#self insert whump

[whumpback-wail]

"I like male whumpees"

"I like lady whumpees"

Okay but self insert whumpees? Anyone?

[acer-whumpstuff]

I had eye surgery a few years back. It was so whumpy. Just a brief thing inspired by this experience. Could be whumper, could be Caretaker doing necessary medical care. Whatever

Whumpee: *whimpering*

Other character: *pauses, slows down*

Whumpee: just do it already!

Other character: *continues*

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Off Day Or Day Off

Summary: Reader has a bad day due to a chronic illness they struggle with (POTS). Luckily Lizzie and Scarlett look after her.

Tw: headache, mild pots, exhaustion / fatigue, pain medicine, mentions of passing out

Words: 2129

A/n sorry for such a long absence I got diagnosed with POTS so I have been in and out of the hospital for appointments for the past few weeks. So, this fic is kinda just me projecting. Also, POTS stands for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (for those who don’t know). Let me know if you want a part 2.

You knew today was going to be hard when you opened your eyes to see your alarm had already been going off for a good half hour.

Whilst not something that was unusual for you, it did pose some insight into how the rest of the day may go. Taking a deep breath, you gathered the strength to sit up, still feeling exhausted to your bones and wanting nothing more than to lay back down and keep sleeping.

Reaching out to smack the alarm in order to finally get it to shut up, it took a few tries to finally hit the button.

You were tired despite having slept over the recommended eight hours. You were tired when you woke up and you had no doubt you would be tired when you went to sleep.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed you braced yourself to stand up. Once on your feet you stayed upright for a good half a second before sitting back down hard.

Yep, today was an off day.

Trying again you managed to stick the landing this time, but still had to pause to wait for the patches in your vision to clear up first before doing anything.

You were vaguely aware of a dull ache in your temples and a general feeling of malaise and fatigue across your whole body.

You leant against the wall of your bedroom while pulling on some fresh pant and swapping out your pyjama shirt for a clean and presentable top.

You fought to stay upright while hopping around to stick the socks over your cold feet.

Throwing your notebook and pencil case into your backpack before pulling your laptop off the charge you added it to your bag and slung it over your shoulder, not bothering to do up the zip just yet.

Scanning the room your eyes caught on the small medical pouch were you had left it the day before. Groaning you circled back to grab it and triple check it was stocked with extra electrolyte packets before tossing it into your already full bag.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs as you plodded down to the kitchen, the voices of your little sister and mother only seeming to aggravate your growing headache.

You gripped the railing as you descended the stairs just in case your fatigue flared anymore than it already had.

As you shuffled into the kitchen you distantly listened to your mum wish you a good morning. Feeling tired and slightly annoyed at the whole situation you mumbled something incoherent back to her.

Scarlett had been your mother for almost ten years now after the adoption had gone through. You had met on the set for one of her earlier marvel films and due to your less-than-ideal situation and close bond with the actress she had adopted you.

It hadn’t been until a few months into living with her that she begun to take notice of your fatigue and various other issues. She had been with you every step of the process to get diagnosed and despite your fears she had stayed by your side.

You had been managing your tachycardia for a long time now and the symptoms of POTS weren’t as intense as they once were. However, from time to time you still had flare up which caused you a lot of heart ache and suffering.

As you slid into your place at the kitchen table Scarlett set down a plate of bacon and toast for you whilst she continued listening to the constant chatter stemming from your younger sister.

Scarlett nodded along with Rose’s story as she observed you closely. She had noted something was off almost straight away and knew you were doing your best to keep up a front.

It was Scarlett’s day off and as such she was tasked with taking Rose to school as Colin had headed into work early for a meeting with the writers.

You weren’t too interested in the food your mother had given you. Despite loving bacon and usually chomping it down with gusto you felt gross and tired.

Scarlett took note of your slow pace and droopy eyes as she took roses dishes back to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.

Scarlett had been trying to help you get better at advocating for yourself by simply making you ask for her help. She hoped it would help you speak up for yourself more now that you had more recognised needs. However, she also knew when to step in and simply help if you didn’t ask first.

She frowned at the sight of your backpack slung over the back of the chair knowing full well she didn’t want you going to uni if you were unwell.

As you continued to poke at your food with a fork and a bored expression that barely masked the exhaustion Scarlett sent rose to get dressed.

“Alright munchkin, what’s going on?” Scarlett said sitting down next to you.

“‘M fine mum. Just tired, I didn’t sleep well.” You grumbled still mining away at the edge of the slightly burnt toast with your fork.

Scarlett frowned as she knew you had been asleep before ten after she had poked her head in at around nine fifty to see if you were up.

“In that case maybe you should stay home today and get some rest sweetheart.” Scarlett said softly.

“No. No, I’m ok.” You said shaking your head which wasn’t a great idea as the patches reappeared in your vision.

“Alright.” Scarlett said admitting defeat for now. “I have to take rose to school; do you need a lift to uni?” She asked and you nodded pushing away the full plate of food. “Ok then come get your shoes on.”

You nodded again and stood. Just as she had expected Scarlett watched as you swayed on your feet slightly, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision as your hand blindly reached for the table to provide the support you needed dot stay upright.

“Alright. No.” Scarlett said. “Definitely not. You’re staying here sweet girl.”

“But i’m-“ you begun only to be cut off.

“If the next words out of your mouth are “I’m fine.” I’ll make you take the whole week off.” Scarlett said and your lips snapped shut. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll have lizzie come stay with you while I’m out. She has the day off too and before you start, I’m sure she would like to spend the time with you.” Scarlett said before you could protest hindering the younger actresses schedule with your change of plans.

Before you could protest Scarlett gave you a look that kept the words in your throat from leaving.

“You’re not a problem y/n. Lizzie loves to spend time with you, and it makes her feel better to be able to help you out. Plus, I don’t want to leave you here alone in case you need something or pass out.” She said sternly but kindly.

“But I haven’t passed out before.” You grumbled.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Scarlett said. “Now go get comfy while I call Lizzie.” She said pressing a kiss to your head and giving you a light shove in the direction of the living room.

As you settled into a small nest on the couch you begun scrolling through Disney plus before settling on something to watch. You heard Scarlett talking on the phone in the kitchen before she appeared and handed you a water bottle which no doubt was filled with electrolytes. She spoke to Lizzie for a bit longer before coming back once the call was done.

“Drink.” She instructed, nodding to the bottle in your lap. “Lizzie will be over soon. I have to take rose in and then we can have a movie day and see if Lizzie wants to join us.”

“Ok.” You mumbled feeling bad for ruining everyone’s plans.

“None of that. We love you and we would rather spend the day making you feel better than knowing you’re not ok and doing what we planned.” Scarlett said as she picked up roses backpack and grabbed her trainers from the doorway.

Rose came and hugged you goodbye before continuing her endless chatter about something or other as she and Scarlett disappeared out the doorway. Scarlett blowing you a kiss as she left.

Snuggling down into the blankets you felt your eyelids droop as the show played on in the background.

What couldn’t have been more than five minutes later the doorbell rang before the door opened. You knew Lizzie had a a key, but she always rung the doorbell before she let herself in just to let you know it was her.

You heard the door shut and the sound of her taking off her shoes before she came upstairs.

“Y/n?” She called out as she walked down the hallway.

“In here.” You said barely shouting.

A moment later Lizzie entered the room, her face looking a little sad at the sight of you all bundled up and sleepy, your arms wrapped around your water bottle as your eyes drifted shut.

“Hiii.” You mumbled quietly.

“Hi sweet girl. Oh, look at you, it’s not a good day, is it?” She asked as she took the seat beside you on the couch.

“No.” You huffed as you shuffled over into her side.

Lizzie’s hands went straight to your hair as she brushed her fingers through it. She guided your head to her lap and gently began braining locks of your hair. The feeling of her fingers on your scalp relaxed you as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Have some more to drink first baby, then you can have a nap, okay?” She said helping you sit up and sip some of the electrolyte drink before guiding you back to her lap as her hands took their place back in your hair.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep again.

The next time you woke up Lizzie’s hand was still gently massaging your head which was helping with the now whopping headache you had. You shifted slightly prompting Lizzie to look down from the show she had put on and see you were awake.

“Hi sweetheart, how are we feeling love?” She asked softly.

“Headache, tired and lousy.” You mumbled turning your face into her stomach making her chuckle softly at your cuteness.

“That’s no good.” She said frowning now she registered your words. “Want me to get your mum to bring some Panadol and a snack?” She asked and you nodded into her stomach.

Lizzie gently reached down and placed her hands over your ears to shield you from the noise as she began calling out to Scarlett who you hadn’t noticed return.

