trope — profanity — wounded reader, mention of scars and blood — semi dom! Wanda and sub! reader & reversal — smut 18+, minors DNI** — angry/aggressive sex — dry humping — bondage — hinted breeding kink — semi-clothed sex — fingering and mouth oral receiving (Wanda recieving) — Wanda is just a tease to reader — maybe dubious consent? (I feel like I should put this in here, just to be safe) — minor choking — talk of marking — potential grammar and punctuation errors — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — Of course this had to happen right before this mission. Wanda Maximoff had to pry inside your mind, searching for who knows what, the little witch did this to you. And now you will cash in on your promise - your one and only warning to her if she ever fucked with your mind: that you'll be a wolf at her door. Little do you know that you're a wolf walking into a trap.

‘Fucking dammit!’

You cringe to hide the snarl snaking up your throat, your palm harshly pressing into the bullet wound at your shoulder. A real fucking close call this time and all because of her. Yes, everything would have been fine had Wanda not pried into your mind, invaded the personal sanctity of your thoughts. 

But no. No, she had to just take a little peek didn’t she? And because of that, your mind was elsewhere - distracted - and your cover was blown before you could get the information you needed. In short, the mission was a complete fucking bust. Your report will undoubtedly be met by less than impressed superiors. When they brought you on, they expected the job done. 

It was your way to operate. You always got the job done successfully. Has Wanda purposely sabotaged you? Is that her goal?

You’re planning to confront her on the matter right now. You had stumbled all the way back to the compound because the car you took there was blown to pieces when you were compromised. Tony wasn’t going to be very pleased about that either. Shit, it’s like she’s trying to get everyone against you. 

‘Who does she think she is? Fucking me over like this!’

You enter the compound, the main level vacant except the night shift receptionist. She glances up at you and the sheer gasp of horror from her, you point a finger at her. “I’m fucking fine,” you snarl as you strut past her. Your hand leaves your shoulder to the large cut across your stomach. You allow a pained whimper to escape when you enter the privacy of the elevator to take you up to your chosen floor. 

Your ears ring in the deafening silence, breath fast paced and light. The wounds were of no dire measure to pay a trip to the medical ward. They only fuelled your anger towards Wanda. Ever since you first joined the team, Wanda always had a way to test your limits and push your buttons. 

It was just a common sight to see you both butting heads, whether that was during missions or at the compound. You both were always at each other, hackles raised and snarky comments. Of course, what was your conflict but a cover up to fatal attraction? That was the running theory of your fellow teammates, anyway. Never would you admit anything to them in any case. 

Wanda was a pain in your arse as much as you were a mongrel to her. 

Ah, that word: mongrel. Wanda favoured the use of that word for you. It was her name for you. The way you feel the fur beneath your skin bristle each time she calls you that is the reason why you now have to wear a shock collar. Anytime that the device would detect your body’s indicating factors of shifting, the shock would startle you and evade the transformation. 

Was it humane? No, not really. But did it give Wanda the power to only torment you further without repercussions? You fucking bet it did. 

The elevator pings and the doors open with a faint whoosh as you arrive on your floor. You immediately make your way towards her dormitory, which by incident, is temporarily yours as well. 

There was a small situation last week that left your own dormitory in such a wreck that Tony had you bunk with Wanda until he could fix and reinstate stronger materials to withstand your rage episodes. 

And you have only one person to blame for that particular incident. 

Your fist pounds on the door enough to shake it against the hinges. Your key didn’t work. She had the security chain engaged to keep you out. You can hear her inside, her voice is soft and fuck, if it didn’t aggravate you anymore than you already were it surely made something in your abdomen twitch and churn. 

‘That little–’

“Wanda!” you bark behind bared teeth, fangs pronounced in the mix of your frustration, you pound on the door again. “Open this fucking door, now!”

After a moment, and she was taking her time, you can hear the leisurely patter of her feet as she opens the door for you. She stands before you and the scent hits you. For a few seconds it disorientates you, you huff to regain control of your senses. 

“You fucking bitch,” you rasp, voice laced with your utter disdain for the woman who stood in your way; blocking your path. 

Her eyes were smirking first before the corner of her lips twitched into position. “How was the mission, mongrel?”

“A bust, thanks to you.” You growl down at her as you brush beside her to let yourself in. She closes and locks the door. 

“Why’d you do it, Wanda?” You watch her as she walks past you. When she doesn’t answer, you snatch hold of her wrist as you ask her again, tone far more venomous than before. 

“I didn’t do anything.” She pulls her wrist from your grip and continues on her merry way.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, witch! You did it on purpose, I know you did.” You point at her accusingly, the shake in your arm causes a streak of pain to shoot through your shoulder and you yelp. You press a blood stained glove to it again, teeth clenched hard that your jaw flexes. 

Wanda holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Right, blame me, of course that’s the logical thing to do. You just can’t admit that you failed to do the job.”

That’s struck a deep nerve because you’re pulled away from your original plan to grab a glass and your whiskey and head for the shower. Instead, you engage Wanda. Your hands encircle her wrists and the entirety of your body pins her against the back of the couch. 

The aftershock of the collar is a distant sting in the heat of the moment. Wanda is close, so close against you that with a breathy intake of air, her breasts push up into your ribcage. She eyes the vibrant hue of your glowing eyes. 

Still, she silently denies she had anything to do with it. Did she do it on purpose? You have to know.

“You– you read my fucking mind, Maximoff!” you hiss your accusation, “I told you to keep your magic away from there, but no, you had to go poking around.” 

Your hands move to grip her forearms and for the first time ever, she flinches. Your breath hitches in your throat and the glow dissipates from your eyes. 

There was much more you wanted to say. But the way her body flinched beneath your iron grip, how for a sliver of a second you swear you saw the ember of fear. Did you really scare her?

But then why did she smell like that?

‘Fuck, she smells like…’

With a deep breath through your nose, you lean forward until your lips brush the shell of her ear. “Stay out of my head, Maximoff.”

‘No.’

The glow returns to your eyes and the urge to shift right there crawls beneath, it feels like your skin is on fire. The collar whirrs in warning to keep your transformation at bay, lest you need another shocking reminder.

“Wanda–”

“So you’re really going to ignore the fact you heard me moaning your name before?” You hear the challenge in her light, accented voice.

The animalistic growl in your throat ceases immediately, eyes wide and despite your dominating position, you feel like the one under her. She smirks again. “Come on, what’s wrong?” 

She arches her neck - baring it to you - as she tries to press her lips to your own ear. She whispers with a sultry purr. “Don’t you want to mark me anymore, Wolf?”

Now it was your turn to be the one that flinches. Why is she doing this?

You retract yourself swiftly as if she caused you some semblance of physical pain that made you release her. In some form, she did. That pang of arousal deep within you begins to awaken and you don’t like the smug look on her face as she sits herself up. 

She tries to act cute and innocent when she is anything but that. But her eyes compel you with the flutter of her dark lashes. Was she casting a spell on you?

You back off slowly, eyes trained on her as she takes one step forward. Then another. And another few after that. You watch her hand gingerly play with the tight knot of her short, silky bathrobe. Only now did you realise exactly how short it was on her, the hem of it grazing just above the middle of her thighs. No wonder her scent was so strong, there were barely any layers to conceal it.

She wanted this to happen.

“You know what they say about us,” she tries but you’re quick to shut it down. “There is nothing between us.” Your conviction is absolute on the matter. Even if there was a hint of attraction towards the woman in front of you, surely the others would have something to say about it; all of which would disapprove. You’d not gained a wisdom linking you to your supposed mate which gave you ample opportunity to sleep with whoever and however many you wanted. 

But you never did. You continue to stare at Wanda, unblinking with a narrowed gaze. She shakes her head. Of course, she isn’t going to take your word for it easily. No, like always, she would fight you over it. 

“But you want there to be.” She sounds so sure of herself. She is still stalking towards you. When did you become a prey and her the hunter? You give no response and this only gives her more power to do as she sees fit. 

“If it weren’t for that collar around your neck, you would have me bent over the couch right now.” You hold a hand out as you call for her to stop. She halts in her advance, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. She flutters those lashes again and your breath feels heavy, swollen because of your conflicted arousal and confusion. 

