#For fuck sake doctor. (Crack)

[eternityhistoria]

betting 50 bucks that Garion is going to be deal with orlando furisano because lord knows that man can crash out.

[luveline]

hi ! i saw that you were open to writing steddie x reader ! thinking of maybe the anesthetic wearing off scenario (you have written many times haha) where loopy reader finds out she has not one but two boyfriends who are also boyfriends <3

There are two boys quarrelling at the end of your bed. The dark-haired ones cross-legged and sans shoes, picking through a big bag of chips you could smell before you opened your eyes. Spicy. Your dry mouth waters for one. The brown-haired one is helping himself despite his frowning, his quipping mouth sharp as a knife. “Fuck’s sake, babe, can you just– fucking– you never make anything easy.” 

“Don’t be so aggressive,” the dark-haired one says. The longer you look at him, the more you know him. That’s your Eddie, the sweet one who comes to work to see you. 

“Why have you smashed all the chips?” 

“They taste better in crumbs. Usually I’d eat them with a spoon, but there’s no spoons to be found in here. What am I supposed to do?” 

The brown-haired boy. It takes you longer to know him, though you can’t figure out where from. Steve. Steve snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hands and tips it back. “Like this,” he says between chews. 

“Fucking class act, Harrington, you’re always so polite.” 

Steve gives the chips back. You blink to yourself, sure there’s a string of webbing caught in your eyelash trying to blind you. 

“Do you want a sandwich or something?” Steve asks. 

“It’s fine. We should wait for sleeping beauty to get up before we get food, or you’ll just have to go twice.” 

“You’re not hungry? I’m starving.” 

“How can you be hungry?” Eddie laughs brightly. “You just ate all my chips.” 

Steve pushes upward on one hand. He’s sitting turned to the back of the room, away from you, and when he leverages himself onto higher ground you can see the start of a tattoo under his shirt sleeve. “Shut up,” he says, clasping the back of Eddie’s head, leaning down. 

He’s gonna headbutt him, you think worriedly. “Excuse me?” 

They both whip their heads toward you. 

“Don’t fight,” you say hoarsely. 

“We’re not,” Steve says immediately. He quickly gathers himself and stands, dipping under your table for a bottle of water and cracking the seal. “Here, why don’t you have a sip of this? You’ve been sleeping for hours.” 

“Well, not sleeping,” Eddie says. 

“My throat feels funny.” 

“You were intubated, you remember? So you could breathe during the surgery.” Steve sits at your side and presses the bottle of water into one of your lax hands. “Go on, baby. Just a couple of sips.” 

“Uh…” 

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says, turning on the bed and pulling at your sheets in the process. 

“Eddie.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

“You’re Eddie.” 

He grins, “That’s me, sweet thing. You feeling okay?” 

“That’s me.” 

“Sweet thing?” he asks, funny half-smile on his lips as he mirrors Steve on your other side. 

Your face doesn’t feel your own as you smile at him. You must know them, Steve and Eddie, there’s a warmth to them where they’re smiling back at you, a deep lack of pain at their nearness. You settle contentedly into your bed. “Don’t fight,” you say again, just to check. 

“We aren’t,” Steve says quietly.

He forces you with gentle hands to take a drink. Eddie squints at you suspiciously, hint of that half smile still playing on his lips underlain with a softer reluctance, like he’s not sure why he’s smiling. You smile at him every time you look at him. You look like a strange clock, each tick an uptick of your lips, until he’s laughing and taking the bottom of your face into his hand, thumb flirting with the corner of your mouth. “You’re broken,” he declares. 

“I’m fine.” 

“The doctors took your brain.” 

You look to Steve. He shakes his head. 

“Here, sweetheart,” Eddie says, under his breath but audible anyhow as he pulls your face gently to his lip, “you’re alright.” 

Your brain fizzes as he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“Better?” Eddie asks. 

“Some,” you confess. 

Steve meets your eye. “Some?” he asks, grinning strangely, all laughs and quickness as he pushes Eddie away by the shoulder and kisses you, right on the corner of your lips. “How’s that?” he asks proudly. 

“Um.” 

Eddie kisses your other cheek again. Steve kisses the skin under your ear. 

“You guys aren’t my friends, are you?” you ask. 

They both laugh, but it’s Steve who meets your eye with a glint in his own. “Nope, not your friends.” 

Your cheeks go hot as a furnace, heat from the depth of your chest you can’t beat. 

[meowzfordayz]

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Author’s Note: pls and ty enjoy this tidbit of crack-fluff. 😆💖

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,600

CW: explicit language, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: Can we get all hashira accidently touch y/n's breast

~faqs~

Fyi, “chest” means boob. I was just worried Tumblr would block this post from tags if I included “boob” in the title lmao. 😉

Shocked 😳😖

“I apologize, [y/n]-san, it won’t happen again!”

Gyomei’s nearly in tears, he feels so terribly 😞

“These things happen!” you promptly assure him, “Besides, you technically won the bout.”

No need to mention that he always wins when training together 🥲

“I cannot accept such a tainted victory.”

“Himejima-san, though I appreciate your concern and respect, there’s truly no issue.”

Meanwhile, Gyomei’s rethinking his entire Breathing Style to ensure he never accidentally touches anyone’s boob(s) again 💀 

In cold disbelief 😐😐😐

If you don’t say anything, then he won’t say anything

Alternatively, if you do say something, then Obanai will immediately curl up into a ball and die

Spends the rest of his day recalling the fleeting warmth of your breast

He swears his hand doesn’t even get cold, so affected by the heat of your bosom

Your boob must be ✨magical✨

“Iguro-san,” you call out gently, noting his dazed stare, his dinner untouched while he sits crossed legged, “Is something on your mind?”

“No.” 😐😐😐

Well okay then 🙃

“About what happened earlier…”

🫨🫨🫨 <— Obanai is FREAKING OUT

“… Iguro-san, I didn’t mind.”

And then you stand up, take your dishes, and leave

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEEEAAAN?!?!?!

Good luck finding Obanai tomorrow 🫡 (the poor man’s been pleasantly overwhelmed)

He’ll avoid you for eternity now 😌 (not really, but at least until he can breathe around you again)

She giggles 🤭

Lol

“Oh my! [y/n]-san, I didn’t mean to touch you so intimately!” 😅

“No worries, it happens.”

Your face may or may not be burning up a storm, but that’s okay!

Mitsuri’s blushing too

A lot 😳

“I hope I didn’t hurt you?!”

Because like, What if I gripped too hard?! 😭

She’s well aware of her own strength

“You barely brushed me, Kanroji-san. I promise!”

Phew!

She grins, relief evident as she bumps her elbow against yours

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? I would be so embarrassed!!!”

“Kanroji-san, our secret is safe with me.”

I wish it would happen again… <— lowkey both of you thinking the same thing 🤪

As a medical personnel (among other roles), Shinobu accidentally (or even on purpose, depending on where you’re wounded) touching your boob isn’t entirely unreasonable nor unrealistic

Obviously it would be nicer if she was caressing you out of love and affection 😔

And not methodically cleansing then bandaging claw marks that just so happened to cross over your chest 😒

“You should make a full recovery,” she’s all business, “The demon avoided your nipple and didn’t puncture deep enough to affect the functionality of your breast,” fortunately, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed by her bluntness, “It has a nice shape. I’m glad you survived.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT?!?!?! 😃🫠

Now you’re kinda embarrassed

More so preening, really 🤭

It’s like when a doctor randomly compliments the rhythm of your heart or some other characteristic from a mainly professional POV, but you’re still caught off guard because who tf compliments someone’s kidneys or bowels movements or?????

In your pain hazed delusion, you briefly contemplate somehow getting your other boob injured too… gotta make sure you’re matching in (nice) shape, y’know? 😌

Kyojuro can be discreet, albeit more so for your sake than his

“I APOLOGIZE! I DID NOT MEAN TO TOUCH YOUR BREAST!” <— how he could react 💀

“Pardon my slip, are you okay?” <— how he actually reacts, because he isn’t entirely lacking in social awareness and decorum 😆

“Oh,” you don’t mean to squeak, but it can’t be helped when the most handsome man you’ve ever known just casually grazed your boob, “I’m fine! Totally fine! Haha!” 🫨😵‍💫🫠

You’ve gotta be more convincing than that, or Kyojuro will never forgive himself 😕

He’s a lil oblivious when it comes to physical attraction

Not like, infantly so, but given this particular circumstance?

He doesn’t realize you’re flustered; he assumes you’re mortified 😖

“You sound decidedly less than fine.”

He’s softer now, worried about startling you 🥺

“I was surprised! But don’t worry! I’m not worried!”

Okaaay, but he’s worried 🥲

“Is there any way I could make amends for my indiscretion?”

Not only is he handsome, but he is such a gentleman 😭😍

“Rengoku-san, there are no amends to be made, I promise. I’m not mad, nor do I feel unhappy or unsafe. I forgive you.”

Your regaining of the ability to speak in complete sentences greatly reassures him 😮‍💨😁

“Ah. Well. I am grateful for your kindness and understanding. It will not happen again.”

…

…

Hold up 🧐

Why does she seem… she seems… disappointed? Should I have said it will happen again??

You’ve suddenly given Kyojuro something quite pleasant to ponder 🤔

After all, he isn’t entirely oblivious 😉

“Are you going to apologize?” Sanemi demands

“For what?” you screech

“For touching my hand with your boob!”

Your eyes roll, “Oh fuck off!”

“I didn’t ask to touch you,” he grunts

“I wouldn’t have given you permission anyway,” you retort 😒

Arms crossing over his bare chest, Sanemi scoffs, “Well I didn’t give mine either!”

“You’re ridiculous. It was an accident.”