“Scar car you bring y/n/n some Panadol and a snack!” She called and you faintly heard your mum’s response before Lizzie was prompting you to drink some more of the electrolyte drink in your water bottle.

“Sorry I know this wasn’t what you two wanted to do on ur day off” you said to both actresses when Scarlett came in with some cupcakes, she and rose had baked the day before and a strip of Panadol.

“Honey…” Lizzie said looking sad. “I’ll always be here when you need me.” She said softly.

“Yeah, I can’t get rid of you.” Scarlett joked making all three of you laugh.

When you winced at the noise Scarlett went straight to mum mode as she popped out two of the tablets and put them in your hand before nodding to the water bottle.

“Alright, what are we watching?” Scarlett asked situating herself on your other side and pulling your legs into her lap, so you were laid across the two of them.

“Whatever y/n/n wants.” Lizzie said chucking the remote to you.

“I’m thinking marvel.” You grinned making both women groan in protest.

You put on age of ultron and barely twenty minutes in Lizzie’s gentle head scratches had lulled you back into the arms of sleep.

POTS was hard to live with but with all the people in your life supporting you it was bearable.

Part 2

@barbarasstar @charlie56

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Stuck

~1.5k words || rating: teen || cws: dissociation; unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illnesses

He’s never quite sure how it happens, seeming to always sneak up on him. One minute he’s up and moving around, usually cleaning, organizing, or just meandering around the house. The next, he’s lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He tries to move but can’t. Not because he’s physically restrained, like when the rope from the Russians cut into his wrists or how the vines constricted his neck. 

No, Steve’s just lying here on the floor, trapped in his own mind. His eyes are raw, stinging with dryness. Painful tingles pop throughout his right arm from where his head rests heavy on his bicep. His hip and shoulder ache. He can’t move or talk or blink. Can barely think. He’s not in his body. 

He’s lost. Stuck.

Getting stuck means losing time, chunks of days lost to a void. It means missing meals and unanswered phone calls. Growing up, it felt like an escape. A safe way to pass the time between eating and sleeping. He’d come back to himself, sometimes hours later, sore and hungry, mustering up energy he didn’t have. Once, his parents discovered him frozen on the ground. Mom’s yelling and Dad’s foot shoving his side brought him jolting back into his body. Like waking from a nightmare, rising from the dead chased by panic. 

It happens less now, but still catches up to him when he’s exhausted. He thinks today it was the kids– they were particularly obnoxious. Yelling excitedly about Eddie’s new campaign ideas, trucking in snow from outside after building a demo-snowman. Cooking for them, cleaning after them, getting them home safe.

Yeah, he gets how he maybe overdid it a bit. 

But with Eddie here, it’s easier. His sweetheart always knows how to help, usually checking up on him after stressful days. Hopefully he comes to check on him soon.

Because Steve can’t move. Or talk. Or even blink.

The sun is starting to set.

~~~

The Party were extra chaotic today, pushing him to the fringes of patience. He’s thrilled they’re excited about his newest campaign ideas, but god, did they have to be so unbearably loud about it? Dustin’s screeches are still rattling between his ears. Not to mention the soreness he feels from helping the kids build a snowman demo-thing and the ensuing snowball fight. 

The idea of an occult campaign has been percolating in Eddie’s brain for weeks, and after the day he’s had, he’s lost to the research. Perched on a chair upstairs in their bedroom, books are scattered across the desk and onto their bed next to him. Typically, creative deep-dives restore his energy after a long day. But when he’s well and truly exhausted, he’ll lose hours at a time to the work. Getting stuck, according to Steve. And yeah, Eddie can see how that fits.

Growing up, Eddie would lose hours throwing himself into his latest and greatest project, whether it be drawing, playing guitar, writing campaigns, reading or even the time he tried juggling. Entranced by his newest obsession, his surroundings would fade into the background. He’d forget to do his homework, to eat or drink. Hell, sometimes he’d forget to pee. Wayne’d drop a gentle hand to his shoulder– pulling him back to reality– and he’d take off like a shot to the bathroom. Every sensation hitting all at once: bladder about to burst, stomach rumbling, dry mouth, headache, body stiff and achy. 

As he gets older, it’s still a frequent occurrence. So Robin had given him the idea of setting alarms, saying it helps her remember to take breaks while studying. And he’s thankful, because it works like a charm when he actually remembers. But when he forgets, his Stevie takes care of him. 

He’ll find Eddie crouched awkwardly by the desk, eyes manic, only seeing what’s in front of him. Eddie will eat or drink anything Steve gives him, barely tasting whatever it is, just as long as he can see it. And Steve lets him be for at least a few hours so he can burn energy into whatever project he's lost himself in. All Steve cares is that he’s fed and hydrated. Usually, Eddie comes to slowly, with Steve’s fingers gently carding through his hair, or soft strokes up and down his spine.

Now Eddie breaks his own musings, eyes strained, hungry, and needing to stretch. He can’t help but wonder why his sweetheart hasn’t checked on him. 

Moonlight is shining through the window.

~~~

It’s eerily quiet as Eddie makes his way down the stairs. He half expects to find Steve stress-baking, but the kitchen is dark. 

So he checks the garage– the car is still here. And the backyard– he never sits by the pool alone. Then the front porch– maybe he went out for a smoke.

Guilt eats at Eddie as he finds his beautiful boy on the living room floor, curled into himself.

Stuck. 

He hates finding Steve like this– stuck and lost like Eddie’s engrossed fantasies. Yet so, so different. 

The first time Eddie found him, unresponsive and immovable, he spiraled into a panic so strong Steve had broken free of his own melancholy, finding Eddie hyperventilating and sobbing in the midst of a flashback. Too much like Chrissy. Like Patrick and Nancy. 

They'd talked about it. And Eddie had appreciated afterwards how Steve struggled to describe what being stuck feels like, why it happens, what to do about it. It'd helped. 

So on grey days, long nights, the holidays, or when the kids are extra rowdy, Eddie looks for the signs. He's been good about getting Steve to slow down before it's too late. 

But on rare occasions, there will be a day like today. When it’s too much for both of them.

Eddie doesn't know how long his baby’s been lying here. Doesn't know when he ate or drank or even blinked. Because he’d holed himself up, desperate for time alone to just think. To be with himself after spending all day surrounded by people. But he forgot to set an alarm, assuming Steve would be there.

He focuses on his sweetheart, slowly kneeling down next to him so as not to startle him. Remembers all of the tips and tricks Steve needs. 

"Hey honey," Eddie whispers, close enough to be present but not overwhelming. "Don't worry baby we'll get you unstuck I promise. I'm going to reach out and grab your hand now ok?" 

He continues to whisper gentle praises and reassurances as he holds Steve's hand. It's limp for a time, and Eddie is hungry, but he doesn't stop. Time is lost to them both again, until he feels a slight squeeze on his fingers. Steve finally blinks, slow and hard. 

"Hey big boy, love to see those pretty, long eyelashes.” He smiles down at his baby, honeyed hazel eyes slowly refocusing. “Alright, once for no and two for yes: do you want me to help you onto the couch?" 

A full minute passes before Eddie feels two gentle squeezes to his fingers. 

"That's great sweetheart. I'm gonna tilt you to sit up and we'll get you settled. Then I'm going to ask if you want anything. Ready?" Two squeezes.

They finally get to the couch, and Eddie can already feel a strong sense of relief at just seeing his baby move off the floor. He hears Steve's back pop as they stand, decides he'll give him a massage later. 

It goes on. And on and on. Eddie follows the process of squeezes until Steve is unstuck and back in his body. 

"Water?" Two squeezes.

"Food?" One squeeze.

"Blanket?" Two squeezes. 