“That is one of your fantasies, isn’t it?”

“I said stop,” you warn, slowly lowering your hand, “whatever you’re playing at right now, I want no part.” You see her lips fall open as she offers a toothy grin. “I’m just trying to understand why you fight this.”

“I’m not fighting anything,” you say quickly with a shake of your head. “No?” she purrs lowly with a quirk of her brow. Shrugging, she raises a hand up. “Then you won’t fight this.” 

The ambient glow of her magic orbits around her hand as she swipes her arm to the side. Your brows furrow and mouth falls agape, the clicking of your belt looped around your tactical pants is quick before the strap of leather is flying to the side, to some forgotten corner of the common area. 

Your eyes that bore witness to your belt coming undone fly up to meet Wanda’s, a protest on the tip of your tongue, you’re stopped short when you’re knocked back. Your arse, which you expect to get planted on the floor, is instead caught by one of the dining table’s chairs. Your arms are restrained by her magic to keep them pinned behind you.

“W-Wanda, what are you–”

She shushes you while she catches up to you, her steps slow and methodical. Her stare penetrates the darkest recess of your soul and you recoil beneath it. The pain of your wounds as they begin their process of healing are long forgotten now. You have other things to worry about, how much Wanda actually knows about you and what she intends to do with you. 

“I want you to admit it,” she hums in a low whisper that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand. She was playing on your fantasies. The fucking witch. 

“Admit what?” You force the words out through the biting of your clenched jaws.

“That there is something between us. That each time we fight it’s because we’re denying that attraction. That the wolf needs me to satiate its appetite because we both know I am the only thing that can.” 

Wanda stands between the gap of your spread legs, she swipes her hand quickly and the lapels of your coat and tactical vest are torn open by the will of her magic. You exhale sharply, a growl pulling through your teeth as you glare at Wanda between the narrowed slits of your eyes. She drinks in the sight of your bare chest before her, the way each of the muscles flex beneath the skin, the heat of your body practically rising off your skin like hot springs. The red streaks of blood from your wound peeking out just beneath the fabric of your gear.

“Wanda.” You’re panting now, anger turned into the vulnerability that was your aroused state of mind. 

That was why you never gave into those temptations. Why you dismiss that flirtatious bartender at every turn whenever she sees you in that bar, why those who have asked for your number, you give them either the number of some Chinese takeout restaurant or even one of your teammates. 

The threat of such vulnerability and intimacy was too great of a target on your back. She moves to straddle your lap, hands pressed to your exposed chest. 

“Admit it,” she says again and you snarl at her. “Never! There’s nothing to admit!” 

She giggles then and rolls her hips forward and down against your crotch. 

“F-fuck!” you stutter, your arms and chest strain forward but Wanda has you contained. Trapped. Like some common dog. A mongrel. 

“Still nothing between us?” she asks, voice laden with a soft whimper, her purpose is to make you crack; to give in and admit to everything she knows. As if lying would spurn her when she knows the truth. 

Why does she want you to admit it so badly? Because she wants to torment you, it’s so simple. 

“N-no,” you grunt only to hiss beneath your breath when she rolls her hips again, this time with more pressure. You swear you feel the pulsing of her clit against the coarse fabric of your pants. 

You do all you can to refrain from bucking your hips or else you were done for. 

“So you mean to tell me that you haven’t fantasised about…,” she trails off with a pout of her lips, feigning that innocent look of contemplation. “For fuck’s sake,” you drawl as your head falls back. 

She’s killing you. Slowly but surely she is killing you. 

She continues, “being out here in the kitchen, late at night, drinking your whiskey alone before I come out here in a short, little bathrobe…” 

‘Oh… fuck.’ 

That was a recent fantasy.

Her fingers drag down the ravine of your heated skin on show for her to then fiddle with the two threads that held her bathrobe together. “Wearing this?” You shouldn’t have looked but fucking hell, you were always the a little too curious for your own good. 

She’s tugged the knot loose and lets the silky fabric roll off her shoulders and down to her elbows. If this was all to be considered as some strange, aroused induced coincidence then that is out the window now. Because there is no fucking way she knew to pick a lingerie set in your favourite colour. 

You tilt your chin toward her only slightly and let your glowing eyes take in her form. The moment she arches her neck the slightest is when you lose it. 

You lunge your neck forward, your canines bared and at the ready to mark the junction between neck and shoulder, to litter her neck with dark bruises so she wouldn’t be able to hide them. But you’re stopped short yet again in your advance. Her magic prevents you, mere inches away. To top it all off, she chuckles. 

She’s cracked you.

You growl, the sound husky and deep in your chest. 

“Fucking– let me–” Your muscles strain and flex as you fight the barrier of her magic to no avail. She tuts you softly, moving herself slightly forward so that her arms push her breasts up to elevate her cleavage to become more pronounced. Damn her. She continues to roll her hips in a slowed motion, riding you out into your confession. 

“Shall I continue?”

“No!” The single word sends a thrilling chill down her spine. “Then admit it.”

“No,” you answer again, this time with a more levelled tone. 

Her fingers move to the fly of your pants as you let out a confused whine as she loosens them slightly. Her palm presses flush against the junction between your thighs and you moan. And that sound is the most exquisite sound Wanda has ever heard you make. For a battle-hardened wolf, wild and untamed and a proven danger to the public, nobody would suspect that you were capable of such noises. But Wanda knew. 

Her palm is small in comparison to you, and as much force as she uses now there is a level of delicacy she retains. Your resolve is crumbling quickly. You jolt forward again with your mouth ajar to mark her but she stops you and arches back. 

“Let me have you!” 

“I’ll let you have me, play out all your little fantasies with me. But I want you to indulge in mine, first. So… admit it and I’m all yours.” 

Was she fucking serious? This is her fantasy? Well, you never expected her to be into something like this. “Ah, fuck…” She hears your mumbling, any moment now you are about to surrender. 

She just needs to push that last little bit. 

“Just think about it, Wolf,” she whispers, lips dancing over yours, one of her hands placing a single finger between your lips to keep them from meeting. “I’m all yours if you just say it. Tell me what I want to hear, and you can have your little midnight snack right here. You can have me over the couch, in the shower and in your bed until the tousled sheets smell of nothing but sex.” 

Fuck, where did she learn to talk so filthy? 

“I can’t,” you say behind a heavy pant. She whines quietly in your ear as her other hand that’s palming you stops, but her hips continue to roll against that sensitive region. At this point, you’re chasing your climax right there. Who knows if she will keep to her word after she indulges in her twisted fantasy. 

You shift your eyes to watch her hand that rests between your bodies and you almost lose yourself to your high. Her hand dips beneath the lacey fabric of her lingerie, her fingers sliding over her folds and thumb rolling her clit in circles; all of which is left to the beauty of your imagination.

“Wanda, don’t test me!” Your words are a command; a warning that she doesn’t heed. “But this is a test.” Your brows furrow, confusion etched into your face. “To see if you can be broken in.”

Was that all you were to her? Something to be broken in?

She begins to make those sounds again. The same chorus of moans and pleas with your name as a choked gasp on the edge of her vocals. You overheard her masturbating when you first banged on the door to be let in. 

And she was doing it to the thought of you.

“Wanda!” you hiss, your hips finally buck up to meet the hunger of her own that roll with such fervour, you believe she was so close to getting off right there in your lap. “Y/N, oh f-fuck, Y/N!” she gasps out, “right there, just like that– oh shit!” 

“Fuck, I admit it!” 

Everything stops all at once and your chest heaves numerous times. The air is thick to your lungs and each intake makes you feel like you’re drowning more than anything. Wanda stares at you, silently, her eyes searching yours when you finally look back at her beneath that wolfish glare. How that stare made her wet in her panties every time. 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” You scowl at her teasing words. The moment you feel her magic cease is when you pin her against the dining table behind her. She props herself up on her elbows, the loose fabric of her robe still clinging to her form but she was exposed in that cute lingerie set.

Like a hungry wolf, your tongue licks over your teeth and along the top of your lips. You groan as her aroused scent wafts up, the smell irresistible. 

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” She chuckles beneath her airy breaths. “It was the only way to get you to confess.”