You seem genuinely pissed 😬

Sanemi rethinks his approach

“You know I’m joking, right?” 😅

“Nooo,” your sarcasm cuts deep, “I thought you were flirting.” 😐

Uh 😀

Well 😃

Shit 😄

“Fuck you!” 

When in doubt, curse ‘em out 💀

You scowl, confusion lingering as your blood boils, “Fuck you!”

“I said it first.” 🙄

You stalk away, fed up with his antics

#man child #sort of #romantically inept is more like it

As tends to happen with epiphanies, yours doesn’t hit until you’re almost asleep

“WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER FLIRTING WITH ME???!” 😳🥴😭

Best believe Shinazugawa Sanemi is about to have a Lesson 101 in flirting asap 😤😎

(assuming you’re older, like, mentor age to Muichiro)

Neither of you make a fuss about it

It’s like accidentally calling your teacher mom 😬

Or grabbing a random person’s hand in the supermarket thinking they’re your parent 🫣

Embarrassing, but not a huge deal — unless you make it one

There’re those three seconds of slow motion Uhh and What just happened and Oops 🫠

And then time speeds up to normal again, you have a quick conversation with your eyes (gosh forbid you speak and bring the unspoken into reality 💀), and it’s over

^^ Alternatively, if Muichiro initiates a conversation to clear the air, then you’re able to have a mature and concise chat that is respectfully and patiently resolved

Embarrassing/accidental encounters are part of growing up

As long as they can be navigated ~safely, there shouldn’t be any lasting harm

⚠️I also want to emphasize that I am talking solely on inarguably accidental/one time incidences⚠️

Hehehe

Giyuu’s hand is stuck 🫣

Only for like, a fleeting second

But omg 😭

He was already embarrassed, and now he’s triply embarrassed 🫠🫠🫠

“... Tomioka-san?”

You won’t lie; you aren’t especially bothered 🤭

But it is a compromising position to be caught in; Giyuu lowkey crushing you, one of his palms clearly cupping your boob 😬

#wrestling #or something #so maybe this isn’t super realistic #forgive me

You’re about to repeat his name when he finally springs to life, immediately rolling off you, standing abruptly, about to literally sprint away

And then he remembers his manners 🙃

He offers you a hand

His other hand; his boob hand is currently tucked away in his haori

He’s never washing it again

#closet perv

“Thanks,” you smile faintly, accepting his assistance as you lift yourself from the ground

You hope he can’t hear your heartbeat 💓

He definitely can 😶

But can you hear his?

“I don’t think we should train together anymore.”

Giyuu is swift and harsh with his solutions

“Why?”

Your question comes out stiffer than intended

He hesitates, unable to interpret the fear in your tone — the longing

“I always beat you,” he explains lamely, “Don’t you get tired of losing?”

You scoff cheerfully, grinning now as you squeeze his hand

Fuck, we were still holding hands?! <— Giyuu is in shambles 😳

“I could never lose!” you declare, feelings brimming in your throat, spilling onto your tongue, “Not when I’m with you.”

Then we should absolutely stop training together would be the responsible reaction

Attachments are the most dangerous game for a Hashira to play 😕

Instead, Giyuu’s rendered speechless, unable to shake his hand from yours

“Well alright then,” he mutters, stomach churning as he narrowly avoids the warmth in your gaze

In fact, you swear he squeezes back 💓

“EXCUSE ME! I HAVE A WIFE!” 😤😤😤

“You have three wives.” 🙄

Sputtering, Tengen shrieks, “I already have plenty of breasts to touch!” 

“Tengen,” you glare, not one to back down as you jab a finger into his own chest, “You touched my boob.” 😒

“AND I’M SORRY!” 😭

Much better 😌

“I don’t know what they see in you,” you scoff (you’re also lying, you can see plenty🤭), “They’re gorgeous… and you freak out when you accidentally touch a boob.” 💀

Tengen is 100% pouting now

“I don’t freak out when I touch their boobs,” he huffs

“Well aren’t they lucky.” 😐

“You could be lucky too!”

…

…

Tengen starts running 

You give chase

“DID YOU TALK TO THEM ABOUT THIS?” 

Tengen runs faster

“TENGEN!!!!!”

Tengen runs faster and faster

You give up

*insert gasping for air here*

“DO YOUR WIVES KNOW THEY’RE MARRIED TO A COWARD???!!!”

Oh well, you’ll have to visit their estate sometime this week 🙃

You’re sure to get an answer from Hina, Makio, and Suma ☺️

And you can’t wait to see more of Tengen 😏😋

Sorry, sometimes the horny just happens 🥴

[cei1ne]

—Bakusquad and their behavior with the whole pack of labor

♡⑅*˖•.Summary: The Bakusquad and their behavior before labor, getting in labor, while you’re in labor and after labor.

*+:•*∴·˚ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x F!reader ; Kirishima Eijiro x F!reader ; Kaminari x F!reader ; Hanta Sero x F!reader

༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳✩.Tags: Cute ; Super fluff ; straight up affection ; Husbands ; Slaying Y/N ; Pregnancy ; Labor ; Hospital ; Child ; Love ; Supportive

•*:｡✩•.Word-count: idk i think 14k

×❀°:.•A/N: Okay, guys, I genuinely would die for husband and father material MHA men so yeah you guys I just had to write this even tho I knew I would only get 4 hours of sleep because of it.

✩.*:｡──── ⋆♡⋆ ────.•*:｡✩

Bakugou Katsuki — “Heartbeat of an Explosion”

Two days ago, Bakugou had still been fighting villains.

Mid-air, surrounded by fire and concrete, yelling at dumbass sidekicks to move faster, get the job done, don’t get killed.

Then he got the call.

Your water had broken.

He didn’t wait for backup. Didn’t wait for the fight to finish. Left the cleanup to Kirishima and blasted straight across the city in a line of smoke and sound.

He’d never flown so fast in his life.

His hands had been shaking when he reached the hospital. He barely managed to bark out your name at the front desk before someone was ushering him to your room.

And then he saw you.

Sweaty, flushed, clearly in pain—but you smiled at him.

“Hey, Katsuki. You made it.”

He’d dropped everything in that moment. Knees hitting the floor beside your bed. His forehead against your hand.

“I was so scared I’d miss it,” he muttered.

You squeezed his fingers. “I wouldn’t have let them start without you.”

And just like that—he stayed.

Every contraction. Every moment. Right there.

Even when he thought his heart would give out.

_________________________________

The walls of the hospital weren’t soundproof.

And that was something Katsuki Bakugou was never going to forget.

He stood in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, pacing. The floors squeaked beneath his boots with every turn, and his heart… that damn thing hadn’t stopped hammering since he’d rushed you here two hours ago.

Not during the agonized grip of your hand on his jacket.

Not even when the doctors told him he had to wait outside while they “got you prepped.”

Prepped for what? For pain? For screaming?

Bakugou slammed his palm against the wall, hard enough that a nurse nearby flinched. He didn’t care. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and panic, and all he could hear was your voice breaking through the door down the hall.

“Shit, she’s loud,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Tough as hell, and still screamin’ like that…”

He hated this — being forced to wait. Forced to listen. He was Pro Hero Ground Zero, for fuck’s sake. He’d faced villains, death, explosions. He’d fought through wars and buried teammates and come home bloodied to you every time.

But this?

This was worse.

Because this time, you were the one on the line.

His wife. His everything.

And he couldn’t punch or blast a damn thing to protect you.

“Bakugou-san?”

He turned so fast his boots squeaked again.

The nurse — a younger girl with nervous eyes and an iPad clutched in her arms — gave him a respectful nod. “She’s almost ready for you to come in. Just a few more minutes.”

“Is she okay?” His voice cracked a little. “The baby? Is it—”

“They’re both okay,” she said quickly. “She’s asking for you. You’ll be called in as soon as—”

He didn’t hear the rest. His feet were already carrying him toward the door, fists twitching at his sides.

_________________________________

Your face was red, glistening with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead. There were wires and tubes and too many people in white coats moving around.

But your eyes found his the second he stepped in.

“Katsuki—” your voice broke. “Katsuki, you better get over here right now before I rip someone’s arm off—”

He was at your side in a blink.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby,” he said, voice lower now, gruffer, as he took your hand — the same one that had clawed at him in the car, now trembling in his grasp.

Your grip was fierce. Your knuckles white.

“I hate this,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I know. I know. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, though.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, ignoring the sharp smell of blood and antiseptic and the low beep of machines. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing sweat away.

“You can do this,” he murmured. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Another contraction ripped through you, and your body arched off the bed. You cried out — raw and sharp — and Bakugou felt something in him shatter.

He’d heard people die on battlefields. Heard children scream in wreckage, sirens wailing over the cries of the wounded.

But nothing — nothing — had ever hurt more than hearing you cry like that.

_________________________________

The nurse was barking instructions—“Push! Again! Deep breath!”—and Bakugou could barely breathe himself.

You were gripping his hand so tightly he swore you might break bone, but he didn’t let go. Not for a second. Not even when he saw you fighting not just pain but exhaustion. Your body shaking from effort. Your lips bitten raw.

He’d never felt more useless in his life

“I can’t—Katsuki—” your voice cracked. “I’m trying, I’m—”

“Don’t say can’t,” he said, voice low but firm. “You can. You’re doin’ it, babe.”

You met his eyes, and something in his expression steadied you—fierce but not angry. Loving, in the only way Katsuki Bakugou knew how to be. The look of a man who would fight hell itself for you, and in this moment, he was. Every breath he took, every word he gave, was a battle to keep you standing.

“One more big push!” the doctor called out.

“C’mon,” Bakugou whispered to you, brushing hair from your soaked forehead. “Right here. This is it.”

You screamed—loud, primal, powerful—and suddenly, everything changed.

There was a pause.

A silence so deafening, Bakugou thought his heart had stopped.

Then—

A cry.