Eddie's patience always pays off. He's got Steve set up on the couch, hydrated and relaxed, with his favorite movie playing softly. He’s managed to grab a bowl of cereal for himself. They're cuddled and warm with Steve’s head in his lap. Eddie glides his fingers up and down the sore side of Steve’s body, gently squeezing as he goes.

~~~

Steve comes back to himself surrounded by love. 

His eyes sting and his mouth is dry. He doesn't know what time it is, but notices the sun has long set, moonlight shining through the curtains. The bones in his neck crack and his joints pop as he stretches.

But he's warm under the blankets, tucked into his boyfriend's chest as they watch the teddy bear Star Wars. Eddie's loosely twirling the hairs at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and sending tingles down his spine. There's a glass of water and crackers on the table in front of him. 

Getting stuck inside his head terrifies him, something he dreads as much as the night terrors. 

But with Eddie, it's easier, happens less often. And when it does, he always wakes up to love.

~~

This was a pure self-indulgence fic. An exact recreation of my relationship with my partner. It fits my headcanon for the boys perfectly (though I'm obviously biased haha)

[kiwisandpearls]

I’m sure this point has already been made to death, but I think a major reason as to why more…darker “x reader” fics are so prevalent and popular in certain spaces is because simply put… “x reader” fics, and by extension fanfiction and just general fiction, are probably one of the more healthy and safer ways for many irl readers and writers to navigate through their fantasies and/or traumas. Many of us recognize that our fantasies would be harmful to do irl, so we project it (?) through fiction.

[auradaparanormal]

Whilst explaining their evil plan through song to the captured caretaker(s), the Whumper rips the whumpee, broken-spirited and bruised, from their cell and forces them to dance with the Whumper, perhaps stepping on their feet, bending a limb too far, or bashing the whumpee's head into a wall as the caretaker(s) are/is forced to watch. Maybe the Whumpee has been taught this dance already, or they're dragged along on a whim and trying not to slip up in fear of punishment?

[whumpshaped]

thinking about... whumpee who falls for caretaker... because caretaker is so cool and capable and independent (and possibly also took revenge on whumper) and fuck theyre just so perfect and despite all of that they. they choose to hang out with whumpee?? they choose to make them soup when theyre sick and hug them when theyre sad?? hold them close??? fuck. fuck!! oh whumpee is in so deep. but they can never ever talk about it. theyre bringing this to the grave with them.

if only caretaker would stop jokingly teasing them and making their heart skip multiple beats every single day.

[bamsara]

20: "How long did you think that you could hide that?"

Sun Centric | Wordcount: 1,338 | AO3 Version

I pulled another Solar Lunacy bullet draft out for this prompt, so this is more of a SL crumb than it is a stand-alone drabble. Expect to see this scene again in SL, but maybe written better (and a different beginning and ending, some details more fitting, ect)

To be fair, you had done an excellent job hiding the limp you had so far.

It happened this morning. Routine schedule with a list of tasks and chores that required a cleaning cart's assistance to lug around all the tools and trash, except you got your wheel caught in the small gap at the entrance of the elevator, and your attempt to free it consisted of you pulling and pushing and praying to whatever was out there to dislodge the damn thing while profusly apologizing to the Pizzaplex goers behind you waiting impatiently for use of the elevator while you struggle.

Eventually, you get it dislodged. Yay! Unfortunatly, you twist your ankle when it pops out and you have to do some sort of ninja type of move to prevent from accidently being rolled over on. Only, you were a terrible acrobat, and now your ankle was throbbing and you didn't even have ibeprofen to help with it.

So! Power through it. You'll ice it when you get home. These paychecks won't earn themselves.

You don't allow yourself to limp because you don't want to get any stares or complaints from the families roaming the pizzaplex, or have any of the animatronics send you a concerned look (which makes you act particularly casual when Freddy comes around to say hi. The last thing you want to do is have the busy bear worry about you.) which means you're gritting your teeth and blowing air through your nose, but faking it until you make it seems to work.

That is, until you arrive at the daycare.

You bring a cart full of diapers, wipes and other important items for stock, the heavy lifting the last chore for the day but the one you were dreading the most. Sun greets you at the door, and behind him is a chorus of small voices that yell out greetings to you as soon as you walk in.

Friendly bunch, they are. You're glad the Daycare Attendant has his hands busy with the kids, so if you needed to lean on the desk for a moment, you probably wouldn't look suspisious. Rolling the cart in, you wave to the gaggle of children that sitting on the floor, gathered for story time probably, before wheeling the cart towards the shelves-

Metal hands come around your shoulders, stopping you in place. "My, my! You've brought us so many presents!"

You crane your head back. Sun's smile beams down at you, and you smile back. "Yeah! Hope you like diapers."

"I sure do! Keeps all the messy bits easy for quick cleaning." He jests, and as if on cue a couple of children give a very cute 'eewwwwww' in the background as you snort. Sun's head rotates completely, in full-jester mode. "Oh, you'll be joining us for story time, won't you? Won't you?"

You wave him off, forcing your face to remain plain and chipper despite the pain that was swelling up your leg at the moment. "Sorry, no can do. I gotta get these boxes sorted first-"

"Oh, but I think you can, and you will!" Suddenly, the hands on your shoulders are gripping a little bit tighter. You are all but guided (more like half-dragged) to where the gaggle of children are sitting in a circle and plopped in the middle. "In fact, you should take over! I've been telling the same fairy tales, all princesses and monsters and bears and rabbits-" Sun pats you on the back, non-chalant. "Why don't you tell a story, something new? I'm sure you have it in you friend."

As nice as it was to be sitting down on the mat where there wasn't a weight constant on your ankle, the several pairs of wide anticipating eyes of children was a little unerving. "Uh-"

"Good!" Sun reels back, hands on his hips. In one swift motion, his legs swivel around to start walking towards the cart and boxes, while his head and torso stay facing you and the children. "I'll take care of these gifts! Better this way, I have a very particular way of organizing things you know."

He leaves you there, and now you're stuck entertaining children until he's finished.

...Honestly? Not the worst thing he's done, and there's a sense of reflief since you're not standing anymore, so you'll play right into the game.

You tell the children stories about the horrors of what happens if you don't brush your teeth enough, of a boy that ate so many greens he became the strongest being in the world, of a dog that learned how to play basketball, of aliens that crashed into hawaii and made friends and a family there. Anything you can pull off the topc of your head, really, and lucky enough for you; they were eating the stories out of the palm of your hand.

Sun is quicker than you would have been putting away the boxes, and is at the ready for checkout when some of the first parents arrive to pick up their children. You continue to tell the stories even as your audience dwindles, answering questions when they raise their hands and resisting the urge to laugh when a little boy with glasses too big asks you if Santa Clause was an alien.

Sun finishes the stocking rather quickly, and instead retaking his spot, sits cross legged and joins the circle of children easgly waiting to hear your story. He even goes as far as to lightly clap when you're finished with one, the other children joining in just to mimick him. It's actaully really cute.

The last boy is checked out by his parents. You wave from your spot on the floor mat, not moving because you don't feel like it and uncaring if you looked a little silly to the mother. Sighing, you let relief out of your lungs as Sun closes and locks the Daycare doors behind them.

Sun literally cartwheels back to you, spinning on one heel before plopping down right in front of you. His height makes him tower over you even as you're both sitting down, and you're currently thinking about an excuse to say or mustering up the strength to stand on that leg again.

Sun leans forwards, head resting in his hands and smiling widly. "Looks like you've become quite the favorite around here!"

You return the smile, and move to get up. "Yeah, yeah. Just promote me at this rate and I can take your job all the time-"

A hand clasps around your knee and you wince. The preassure is genlte, not huritng, but heavy enough it forces you back down to the ground where you sit and stare at the Daycare Attendant's grip on your leg, and his thoughtful face as he hums. "And how long did you think you could hide that?"

A tug from your leg to free yourself, his grip doesn't budge. You almost pout. "...hide what?"

Fingers lessen around your pants leg, trail lower down to your ankle and hook underneath the fabric, pushing it up. There's a definate swollenness to your ankle now, more so than the last time you checked. Sun tuts at the sight of it. "This, friend."

Aw rats, you've been caught. "It's fine, I'm not a wuss."

"We never said you were!" Sun gasps, offended. A pause. "Well, I never said you were. Still a terrible idea, though."

Your shrug is half-hearted. "So? I can't exactly slack off, here. I'm already in hot water with managment and bills don't pay themselves."

"You are very lucky I was programmed with much patience!" Sun sounds like a mixture of frusteration, exasperation, and affection. It's a comforting tone of voice, so it doesn't alarm you right away until the animatronic's hands are reaching forwards, hooking underneath your knees and against your lower back before you can protest. "Onwards, to the first aid corner!"

"...Does this mean you've gotten a doctor's license yet?"

"I am not legally required to answer that question!"

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Captain Price x injured! reader)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 3,001 Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, near death experiences, very poorly proofread Background information: Your callsign is Crow. Part 2 Part 3 — — — —

You’d found yourself in Price’s office for the third time this week, a result of your bad behavior. You heard him sigh, shuffling through the multiple reports he’d taken out of a manilla folder. As he read them, he’d occasionally look up at you and your bruised face. You knew better than to speak first. It was not something you did, especially not while he was reading. Sighing, he set the papers down on his desk before giving you his undivided attention.