Your hand clasps hold of her throat. Oh, how you love the look of fear and lust on her face all at once. It was a sight only you would get to see. “And I have a million ways to ruin you,” you growl lowly, “now you’re in my fantasy, Maximoff and if you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into by letting the wolf at your door inside, then you know I’m always rough.”

“I’m counting on it,” she wheezes behind the firm pressure you apply to her throat. “Good. Now keep them spread, Maximoff or you’ll learn what rough is real quick.” 

She does as you say and spreads her legs open and you sink to your knees, even then given your height difference, you are at perfect level with her soaked cunt, the large, dark patch evident of how badly she wanted this all along. This whole time. 

Your clawed fingers none too gently rip the panties aside, fabric tearing from the sheer force of it. Wanda’s hands find themselves clenching fistfuls of your hair, tugging you in closer with a needy whimper of your name.

Her legs hook over your shoulders, mewling when you pepper her inner thighs with kisses and playful bites with your sharp canines, a rumble of a groan reverberating between her legs causes her to quiver. “Y/N, please!” she pleads. 

“Ooh, what’s this?” you chuckle, “don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’ll give you a taste.”

You slide a finger past her slick folds, her walls tighten around your single digit. You groan when her moan makes her pussy clench your finger tighter. “Shit, Wanda, I’ve barely done a thing yet.”

“Then do something!” she hisses and you give her that same, wolfish glare. “D-don’t look at me like– ahh!”

She is at your mercy now when you begin thrusting your finger back and forth, soon adding another two through the folds. She whines and moans, cursing your name and praising your work. When you pull your now slick covered fingers from her pussy, she tries to protest but the replacement is swift; and in her lust-ridden opinion, far better. Her eyes roll back and she lays flat on her back against the table as your tongue laps at her cunt, tip teasing the bud of nerves. You growl again and fuck, if she didn’t make the sexiest, neediest sound ever at that. You continue with what’s working at getting your little witch off. Her breath comes in short pants and her legs quiver as they move to circle around your head. Her fingers curl tighter against your roots as she chokes out, “I-I’m cum–cumming!”

You purr against the flood of her orgasm, lapping her divine juices up with your tongue. She breathes heavily for a moment in regaining her composure. You pull your head, albeit, struggling to pry her hands and legs from around you, you crash your lips against hers. The kiss is passionate, fuelled by hunger shared by both parties. Her mouth invites you and you gladly force your tongue past her parted lips, letting her taste herself on your tongue. 

You rut your hips between her still spread legs and they envelop you, encouraging the rocking motion with eagerness. “I still fucking hate that you read my mind and all,” you mumble into the kiss. 

‘Even when I say that I've also thought about carrying your pups?’

Your smirk with a coarse chuckle, dark in its intentions and your eyes glow that colour that brings Wanda to her knees. “Naughty witch, don’t test me there. Those will be my pups you're swollen with.” 

She tilts her head again but this time, you see no intent to tease in her eyes. No intent to…

“This isn’t a test.”

Fucking hell, that wolfish smirk of yours could make anyone wet at the drop of a hat. Too bad for others, because Wanda had you wrapped around her witchy, little finger that danced with magic.

Magic that just so happens to unlock the shackle around your neck. Well, the wolf at the door is now off its chain.

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

the ocean loves her children, you see.

There's an old story selkies tell their children. The ocean loves her children, you see: if you ask for her help, she will gift you the things you need, even if they are not what you want. So most seafolk- sirens, merkin, sea monsters, etc- were once like us: the soft and gentle selkie folk, who love the ocean and the world she gives them. But they were once in need of the ocean mother's help, and their hearts cried to her- and she answered them in kind, changing them beyond the magic their shapeshifting allowed. And so they survived.

You were lost from your family, in a strange sea, and had tried to help a struggling sailor. When they had turned on you, wanting your skin, you were shocked, scared, confused, angry, and you screamed your heartbreak so deeply that your throat went raw- and the ocean mother gave you new gifts, and you used them to tear the sailors apart.

selkies are meant to be soft, kind, the gentlest of the ocean's children. and in your moments of pain and betrayal, you had chosen to forsake those things. your rage and agony tore the water red and frothy, until there were no sailors left to rip apart.

you fell into despair, then. you tried to rip the scales from your back, tear the fins from your bones, but all for naught. then you slept. you did not want to wake. but the ocean heard the weak cries of your heart, and carried you to a new home.

you woke to another boat. more sailors. you were terrified. of them. of yourself. one spoke to you, fed you, tended your wounds. you were scared- scared of him. scared of how your heart longed to be healed by him.

later, you would love him. and, later still, you would feel whole again.

[black-aurora-nora]

Sibling Squabbles | Yandere!Superman and Jon x Teen!Reader

“Jon, please get out the way.” You demanded in an even tone.

The younger boy didn’t budge from his spot in front of the door. His gaze held firm and he shook his head, “Dad said you couldn’t leave.”

“Clark doesn’t hold authority over me.” You reminded him matter of factly, “He’s not my father and I’m not your sister.”

Jon frowned deeply at your words, “Dad said you’d have a hard time-“

“Move, Jon!” You demanded again, louder.

You moved up to him, trying to shuffle past him with your backpack filled with a few essentials.

“Where would you even go?! You were homeless before this!”

“And? At least I wasn’t stuck in some house with creepy men!” You rebutted angrily, grabbing for the doorknob.

Jon grabbed your wrist, gripping it tight, “I’m not creepy! And neither is my dad! Take that back!” He knew that his dad told him to be gentle with you since you were still settling down but you were going too far.

“No! I mean it! You’re creepy!” You repeated sharply, trying to wrestle your wrist from Jon’s grip. “Ugh! It’s no wonder your mom left-!”

A sickening crack sounded from your wrist and you saw it crinkle in a way it wasn’t supposed to then a horrible pain that left you screaming from both the shock of what happened and the pain.

Jon stood frozen, breathing uneven.

He looked from your crumpled arm to your snotty face.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you. His father had warned him plenty of times to use his powers for good and here he was hurting you because you said something hurtful.

“I-I’m- (Y/N), I’m so-!” He reached out to you and you jerked back violently with a yelp.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” You snapped, opening the door with your good hand and running out towards the trail that led to the city.

Jon decided it best that he not follow you.

He knew you wouldn’t escape now anyhow. You were far too hurt and in too much shock to get far enough. And no one would allow a young teen like you to walk around with a broken arm if you did make it to the city.

The next time he saw you, which was a day later, his father had brought you back home with a blue cast on your arm.

You looked exhausted, pissed off, and every other negative emotion that people could feel.

Clark had you both in the living room and glanced at the two of you sternly. He looked at you first with an expectant gaze.

“(Y/N), apologize to your brother.” He said, arms crossed.

You kept your gaze on the cast for a moment.

A deep breath in, “Sorry.”

“You can do better than that.” Clark wasn’t one that took apologies lightly. You had to put your full heart into it. “Remember what we talked about at the doctor’s.”

Another deep breath, “Sorry for saying stuff about your mother.” You gritted out, “And about you… I didn’t mean it.” Your voice was incredibly monotone but Clark knew that was the best they were going to get from you right now.

He knew there’d be plenty more altercations in the future to teach you how to apologize properly and honestly.

He turned to Jon, “Be more careful in the future,” He reminded him simply, “And apologize to your sister.”

Jon’s lip wobbled as he gazed at you and you wished great harm upon him. How dare he act like he was the one that had been victimized? Like he was innocent?

How dare Clark make you apologize first when Jon had hurt you? Now you were stuck in a cast and had been set back.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I won’t do that ever again and I forgive you.” He gave you a teary smile, “I know you’re having a hard time and I should’ve kept my anger in check.”

Clark smiled warmly, “Try to keep the sibling squabble to a minimum, okay, you two?” He patted you both on the head.

He then stood up and made his way to the kitchen, “Who wants breakfast?” He asked, tying an apron around his person, “I’m thinking waffles, eggs and bacon!”

Jon licked his lips, “I’ll have some! Can I help?!” He asked excitedly, running after his father.

“Of course you can, Jon.” You heard Clark answer from the kitchen, “(Y/N), come join us.”

God you hated them with every fiber of your being.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Poisonously Bad Day

Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.