Small. Piercing. Alive.

He froze.

The room exploded into movement—nurses swarming, voices raised, claps of encouragement and congratulations—but Bakugou didn’t hear any of it. His eyes were locked on the tiny figure being lifted into the doctor’s arms. Covered in blood, squirming and red-faced, and louder than Bakugou ever thought something that small could be.

“That’s your baby,” the nurse said softly, smiling.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Not until you choked out his name. “Katsuki… go. Go see him.”

His legs felt like lead as he took one step… then another. The doctor handed the newborn off gently to the nurse, who wrapped them tightly in a white blanket and turned toward him.

“Do you want to hold him?”

He didn’t answer. Just extended his arms.

They placed the baby in his hands, and Katsuki Bakugou—Pro Hero, hothead, warrior—felt everything drop out of his chest.

His arms tensed automatically. Not because the baby was heavy. But because the weight of it was everything. The tiny life in his arms, wrapped up in warmth and safety, was his. Yours. Theirs.

It was too much.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

He looked down into that tiny, scrunched-up face. Eyes shut tight. Little fists curled like they were ready to punch the world.

A fighter. Just like you.

He let out a short, choked laugh.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already pissed off.”

He brought the baby closer to his chest, his large hands cradling their head carefully, like the most dangerous explosive he’d ever touched.

And in a way, he was.

A bomb, set off in his heart.

One that left him completely wrecked.

_________________________________

He returned to you slowly, heart still thundering in his ears.

You were barely awake, eyelids heavy, but you smiled the moment you saw the bundle in his arms.

“He okay?” you whispered.

He looked at you—exhausted, beautiful, glowing in a way he didn’t know how to name.

“Perfect,” he said. “Just like his mom.”

You let out a tired laugh and held your arms out weakly. “Let me see.”

He placed the baby in your arms with a gentleness no one outside this room would believe Bakugou was capable of.

You cradled him, tears slipping down your cheeks, and Bakugou sat beside you, silent, watching.

Watching his whole world in one bed.

You. His son. His family.

“I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love you,” he said, voice raw, barely audible. “But this… this is different.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’re a dad now,” you murmured.

He scoffed softly, but didn’t fight it. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

The baby squirmed a little in your arms, and Bakugou instantly leaned in.

“He’s feisty,” you whispered.

“Good. He’ll need to be.”

Silence again. But not the heavy kind.

A warm, full silence. Like an explosion had gone off in the distance and left behind something whole.

Something unbreakable.

_________________________________

The baby had fallen asleep.

You had, too.

It was just past 3 a.m., and the hospital wing had gone still, save for the distant hum of machines and the faint creak of nurses’ shoes in the hallway. The kind of silence that felt earned—after hours of intensity, effort, tears.

Bakugou sat in the armchair beside your hospital bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, but his eyes never left the two of you.

He’d never known he could feel so much at once.

Pride. Terror. Awe. Love so big it didn’t fit inside his ribs.

He wasn’t the same man he’d been yesterday.

He didn’t want to be.

You shifted slightly, arm curled protectively around the baby. The blanket moved just enough for him to catch a glimpse of their tiny, peaceful face.

For a moment, all he could do was stare.

You and he had made that. That life. That little spark of warmth in a cold world.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, still staring at the bundle in your arms.

His voice was low, barely above a breath.

“Hey, dumbass,” he muttered softly. “That’s your mom, y’know. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb brushed the edge of the blanket.

“You got lucky. Real lucky.”

There was no response, of course. Just the soft rise and fall of your baby’s breathing.

But he smiled anyway.

_________________________________

You stirred in the sheets.

“‘Suki?”

He leaned in quickly. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You smiled weakly. “Think he’s hungry?”

He stood up without hesitation. “I’ll call the nurse.”

“No… give him to me first.”

Carefully, he helped guide your arms as you shifted the baby toward your chest. The movement was slow, a little clumsy, but instinctive. Natural.

You looked down at your baby as he latched for the first time.

Your eyes filled with tears. Again.

Bakugou sat beside you, silent.

Watching you feed his kid.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Didn’t know if words would even do it justice.

So instead, he reached for your hand.

You laced your fingers through his without looking.

You didn’t need to.

He was yours. And you were his. And this—this baby, this moment, this night—was everything he’d ever been afraid to want.

________________________________

The nurse returned a little later with the clipboard.

“Have we decided on a name yet?”

Bakugou looked at you. You looked at him.

Then, with a soft smile, you both nodded.

He cleared his throat, voice deeper than usual. “Yeah. We have.”

The name you spoke together wasn’t explosive. Wasn’t loud. But it meant something.

It was strong.

It was yours.

And when the nurse smiled and wrote it down, Bakugou felt it click into place.

He was real. Here. Named. Alive.

His family.

_________________________________

You were finally asleep again. Nurses had done their checks. The room was dim, warm, quiet.

Bakugou stood at the little bassinet beside your bed.

He reached down carefully and picked the baby up.

He was so small. Swaddled tight. Making those soft little sleeping sounds that somehow wrecked him worse than any villain ever could.

He sat down again in the chair.

Let out a long, slow breath.

And then?

He talked.

Low. Rough. Heart bare.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Never thought I’d be a dad. Never thought I should be. Thought I’d mess it up.”

The baby made a tiny noise.

He held him closer.

“But your mom… she believed in me. Even when I didn’t. So I’m gonna believe in myself. For you.”

His voice wavered for the first time.

“I’m not gonna be perfect. But I’ll protect you. I’ll be better. You’re never gonna feel unwanted. Or unsafe. Ever.”

He swallowed hard.

“That’s a promise.”

The baby let out a soft sigh and shifted against his chest, nuzzling close.

He melted.

This was real.

And it was everything.

Eijiro Kirishima — “Unbreakable Heart”

The halls of the hospital were bright, but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion for Eijirou Kirishima.

He had just come from a patrol — nothing major, just crowd control for a villain that had already been subdued by other heroes. But he’d felt restless the entire time. Something in his chest wouldn’t settle.

And then his phone buzzed.

[From: [Your Name]]

“Babe… I think it’s time.”

He had practically flown to the hospital. There were actual burn marks on the door of the agency from where he blasted through it. Denki had shouted after him, something dumb about “finally!” but Eijirou didn’t even hear it.

All he knew was that you were in labor. His partner. The love of his life.

And that his whole world was about to change.

_________________________________

He found you in the maternity ward, already in a hospital gown, hand clenching the sheets as another contraction came.

“Oh god—Kiri—” you panted, “you got here fast.”

He was beside you in a second, gently brushing hair from your forehead and kissing the crown of your head.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “I’d be here no matter what. You’re not doing this alone.”

You gave a breathless laugh, and he grinned, even as his eyes watered just a little. That’s my girl, he thought. Brave even when it hurts.

He held your hand through every contraction. Encouraged you through every breath. Whispered soft affirmations and terrible jokes and even sang a dumb love song at one point just to make you laugh between pushes.

The nurses adored him.

And so did you.

Even when it felt like your body was being torn in two.

Even when you yelled.

Even when the pain made your vision blur—he never flinched. He never left. Just held on tighter and let you crush his fingers as hard as you needed.

He was your rock.

He always had been.

_________________________________

And then—

It happened.

The cry.

A tiny, warbling little voice, squawking like it had just been dropped into a cold, confusing world (which it had, really).

Your eyes snapped open. Kirishima was already leaning over you, eyes wide, stunned, heart racing.

“…That’s him?” he whispered.

You nodded tearfully. “That’s him.”

The nurse smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve got a healthy baby boy.”

Time stood still.

The doctor was saying something about vitals, about cleaning, about stitches — but Kirishima didn’t hear a word. Not really.

He watched as they brought over the little wriggling bundle, red-faced and squirming, wrapped up like a burrito. He didn’t even realize he was crying until you reached for his hand again and whispered:

“Hey. Meet your baby.”

_________________________________

He sat down on the little couch beside your bed, hands out, unsure.

The nurse laughed gently. “You won’t break him, Dad. Promise.”

Kirishima looked down at the baby now in his arms.

So… so small.

So perfect.

Dark wisps of hair. Tiny fists curled up under their chin. A little scowl, just like his when he was focused.

And when the baby opened his eyes — oh, god — they looked just like you.

Something inside him cracked wide open.

“I made this?” he whispered. “We made this?”

You laughed, tears running down your cheeks. “Yeah. You did. I just did the heavy lifting.”

“Baby,” he said breathlessly, eyes still on your newborn, “you just went Plus Ultra on a whole new level.”

You snorted. “Don’t make me laugh, it still hurts.”

But you reached for his face anyway, and he leaned into your touch.

There were no more jokes then.

Just silence. Awe. Love.

_________________________________

He hadn’t told you this before — but he’d been scared.

Not of you. Not of the baby.

But of himself.

The night you told him you were pregnant, he’d smiled so big his cheeks hurt. He’d picked you up and spun you in the kitchen, nearly knocking over the fruit bowl.

But that night, lying in bed with you asleep in his arms, he’d stared at the ceiling.

What if I’m not good enough?

What if I can’t protect him?

What if I mess up this amazing thing?

He remembered his own childhood. His own fears. Being the weird kid with shark teeth. Feeling like he’d never live up to anyone.

Could someone like him be a good dad?

But then you rolled over in your sleep and curled into him like he was safety itself.

And that doubt started to fade.

Now, holding his child in a quiet hospital room, all of those questions felt small.

He wasn’t perfect. But he would never stop trying.

And that? That would be enough.

_________________________________

You both had made a list.

You wanted something that meant strength. He wanted something with heart.

So when the nurse came in and asked, “Do we have a name?” — you both smiled.

“Yes,” you said together.

And when the name was written down, it felt like the final piece clicked into place.

He was real. Yours.