“This is the third report I’ve gotten this week, Crow.” His words weren’t angry, not even disappointed. Just.. tired. He was tired of dealing with adults who acted like children, and as far as he was concerned, you were just another one. “Let me guess; you want to explain this one too?” he asked, adjusting his position so he leaned on one of his chair’s arm rests, his head resting on his chin. “Go on then. Give me your sob story.”

Your jaw clenched as you heard him insult your situation. You hadn’t intended to get into a fight. In fact, you hadn’t even thrown a punch; your words were enough to send the other recruit climbing over the cafeteria table at you. If someone hadn’t pulled him off of you, you were sure you’d be in a bag right now, with a letter being sent to your parents with the date for your funeral service. The way he’d grabbed your neck, there was no way he wasn’t trying to kill you.

“You read the reports, sir. You tell me what happened.” You were half curious about what the recruit said. Had he lied? Probably. Were they going to believe him? Probably. As the words left your mouth, you heard Price chuckle a few times. He wasn’t interested in scolding you; no, that wasn’t his style. 

“Tell me what bloody happened.” His words were a bit colder this time. “Explain to me why this report said you hit first when that boy doesn’t have a single mark on him, yet you were moments from a ticket to the medical wing. Tell the truth, rookie.” It almost sounded like he was concerned about you. It was in the way his eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if scanning your expression for any involuntary changes in reaction to his words. He leaned forward for effect, his head tilting to the side, waiting for your input. 

In your time here, you’d learned that this captain wasn’t like the others you’d encountered. He genuinely cared for justice and didn’t much care for people who wanted to kiss his ass. Either you told him how it was or he wanted nothing to do with you. 

“I provoked him.” You muttered, fully intending to take the entire blame for the beating. You recalled your exact words, though; you didn’t think it was appropriate to recite them, not to Price. Instead, you opted to summarize. “Something to the effect of how his parents should get a refund for the money they paid for his training.” 

You watched how Price chuckled again at your words, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What about this situation was remotely funny? You moved your eyes down to his name plate on his desk, avoiding eye contact when he eventually leveled his gaze back at you. 

“And you didn’t fight back? Why’s that?” He inquired, intrigued by your answer. You were an enigma to him, always doing something unexpected. “Or were you restrained?” His voice dipped an octave lower in a way that made your heart flutter. You could hear the danger and power in his tone. In your hesitation to respond, he got his answer.

He sat back in his chair, tucking the papers back into the manilla folder before handing them to you. You hesitated before taking the folder from him, clearly confused. “Sir-?”

“Shred those on the way to medical.” He muttered, reaching for his pack of cigars in his top left desk drawer. “I’ll see to it that this issue is wiped from your record and that recruit is sent home.” As you stood there, unsure if he was serious, he continued. “I’ll have you transfer to my team. It seems you can’t coexist with everyone else; why not run with the big boys, yeah?” There was clear authority in his tone, leaving no room for your own opinion. But then again, you didn’t really mind the change of pace. “You’re dismissed.”

— — — —

By the end of the day, you had your things packed from your old bunker and were hauling your bag over to the other side of the base to stay with Price and his group. When you got there, you were greeted by blank, unamused stares. 

“And who the hell’re you?” The man with the skull mask asked, his British accent heavy as he walked over, his frame towering over you. “Can’t you fuckin’ read, eh? Sign says, Taskforce 141, fuckin’ muppet.”

“Easy, Ghost.” Price emerged from behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder. “They’re our new transfer.” You watched as Ghost looked between you and Price before muttering curses under his breath and taking a step back, retreating to his bunk. As you gathered yourself again, Price moved to your front, offering you a onesided smile. “That’s Ghost, a bit of a grumpy one. Don’t expect an apology from him. You’ll never get one. Follow me; I’ll show you your bed.” He made a motion with his arm before walking deeper into the tent. 

Your bed was above his. You were going to be sleeping above your captain. He muttered a quiet apology as he cleared the top bunk from some of his things, shoving them under his bed awkwardly. 

“Go on, settle in.” He offered a smile, placing a hand on the ladder, assuring you it would stay in place.

You didn’t get much sleep that night. Not because of your injuries from being someone’s punching bag, but rather because of how fast things had changed. Mere hours before, you were sitting in Price’s office, certain you were going to be dishonorably discharged, and now you shared a bunk with him.

— — — —

In the morning, you woke to a friendly banter between your teammates. There was some Scottish man who had been throwing articles of clothing at Ghost, giggling when a shirt stayed on Ghost’s head even as he tried to yank it off.

“MacTavish, you’re on thin ice.” The Brit grumbled through the cloth of the shirt. With a final tug, it came off. In a swift movement, he balled the shirt up before launching it at the other man, chuckling lightly to himself when it hit him square in the chest.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you continued to watch, a small smile growing on the edges of your lips. You heard a smothered laughter coming from below you and peaking down. You saw Price sitting up, his elbows propped on his knees, as he too watched the two men mess around. He didn’t mind letting them get a little rowdy; he knew moments like this were essential for their morale. 

Stepping down the ladder, you offered a soft ‘hello’ to Price, who simply nodded back at you, his attention on his teammates. Just as you were about to start your morning routine, Price stopped you.

“Let’s introduce you to everyone, yeah?” He offered, standing up from his bed and stretching slightly, rocking back and forth on his feet as he did so. Leaning down to your level, he put an arm around your shoulder as he pointed to everyone in the tent, naming them and calling out to them so they’d wave. “Everyone, this is our newest member, Crow. Treat them like you would treat me, or they get your provisions for a week.” He warned them. It wasn’t necessary; he knew he ran with good men, but after reading your reports, he knew the safety net would put your mind at ease.

— — — —

As you rushed over to the meeting room, your hair still wet from your shower and your uniform hastily thrown on, you were met with annoyed looks from nearly everyone sitting around the table. A woman, you recognized as Laswell, stood by a large TV, clearing her throat before motioning for you to sit. Doing so, you sat between Price and Gaz, muttering a soft apology to your captain who nudged your shoulder. You gave him a small smile in return, grateful that he wasn’t upset. 

As the meeting went on, you were briefed about an upcoming mission. You didn’t expect to be assigned as Laswell went over the mission, but your eyes widened when you heard your callsign among the names of the 141. Price noticed how your head snapped up, confusion clear in your features and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“You’re ready.” He mouthed with a knowing smile. The way his hand squeezed your shoulder slightly before retracting it and placing it back in his lap made your stomach flip. 

After the meeting, you stood around with your team, your hands nervously fiddling with a strap on your vest. Millions of thoughts raced through your head. Were you ready? What if Price was wrong? What if you were a liability? What if-

Price’s hand clapped you on the back, jolting you out of your frantic mind. Seeing him, you instincutally straightened up, a sign of respect. 

“At ease, Crow.” He murmured, though your shoulders stayed taught with tension. He stepped in front of you to make eye contact. “You’ll do fine. I selected you myself. Your delinquency reports weren’t the only ones I read about you.” He chucked. “You’re a valuable asset, one my team needs. Try not to stress too much.” 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could manage to say. You couldn’t fathom why he’d had such a change of heart about you. 

“More than sure, love.” His voice held a note of parental authority that you couldn’t quite understand. “You’ve got a few hours before we deploy. Get something to eat, fuel up.”

— — — —

“..come in! Crow, what’s your status? God dammit..!” Your radio jolted you back to the present as you blinked your eyes open. Immediately you felt the pain from the explosion that had caused you to go unconscious in the first place. Of-fucking-course the helicopter transporting you and your team had to get shot down by an RPG. You didn’t even want to know how far you fell.

The world around you was littered in debris and fire. Forcing yourself to sit up, you grunted with the effort, trying to scoot away from the wreckage. You could see the pilot’s burning body in the cockpit and your stomach churned. He was gone. 

“Crow, come in!” Price’s voice harped through the radio again, a hint of desperation in his tone. Groaning, you reached over to turn on your communications line. Taking a swift breath, you responded.

“Crow to Price, I hear you.” You strained, taking a few breaths before you spoke again. “I’m by the crash site. Pilot’s down. Everything bloody hurts.” You reported in, trying to hide the pain from your voice.

“You broken?” Price asked. You could hear him running in the background of his radio, seemingly toward you. “Christ, I see you. Stay where you are.”

In moments, you heard his footfalls getting louder as he approached your location. He knelt down beside you, his blue eyes assessing your condition. You hadn’t had the time to look for yourself, but you could tell something on your thigh made him freeze. You could see how he hesitated, how he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

Hearing more footsteps, you saw the rest of 141 jog over. They surrounded you, their eyes looking down at you like you were a lost cause. 

“Fuckin’ hell..” Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. Taking a step back, he angled his head down to his radio, muttering. “We need medevac, helo’s down.” Your stomach dropped when you heard him, knowing he purposely tried to be quiet about it so you wouldn’t hear. Not quiet enough.

“The hell you mean? I’m fine-” Looking down at your body, your words caught in your throat. A piece of the helicopter’s propeller was lodged deep into your right thigh. “Oh fuck.” Your voice came out as a shaky whisper, your panic rising. 

“Don’t look- dammit, Crow. Relax. Don’t move.” Price urged, waving Soap and Gaz over. “Keep them still.” He ordered to them as they kneeled around you, their hands free and ready. Redirecting his attention to you he asked, “How much can you feel?”