As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.

“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”

“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.

“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”

You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”

“I think you know.”

Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.

The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.

As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.

“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.

The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.

“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.

When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.

“Hey,” you say.

“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”

Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.

“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”

You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.

After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.

The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’

You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number. 

“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding. 

Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.

You are next.

Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.

Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.

“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.

“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”

“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”

“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”

Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”

As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.

✯✯✯✯✯

Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.

“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.

There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.

After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.

The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.

“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.

“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”

Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it. 

“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”

“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.

“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.”

“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”

Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.

Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.

Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.

Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.

Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.

“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.

“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”

You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.

A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.

Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest. 

After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums. 

A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.

“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.

Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.

“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.

You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.

“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.

The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.

You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.

“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.

She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.

When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.

Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.

Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.

Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.

You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.

You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.

“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.

“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”

“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.

“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.

Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”

“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.

“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”

“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.

“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.

Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.

You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.

Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.

“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”

Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.

“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”

You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.

“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.

“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.

“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.

He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.

Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.

“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.

“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”

You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.

“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”

“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.

Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”

“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”

“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.

Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”

You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.

“You love me?”

Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.

“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.

Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”

“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.

“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”

You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.

“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”

You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.

Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.

“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”

Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”

You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[roosterforme]

Emergency Contact (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: injuries while deployed, stitches, bandages, angst (deals with the events from Deployment Diaries Parts 18 and 19)

When Bradley asked you to be his emergency contact, you were overjoyed. This meant he was serious serious. He must have told his mom at some point that he was going to switch it, and she must have agreed that it was a good idea. You'd call Carole and Goose if anything happened. Of course you would. 

But that had always been a far off scenario in your mind. Something that was never actually likely to happen. You'd never expected the day to arrive where you had to be the one answering the horrific phone call.

"This is Admiral Priscilla Franklin. I have you listed as the emergency contact for Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Oh," you gasped. Your hand came up to your forehead as you slowly sank down to sit on the kitchen floor in your yoga pants and sports bra.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident."

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

There was such a long pause. Part of you wished that Bradley had kept Carole as his emergency contact, because now you were going to have to be the one to soften the blow about an injury to her instead of the other way around. 

Unless it was worse than that. Admiral Franklin wasn't saying anything. What if it was worse than an injury? You were laying flat on the floor, your tongue too heavy and awkward in your mouth as you gagged. 

But you needed to know right now. "Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs."He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive.

As you got some scant details about what happened, you started sobbing. When you ended the call, you collected Tramp in your arms, and he licked your face all over. Someone would be contacting you the following day about collecting Bradley from the San Diego International Airport like he was a piece of lost luggage. 

You didn't want to call his parents. It was so late in Virginia, you would most certainly be waking them up. But when you looked at your lock screen, it was a photo of you and Bradley with Goose and Carole when you'd been in Virginia for Thanksgiving last year, and you just cried harder until you could barely see through the tears.

Once you managed to prop yourself up against the cabinets, you wiped your nose all over Bradley's soft UVA shirt and forced your fingers to work. Unlock the phone. Go to your contacts. Locate the Bradshaws' home number. Tap it. Your hand was still shaking when you heard Carole's voice loud and sharp after just two rings.

"Sweet Girl. Tell me what's wrong."

Your body was shaking with wretched sobs as you tried to get the words out. "He was in an accident. A bad ejection. He's unconscious but still alive."

You'd never seen Carole upset before. She always seemed to know what to do. And even now, while her voice shook slightly as she woke her husband up, she sounded so strong. 

You heard Goose's groggy voice, and you relayed all of the information you had. 

"We'll be out tomorrow," Carole said immediately.

"No," you replied softly. "I think you should wait until I know when he's coming home. Just in case he doesn't even come back to San Diego. The Admiral mentioned seeing a specialist."

There was a long pause on the other end of the call as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your boyfriend's shirt. "You'll keep us updated?" Goose asked. "And you'll tell us if you change your mind and want us to come out now so you're not alone?"

"Of course," you adamantly insisted. "I'll call as soon as I hear anything at all."

Then Carole's voice was back, and it was as reassuring as talking to your own mother. "The instant you tell us to get to San Diego or anywhere else, we'll be on our way. So you just give us the word, and we're coming, Sweet Girl."

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

You were barely given any notice at all. Six hours from now, you needed to pick Bradley up from the airport. Apparently he could walk on his own, which was the best news you could imagine hearing. You called Carole and gave her the update, and she purchased tickets for the first flight out the following morning while she was on the phone with you. 

But nothing prepared you for the mess you found when you finally laid eyes on him. "Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised, and you could see stitches peeking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand along your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his.

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks.

It wasn't an easy task, but you got him home and cleaned up and into bed. He was having a hard time breathing, and the ninety-eight stitches on his left arm were almost enough to turn your stomach. His handsome face was creased with pain, even after you helped him take his medication. But every time he whispered your name or laced his fingers gently with yours, you couldn't help but smile. 

Very carefully, you climbed in bed next to him and pushed his hair back from his forehead before you kissed him. "Your parents will be out tomorrow. They can't wait to see you."

"Thanks for taking care of everything and letting them know what happened," he murmured, the pain medication finally kicking in and helping his big body relax. "You're the best. I love you." He was thankfully asleep before you could even return the sentiment. 

The next morning, he only woke long enough for you to change his bandages and give him a million kisses and feed him some toast in bed. You felt wrung out and overly emotional and exhausted by the time you heard Tramp run for the front door. It must be Goose and Carole since you told them to just let themselves inside when they arrived. But when you looked down at the old sweats and Bradley's undershirt you had been wearing, you felt your cheeks grow warm. 

You looked like a mess. Your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were a mess. They were about to see how bad their son looked as he napped in bed, and on top of everything else, you looked terrible too right now. 

But before you could even fully register your embarrassment, Carole's petite form was standing in your bedroom doorway with Goose behind her, Tramp jumping up to try to get his attention. 

"Oh, Sweet Girl," she sighed, glancing at Bradley and then looking back at you. "You wonderful, sweet thing." She had tears in her eyes as she approached you. "Look how well he's doing. Oh, Goose, look how she's taking care of him."

You let Carole collect you in a hug, and you sagged against her, too tired to try to explain to her that you were tired and out of your element. Instead you just let her hold you as Goose kissed the top of your head and made his way to sit in the dining room chair that you'd carried in and set right next to Bradley's side of your bed. 

"Let Goose sit with him until he wakes up and needs you, okay?" she whispered. "And then the four of us can talk together."

"Okay," you agreed softly. Because while it was a privilege to be Bradley's emergency contact, it felt nice to not have to take care of everything alone now. 

Carole led you into the hallway. "Let's get you fed, and then I'll help you get yourself in the bath. And later on, Goose can walk Tramp while I make dinner. And then you can focus on Bradley like I know you want to, and he can focus on you. And we'll be here to take care of everything else."

"That sounds good."

[the-kr8tor]

can I make a request about prowler hobie and reader is treating his wounds?? Prowler hobie is so slept on ☹️ give my boy some attention too!

you don’t have to though 🫶🏾

Yippeee! Prowler! Hobie ❤️ thank you for requesting!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4 k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Prowler! Hobie, TW blood, CW injury, CW violence, Hurt/comfort

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your trainers squeak against the moist pavement. The harsh rain is battering against your coat as you try to desperately shield yourself. You hug your bag tighter as a speeding car passes next to you, the sound of hurried sirens follow right after it. The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust smoke enters your nostrils, you cough loudly from the intrusion.

One word settles in your tired mind: Home, and perhaps him too if he ever decides to come home to you tonight.

You don't blame Hobie, he's had it rough and so does the city. With the death of spiderman, anyone who has a need for quick cash or a bone to pick with the city are now roaming the streets freely. No one can stop them, the city's finest or what's left of them are either desperately trying to do their best or joining the worst. Hobie is doing neither. He has his own goals, you just wish you were a part of it too.

You miss Hobie, truly. You miss the days where your only problem was what to eat for dinner, you miss the days where you and Hobie would go out the entire night and only come home when the sun has risen with grins on your faces and laughter stuck in your throat as he kisses you silly. You miss your Hobie, but you have to embrace the prowler too, for they are one and the same.