Eijirou felt his chest ache in the best possible way.

He looked at you. Your hair messy, eyes sleepy, but glowing like the hero he knew you were.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything in my life,” he said honestly. “You… You’re amazing.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, nudging him gently. “You didn’t even faint.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve fought villains with ten quirks and less adrenaline.”

But then he turned serious.

“Thank you. For trusting me with this. With him. With you.”

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re in this together. Always.”

_________________________________

Later That Night: Just the Three of You

The baby slept in a little bassinet beside your bed.

You were finally resting — body sore, soul quiet.

Kirishima couldn’t sleep.

He sat by the window, shirt wrinkled, eyes tired, heart so full it was almost hard to breathe.

He turned toward the little bundle and whispered:

“I don’t know if I’ll always get it right. I might embarrass you. I’ll probably cry at every sports game or school play.”

He chuckled softly.

“But I’m gonna show up. Every time. For every scraped knee, every nightmare, every scary first day.”

He reached into the bassinet and carefully brushed his thumb over his tiny hand.

“I’ll be strong for you. Unbreakable. Because you’re mine. And because you deserve the world.”

The baby’s tiny hand closed around his finger.

He choked back a sob.

_________________________________

Sunlight poured in the next morning.

You woke to the sight of Kirishima, half-asleep in the chair, your baby asleep on his chest.

His arms wrapped protectively around them. His head leaned back, mouth slightly open.

And the softest, most content expression you’d ever seen on his face.

You took a mental picture — and a real one, too.

Because this? This was the start of something beautiful.

Your unbreakable hero. The love of your life.

Now the father of your child.

And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt:

They’d never know a day without love.

Denki Kaminari — “Little Light”

Denki never thought of himself as the “dad” type.

He was the fun uncle in everyone’s friend group—the guy who showed up late but always with snacks, the one who could light up a party with a grin (or literally short-circuit the electricity if he got too excited). Babies? He liked looking at them from a safe distance. Diapers? Absolutely terrifying. Responsibility? Well… he was getting there.

But the moment you told him you were pregnant, something shifted.

He blinked at you. You were nervous, hands twisting in your lap, barely whispering the words. He stared. Then blinked again.

“…You mean like… a real baby?”

You nodded.

“Like, a tiny human?”

Another nod.

A pause.

“…Who approved this?!”

And then he laughed. Laughed until tears filled his eyes. Pulled you into a crushing hug and whispered, “We’re gonna make such a cool little person.”

_________________________________

Nine Months Later

Denki stood outside the delivery room, hands shaking, heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. His hero costume had been ditched hours ago—now he was in sweatpants, a hoodie, and an expression that said he was both overjoyed and about to pass out.

You were inside. In labor.

His baby was on the way.

His baby.

His.

Baby.

“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” he muttered, pacing like a Roomba with a broken sensor. “She’s in there pushing out a whole person and I’m out here losing it because I forgot how to breathe.”

Kirishima, who had stopped by to check on him during his patrol break, clapped him on the back. “Bro, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I just—what if I mess up?”

“Then you’ll learn. And try again. And be amazing at it eventually. You always do.”

Denki looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. Right. Cool. I can do this. I’ve got this.”

He promptly tripped over his own shoelace.

_________________________________

When the nurse came out and told him it was time, he bolted inside without hesitation. You were sweaty, red-faced, exhausted, and in pain—but still the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You gripped his hand like a vice. “I hate you.”

“That’s fair.”

“You’re never touching me again.”

He kissed your knuckles. “Also fair.”

“You better still be hot when I’m done.”

Denki grinned. “I’ll fry my hair extra for you, babe.”

_________________________________

Thirty-six minutes later, everything stopped.

A single cry sliced through the air, and the room fell away. Denki barely noticed the bustle of nurses, the doctor’s voice, or the faint smell of antiseptic. All he could focus on was you—your teary, trembling smile—and the little bundle the nurse gently placed into your arms.

Your baby. His baby.

Your baby was swaddled in soft yellow, cheeks puffy and pink, eyes scrunched shut as she wailed in righteous protest at existing.

Denki’s legs nearly gave out. “Holy crap. That’s ours.”

You laughed weakly. “Surprise.”

The nurse gently motioned for him to come closer, and with shaking hands, Denki reached out, gently taking the baby into his arms for the first time.

And then he froze.

His eyes welled with tears as he stared down at this impossibly tiny being. His heart expanded until it felt like his ribs would crack. The baby hiccuped softly, tiny fists wiggling from the blanket.

“Hey there, little light,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m your dad.”

The baby let out a soft sound—half snort, half sneeze.

Denki laughed through a tear. “Wow. That’s fair.”

_________________________________

You watched him from the bed, heart full. He stood like he was holding the universe, like one wrong move would shatter the stars. You’d never seen him so serious.

He sat beside you slowly, still cradling the baby. “They’re perfect. Like… holy crap. Perfect.”

You smiled, voice raw. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m scared if I drop her, the government will arrest me for crimes against perfection.”

“You won’t drop her, Kaminari.”

“…What if she doesn’t like me?”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “She’ll love you. Because you’re sweet. And funny. And already so in love with her it’s killing me.”

He blinked. “You really think so?”

You kissed his cheek. “I know so.”

There was a long silence. The baby’s breathing slowed, and she blinked open her eyes—faint gold like dawn, already full of sleepy wonder.

Denki stared down at them in awe. “God, I didn’t think I could love anything this much.”

He sniffled. “Like, I love you obviously. But this? This is insane. I feel like I’d fight a dragon for her. Or a tax auditor.”

You giggled. “Those are scarier.”

The baby yawned.

“…Wait. What’s her name again?”

You groaned. “Denki!”

“Kidding! Kidding. I’m just lightheaded.”

He looked at the baby again, then at you. “She’s gonna grow up so cool. Like… she’s gonna have your smarts and maybe my charm if we’re lucky.”

“Or unlucky,” you teased.

“Yeah, fair.”

The baby made a soft noise, and Denki’s whole face melted. “Do you think she’ll be quirkless?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, she’s gonna be loved. So much it won’t matter.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

_________________________________

Hours later, when the baby was tucked between you in a little hospital bassinet and the room was quiet, Denki traced a gentle line along her tiny forehead with his finger.

“…Can I tell you something?” he whispered.

You blinked sleepily. “Mhm?”

“I want her to call me dad. Like… the good kind. Like, ‘my dad’s my hero’ kinda dad.”

You turned to look at him.

“And I want to be the kind of guy who picks her up from school and makes stupid jokes and lets her color on my arms and teaches her to love who she is, even if it takes a while. I wanna be the guy who never lets her feel like she has to earn my love.”

Your eyes burned with tears.

“And I know I’m a little stupid sometimes,” he whispered. “But I swear—I’ll learn. For her. For you.”

You kissed him, long and slow and full of promise. “You’re already everything she needs.”

He chuckled softly. “Also… I might’ve ordered baby-sized headphones with Pikachu ears.”

You snorted. “Of course you did.”

“They were on sale!”

_________________________________

One Week Later

Denki scrolled through his phone, one hand bouncing the baby gently in a wrap against his chest. The tiny thing was asleep, drooling on his hoodie, completely unaware that her dad was trying to figure out how to install a baby swing without electrocuting it.

“Okay, so this bolt goes here… and this piece… wait, where’s the manual?”

The baby let out a sleepy burble.

“You’re right. Who needs manuals when you’ve got vibes.”

You watched from the doorway with crossed arms. “Last time you said that, you broke our blender.”

“Semantics,” he muttered.

You walked over, kissed the baby’s head, then his cheek. “Still think you’re not the dad type?”

He looked down at the tiny weight against his chest, then back at you.

“Nah,” he whispered. “I think I was always meant to be hers.”

Hanta Sero — “Sticky Fingers & Soft Hearts”

Hanta had always been the funny one. The chill one. The one who could defuse tension with a smile and make a bad day feel survivable with a single quip. It was part of what drew you to him when you were younger, and what kept your heart tethered to his even as the world changed around you.

Being married to a pro hero wasn’t easy, but Sero made it feel easier—every time he came home covered in grime but smiling like you were the best thing he’d seen all day. Every time he wrapped his arms around you with that lanky strength of his and murmured, “I missed you, babe.” Every time he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered promises into your skin that you’d both grow old together.

But this? This was a different kind of battlefield.

You were in labor, and Sero had never been more terrified in his life.

_________________________________

It started around three in the morning—because of course it did. The two of you had been curled up on the couch, watching old cartoons and eating popcorn that had gone stale because neither of you could finish it. He’d been rubbing your feet. You were half asleep on his shoulder. All was right with the world.

And then you shifted. “Mm… ow.”

“Bad position?” he asked sleepily.

“No,” you whispered, sitting up straighter. “No, that was… that was definitely something else.”

Your face went a little pale. Sero’s stomach dropped like an elevator.

“Wait. Wait, wait—is this it?”

You nodded slowly, blinking down at your belly. “Yeah. I think it’s starting.”

And just like that, calm Sero—the goofy, unshakeable guy who once joked through a villain attack—went into full panic mode… internally. Outwardly, he was doing his best to be your rock.

“Okay,” he said, trying to regulate his breathing as he helped you stand. “Okay. We’ve got the bag. We’ve got the car. You’re good. I’m good. We’re good.”

You gave him a half-smile as you clutched your belly. “You’re spiraling.”

“Only a little,” he grinned, already grabbing the overnight bag and your coat. “Let’s have a baby.”

_________________________________

Twelve hours later, you were still having a baby. And Sero was… hanging on.

“God, this hurts,” you growled as another contraction tore through you. You squeezed his hand so hard he swore his knuckles cracked.

“Hey, hey—crush my fingers if it helps,” he whispered against your temple, brushing your hair back as you trembled. “I’ve got a whole tape roll at home. I’ll just fix myself later.”