You took a moment to respond, the hesitation from the dread in realizing your entire right leg seemed to not register in your mind. Worst case scenarios rushed through your head. Looking down at your body again, you felt your pulse roaring in your ears. In the split second before Soap pressed your shoulders back to the ground, you could see the propeller plate had cut through bone, something you’d overlooked before. You saw the way it had almost entirely ripped your leg off, how the blood spurted out of the gap it created.

“Oh my god.. Oh my fucking god..” Your breathing was erratic and Price muttered a curse under his breath.

“Hey, none of that. You need to slow your breathing.” His tone was more urgent this time, one of his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, holding your head in place. “Look at me. Shh, look. You’re going to be okay. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth. He didn’t like doing it, but he knew calming you held priority. 

“No.. no, no..” Your sobs came out like desperate pleas. “I don’t wanna die. Oh my god..” Price’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over to Gaz, signaling for him to search the wreckage for any usable medical supplies. As he left, Price looked back down to your thigh, wincing as he looked at it again.

“You’re not gonna die, you’re gonna be fine. Just.. dammit, stay with me, Crow.” Price’s hold on your face stiffenened as he saw your eyes unfocus and your expression beginning to relax. “No, no. Stay with me, dammit.” He tapped your face with his fingers, keeping you present. “You stay awake, you hear me? Fight through it, love.” He’d hoped with the fact that the plate was still in your leg that it would stem the bloodflow, but apparently he was wrong. 

Gaz jogged back, a slightly burnt medical bag in his arms. He hurridly set it next to Price, opening it for him, sifting through it’s contents. Their dread grew when there was nothing that could soothe your pain. Nothing that could fix you. Gaz’s actions became more tense, his hands roughly digging through the bag, pushing the useless supplies around. 

“Ghost, what’s the eta on that damn medevac?” Price barked at his teammate, needing some form of good news. Despite his desperate tone, his hand held firm on your cheek, providing a steady sense of his presence. 

“They’re on their way. Five minutes out.” Ghost replied, his mask giving nothing away from his expression. Price’s heart dropped. Five minutes was too long.

“Crow?” Soap spoke in the pause, his voice nervous. At the mention of your callsign, Price’s eyes darted back down at you. Your eyes were closed, and your expression was relaxed. If he didn’t know any better, he could have thought you were asleep.

“No, no! Wake up!” Price shook you, his hands on both of your shoulders. Your body didn’t respond, not as he shook you, not as he called your name, nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice broke in his desperation. At the same time Gaz reached for your wrist, placing his fingers to it, praying he’d feel a pulse. 

“They’re alive.” Gaz breathed. Your pulse was weak, but there. “Not for long, we need that chopper here. Now. Keep trying to wake them.” He urged, taking out a roll of bandages from the bag. 

It was then that they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. On edge, Ghost’s hands tightened around his gun, aiming it at the sky. His radio buzzed in, confirming they were friendlies.

The next few minutes were controlled chaos, with the medical team coordinatingly lifting you onto a gurney before rushing back to the helicopter. Price and his team followed right behind them, giving them the space they needed to work on you. Before the doors could even close, Price was ordering that they take off, shouting at the pilot.

Returning to your side as they took off, he rested his hand on your forehead, turning your head toward him.

“Pull through, dammit..”

— — — —

The hours dragged on. You’d been visited by doctor after doctor, each time, checking on your vitals. The beeping of your heart on the monitor seemed to mock Price as he sat beside your bed, his hand resting over yours. The surgery was done hours ago, and yet you hadn’t woken up yet. 

He’d watched as they reconnected your leg, tying the tendons, muscles, and skin back together. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, at least while your body healed, but it was better than amputation, right?

“How are they?” Gaz asked as he stepped into your quiet hospital room, worried like hell for you. Sure, you two had just met yesterday, but he still cared about you. He’d have to have zero empathy to not. 

“Still out. Haven’t woken up yet.” Price sighed, lines of worry mixed with his own exhaustion. “Vitals are steady; it’s only a matter of time.” 

The guilt ate at Price. If he hadn’t recruited you to his team, if he hadn’t recommended you for the mission, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened. With his other hand, he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling like he’d let you down.  Maybe he did. — — — — Note: I will not be continuing this unless requested. I hate hospital scenes/tropes. You're lucky I didn't kill Crow outright.

[whumpback-wail]

When whumpee went missing and was presumed dead. Everyone was sure whumpee was dead after weeks of searching with no results, not even a body. Their friends and family grieved for them, held a funeral, and eventually they all moved on. All except lover.

Lover would still search for whumpee because no body means a chance that whumpee might still be alive, even if the chances seem to dwindle with each day that passed.

One day whumper came to meet up with lover. Their respective higher ups were thinking of a truce between the opposing sides. Whumper had a masked bodyguard come along, while lover was there on their own, confident in their combat capabilities. Negotiations did not go smoothly and lover tried to attack whumper, only to have the bodyguard step in.

Lover felt like they knew this fighting style. It was familiar as if it was a person he fought or sparred with previously. Lover managed to unmask the bodyguard only to find themself face to face with whumpee.

But whumpee didn't seem to recognize lover.

[reiderwriter]

Unlovable

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reider Warnings: angst, canon death, cheating, implied infidelity, whump, angst, spoilers for Season 8 of Criminal Minds, mentions of shooting/ murder/ suicide/ general case facts. Summary: A stalking case brings back some bad memories for the BAU, but as the newbie, you're not sure why until you start recalling past case files you've read through. A/N: I wrote this as part of @tobias-hankel 's Pre-Whumptober Challenge, so it's short and sweet because I'm not great at angst, but it was a great challenge! I think this will probably be my last fic that mentions Maeve for at least a while because I'm getting a bit bored of writing around her lol, but let me know what you think with a like, comment, reblog, or message in my inbox!

It had been a few months since you’d joined the team, and you’d really thought you’d settled in well. After all, you’d worked on enough of their paperwork in your prior desk job to think you had a good grasp of everyone on the team’s working styles.

Until this case. They’d all been tense since the stalking case was called in, and you couldn’t figure out why. A girl had been taken captive by her stalker, whose identity had been so far unknown to the police department. As you sat talking through the possible suspects, you’d realized suddenly that you were the newcomer, an outsider in the team.

“Why is everyone so tense, we’ve worked cases like this one before, we can do this and save her.” You were hopeful of course, looking around the room to see if anyone else would agree.

“Each case is different, Y/N, you know that.” Morgan was the only one to reply, the others shooting careful glances around the room.

“But everyone is so tense for this one specifically, and I just don’t get it.”

“You read our case files, right?” Reid spoke up from the other side of the room. He’d been particularly tense on this one, and it was really his attitude that was worrying you the most. You’d become fast friends with him when you joined the team, and he was always happy and engaging with you. But there was something about this case that made him cold and distant and it was really rubbing you the wrong way.

“Yeah, I read all of them, but I don’t have an eidetic memory, so please, catch me up.”

“Maeve Donovan, does that ring a bell?” He almost spat the words out, but you were so thankful that he was even talking to you that you responded enthusiastically.

“Oh, of course, I read that case file. She was killed by her stalker, right? But we can’t base every case off our bad experiences, especially since that case had unforeseen circumstances.”

“Y/N,” Morgan gently warned you, but you were deaf to him as your eyes locked on Reid.

“Unforeseen circumstances?”

“She engaged in a relationship with an FBI Agent to help prioritize her case despite the fiance she had, which made her hard to track down to help. And her stalker was experiencing some serious delusions so you couldn’t stop her from killing both of them, but that’s a single case, and you’ve all worked at least ten other stalking cases in the past.

The air was sucked out of the room as Spencer stormed out, not bothering to tell you where you’d gone wrong. JJ trailed behind after him, going to pick up the pieces as the rest of them stared at you pityingly.

“Did I- Did I say something wrong?” You asked, but most of them just shook their heads and walked out.

“The agent she was dating was Reid. He offered to die instead of her, but that set her stalker off and that’s why she killed the both of them.” With each of Morgan’s words, you felt your heart drop.

“I didn’t-” You started but he cut you off with a pat on your shoulder.

“None of us were the greatest fans of Maeve after our investigation, but you weren’t here after she died. The kid was in pieces, and he still can’t really talk about it without some of those emotions creeping back in. Just… be a bit more understanding.”

You spend the rest of the case trying to apologize to Reid, but he avoids you like the plague, frustrating you to no end. You corner him one night on the way to his room, but he snaps at you with such violence you have to turn and run away before you let yourself cry in front of him.

Your resentment for Maeve grows as you watch him work though, seeing him become an empty shell of a man as he gets lost in his memory trying to save the new victim. You’re angry that she died, angry that she put him in that position, angry that no one forced him off the case, that no one foresaw the negative effect that this would have on him when it ended badly. You’re angry that she loved him first because your heart aches without his company.

Thankfully, the case ends well, and you manage to save the girl who has been abducted. You don’t even want to think about what that would mean for Reid, having to see the dead body of another girl knowing he couldn’t save them either. He practically runs off the jet when you land back at Quantico as you try, once again, to apologize.