Sniffing from the cold, fog settles near your feet. Someone whistles down the street so you turn the other corner quickly and away from them. Fear has settled in your stomach and made it into its home. As you walk faster, heavy footsteps behind you get closer and closer. They whistle out, sneering and jeering as they follow you.

With your back turned away from them, you run.

Sprinting off, you hear hurried yells after you, then gasps, and suddenly you hear fists hitting skin. Boots crunching bones underneath it, loud thumps of bodies hitting the ground. Then, silence. The quiet makes you slowly turn around.

Heart in your stomach, you see him standing over seven unconscious bloodied men. His suit whirrs, sparks fly off from the purple lights that snake along his arms. He stomps at someone's arm, bones smashed under his foot, and you notice the blood leaking off his side.

“You're bleeding.” You breathlessly say, taking a step forward towards Hobie, he turns around to face you.

The streetlight above him serves as his spotlight, and the pavement below him is his stage. His mask shines in the yellow light, the faint purple lines in place of his eyes stare at you emotionlessly. He flexes his fists, steam rises off the gauntlets like an engine.

“Are you hurt?” He asks in a mechanical voice, none of the softness you were used to, none of the teasing tone you love dearly. It's him though, under all the steel covering his body, it's him, you're sure of it.

“You're the one who's bleeding.” You finally find the courage to stand side by side with him. Placing your cold hand against the colder metal where his warm ichor seeps through, you try your best to stop the flow. “Let me take you home, please.”

“I can’t—”

“Please,” you whisper softly, that's only for his ears to hear. “Hobie, let me fix this. Come home.”

After a beat, the rain drenches you both, and he nods. “... I'll come home, just for tonight.” And it's the best thing you've heard since everything fell.

—

You thank your past self for ‘forgetting’ to unlock your fire escape. He doesn't comment on it, knowing the real reason behind the lack of lock.

Hobie lets you enter first through the window while you take off your wet coat. He roams his eyes at the flat that hasn't changed much since he last saw it. The leather jacket he unceremoniously left on the back of the settee still hangs there, his trainers are still in the shoe rack by the door. His favourite mug still sits next to yours. The walls are still the same green you two once painted together. It still smells like home, it's still his home.

“Hobie?” You call softly on the couch. Patting the space beside you, you smile hopefully at him.

Wordlessly, he unclaces his boots near the windowsill, remembering how much you hated outdoor shoes inside the flat. Your heart reaches out to him at the small movement, you miss him, and now that he's standing in front of you, it's harder to not run up to him and whisper how much you missed him.

The metal of his suit creaks as he sits down. His blood stains the steel, the purple lights slightly blind you. Noticing your narrowed eyes, he shuts off the light, you smile in thanks.

“I can't treat you with the suit still on you.” You quietly say as you splash your hands with alcohol, you put on gloves and the smell of antiseptic makes you wish the circumstances were different.

“If you wanted to get me naked you could've just asked.” He teases, mask still on, voice still unrecognizable.

Instead of a giggle that he's used to hearing, you choke back a sob that you quickly hide with a calculated sniff. You give him a tight-lipped smile, hands suddenly shaking while holding on to the bandages.

Hobie takes your hands, calming you with his gloveless hands. He guides your hands to the clamps that hold his suit to his body. Silently and comfortably, he lets you take off the top part of his suit. It clunks loudly as it falls on the wooden floors, and he now realizes the lack of carpet.

“What happened to the old carpet?” He asks while you press on the gash near his hip.

“I dropped a bowl of soup, I couldn't get rid of the smell so I just threw it away.”

“You could've gotten it cleaned, you liked that carpet.”

“It's just a carpet, Hobie.” You look up at him through your lashes. “Besides, I don't have money to get it professionally cleaned.”

He knits his brows underneath his mask, “what happened to the money I sent you?”

“‘Sent’ isn't a word that I would use, more like ‘dropped off in front of my door like a stray kitten’” You sigh, blinking, “I used it don't worry, I've put it to good use.” You stop him before he could reply. “And I'm not starving, or behind on rent. Just— some people need it more than me.” The bleeding has finally stopped so you inspect the wound if it needs stitching. “I'm doing fine, don't worry about me.”

“It needs stitching, here let me—”

“Let me do this one thing for you, please.” You almost break in front of him. You want to savour the short moment with him, because if he was the one to suture it, he'll be out of the flat before you could even say goodbye. Just like last time. “Just…” you wipe a tear off your cheek, “I missed you, a lot. And I want you to just stay a few minutes longer.” You honestly tell him.

Hobie holds your face tenderly, thumb rubbing along your tear stained cheeks, the same softness that he doesn't show the people he fights night after night. They see it as weakness, he doesn't, he sees you as his reprieve from the world that wants to crush him in between its gnarled teeth.

He wishes everything was different, that everything would go back to normal where the seven don't rule the entire city, where they didn't plunge the whole city into darkness. Where he would hug you from behind as you two make dinner, where it's just you and him on the couch watching a film that makes you scrunch your face into annoyance.

He misses you too.

“Can I see you?” You ask gently as you hold his hands that's on your cheeks.

Hobie takes his hands away from your face, and for a second you think that he'll leave you right where you sat. But he brings his hands near his temples, with a whirr and a mechanical hiss, he takes off his mask, revealing the face you love so much.

There's new scars on his face, One underneath his left eye that makes your heart almost stop at how it must've felt when it was still fresh. An unrecognizable newer cut on his nose has you weeping.

“‘m doin' fine, don't worry about me, love.” Hobie holds you close, he doesn't mind the ache on his side anymore, arms around your torso, he presses you close to his heart.

“Don't use my own words against me, Hobart.” You mumble against his skin, the same word crosses your mind again, home.

“There’s the spark I miss so much,” he lays his forehead on top of yours, letting his warmth spread over to you. Home, this is his home.

“I missed you too.” You could only hope that the reunion isn't brief as you stitch him back together again.

[aurorawritestoescape]

LOVERS ON THE RUN || 2,5k

Pt 3 of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang series

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, rough Joel/soft Joel cos I want it all, m!oral, injury(not reader), blood, cum eating, ball sucking, pussy grinding

Summary: it gets risky… and hot

A/n: hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and @iamasaddie for the gif <3<3

Series masterlist || Masterlist

*****

The sirens and gunshots are still ringing loudly in your ears as Tommy is driving Joel and you to a safe place. Yet you can only hope it’ll be safe.

You are sitting in the back of the car with Joel, still clutching the gun in your trembling hand, the other gripping Joel’s jean clad thigh as if grounding yourself to him. The bags with money are at your feet but you forgot all about them. Your widened eyes are fixed on the road. You don’t seem to be followed now but Joel taught you to expect the worst.

“Fuck! That was close!" you exclaim with a tint of hysteria in your loud voice, attempting to shout over the roaring engine of the car and your heart pounding in your ears. You're so high on adrenaline, fear and thrill that you feel invincible, almost immortal.

Tommy's nervous chuckle shows that he's on it too - the only drug that gets you off the best - escaping death with an armful of cash.

Just mere minutes ago you were standing on the brink of the precipice, one wrong move and you’d fall meeting your death. But destiny spared you once again.

“You two are fuckin’ lucky… I had that feeling.. couldn’t relax for shit. Came back and …fucking cops.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” You reach to him and pat his shoulder as he gives you a warm smile in the rear view mirror.

You glance at Joel and say with adoration and almost piety in your voice.

“And thanks to Joel’s number one rule.”

You and Tommy chant it together parodying his drawl, “Always have an escape plan!”

Joel smiles with a corner of his mouth. Your nerves alight, one glance at the man and you wish you two were alone so you could pierce yourself with his cock and ride him until your legs give out. Or suck him off, choking on his length and getting a new fix of adrenaline when you almost suffocate on his member.

But it’s not the place nor the time and Joel isn’t even looking at you.

His head turned to the window, his thoughtful gaze is sliding over the trees and streetlights you’re passing.

Finally the cloud of the high dissipates and you look at him. Really look at him. His forehead is glistening with sweat. He’s chewing on his lower lip and clenching and unclenching his right fist. He’s nervous.