You barked a laugh through the pain, tears clinging to your lashes. That was Sero: comfort through humor.

He kissed your forehead and rested his hand over your bump. “She’s almost here, babe. You’re doing so damn good.”

And you were. He had never seen you stronger, fiercer, or more painfully beautiful than in that hospital bed—sweating, shaking, eyes burning with exhaustion but filled with fire. He wanted to protect you from every ounce of pain, even though he knew he couldn’t. So he stayed close. Grounded you. Reminded you how much he loved you. Whispered jokes and praises between pushes like his own life depended on it.

Then suddenly—the room shifted. The nurses called for a doctor. There was movement, urgency, hands guiding yours.

“One more big push!” someone shouted.

And then—

She was here.

_________________________________

The cry hit first.

It was small. Wobbly. Half-gasp, half-wail. But it was real.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat as he stood there frozen, watching the nurse lift the tiny body that had been curled inside you just seconds before. She was wrinkly. Covered in vernix. So incredibly small.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “That’s our baby.”

He didn’t even realize he’d started crying until a warm tear slipped over the edge of his jaw.

“Would you like to cut the cord?” a nurse asked gently, holding out scissors.

His hands were shaking. When was the last time his hands shook? Not in a fight. Not even when villains had thrown him through buildings.

But now? Looking at his daughter?

They shook.

He cut the cord with trembling fingers and the softest, most reverent hands you’d ever seen.

And then—she was placed on your chest. Skin to skin. Screaming and red-faced and unbelievably real.

You looked up at him, eyes glistening, and whispered, “Sero… we did it.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering there. “You did it,” he murmured. “You’re incredible.”

You looked down at your daughter, blinking in stunned awe. “She has your ears,” you whispered.

Sero’s laugh came out choked and wet. “Poor kid,” he joked, running a finger ever so gently down the soft fuzz of her hair. “At least she didn’t get my nose.”

You smiled. “She’s perfect.”

And he—he couldn’t argue. Not when his heart was threatening to explode with how much love it was holding.

_________________________________

Later that evening, the room was quiet. You were sleeping, your hand still curled around Sero’s on the edge of the bed.

The baby was tucked into his chest in the little recliner by the window. She had finally stopped crying. Just stared up at him with those wide, unfocused eyes that still felt like galaxies.

He rocked gently, whispering nonsense to her.

“Hi, little lady… I’m your dad. Weird, right? Yeah. That’s me. Hanta Sero—Pro Hero Tapehead, and now… your personal jungle gym, burp cloth, and lifelong embarrassing dad joke supplier.”

Her tiny fingers twitched. He chuckled softly.

“You know, I used to think the best thing I’d ever do was save people. Be a hero. But you? You and your mom… you’re my greatest rescue. You saved me.”

His voice cracked. He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again.

“I don’t know how to be perfect. But I swear, I’ll be the kind of dad you can run to. Every single time.”

She hiccupped, and he swore his soul turned to mush.

_________________________________

You stirred in bed, blinking sleepily at the sight of them both by the window—Sero holding her like she was made of spun glass, humming a soft lullaby under his breath.

You let yourself watch for a moment. Memorize it. Etch it into your bones.

He caught your eye and smiled—your smile, soft and sleepy and overfull.

“Wanna hold her again?” he whispered.

You nodded.

He brought her over, tucking her carefully into your arms like he was passing off a treasure. Which, to him, he was.

“I think she likes you more,” you teased gently.

“Nah,” he smiled. “You’re just her whole world. I’m just the guy who’s gonna spoil her rotten.”

You looked up at him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be such a good dad, Hanta.”

He leaned down and kissed you—slow, soft, and steady. Like a promise.

“You already made me a good man,” he whispered.

_________________________________

Six weeks later the apartment was a maze of pastel blankets, rattles, and bright-yellow sticky notes Sero kept slapping onto every flat surface so he wouldn’t forget anything:

 • warm bottle 2 a.m.

 • diaper stash—buy more wipes

 • kiss wife ← circled twice for importance

It was 1:47 a.m. when a soft, questioning whimper came from the bassinet beside the couch. You stirred, but Sero was already on his feet—bare-chested in plaid sleep pants, hair a disaster, grin sleepy but sure.

“Daddy’s got you, princesa,” he murmured, scooping the tiny bundle into his arms. Your daughter blinked up at him, wide brown eyes catching the lamplight. Tape-scarred fingers cradled her head with practiced tenderness while he walked slow laps around the living room, humming the same off-key lullaby he’d made up the first night home.

You watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame—too in love with the view to announce yourself. He didn’t see you; he was busy narrating the room to her in a hushed, excited voice:

“That’s Mom’s favorite plant—don’t eat it when you crawl. That—” he pointed to a framed photo of your wedding “—is proof she said yes even though I had tape stuck in my hair. And this—” he touched the flame-shaped pendant at your throat where it rested on his T-shirt laundry pile “—is what taught me how scary it is to love something delicate.”

Sh cooed, tiny fist wrapping around the string of his dog tags. Sero melted.

“Yeah, take whatever you want,” he laughed softly. “My heart’s already yours.”

He settled into the rocking chair you thrift-refinished together, guiding her bottle to tiny lips. The apartment lights were dim, but moonbeams painted silver stripes across the floor. Outside, the city buzzed with distant hero patrols; inside, time slowed to the beat of one small swallow after another.

“Know what I realized?” he whispered. “Every villain I web up from now on, I’m picturing you on the other end. Because I gotta come home—no capes, no glory—just Dad jokes and sticky fingers waiting.”

You crossed the room and knelt beside the chair, resting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your hair without missing a beat in his rocking rhythm.

“She’s got you wrapped,” you teased.

“Completely,” he admitted, eyes soft. “And I’m never cutting the tape.”

When the bottle emptied and her eyelids fluttered closed, he brushed a kiss to her downy forehead, then one to yours. Three hearts, one quiet room, and a future tied together stronger than any quirk-made filament.

You exhaled into the hush, feeling utterly safe.

“Sticky fingers,” he whispered, smiling at the tiny milk line on her chin. “Soft hearts.”

And the night rocked on, gentle and bright, beneath the city that had just gained one very lucky little girl—and a dad who’d already mapped the stars for her first sky-gazing lesson.

[quickestgold]

For angsty requests: marriage on the rocks with jack abbot, contemplating divorce?

Say Something: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: A decade of falling in and out of love has turned you and Jack from lovers to strangers. But when a difficult case hits too close to home, you might finally be calling time of death on your marriage.

Warnings: Reader and Jack are both vets/doctors; Canon-typical graphic depictions of trauma/injuries; mentions of missing limbs, blood, war, ptsd, GSWs, patient death, divorce, rooftops;

Word count: 4k+

A/n: Slowly working through my requests, sorry for the long wait! But thanks so much for sending this in! Can't wait to hear your thoughts! Ngl kind of broke my heart with this one ♡

I will hold your hand. I will grow with you. I will change with you. Every day, in love and in life.

Ten years.

In and out of love. Always by each other's side. Two sides of the same coin. Combat medics. Doctors. Lovers. Friends. In that order.

But lately, a new reality has settled between you.

Strangers.

You share a bed and a space. A home. You've grown through laughter and pain. Know the other's darkness and heartache intrinsically.

Jack is the person you would survive any war with. He's your person. And you're his. Your passion runs deep, intellectually and emotionally.

You've been through hell together, but you always made it back. You used to laugh a lot, coping through humor. Most alive in high-stakes, emotionally demanding work.

You spent most of your careers overseas. Never shying away from the hard places. Always trying to help.

You can be unpredictable, the ends forever justifying the means. Walking the thin line between control and recklessness. Even for Jack's standards and he isn't exactly a man of protocol.

But sometimes you scare him. Your complete disregard for your own safety, always putting him first. The irony of course being, that he does the same for you. But before you, he never experienced a partnership like it. No one ever made him feel that whole. Completed him in a way, he can't ever find the words for.

So he made you a promise. To hold you. To grow with you. And to change with you.

Every day.

And you said yes...

But over the years, the line between your personal and your professional life has almost completely blurred.

You barely see each other outside of work. Everything feels mechanical. There's only faint traces of intimacy. Of tenderness. Just two people who've known each other for a long time. Who are slowly growing apart. Changing without the other. Not realizing they're going in separate directions.

In your heart you know it's no ones fault. No infidelity. No drama.

Just... silence.

Your shift wasn't exactly quiet before this case. But this injury, this patient, throws you off your game.

You never crack. The new interns thought Dr. Abbot was the stoic, quietly observant, fuck-standard-of-care, ED-cowboy.

Before they met you.

Unafraid to contest decisions from the higher-ups, demonstrating fearlessness in times of crisis, fudging paperwork for the sake of the patient. Always treating the person, not the protocol.

Dr. Walsh, Emery, your best friend and twisted sister in arms, always challenges you.

Your "other" person. The Cristina to your Meredith.

On occasion, she kicks Jack out of his own bed, when you need to reflect on a particularly bad case, or sometimes just to wind down with shitty reality TV. Jack would curse under his breath, but ultimately make room for the two of you. Always respecting your strong bond.

You went through residency together. Watched others drop out under the pressure. But you were never in competition, except maybe the odd healthy one.

Where she practices medicine by the book, you often improvise. But your dynamic works.

She knows you. Truly.

So when she steps into the trauma room, her words slice through the air like a sharp scalpel. The tension has built up slowly over the last two hours you've spent working on a man, who got his leg blown off handling faulty fireworks.

You're pressing into his chest, trying to force life back into his body, one beat at a time.

"Fuck no." Emery approaches the table, ready to shove you aside. "You should not be running this."

"This is not the time for you to tell me what to do, Dr. Walsh." You counter, your movements focused.