Penelope comforts you at your desk as you cry, desperate to make things right. She’s the one who slips you his address, and not even an hour later, you feel like a shell of a person driving directly there, not stopping to worry about whether he’ll even see you.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t look surprised to see you. He doesn’t look anything at all, emotionally drained from the last week. You thought you would apologize right then and there, and leave, but he turns back into his apartment and you have to follow him in, saying nothing as he sets himself beside a chessboard again.

“Spencer…” you start, but you have to stop to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I didn’t know you were the agent. I wouldn’t have said what I did had I known.”

“Would you still think it?” He asked sharply, and you can feel the anger in his voice. He’s trying to control it, but he’s never been the best at masking his emotions with his team members.

“Spencer, please, I’m trying to apologize.”

“Would you have looked at me with pitying eyes? The FBI Agent who couldn’t even save his girlfriend from a stalker. The girlfriend who probably didn’t even love him either because what is there to love about-”

“Spencer! Stop putting words in my mouth.” Your tone is harsh but it gets him to finally look up at you. His tone was angry, but his eyes were all despair, shining with tears as he tried, so hard, to pull himself together. He’s failing.

“Why am I so unlovable? What about me is so difficult to love?” Your heart breaks at his words. The way he says it sounds like he is genuinely searching for an answer, his eyes darting between your own as his body sinks in on itself, and you sink with him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into you.

“Nothing. Nothing, Spencer, you are so loved. You need to know that I love you, that we all love you, Spencer.” Your voice breaks a little at your confession, as you suddenly realize how true those words are.

“But she still died. I had to have done something wrong, but I play it back again in my head, every conversation and-” he breaks down in sobs then, his entire body shaking with the weight of his grief. The wound isn’t new but it runs deep, and you quietly sob beside him, knowing no matter how much you love him it won’t be enough to replace the love he lost with her.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Off Day Or Day Off Part 2

Summary: Reader’s bad day continues as they struggle with (POTS). Luckily Lizzie and Scarlett look after her.

Tw: kind of fainting but not really, pots, exhaustion / fatigue,

Words: 1090

A/n This was me like two hours before I wrote this, but I was alone (I texted a friend tho so that was nice), so I wrote this to project. I just laid on the floor and watched Lizzie interviews on YouTube.

The next time you woke up you groaned softly knowing you had to get up to pee. Lizzie was still fixed on the TV as scarlet turned to you with a concerned look.

“You ok honey?” She asked softly in case your head was hurting.

“Need to pee.” You pouted making Lizzie laugh as she began paying attention to your conversation.

“That’s the electrolytes love.” She teased and you frowned at her, hating everything at at the moment.

“Do you need help?” Scarlett offered.

“No.” You huffed grouchily, throwing off the blanket that was keeping you warm, shivering as you suddenly felt cold.

“Are you sure?” Scarlett pressed. “There’s no shame in needing help.

“Im fine.” You said feeling embarrassed and tired.

“Ok honey.” Scarletts expression relaxed now looking sad for you. “Call us if you need us okay sweets?” She asked and your inclined your head just enough to let her know you heard her.

Bracing yourself you sat up, pausing before moving to stand up. You blinked for a second waiting for the spots in your vision to leave Scarlett watched with concern but before sheer could say something you left the room.

After finishing and washing your hands you were walking back down the hall when you suddenly felt a wave of fatigue wash over you. It was all too familiar as you lowered yourself to the floor sliding down the wall.

You debated calling them over, still feeling bad for ruining their day off as well as just plain old stubbornness. You decided to wait a second to see if it would pass before you called them.

But after a few moments you knew, it wasn’t going to. Gently laying yourself down you felt your body becoming heavier and your eyes drooping as exhaustion crashed into you.

“Mum! Auntie Lizzie!” You called using up as much of your remaining strength as you could.

You heard hurried footsteps and felt someone brushing their hand gently through your hair.

“Y/n/n, honey can you hear me?” Scarlett asked as Lizzie hovered nearby.

“Mum…” you mumbled feeling bone tired as your eyes remained shut.

“I’m going to pick you up ok baby?” Scarlett said, not expecting a response as much as just asking to provide a warning. It was always slightly scary when this happened as you were practically defenceless and despite knowing you were safe with Lizzie and Scarlett you still hated not being able to protect yourself. You had been stubbornly independent from a young age so you despised needing to be looked after.

As your thoughts drifted, your mind too tired to try and keep up with your surroundings you felt strong arms under you as Scarlett scooped you off the floor.

She was very gentle as she carried you into the living room. Gently she set you down on the floor after Lizzie laid a blanket down so it was softer to lay on.

“What can I do?” Lizzie asked.

“She needs salt. Can you go grab one of the blue drinks from the fridge door?” Scarlett said and Lizzie nodded as she ran off to grab it.

Meanwhile Scarlett lifted your legs onto the couch too elevate them. Once she was done with that, she pulled your head into her lap. She knew you were awake just too tired to move.

When Lizzie returned, she sat next to you on the floor. Passing a small bag of sea salt chips to Scarlett and a bottle of Gatorade. Lizzie shuffled over and held your hand in her lap.

“It’s ok baby. We’re here my sweet girl.” Lizzie said softly, knowing you could hear them despite looking dead to the world.

The three of you sat in silence for a bit as they whispered soft reassurances to you, knowing how much you hated being out of control.

After a bit you blinked your eyes, a bit feeling a little bit of energy return.

“There she is.” Lizzie said brushed a strand of hair from your face. “How are you feeling baby?” She asked.

“Mmm.” You mumbled, too exhausted for words as you nuzzled into Scarlett’s lap.

Lizzie and Scarlett sat for another few minute's waiting for you to feel ready to sit up.

After a second your gaze focused on them. “Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Don’t apologise baby, you have no reason to be sorry.” Scarlett hushed you. “Are you read to sit up?” She asked

You paused for a second taking mental stock of your body before nodding.

Lizzie helped you sit up as your back leant against Scarletts chest to support you. Lizzie twisted the cap off the Gatorade and passed it to you, her hands brushing against your fingertips.

“Jesus Y/n!” She said. “You're freezing.” She said.

You nodded sagely in response. “Cold.” You confirmed, taking a sip of the drink while Scarletts hands stabilised yours which were shaking and pale.

“Here.” Lizzie said, pulling off her hoodie and sliding it over your head and wrangling you into it while Scarlett held your drink.

It was warm and smelt like Lizzie which made you feel better.

“Have some chips baby.” Lizzie said opening the packet. Feeling like babying you a little Lizzie began hand feeding you the chips ignoring your whining as she started making little airplane noises to tease you like she was feeding a toddler.

You pouted at her and she giggled, her nose scrunching as you huffed softly.

“Feeling better honey?” Scarlett asked and you leant your head against her collarbone.

“Yeah.” You said softly, still not feeling a hundred percent.

“Hope about we move this party to the couch for some snuggles.” Lizzie suggested and you nodded. Scarlett smiled and scooped you up, passing you to Lizzie who had taken up her previous spot on the couch.

You laid on her stomach, heads resting in the crook of her neck as she rubbed your back in soft gentle circles.

“Get some rest honeylove.” She whispered and you nuzzled into her making her coo as you drifted off again after feeling Scarlett join the cuddle puddle.

@barbarasstar @charlie56

[echo-goes-mmm]

Juno in "Pet Shelter"

My Writing Masterpost

Juno Collection Masterpost

Warnings: lightly BBU adjacent 

“And that’s about it,” finished Jack, leading the new volunteer back to the front desk. “Any questions?”

Daniel shrugged. “It seems simple enough. Feed the pets, give out meds, play time is two hours a day,” he rattled off.

Jack smiled. “Just about, yeah. Although some pets have dietary restrictions, so be careful with that. It’s all in their charts.”

“Right. Oh, do employees get to adopt from the shelter? Just curious.”

“Yup! There’s a waiting period of six months, though. In fact, I'll have officially adopted a kitty tomorrow. I’m really excited.” Jack beamed, proud.

“Kitty?”

“Oh,” waved off Jack, “it’s a term we use to describe personalities. ‘Kitties’ are shyer, quiet, more independent. ‘Pups’ are more energetic, playful, outgoing. You know the type.”

“Makes sense,” said Daniel. “I guess I’m more of a dog person, but, like, real dogs.”

“Fair,” nodded Jack. “Most people don’t want human pets, hence their rarity. I think there’s only one store in the county, and we’re the only shelter. Hey, since we have a couple hours, you want to meet my kitty?”

Jack pulled out a set of keys from the front desk drawer. “I’m thinking of calling him Juno. He’s really great, and I already love him.”

“Sure, why not?”

The two men turned back down the hall, passed the ‘employee only’ doors. 

“So how come Juno didn’t get adopted yet? I hear pets get adopted really quickly here.”

“Well… he’s got some medical stuff a lot of people don’t want to deal with.”

“Like what?”

Jack swung the keys around his finger.

“For one thing, he’s trans.”

Daniel shot him a look. 

“I know, I know,” Jack said, “but the reality is, that turns a lot of people off, in a manner of speaking. I don’t think it should matter, but it does. And although lots of pets like having sex, Juno has a severe aversion to anyone or anything near his vulva that isn’t himself and his menstrual cup.”

They reached another door at the end of the hall, and Jack flipped through the keys trying to find the right one.

“Usually that isn’t an issue; most people don’t care. Unfortunately, Juno also has an expensive diet. It’s either buy the pricey pet food, or cook for him. I don’t mind the cooking- I like cooking- but the combination of everything makes him pretty unlucky in the adoption department.”

Jack fit a key into the lock of a second door, which opened into a smaller hall with fewer stalls. 

An acidic smell hit them as soon as the door opened.

“Shit,” muttered Jack.

“That can’t be good,” agreed Daniel.

Jack jogged through the hall, and came to stop at a stall. A whine sounded from the poor pet inside.

“Hey, buddy,” cooed Jack, crouching down.

Daniel peered over his shoulder.

A pet was curled up in a far corner, stale vomit in a puddle on the opposite side. 

The pet had dark brown hair, and his eyes were screwed shut. He looked feverish, and he was trembling. His breathing was quick and shallow, and he had top surgery scars on his chest.

Daniel glanced at the sign on the wall.

Juno, it read. Owner: Pending.

“Did somebody give you the wrong food, honey?” Jack asked quietly as he unlocked the stall.