Well he must be, you think, after what happened. Wishing to comfort him you scoot closer, bracing your hand on his chest and lean in to give him a kiss…

“Fuck!, “ Joel winces startling you by a sudden jerk of his whole body and in the next moment you feel the claws of something terrifying grip your heart.

“Where?” You ask with a shaky voice as your eyes are frantically searching all over his body.

He nods down and to the side and you notice his dark shirt stretched over his broad shoulder is glistening. His right arm, the furthest from you, is pressed tightly to his torso.

Your fingers dart to his shoulder but you stop and look at him, eyes screaming ‘What the fuck do I do, Joel?’ You’re frozen, trembling hands raised. You’d never raise them for the police like that but you’re doing it now, staring into the face of your biggest fear - losing him.

“ ‘s gonna be ok baby, don’t worry,” He says through clenched teeth.

The stupor you’ve been in disappears and your head whips to Tommy.

“Joel’s been shot! Floor it!”

*****

The next few minutes flew like a whirlwind of actions and feelings and at the same time dragged on like hours. When you finally arrived at some old abandoned garage you’d already done everything you could in the moving car.

Joel popped a couple of Oxys and now he’s sitting on a stool, shirt ripped off his shoulder exposing a bullet wound. You’re stitching him up, having sent Tommy outside to watch out.

Joel’s every muscle is taught, teeth clenched and he growls with every push of the needle through his skin. The sounds he's making don't let you concentrate. You feel sad for him but can't forget that he growls like that only buried deep in your tight wet heat.

“Can you stop?” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“Your growling?”

“Why?” He asks and growls again when you make another stitch.

You shrug and feel him staring at your face, reading you.

It doesn’t take him long, never does, and you hear a soft chuckle coming from the pits of his chest. You glance at him, meeting his narrowed eyes and a shit eating smirk.

“Dirty girl, soakin’ your panties while your man is sufferin’, huh?”

“I’m the one who’s suffering here,” You reply earning another chuckle from him. “And I’m not soaking anything”.

“Should I check, baby?” He smirks tilting his head to the side.

“Jesus, Joel,” you whisper trying to hide that he’s right.

“Don’t call for him yet. I ain’t dead”.

You freeze with a bloody needle hovering over his skin. You can’t see it anymore, your vision gets blurry with tears. You try to hide your face from Joel leaning closer to the wound. But he notices.

“Hey,” he cups your face with the hand he can use, pulling you closer to his face and wipes your tears away with a calloused thumb.

“I’ll be ok, baby.”

“You don’t know it”.

“I do. It’s just a graze”

“No, it’s not. The fucking bullet went through you! You were bleeding so much and.. and …”, you cut yourself off suffocated by the fear.

“Hey,” Joel says and grabs your shoulder, “You stopped it. You did good, ya hear me?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, glistening eyes downcast.

“Look at me,” he asks gently, his gaze is warm and comforting, “Thank you, baby”.

You jerk your head in a nod and a tear falls down on his hand.

“I’m almost done.”

You continue your work in silence.

When it’s done and his arm is secured in a makeshift sling, you take some water from the car to clean yourself off the dark crimson blood. Joel’s blood. Then you start carefully wiping away the red off his big hands and can't help but imagine the world where these hands can’t hold you anymore, can’t wipe away your tears, can’t make you come, can’t be kissed by your loving lips. The wave of panic covers you whole again and you burst into tears.

Immediately embracing you with his healthy arm, no matter the pain he must be in, Joel holds you close kissing wherever he can reach, your hair, eyes, nose, cheeks. No one would believe that this big brutal man could be so gentle and soft.

“I’m s-sorry”, you hiccup after a few minutes of crying on Joel’s healthy shoulder. Your body is still trembling against his and you hate yourself for letting your fear get the best of you.

“Shh.. it’s ok, sweetheart. I’m here. We’re safe,” Joel whispers, pressing you closer to his naked chest peeking from his ripped shirt.

“We aren’t safe, Joel. Not after today.”

“Always have an escape plan, right, baby?”

“You think it’s time? Did we save up enough?”

“Yeah, baby. Enough for us and for Tommy. Can’t wait to see you in that micro bikini you promised me,” he groans in your ear and you quietly giggle. You press your cheek to his broad chest and furrow your brows in thought. You love this life, always have, but you can’t deny that your luck has run out. Going on will be like driving your car towards the edge of the cliff at full speed. With a pang in your heart you realize that it’s time to take another road while you still have each other.

You straighten up, check Joel’s shoulder and arm again and then look deep into his eyes. He notices myriads of thoughts swirling in your mind, wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck and lightly squeezes.

“If you need somethin’ to calm down…?”

“I can’t smoke now… need clear mind.”

“I ain’t talking about weed, baby”.

“What then?”

“Oh, think, sweetheart. What always helps, huh?” He moves his hand to your face and his thumb brushes your lower lip.

You look confused, head tilted to the side, until he pushes his thick finger into your mouth. Your eyes sparkle with excitement while you’re sucking on his thumb.

“Good girl. C’mon now. Get on your knees.”

He pulls the finger out and you lower yourself kneeling between his legs.

“Sure I won’t hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine. Take what you need, sweetheart,” he replies, spreading his thighs wider for you.

Your heart sings and pussy tingles as you slowly open his jeans, tug them down to the middle of his hips and pull out his soft heavy package.

You press your cheek to his warm crotch and feel his cock twitch. You don’t do anything for a few moments, just breathe in his musk and purr into his soft lightly trimmed hair. Joel’s petting your head and you sink into a trance, as he holds you close.

When you’re ready for more, you start leaving open mouth kisses to his inner thighs, balls, shaft, tip. With every touch of your lips, you feel him grow bigger, stiffer, harder and you can’t help but whine feeling yourself gush. So you start grinding your clothed pussy against your booted heel, desperate for any pressure.

You look up at Joel with your doe eyes, full of devotion and love and he groans, scooting closer to the edge of the seat.

“Go ahead, baby. Suck on it. It’ll calm ya right up.”

You know it will. So you take his already hard cock in your hand and latch on the fat tip. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as precome hits your tongue. You hum as you lick it off him and then take his length deeper into your hot mouth. In a few moments you’re already drooling around him, soaking his cock with your saliva while your warm palms gently caress his heavy balls.

“Fuck… yeah, baby,” Joel groans making your pussy ache with need.

When his cock is nice and wet you pull your mouth away replacing it with your hand and bend lower to suck on the velvet skin of his sack. You trace its seam with the tip of your tongue and take a ball in your mouth. You roll it with your tongue and then suck. Joel’s huge fist clutches your hair, not too hard but enough to signal you to keep going. You suck one into your mouth, slurp and lick around it and then part from it with a pop.

“Hnggg…That’s my girl,” Joel praises you through growls when you start working on the other ball. Your hands aren’t resting, one clasped around his long cock, sliding up and down from the girthy base to the throbbing head, as the other caresses the other ball.

You’re burning up with arousal and not being able to contain yourself, you grind, grind, grind your aching pussy against your heel.

Joel lightly tugs at your hair to get your hazy half lidded eyes to look at him and chuckles when you do,

“Shit, look at ya. Already gone just from suckin’ on my sack.”

You let go of his ball with a pop and his cock twitches in your hand. A clear drop beads on the slit and you lick it off, not tearing your eyes from the man.

“Yeah, now onto the main course, sweetheart,” he groans with a smirk.

You smile back, licking your lips as your hand returns to his sack.

“Don’t hold back, Joel. Please.”

You don’t think it’s possible but his gaze turns even darker, completely obsidian with lust, his cock is throbbing as you’re holding it at the base.

“Ya got it, baby”.

His hand, soft and gentle just a second ago, grabs your hair tight and pulls you closer. You gasp as your lips smash into his warm head but you don’t hesitate to open them and take more and more of his cock, until your nose touches his dark pubic hair. Your throat is trying to accommodate his length, eyes are welling up with tears, fingers gripping his thighs. He fills you so well that all the fears are quickly pushed out of your head by him. You nearly suffocate on his thick cock, squirming between his thighs but he’s holding you tight.

“Keep it in, baby, ya doing so good…”

Your throat contracts around him and he pulls you off with a curse. You cough, swallowing air, drooling all over yourself while he’s holding you by your hair like a dog on a leash.