Jack is beside you, watching every step closely. His eyes flicker to Walsh's, you pretend you don't see them exchanging a look.

Your priority is the patient on your table.

Assess. Stabilize. Move upstairs.

"Third unit's in." Jesse states.

"Okay, pulse check." You order, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

Emery presses her fingers against the patient's pulse points. "No femoral. No carotid." The words make your heart drop and for a second it feels like it's you hooked up to the monitor, the flatline mirroring your failure.

You resume compressions. "We had a pulse after three packed cells", exhaling deeply with each push. "We need to get him up asap, Em." Em. Not Emery. Not Dr. Walsh. Your professional exterior clearly cracked wide open, ribs spread apart.

"We need a pulse to go to the OR. You know this." Emery hovers next to you now. You can feel her breath against your damp skin.

Jack doesn't say anything, but you get the feeling he's with Emery. His arms are crossed, his weight shifting from one leg to the other, worry written across his features. His own trauma pulling at the seams. But he doesn't let it in. He's focused on you, watching you touch your belly in a nervous tic.

The realization that this is a battle you're going to lose, dizzies you. You take a step back, hands slightly trembling, as Javadi takes over compressions. A million techniques and procedures flash through your mind.

A lifetime worth of training. Of knowledge. But nothing makes sense. Your brain starts to short-circuit.

Focus on the medicine.

"I could try a REBOA?" Santos suggests, stressing the word with dangerous confidence.

"Would that work?" Javadi cuts in, panting.

You don't look, but you feel Jack shaking his head softly, with a resigned sadness.

"Dr. Abbot, step back." Emery grabs your elbow, forceful.

You shove her with the same attitude, turning your attention back to the patient. "He's right on the edge..."

"Dr. Abbot." Emery moves to the other Abbot, willing him to say something.

Jack nods, silently reaching for your hand. The cold sensation on your clammy skin startles you. You pull your hand away, sharply. Nearly throwing him off balance.

You stare at them incredulous, their betrayal like a sharp stabbing pain in your back.

When did they team up? Against you, nonetheless.

"It's not Jack!" Emery yells without thinking, but she fears it's the only thing that can pull you back to the surface.

The flatline echoes in the distance, but you don't wait for them to call time of death.

Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. Gloves are ripped off with a snap, before you flee the scene. Not ready to face the consequences of your defeat.

After finishing the rest of his shift, Jack enters the home you've built together. The curtains are drawn. The lights dim. No familiar smell coming from the kitchen.

He paces through the empty hallway before he finds you in the ensuite bathroom, still washing today's trauma off. Scrubbing. Until your hands are sore. Then scrubbing some more.

"I’m not trying to fight with you." His voice is low and soft.

"Then don’t." You scoff. "Don’t take her side. She wasn’t there."

"No." Jack shakes his head in acknowledgement. "But she means well." He surprises himself by siding with his supposed mortal enemy.

"She always does this. Acting like she needs to fix me."

"Surgeons." Jack offers playfully, but you don't bite.

"I'm not her fucking patient."

Jack reaches for your hand, attempting to pull you out of your spiral.

"Fuck off." You snap. Too harshly.

"Hey." His eyes sharpen. "I can't talk to you like this."

"Yeah? That's kind of the point."

"Last I checked, this means something." He grabs your hand, bringing the delicate ring on your finger into vision. You snatch your hand away.

"The piece of metal that binds you to me? Without it you'd have run for the hills ages ago." This conversation is starting to feel more and more like a losing battle in itself. It's like you're right back in that trauma room. Fighting for someone’s future. Though this isn't quite as tangible.

Why didn't med school prepare you for this?

Jack huffs a humorless laugh. "Every day. In love and in life." He breaks eye contact. "Even when you resent me."

"No. Don't do this. You don't get to tell me, I resent you for choosing you. For years, I let you act like I'm doing this selflessly. A noble sacrifice in the name of love. Like it was your fault-"

"We both know it was." Jack's words rip through the air like a bullet. Tearing straight through your heart. Leaving you breathless, unable to speak. The air constricting, like there's a tube down your throat.

"Don't pretend it wasn't. I was sent home. You could've stayed. But you didn't and you've hated me since." There's a brutally honest edge to his confession that feels like someone's sliced you open, vultures waiting to feast on your organs.

You process for a few beats, before rediscovering your voice. Shock slowly replaced by anger.

"Don't ever say that to me again." You cross your arms, hiding your trembling hands in the safety of your embrace, the hurt palpable. "I did that for you." You say quietly, painfully aware of the throbbing ache in your chest.

"Yeah? I never fucking asked you to."

This isn't Jack. But something within him's snapped. He fears if he doesn't lay it all out on the table now, there's no chance of recovery.

Soon you'll be the one calling time of death on your marriage.

You stare at him, suddenly realizing you've exhausted all options. There's nothing more you can do. You gave it your best.

You really fucking tried.

"I wanted this. I wanted you. But I'm... tired." You hesitate. "Maybe it's time we stop trying."

Jack is silent, already anticipating where you're going, knowing you saying the words out loud will break him.

You search his eyes, only to find your own grief reflected back at you.

"People get divorced, Jack. All the time."

The weight of your words crushes him, compressing his lungs. The force on his body leaving him momentarily paralyzed.

He just blinks at you, his expression illegible.

Your eyes are locked on his, willing him to say something.

Back in control of his muscles, Jack moves to his side of the bed, silently grabbing his pillow and heading towards the door.

You furrow your brows. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Jack answers, an unexpected resignation in his voice.

You groan. "I'll sleep on the couch. You stay."

Jack says your name like he's breaking the news of someone's passing to their loved ones. Crushed by a new reality, even if they're in denial.

"Are you serious?" You ask, blocking the doorway with an unwavering confidence that is usually reserved for emergencies.

Maybe this is one.

"Yeah, I'm serious. Move." His words are composed and determined, like he's not speaking as your husband, but your attending.

"You know you'll get no sleep on that thing. You'll be fucked tomorrow-" You try to reason.

"I don't need you to protect me!" He yells, too loud. The shrill tone taking you aback, making your heart race like someone's calling a code. "Stop treating me like I'm broken."

You grimace, your hand instinctively finds your belly again, your nails digging tightly into your battleworn skin.

Jack immediately retreats. "I- I'm sorry-"

Shouting is the one thing you don't do. You fight. You argue. You walk away. But you don't let anger boil over to the point of raising your voices at the other. Your therapist finds it healthy. But you both know it's from a combination of your PTSD triggers and shared trauma.

"Do me a fucking favor and sleep in our bed." You hiss, ripping the pillow from his hands and throwing it back onto the bed.

Before the next wave of pain hits you, you disappear into the bathroom to splash water on your flushed face.

Jack stands still for a moment, instant regret shooting through him. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his palms.

He calls out for you again, softer.

"I'm leaving! Fuck." You stumble back into the room, face wet, eyes burning. You find him looking up at you with a sadness you've only seen once before. Your heart palpitates with sorrow. Each skipped beat a reminder of all the loss and heartbreak.

"Please." He gestures at the duvet, gently touching the empty space next to him. "Stay."

In a moment of vulnerability, you truly see your husband in front of you. Your person.

With familiar effortlessness you kneel down in front of him, your hands resting gently on his tensed thighs.

A glimpse of what was. Intimate and tender.

Your hands find his prosthetic, sliding it off with practiced ease, slowly working it out of the socket.

"You're not broken."

Your words wrap around his heart, loving and earnest, like your hands massaging his leg.

You linger in his space, staring directly into his soul. Your eyes expressing more than every language in the world.

"You're whole."

Jack’s thumb instinctively caresses your cheek. The kind of closeness you both crave deeply, but haven't found in each other in far too long.

You both slide onto the bed, silently staring up at the ceiling.

Jack turns to look at you, before softly placing his palm on your abdomen.

"Is that really what you want?" He whispers into the darkness, afraid to hear your answer.

The silence hangs heavy with the words unsaid.

You notice the awful ringing in your ears first.

It's so fucking loud.

At the same time, you can't hear anything at all. Your brain is too slow to catch up.

Jack, the other medic in your unit, - and secret fling - just handed you a cheap beer. You were eating burnt food. As usual, when you were in charge of dinner.

Why are you on the ground?

Sharp objects pierce your sunburnt skin. A cocktail of sand and ash forces its way inside your mouth and nostrils, making you gag. You gasp for air, willing the dust around you to disperse.

But a cloud of darkness blinds you. Fiery sparks and flashes shooting through the air without direction.

Then it hits you, like a second wave of explosives.

Your unit was ambushed.

Where's Jack?

You stumble to your feet, desperately looking for something to hold onto. To steady you. Rough hands suddenly grab at you, pulling you behind metal walls for cover.

Your sergeant. Shouting at you like there's no tomorrow, but you can't make out what.

He's violently shaking your shoulders, then just as quickly, he's somewhere else. You drop back against the wall with a harsh thud.

It takes all of your energy to let your head fall to one side. When you spot him. Just out of the corner of your eye.

Jack.

On the ground.

Gasping, breathing erratically, staring up at the sky, like he's waiting to become a part of it.

For a second you let your eyes dart to where he's looking.

A beautiful, peaceful sight. The world above you, blissfully unaware of the atrocities going on below.

Something brings you back. A distorted sound.

A low, agonizing cry. You don't know where it's coming from, until your eyes shoot back to Jack.

Still on the ground.

Fuck. You're trained for this.

Why is he not moving? Why aren't you?

Your eyes scan his body, your medical instincts taking over like muscle memory. Assessing.

Your gaze lands on his torso. There's no obvious trauma, your eyes move lower, towards his hips, his pelvis, down to his legs.

Then you see it. The massive gash below his right knee.

You don't think. You just react.

Don't even register your seargent shouting at you again. Your legs carrying you to Jack's side, dropping to your knees beside him.