Juno whined again.

“Okay buddy, don’t worry.” Jack pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the stall, pet and vomit and all. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Jack approached the shivering pet. “Take a look in his food bowl, would you?” he called over his shoulder.

Daniel looked inside. “It’s halfway empty.”

“Fuck,” muttered Jack. The pet whimpered. “Not you, sweetheart. You’re doing so good; making sure you didn’t get messy. There’s a good boy. You didn’t eat it all cause you figured it out, yeah? Such a smart kitty.” Jack pet the boy’s hair, and Juno leaned into his hand.

“Can you sit up for me?”

Jack helped the pet lean against the wall, his face tacky with tear tracks. “I know your tummy hurts, sweetheart, but just stay right there, okay?”

Jack pulled away and turned to Daniel. “Dump out the food in the trash,” he ordered. “Get a new bowl from storage, and fill it with the gluten-free bag. Make sure it’s a new bowl, or he’ll get sick again.”

“What about the water? Won’t that be contaminated?”

“Go ahead and take that to the sink. I’ll take care of getting him some liquid,” Jack said. “I need to brush his teeth anyway.”

They left the stall. “Not going to lock it?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said with a grim face. “He can’t move much when he has a reaction.”

Jack pulled out his phone, dialing a number as he went to the med cabinet.

He opened the cabinet, looking for the stock paste he kept on hand and the shelter-supplied disposable toothbrushes as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey boss, it’s Jack. One of the pets got fed an allergen again. Sent you some photos.”

“Dammit. Which one?”

Jack found the brushes. They were on the wrong shelf.

“Guess.”

His boss sighed. “And you’re sure it’s Ethan doing it?”

Jack switched his phone to the other shoulder as he filled a bottle with hot water.

“He hates me,” he complained, scooping a tablespoon of the stock paste into the bottle. “And he really wanted Juno. He was on food duty earlier. He’s trying to sabotage the adoption. You know, make him sick so he has to do a round of isolation.”

His boss sighed. “I’ll check the tapes.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Jack shook the bottle until it was a dark brown and the paste had dissolved.

“Hey, Juno,” he said quietly, pulling open the door. “I’m back.”

Juno looked up at him with teary blue eyes. Poor thing.

“I got you a toothbrush, and that soup you like.” Jack set the bottle off the side, kneeling in front of him.

Juno opened his mouth, still weak and miserable, and Jack scrubbed the stomach acid off his teeth.

“You get to come home with me tomorrow,” he said, cupping the back of Juno’s head for support. “Won’t that be nice?”

Juno made an ‘mhm’ as soon as Jack was finished. 

Jack picked up the bottle. “Do you think you can hold it for me?”

Juno didn’t look very sure.

“Alright, that’s fine.” Jack unscrewed the cap, and held the soup to Juno’s mouth.

Juno took a couple of sips, and turned his head away. His stomach probably couldn’t handle much more.

“That’s okay. You're doing great.” He brushed Juno’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He wanted to give him a bath, get all that sweat off, but Juno probably wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “You wanna go to sleep?” 

The pet nodded, clearly exhausted. He must have been vomiting for hours.

Jack helped him lay down on his cot as Daniel came back.

“What's that?” he nodded towards the bottle.

“Stock,” Jack explained. “The salt and fluid is good for nausea and he needs the calories.”

Jack stroked Juno’s hair.

“He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah. He just needs to rest.”

___________________

Jack stirred the fried rice in the pan. It smelled great, and it was a new recipe. His aunt had recommended it, and she had Celiac disease just like Juno. 

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to switch everything over to be gluten free. And it was worth it to keep his pet healthy.

Juno pressed himself against Jack’s back, his arms wrapping around Jack’s waist. He laid his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud. Ready to eat?”

“Mhm.”

Jack spooned two portions into bowls, and sat on the couch to eat.

Juno ate from his bowl with gusto, and Jack smiled as he watched. His kitty had put on a lot more weight, and the doctor was really pleased with his progress. 

Juno finished before he did, and got up onto the couch, shoving his head onto Jack’s lap.

Jack absent-mindedly carded a hand through his hair. It was so soft and wavy now that he had proper conditioner. 

He focused on the nape of Juno’s neck, just where he liked it, and Juno nuzzled into his thigh.

If Juno could purr like real cats, Jack knew he would.

He looked so much better: well-rested, well-fed, and with a handsome leather collar.

Adopting him was the best decision Jack had ever made.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[strxnged]

1k. (suggestive) misunderstandings, platonic. gn!reader.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Of all the questions you expected Kaveh the Architect to ask you on what you had supposed to be a first date, this was not among them. Indeed, being the juxtaposing type of question you’d expect any sane suitor to ask, it was flabbergasting, and you could hardly think of a reply to combat this. Your jaw dropped and you peered into his ruby eyes, searching the jewels for a saving clue.

“You can be honest,” he continued bewilderingly. “That’s why I wanted to properly meet you for coffee. So that we could talk like adults.”

No, of all the questions you anticipated coming from someone who had asked you to meet for coffee “as soon as possible,” bringing “just yourself,” this was not among them. But maybe it should have been. The urgent nature of it all may have been a clear enough indicator, had you paid attention. A bit awkwardly you realized how far off your assumptions about this all had been. To think that you’d thought he was trying to get into your pants. Taking you on a date first like an adult. Not asking you to coffee just to talk like one.

Finding no answers in his eyes, you settled your gaze on your joe and pondered. Then at last, with much less certainty than you had intended, you responded, “I… don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

You met his eyes. “I don’t hate you, moron.”

Kaveh visibly bristled. This was how you had expected him to look after you’d turned down his supposed sexual interest as planned. “I don’t buy it. After the way that you talk to me, how you’ve turned down my project ideas, how you talk about me to other people…”

There was much for you to unpack here, but the last point caught your own sense of urgency. Your mug came down onto the table harder than you meant. “I don’t talk about you to other people. What do you mean, how I talk about you to other people?”

“You know.”

“I don’t. Where is this coming from? Kaveh, what the hell?”

He swallowed and spoke with seemingly great effort. “Alhaitham said… that you said… you can’t bear to be around me.”

“Kaveh.”

“Yes?”

“Alhaitham isn’t people. Alhaitham is person. A person who has been known to enjoy messing with you.”

He hesitated, and then declared, “A lot of the stuff he says is true. Even if it’s utterly uncalled for.” Kaveh looked anywhere but at you. “Sorry. I just…”

You looked him up and down. Here, you’d thought he was all of the things he wasn’t. And here he thought you were all of the things that you were not. You let a short laugh slip, and then quickly covered your smile with your knuckle.

He spoke feebly and towards the cafe aisle instead of you. “I’m taking this seriously. I don’t want you to hate me. Can’t we talk about it?”

Oh, it was sweet, and ironic, and delightful, and hilarious.

“Yes, Kaveh. Let’s talk about it.”

He glanced at you and quickly away again, nodding. His avoidance of eye contact made you feel a bit bad, but for only a second. You wanted to get the truth out before you made any attempt at comforting the poor soul.

“I don’t hate you,” you continued. “I don’t even dislike you. I like your company and I think you’re marvelous and creative. I think—and this is what I told Alhaitham—I think that if I spent too much time with you, I’d become more engaged myself, and I’m just not ready for that change in my life. Or I wasn’t. I was too comfortable with the status quo.” You paused to sip your bitter coffee, trying to figure out the words for the rest of it.

“But my projects,” he said, “my project ideas, the ones you refused to help with.”

“You wouldn’t want to do those with little old me,” you replied, simply and honestly.  

“I really would.”

“No, Kaveh. You don’t understand. I’m not brilliant like you. I’m a materialist, a realist, a square-cut function-obsessed gadgeter. I don’t do pretty designs. I can’t contribute to—” You gestured as if his mind was splayed out as a galaxy of ideas before you. “—All that.”

He tilted his head, looking again keen and reactionary. 

“And I’m sorry,” you finally said, “for how… for how blunt I can be. And I know I can be mean. I swear it’s just the way I talk, it’s not—”

He cut you off. “So I’m not the one you hate?”

“What do you…” It was your turn to cock your head. 

“I mean…” He raised an eyebrow, not mockingly. “You’re just unhappy, aren’t you?”

You set your mug down and leaned your elbows onto the table. He looked intently back at you now. Like a friend. Like someone who cared about being hated by you, and someone who cared about you hating yourself.

You cleared your throat, grasping at the straws of a changed subject. “I thought this was gonna be a date, nitwit. Not a therapy session.”

“A date?” He looked horrified.

You laughed at his expression, feeling all sorts of relieved. “Good to know neither of us were looking for that.”

“Tell me: Why would I ask you on a date if I thought you hated me?”

“Oh, Kaveh.”

“That doesn’t make an inch of sense.”

“Speaking of inches. Are you sure you want those columns in that desert library design to be that thick? Why not just have a few more columns among the shelves?”

And as quickly as that, the fear and sensitivity in his face faded and was replaced by glowing defense of his idea. 

The supposed date turned into a shrewd planning convention and you watched the remaining tension leak from his fingertips as he gestured at his invisible designs in the air. You thought, yes, this is why I can’t bear to be around him. He’s so bright and alive. It burns my eyes.

But you were alive too, thanks to the warm late-night caffeine. And thanks also, perhaps, to the feeling that the conversation you had avoided earlier might come around again, and that you didn’t mind that. You didn’t mind the idea of more conversations with Kaveh.

author's note. i don't know, guys, i think i'm obsessed with being this guy's friend. and... yeah, this is sort of a vomit of words about how easily social signals are misinterpreted, especially when you're ANTISOCIAL like me. i'm fine though. do not worry.

consider reblogging or leaving a reply if you enjoyed.

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[honeycollectswhump]

Augusnippets Day 30

day 30: self-harm/addiction/overdose (+ relapse)

CW: drunk whumpee, alcoholism relapse, self hatred