“Gonna make me come too fast… lemme enjoy this mouth of yours.”

Your mind has already shut down, all your actions, senses, emotions are focused on pleasuring him.

Your mouth is on his cock again, tongue pushing on the underside as you slide up his length and swirl it around his fat head. You’re drunk on Joel, his taste, sounds, scent, his essence is inside you, around you, everywhere. He’s your whole world and they almost took him from you. Angry tears roll out of your eyes while you hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, in control of his pleasure but completely under his power. You feel his cock stiffen and then it starts pulsating in your mouth. You take him deeper and drink his cum as Joel is spurting it generously right into your throat. With another roll of your hips against your boot you come, moaning around his length in your mouth, seeing stars behind your eyelids. When he discards of the last drop of his seed, he coos over you,

“Oh, baby, did your little pussy come already?”

Not waiting for the answer, Joel roughly tugs on your hair again, dull pain making you whine, lifts your head off his softening cock and finally sees your face, stained with fresh tears.

“Fuck, baby, c’mere,” he pulls you up on your feet wincing at the pain in his shoulder. You immediately push your face into the crease of his neck, trying not to hurt him, breathing him in. He turns to you and his lips find yours. You kiss each other, desperately and feverishly, like it’s the last time before your old life ends and you meet a new beginning together.

Joel holds you tight one second and in the next his arm falls and his whole weight slumps on you. With his name on your trembling lips, you see his eyes roll back and then close.

*****

Thank you for reading! 🌸

Comments and reblogs make me very happy and help to spread my work!💖

Series Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55

Series tag list: @survivingandenduring @casa-boiardi @pascalpvnk @lilipads @mountainsandmayhem @anavatazes @kirsteng42 @drewharrisonwriter @iluvurfather @lostsoldieronahill

If you want to be tagged, let me know!💕

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5K! Wow, that's so incredible, and I'm so happy for you!!! Congratulations omg

I was wondering if I could request a drabble of Mr Soap MacTavish (2022) where the reader is fixing up his wounds, and he's just staring at the reader with the biggest heart eyes and that's when he says "I love you" for the first time???

—Heart-Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞

You sigh and slip on your sterile gloves, hearing the snap of the latex as they conform to your flesh in all of their blue, tight glory. 

“I warned you they would pull,” your voice levels, exasperation making lines spring to life on your forehead and squiggle. “Do you ever listen to me?” 

“Always, Dearie.” The Scot behind you holds a rag to his head, blood dripping off the corner and slipping down his arm. On his square face, he holds a small smirk. “Now, what I didn’t expect was a madman rushin’ me as he did—didn’t mean to rip all of your stitches, but I was more worried about the knife two inches from my damn eye, if ya understand.” 

You fight down a smile, rolling your eyes before grabbing the handle of the utility cart and turning to face Johnny—raising a teasing brow in the process. 

“I’m fond of my sutures, MacTavish. I hope you know that I’m highly offended right now.” Lips twitching, the mohawked man tilts his head, leaning against the examination table still in gear and with his free hand situated at his neck; handing off his vest’s collar. 

“I’m sure there’s still at least one under here that’ll call to your expertise, Ma’am.”

“There better,” you mumble, fake glaring at your boyfriend of one year. He chuckles, reaching out a hand as you come near and drag your cart with you. 

As if it’s a chore, you sigh loudly and let him bring you into his arms. Your grip wraps around his waist and you sag into the wide frame and his natural warmth—Johnny’s hand spans your back, firm as his thumb lightly moves up and down. 

His sapphire blues soften as he stares down at you, stubble moving back in a smile. You rest your chin on his chest as he lightly presses the rag deeper into his forehead. 

“It’ll scar,” you say slowly. “Especially if it got even more damaged by the fall.” 

“Ah,” he whispers, breath hitting your head as your lashes flutter. Johnny’s chest grumbles with every word, accent deep and rich. “Think I’ll be just as handsome, then? That’s all that’s going to matter.”

You laugh at the exaggeration, lips peeling in a grin. “The most handsome, Johnny. It’s surprising that the entire world doesn’t stand still when you enter a room. Add in another face scar and people will faint when they come near.”

The Scot huffs, but a sheepish sheen splays over his cheeks, and a giddy smile grows when you call him handsome.

“Knew I wasn’t the only one that thought it.” Sharing a laugh, you pull back. The man pouts before you lightly hit his thigh with the back of your hand. 

“Hey!” Johnny grunts out. “Watch the arm, Hen, it’ll leave a mark—”

You kiss him with a grin, feeling the man start forward to meet you with no hesitation and sigh deeply, stubble scratching against your skin in the most delicious way possible. His arm grabs onto your hip and the rag at his flesh loosens—the blood drip-drip-dripping as his fingers dig into your scrubs. 

When his teeth nip your lip, you chuckle into his mouth and lean out of his hold to reach for your supplies. Johnny frowns in false disappointment but still yields to you when you carefully take away his soiled rag to stare at the damage. 

A bloody mess of open skin forms a head wound that makes your face dip with seriousness. Humming in your throat, you lightly touch the area as Johnny winces. You utter an apology and kiss his hand as it comes up to brush at your cheek, unable to be away from you.

“Hm,” the Scot doesn't notice his flinch when you numb the area, the needle digging into the thin skin. All he sees is you. 

“Bad?” He asks, letting you slant from in between his legs and grab the saline solution.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” Softly staring, you prep the area for sutures, oblivious to the pair of eyes that conform to a delicate roundness of tender affection. Like the contents of a great love poem of old, Johnny is distracted from the pain by your supple touch—breathing in your scent like a field of wildflowers as your body lay in his easy clutch. 

Humming a tune under your breath, you let Johnny’s arms encase you, not minding the left-over blood he spreads as your needle driver moves a sterilized needle through lightly tanned flesh. Tissue forceps grab and manipulate where you see fit, but your attention is solely focused on getting your Lover better. 

Johnny breathes deeply, barely feeling the pressure of the digging point. When you’re about halfway done, the man grunts out the easiest words he’s ever uttered to light.

“I love you, Little Lady.” Your eyes flash to a widened stare into his held skin, the needle poking out of his bloody mess of glistening redness. 

It was no trial to anyone to see how much you two loved each other—the entire base was aware of your relationship; the other nurses relentlessly teased you when the only help Johnny would accept was from you or your head doctor. And the Scot had said multiple times the only reason that the doctor was in his book was that, if the injury was beyond what you were allowed to work on, you’d be unable to help unless the individual was there. 

It was in the touches, the kisses filled with warmth and reverence—the way he looked at you. A blind man could notice it just by the way he talked about you on Leave if you weren’t able to join. 

“She’d like that.”

“My Hen would lose her head over this; let me get a picture.”

“Hell’s bells, wait a moment—need to buy this for my Dearie. She’ll put it to good use.”

And you, of course, leaned into him with equal worship whenever able. Reveled in his great weight at night as his head rested on your stomach, Johnny’s body between your legs and lips muttering into your flesh in a deep sleep on his chest. Arms so tight around you his biceps would gain size as if he was flexing and not just pressing you up into him.

But this was the first. 

The first confession. The first declaration of love. 

You don’t know why, but saying it made it feel so much more real. 

Your eyes slide to the side, looking into those deep blues with all of their loveliness; their hues and flecks of stars trapped like ocean waves dancing in moonlight. Wisps of stories you’d yet to uncover. Blinking, your expression evens out as the minute stretches—that look on the man’s face still staying. 

You chuckle softly. 

“Took you long enough, MacTavish.” 

A breathless kiss. A shuttered exhale. 

“...Then I’ll be sure to make you never doubt it.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[yawnderu]

Lamb of God — Nikto x Medic!Reader | Part I

Shot, stabbed, beaten... Mikhail has been through hell countless times, yet no amount of training or experience from years in Spetsnaz could ever prepare him for what Victor Zakhaev did to him. 8 missing nails, multiple new wounds on his already scarred body, and a face so disfigured he could no longer recognize himself— not only was his body broken, but so was his psyche.

His first visit was with the medics, wounds in desperate need of cleaning even with infection starting to set in most of them, the chemical burns on his face already blistering and itching despite being scolded by the medic multiple times for scratching himself. He was a difficult patient to say the least— not wanting anyone to touch his injuries or even look at him, only accepting treatment from the only person who dared confront him.