Not as his partner, not his girlfriend.

There's barely a trace of the woman he's grown to love, only the professional, hardened combat medic.

With one goal.

Assess, stabilize, evacuate.

Your hands move on autopilot, tightening a tourniquet just below his knee. Desperate to stop the-

To stop the love of your life from bleeding out!!

Your professional demeanor cracks, your eyes suddenly dart to Jack's. His are already on you. Holding onto you like you're the anchor tying him to this life.

The tourniquet holds. Your hands find his face. Desperate to comfort him in any way you can.

You can't speak. Neither does Jack.

And you still cannot hear a thing.

Not even when muffled thuds go off. You don't acknowledge your team readying their guns. Your only focus is Jack.

Then you feel it. Not the impact, but the warm liquid instantly soaking your uniform.

Your eyes flicker to your abdomen. It doesn't register immediately.

Though when it does, the world suddenly regains volume. The sound almost deafening.

Fuck.

No Man's Land.

But it doesn't matter. Only one thing does.

Protect Jack.

You throw your body over his, shielding him from whatever's coming.

You can feel his ragged breaths against your neck, your blood leaking into his uniform. Flooding him with your warmth, while your skin grows cold.

If this is goodbye, there’s no one you’d rather be with.

Minutes pass.

The dust settles. The sounds slow. But unfortunately, so does your breathing.

It takes all of your energy to lift your head just enough to find Jack's eyes underneath you. Looking up at you with a sadness you hope to God you'll never see again.

He's scared to death. Though not for himself.

You give him a brave smile to reassure him, before dropping onto your back.

There's too much blood.

Jack's. Yours. It's all one.

If you go, he’ll follow. And vice versa.

Without wasting a second, one of Jack's arms pulls you closer, throwing his hand over your wound. Gathering all of his remaining strength to apply pressure.

To protect you.

The world around you starts to fade. Your team moves around you frantically.

But you and Jack, just lie there, still, holding each other.

Until darkness takes you.

You wake to an empty bed, made perfectly, like it wasn't slept in. You stumble into the kitchen to find your coffee and go-bag ready on the counter, the habitual gesture making you smile, before the sadness rushes back in.

Is that really what you want?

Then you notice the stick-it note attached to the fridge.

We should talk to someone.

Vague as ever.

A therapist? A lawyer? God?

A jarring ding pulls you out of your head.

You open the door swiftly, being greeted with an iced oat latte and your favorite pastries from the coffee shop across the street. A cheap attempt at a peace offering.

"Have we calmed down or are we still pouting?" Walsh's sarcastic tone echoes through the hallway.

You attempt to slam the door shut, but she beats you to it, quickly wedging her foot into the frame. You roll your eyes, hard, before making your way back into your living room. Satisfied, she accepts the invitation and follows you in.

"It wasn't your place to get involved." You state, serious, crossing your arms and sinking into your corner of the couch.

Walsh sets the coffee down next to you before placing the pastries on the bottom shelf of your fridge. Her movements are familiar, like she's done this a thousand times.

With a groan she sits down on the other end of the couch, your eyes tracking her.

"Someone had to say it." She states nonchalantly, sipping her own latte.

Sure no one else would've dared. But…

"It was still fucked up."

She sighs deeply, leaning forward to shove the cup closer to you, like the ice can melt away the betrayal. "I'm sorry."

You nod, reluctantly taking a sip of your coffee.

"I suggested a divorce." You blurt out.

Emery almost chokes on her drink, eyes wide. "You what?"

God. Her reaction somehow makes it worse.

"I just don't see a way of moving forward, Em. Something needs to change."

Emery nods.

"We were happier once, weren't we?" You ask, like a child seeking reassurance from a parent.

"I don't know." Walsh answers truthfully. "But you were sadder before him."

"Do you think I smother him?"

Emery leans in, taking your hand. "You saved each other. In more ways than one." She gives you a squeeze. "Maybe you forgot that being married is more than sharing a home."

Though you usually work night shifts now, you've agreed to take a day one, your and Jack's shifts only slightly overlapping.

Preparing for the madness to come, you find yourself on the roof of PTMC to watch the world come alive before your eyes. The first rays of sunshine spreading warmth across your skin against the cold of the night.

This is where Jack comes to process particularly bad cases. It means something to him. So it does to you too.

It didn't surprise you that Jack proposed on a roof. Not this one. He's not that morbid. It was your first apartment. But without any grand gesture. No fairy lights, cozy blankets or candlelight dinner.

It was simple.

Just two people, in love.

To be fair there was a blanket. One. And he wrapped you both in it, while you were watching the stars above. Or at least you were. Jack was gazing at something far more mesmerizing. His future flashing before his eyes, like a shooting star.

Everything that's truly ever mattered, leaning into him. Seeking comfort in the darkness, finding it in his warmth. And he in yours.

“Marry me.” He whispered it with a confidence like he already knew what you were going to say.

You only just notice you stepped under the railing, a little too close to the edge. But somehow, you get the appeal. Of how being this close to certain death makes you feel weirdly alive.

The door creaks open, you don't have to turn around to know who it is. You can hear it in his footsteps.

"I'm in your spot." You state, beating Jack to it.

"I hate it when you do this." He mutters under his breath, approaching slowly.

"Ditto." You counter with a smirk, turning your head slightly to shoot him a glance.

"If you lose balance, you go over... that’s it."

"Don’t be so dramatic." You sigh theatrically.

He shifts his weight and groans, arms clinging onto the railing. Your eyes flicker to him, as he rests his head.

Your brows furrow. "You okay?"

He lifts his head just enough to look at you. "Are you?"

You can't help but smile. He returns it with a grin, announcing his dry humor is about to make a guest appearance. "Aim for the bay, otherwise you’ll hit the roof and end up on my table."

You laugh, like you haven't in years. A reminder of before.

He huffs. "But I hope you know, if you jump, I’ll hate you forever."

"I thought you already did." You say it as a joke, but it hits a nerve. Jack's face grows serious.

You turn to fully face him. "I know it wasn't you. Yesterday. With Em."

"Yeah." He mouths, understanding. "But it took you back." A statement, not a question.

"I felt it." Your eyes begin to sting with a familiar burn. "The pain, the fear... the thought of losing you-"

"I swear we were friends." Jack interrupts, unable to shake his thoughts. You tilt your head in confusion. "Before all this. Before the pitt, the tours, coming back."

You listen, even though it really fucking hurts. Because it's true.

"Before we were lovers. Before we became strangers." He sighs deeply. “I don’t recognize us. We never run away from the hard stuff.”

A realization suddenly hits you. "I think I changed. And so did you. But we didn't.”

Your inhales deepen, both of you now breathing in perfect harmony.

Jack leans closer, tilting his head to make sure his words reach your soul. "I want this. This life. With you. I'll never stop wanting it. Even if you choose to walk away."

"I don't..." Jack's face drops, you quickly elaborate. "I don't want to leave you, Jack. My worst fear is a life without you."

Jack exhales like he wasn't breathing until now, sadness, grief and heartbreak visibly leaving his body.

You lean in too. "What if we find new ways to share it?"

Years of unresolved sadness finally come to light. Beautifully mirrored by the rising sun. Another chapter.

A new beginning.

Jack reaches for your hand. Only this time you don't pull away. You stay. And let Jack hold you. Like he promised. Like you both did.

Every day.

© quickestgold, 2025.

Taglist: @mayabbot @sus-styles @clarasmoon @ezraphalitis @ncsls0515 @melancholyy-hill lmk if you want to be added! ☼

[eternityhistoria]

FIRST ASSISTANT I AIN'T YAPPING ABOUT IT.

YOURE HIS WHAT?

[cece693]

mmmore personal bodyguard.. OHhh i love this old man!!! ohh i love tony stark please.. would you make more of male reader and Tony..

I also love that old man. So, I was thinking of what else can he and his hunky bodyguard get up to and then DING! What if the bodyguard takes his job so seriously that he takes a hit meant for Tony and we get an overprotective Iron Man?

Personal Bodyguard Pt. 2

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: overprotective Tony, Tony has feelings, reader is over it, he was a military man for fucks sake, my man be stressin, reader is set to prove a point, fluff

You stir awake in the gleaming medical bay of Stark Tower, blinking under the fluorescent lights. The drug-induced fog makes your thoughts sluggish, but the unmistakable sting in your shoulder reminds you exactly why you’re here. You shift against the pillows, wincing at the dull throb of pain.

Across the room, a small army of medical personnel are quietly conferring, flipping through charts and checking vitals. You hear the beep of machines and soft murmurs. It’s overwhelming, and you’re not the only one who thinks so. “Everyone out,” comes a familiar, commanding voice. “Now.”

Tony stands at the entrance, hair mussed, tie undone, brow etched with anger and worry. His voice cuts like a knife through the room. The doctors and nurses exchange glances, but none dare contradict him. They file out in a subdued rush—some clearly concerned, but none wanting to challenge Tony Stark when he’s in this mood.

“And before anyone complains,” he adds, glowering, “I’ve got the best AI in the world monitoring him, so scram.”

Moments later, the door slides shut with a quiet hiss. The only sound left is the steady pulse of the heart monitor by your bed and the faint hum of the Tower’s ventilation system. Tony crosses the room in long strides, practically radiating anxiety. He stops at your bedside, eyes darting from the bandages on your shoulder to your face, to the monitors, and back again. It’s like he can’t decide what to focus on—he just wants everything to be okay.

“Are you comfortable?” he demands, reaching to adjust your pillows. “Do you need a different angle? More medication? Less medication? You look like you’re in pain. You should’ve said something—didn’t the doctors tell you to—?”