Whumpee was already way past her first bottle when a knock rang through her tiny apartment, making her freeze up, her blood suddenly feeling like ice ripping through her veins. She was supposed to be alone today, hiding her dirty little secret behind closed doors and dark rooms. 

Not even a week. A pathetic, short week. 

That’s how long she managed to stay sober, with nothing keeping her going except the disappointment hanging over her like a guillotine, and the certain knowledge that she wouldn’t last anyways, that the next bottle was only a short time away.

That didn‘t make the expectations of ongoing sobriety disappear, so she would just drink alone again, forgo the gentle care of her closest friend, and drown in her shame like she used to. It was better this way perhaps.

Her sluggish drunken heart sped up at the thought of who could be standing in front of her door, soon discovering her secret act. There was no chance at all she could seem sober, and Whumpee was horribly aware of that. She probably stank of poison and was stumbling like a brainless idiot. She hadn‘t spoken yet since she cracked open the first bottle, but if she had any sense left in her, she knew her obvious slur would prove her crime. 

A second, more pressuring knock followed and Whumpee could feel tears of frustration and fear pooling up. What if someone called the police on such a dirty little addict like her? They would have every right to do so. She was doing nothing but wasting breath and downing vodka like water. 

What would they do to her? Perhaps they would take her away, drug her out of mind so she could never make a bad decision and lock her away? No, you disgusting junkie bitch. You probably wish that they‘d do that to you. They are gonna throw you out like the trash you are and take your vodka too. They know how worthless and pathetic you are

Whumpee shuddered, gripping the bottle like a child‘s toy as if it could bring her comfort. Perhaps it did. Perhaps it was the only stable thing, the only thing she could rely on, even if the reliable part was her own destruction.

She stumbled closer to the door, the doom awaiting her. Maybe she could hide, pretend not to be home at all, even though that thought was laughable even to her wasted mind. But then the world tilted, ripping her legs from under her and making her crash loudly into the wall, a dull thud reverberating through her skull. 

Her vision swam, a pounding headache no longer ignorable and she was just too fucking drunk to do anything but let her head loll forward and give herself to the ever-growing nausea.

„Whumpee? Are you okay?” 

Fuck.

There was nothing she could do, except retch into her lap to the sound of her friend’s keys jingling in her door.

@augusnippets

[hollybell51]

ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

The other thing

Navigation

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?” 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach. 

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath? 

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.” 

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach. 

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan. 

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy. 

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that. 

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?” 

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!” 

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit. 

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–” 

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” 

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.” 

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.” 

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.” 

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab. 

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).” 

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?” 

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head. 

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat. 

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!” 

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said. 

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same. 

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.” 

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–” 

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.” 

“Dean–” 

“(Y/N) hold on!” 

“Dean!” 

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way. 

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad. 

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.” 

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…” 

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach. 

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been. 

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.” 

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me” 

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips. 

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes. 

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.” 

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.” 

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.” 

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.” 

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.  

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. 

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.” 

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.” 

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...” 

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.” 

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying. 

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.  

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that. 

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?” 

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?” 

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.” 

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. 

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?” 

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.” 

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?” 

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.” 

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.” 

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.” 

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.” 

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping. 

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you. 

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually. 

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.” 

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.” 

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face. 

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him. 

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.” 

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again. 

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.” 

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.” 

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!” 

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said. 

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times. 

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand. 

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on. 

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. “She mentioned it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me? 

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.” 

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it. 

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him. 

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing. 

Sam nodded. 

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.” 

“I was too late! She was out!” 

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.” 

“What if–” 

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?” 

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it. 

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.” 

“Good.” 

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing. 

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around. 

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling. 

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?” 

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?” 

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked. 

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned. 

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.” 

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?” 

“And what about you, huh?” 

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself. 

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.” 

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.” 

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face. 

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.” 

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you. 

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?” 

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?” 

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all? 

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.” 

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance. 

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.” 

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?” 

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.” 

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?” 

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.” 

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it. 

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly. 

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair. 

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer. 

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?” 

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. 

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.” 

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop. 

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied. 

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.” 

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced. 

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.” 

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.” 

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck. 

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly. 

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.” 

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go. 

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.” 

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there. 

“What?” you asked. 

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.” 

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler. 

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing. 

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.” 

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.” 

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully. 

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?” 

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” 

“Have a little faith, Sam.” 

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean. 

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”. 

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.” 

“And it’ll be a date?” 

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.” 

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.”