“'Stop that.” Your request comes in a sharp tone, not wanting him to itch his blistering injuries and make the scarring worse than what you knew it would be. A mumbled ''don't tell me what to do'' makes its way to your ears, though you decide to ignore it when he puts his hands way, adhesive bandages decorating his fingers where the nails had been ripped off.

“Sit up for me.” The man is an aggressive dog that defends himself with fangs bared, yet he somehow listens to your commands— even when he scoffs or grumbles before finally doing what you ask. Your gloved hand goes to his chin as you examine the red skin on his face, noting it was washed when he was first rescued, no residue of the acid left. He mumbles something and you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Is it gross?” His deep voice asks, accent even rougher with the raw emotion he's feeling. He knows for a fact it's gross, he saw it himself— he has blisters covering over half of his face, still remembering the acid dripping down his face from Zakhaev simply wanting to cause him pain.

“I've seen worse— at least you still have a face.” Being a medic for the military allowed you to see both human cruelty, and the extends injuries could go. You've seen multiple soldiers missing their face, skin pulled and bones poking out of their bodies— Mikhail's injuries aren't the worst you've seen, not even close.

“Your nose doesn't look too weird either, even when I was told it was broken. Your eyes still work, all your limbs are still attached... you'll recover from everything in no time.” You try to keep a positive attitude despite the way his baby blue eyes are staring holes into your head, pupils looking tiny despite the dim light in the room.

“I'm mostly worried about what's going on here.” You tap his head softly and he doesn't take long on pushing your hand away softly, a small smile making way to your lips when you notice how he avoids eye contact for a second before he's back to staring at you. You stare back for a while, trying to decipher what he's feeling before going to grab a cloth, filling a small bucket with cold water and making your way back to him.

“This might hurt a little bit, let me know if you want me to stop and we can take a break.” He looks down at the bucket of water and the cloth you're dipping in, squeezing the excess water as you wait for his approval. He gives you a nod in affirmation, flinching slightly as the cold cloth makes contact with his face. It doesn't hurt as much as he imagined— if anything, it feels almost soothing, the previous ache and itchiness disappearing even if only for a very short while.

“Заканчивай быстрее с этой хернëй.” He mutters under his breath despite how good it actually feels on his injuries, not wanting to get any pity from you.

“Be patient.” It almost feels like he's getting scolded by his nana, faint memories of the old woman cleaning his scrapped knees come to mind, holding onto them to try and stop the bad thoughts from flooding his damaged brain.

“Mikhail.” Your soft voice slowly brings him back to reality, feeling an odd sensation all over his face. His hand goes up to feel his cheeks, only now realizing that you already dressed his wounds. He looks utterly confused, not even remembering you getting gauze, everything happening too suddenly. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember most of the heli flight back home, too busy thinking about... what was he even thinking about?

“Mikhail.” You repeat, one of your gloved hands going to his shoulder in attempts to make him look at you. He's still staring blankly at the floor, just as he has been doing for the past 20 minutes, not responding to his own name.

“Quiet, I hear enough voices.” He brushes you off, finally getting up from the medical bed and quickly leaving your office despite the small limp from the beatings he took for days.

He hears voices? His next stop will have to be with the provided psychiatrist once his body recovers a little bit to test if he's still fit to be part of Spetsnaz, leaving your heart filled with worry until you move onto the next patient, making a mental note to check on him later.

A/N: Mikhail is Nikto's name in this fic, the person he used to be before turning into Никто.

[arminsumi]

HEAR ME OUT JAY— i’ve also been on a gojo kick too😩 i literally have no medical knowledge but thinking of gojo x reader angsty where he has to set one of our broken bones after a battle lowk has me giggling and kicking my feet UGEHHEHEHE

take your time w requests!! take care of yourself, lysm thank you sosososoosos much🫶🏻🫶🏻

blood n' bone.

note: hey honeypie!! yeah istg gojo has a death grip on my mind the dude doesn't let me think of anyone else rn. anyways, i have little medical knowledge on this too but i tried my best !!

warnings — lowercase used, injury ( knee dislocation, bone setting ), blood visuals, angst ( with fluff, happy ending 👍 ), he calls u angel, i think it might be implied fem reader ??

" are you okay ?! a—re you hur — oh shit, fuckfuckfuck that's bad. that's bad... okay. um. just breathe. just breathe! don't worry, you ain't gonna die sweetheart. look at me, ok — question. do you trust me ? "

" what on earth do you plan to do ? " you ask gojo wearily.

you look at him, the pain fogs your mind. it's so painful; a blinding, piping white hot pain, one that singes all your senses. it's all you focus on until you look into those soothing blue eyes.

he's hovering over you, eyeing out your knee and the gory scene of your battle-bloodied body. he's got your blood on his hands already. it hurts his heart more than anything to see you in pain.

part of him hates you, because if you had just listened to him and stayed out of this battle, then this wouldn't have happened. but you were so stubborn about staying at his side. and then part of him is thankful, because he didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to be without his girl just in case he didn't make it out alive. he didn't want someone else to come to you and bear the news that he's not coming home. gojo was selfish; if he died, he wanted to take you with him.

but he was fine. you were fine. well, "fine" besides the fact your knee was dislocated.

" do you trust me or not ? " he asks again.

" yes. " you say truthfully. of course you did, he's been your one and only since birth; the gojo clan and your clan were intertwined by fate. you and him have been in each other's lives since you were toddlers throwing tantrums.

there's a memory that comes to gojo when he places his calloused hands on your knee. it's a memory from his childhood with you.

one day, you fell and scraped your knees. gojo found you curled up, crying alone in an alley. " what the hell ? why didn't you come find me ? let's go back to my house. i'll carry you. yes of course i can carry you ! i'm stronger than you ! "

he takes his blindfold and puts it in your mouth, " need you to bite on this, angel. "

" hmmmf ?! " the reality of what he was about to do set in. but how could it be more painful than the dislocation itself?

there's no question that he can set your bone. he's the strongest; of course he can.

you watch his bicep muscles flex, his grip firm. he hesitates, breathe ragged like he's nervous. then you hear a loud pop and instantly scream blue murder into the fabric; it doesn't really do a good job of muffling the sound. it pierces gojo's heart.

" angel, angel — look at me. breathe. it's okay. i've got you. it's alright. it's really alright. angel ? there, just stay in my arms like th-this. you're okay now. i know it hurts, but you're okay. " his hair is messy, your blood is all over him, and you yourself look chaotic; but still you look beautiful to him. your face comforts him like no other; he's always had excited pangs in his chest when you walk into a room or show up at a battle.

he's always shared your pain. he's a highly sensitive, emotional boy but conceals it well; when you're in pain, he's in pain. when you're sad, he's sad. when you're happy, he's happy. and hence, if you would have died, he would have died. you're tied together by an invisible thread, the two of you couldn't escape each other even if you wanted to. at times, you hated how you always found your way back to him; especially when you and him had that fallout in your twenties after your dating life interfered with your friendship.

but your hostility towards each other ended, of course it did. and now you and him were always at each other's side. handholding, just like when you were kids exploring your little village.

" let's go home. " he murmurs, soothing you with his voice and the gentle feeling he radiated.

" i can't walk. " you mumble, " it hurts. "

" i'll carry you. "

" we're not little kids anymore, you can't carry me. "

" what the hell ! of course i can carry you; i'm the strongest. "

you smile, remembering that memory only now. " you're right. you are. "

his heart flutters hearing you agree for the first time. of course you always knew he was the strongest, it was indisputable. but you liked to tease him.

" better believe it . . . now wrap those arms 'round my neck. "

he wears a stupid, proud smile on his face while he carries you. when you're home, you feel extremely grateful.

" it's good to be home, huh, satoru ? " you say, knee bandaged and propped up.

he's given you pain medication by now. there's the background noise of the TV, and golden afternoon light sieving through the sheer curtains.

" home is wherever you are. " he says earnestly.

whenever he says things like this, it's always in a soft voice, almost like he's too shy to let you know his true feelings.

you feel warm, homely; and so does he.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.