A weak smile tugs at your lips. “Tony, breathe. I’m all right.” But he’s not listening. He keeps fiddling with the bed’s controls, trying to find the perfect angle, cursing under his breath when the motor jerks your injured shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling back like he’s burned. “God, I’m screwing this up.”

“Hey,” you say, voice soft, “it’s fine. Really.”

He sighs, frustration etched across his features. “It’s not fine. If it were fine, you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed with a bullet wound.” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’ve been over the security tapes a hundred times, trying to figure out how I could’ve—how we could’ve—prevented this.”

The chair next to you squeaks as Tony sinks into it, his exhaustion evident. He rubs a hand over his face, and you see the shadows under his eyes. You suspect he hasn’t slept since the incident. “I can’t—” Tony starts, then stops, words hitching in his throat. “I can’t just sit here and watch you get hurt because of me.”

You let out a careful sigh. Even that small motion makes the pain spike. “Tony,” you say, voice steady despite the discomfort, “it’s not your fault.”

He makes a strangled noise and gestures to your injured shoulder. “Yeah, ’cause getting shot while protecting me is totally just a random coincidence.” He’s spiraling—has been, ever since the bullet meant for him hit you instead. You try to catch his eye, but he’s jittery, like a live wire about to spark.

“Look,” Tony says, voice cracking, “maybe you—maybe you should go. Quit. Or—or I should fire you. I’ll give you a severance package that’ll make CEOs weep with envy. You can do literally anything else. Anything safer.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Fire me?” There’s a stab of hurt under the shock, but you force yourself to stay calm. “That’s one hell of a ‘thank you for taking a bullet for me.’”

He flinches at your words, but his gaze hardens—a brittle, desperate resolve. “If it means you never have to bleed for me again, then yeah. I’ll do it.”

A flurry of emotions churns in your gut—annoyance, exasperation, and a surprising surge of affection for the panicked man in front of you. You carefully push yourself upright, ignoring the twinge of pain, and pin Tony with a firm look. “You can’t do this.”

“Fire you?” He scoffs, but the sound comes out choked. “I can do anything I want, remember? Billionaire with an army of lawyers.” A shaky hand runs through his hair again. “I could relocate you to—oh, I don’t know—Switzerland. Buy you a nice chalet in the Alps or something. You’d never have to see a bullet in your life.”

You can’t stop the small, exasperated laugh that escapes you. “A chalet in the Alps. Fancy. I’ll keep that in mind for retirement.” You pause, letting the joking tone fade. “But until then, no deal.”

He looks incredulous. “Why not?” he demands, voice cracking again. “Why on Earth would you want to keep doing this?” His eyes flick to the bandages peeking from your hospital gown, as if they’re the most damning evidence in the world.

You tilt your head, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Because you hired me to protect you, genius,” you say, letting a bit of humor slip in. “I got shot, yeah, but guess what? You didn’t. Mission accomplished.”

He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “I’m sorry—what part of you being shot is an accomplishment?!”

“The part where the bullet didn’t go through you.” You soften your tone. “Look, Tony, I know you hate that this happened. But injuries are part of the job, and I accepted that risk the moment I signed on.”

He slumps forward, elbows braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. “Well, I didn’t sign on for this.”

You reach out with your good arm and place a hand on his forearm. “Tony, look at me,” you coax. Slowly, he drags his hands away from his face, eyes red-rimmed. “This injury isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse in basic training.” (A slight exaggeration, but hey, you’d say anything to calm him right now.)

Tony tries to scoff, but it comes out more like a choked laugh. “Basic training had bullet wounds?”

You shrug with your good shoulder. “Not me, specifically, but some guys I knew.” You press on before he can argue. “Point is, I’m okay. Sore, but okay. So, you’re not firing me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you fix him with a look. The “don’t even try it” kind that makes even a billionaire genius back down.

“Let me make this clear,” you continue, voice gentler now but unyielding. “I appreciate the concern, really. It means a lot that you care about what happens to me. But this is my choice. I’m not walking away, and you sure as hell aren’t pushing me away. If we keep doing this dance, the only thing you’ll accomplish is driving yourself crazy—and me right along with you.”

He sucks in a breath, eyes glimmering with fresh tears, though he blinks them back rapidly. “I just…I don’t want to see you hurt again. Ever.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “That’s not how this works, Tony. If I’m with you, there’s always a risk. You’re Iron Man, for crying out loud. Trouble follows you like a lost puppy.”

A strangled half-laugh, half-sob escapes Tony. He scrubs at his face again, clearly embarrassed by his own display of emotion. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, still not meeting your gaze. “I’m…I’m a wreck.”

You inhale, letting your fingers drift from his arm to his hand, lacing them together. “Yeah, you are,” you agree, tone gentle but with a fond edge. “And that’s okay. But you don’t get to fire me. I’m tougher than I look, Stark.”

He starts to argue, but you give his hand a firm squeeze. “Seriously,” you insist, making sure he hears every word. “I’ve been thrown out of planes, shot at, and gone through obstacle courses that make grown men cry. A little bullet in my shoulder? Not enough to scare me away from you.”

A hint of incredulity flashes in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, jaw set. Before he can argue further, you shift your legs off the bed. Pain flares through your shoulder, but you grit your teeth and push yourself upright. Tony bolts to his feet like you’ve just threatened to jump off a cliff.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, voice shrill with alarm. “Hey—easy, easy!”

You wave off his concern. “I’m standing,” you say through clenched teeth, mustering a cocky smirk despite the pain. “You need proof I’m still in one piece? Well, here it is.” Tony’s eyes dart from your unsteady legs to your bandaged shoulder. He looks ready to catch you at any second. But you square your stance, heart pounding, determined to show him you’re stronger than he thinks.

He reaches out, as if to gently guide you back onto the bed, but you seize the moment. Sliding an arm around his waist—ignoring the painful protest in your shoulder—you pull Tony close. Then you press your lips to his in a firm, grounding kiss.

It’s not the smoothest kiss—your balance is off, and you’re pretty sure you’re leaning on him more than intended. But Tony’s body goes stiff for a split second before he melts against you with a quiet, desperate sound at the back of his throat. For those few seconds, the throbbing in your shoulder blurs into the background. All that matters is Tony’s warmth, the faint scent of cologne, and the taste of desperation on his lips.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. One of his hands is splayed across your lower back, the other hovering near your bandage as though he’s too scared to touch it. “You idiot,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “You should be resting.”

“Probably,” you admit, wincing slightly as you shift your arm. “But you needed to see I’m still here. Really here.”

He draws in a ragged breath, eyes flicking over your face. “I see you,” he murmurs, voice tight with lingering fear. “But if you pass out, I’m going to strap you to that bed myself, understand?”

You huff a faint laugh. “Sounds kinky.”

A brief spark of amusement flashes in his eyes, followed by relief. “God, I hate you,” he jokes, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You card your fingers through his hair, feeling how tense he still is. “Can’t make promises, boss. Besides…” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

He exhales shakily, and the hand on your back tightens. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

A hesitant, watery smile curves across his lips. “Yeah,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “I really do.”

[nikovraskol]

OG timeline repeatedly trying to resurrect Reader, making Reader sick in the new timeline. When new timeline gets magic users involved, they get told someone is trying to steal the Reader's soul in a past lifetime or something.

On another note, I'm imagining Reader getting so frustrated with the doors being barricaded or locked that they decide to leave threw their windows. They end up doing so a few times without anyone noticing. But one day, they fall while escaping and get bruised up. It's only on Reader's arms and legs. Reader goes back into their room without anyone noticing. Long sleeves and long pant legs cover everything. But Dick tries to cuddle them, Jason pushes them, or Damian grabs them, and Reader flinches. Their eyes get watery.

They find out about the bruises but don't know how Reader got them. And Reader refuses to say anything in case they start locking the windows too.

Really like your writing and will wait patiently for the next chapter, cause you're worth it. 💓

cracking my knuckles rolling my back getting back in the zone.

if anyone saw me use the wrong your YOU DID NOT I DIDNT

masterlist

for the first ask, yeah i see that happening, in the og timeline everyones gripping their hair desperately trying to bring you back, only for john to pull up with all the commotion and casually drop, "yeah, their souls gone."

meanwhile, in the second timeline, you're getting sick like crazy. literally dizzy every waking moment, you throw up at random times -- you're just all 'round unwell and your family is freaking out because -- ?? what the flip? why are you sick?! and no matter how many doctors they send to you, or how much medicine you take. you're still sick!! (but it does make you less likely to run away.)

but neither timelines are willing to give you up.. good luck!

as for the second prompt, ugh i love this.

you sneak through your window, climbing down the tree and jumping into some bush just to hang out, get some ice cream and relax for once. but the jumping and climbing tend to bruise you, and with your stupid family constantly pushing you around -- someone's bound to notice.

dick notices it while he's cooing and hugging you, holding you so close that he can feel the frantic beating of your heart merge into his own steady rhythm, when he notices a pained expression on your face that would usually hold an annoyed scowl. then he notices that you're wearing long sleeves in summer -- his thoughts spiral into you, his poor, baby, sibling lying in a bathtub of their blood and--

"ow! dickhead, you're crushing me!" you grit, trying to wriggle out of his iron-clad grasp as he pushes against your bruises.

"oh-- my poor (name)!" he coos, rubbing his cheek on the top of his head as his hands slide towards the hem of your sleeves -- inching to reveal what he fears the most before you throw yourself out of his arms with a gasp and running away.

dick stands for a moment before running after you with a gleeful call of your name.

after a series of bumping into jason, running from damian, parkouring from tim and trying to hide from cass -- you thought you were in the clear.

later, with a relieved sigh you go to open your window -- only for it to not budge.

..

you push once, twice, thrice! before gripping the damn handle with both hands and practically brawling with it, grunting and cursing and huffing.

"what the fuck." you grumble, only for a larger hand to gently take your wrist. you feel your heart stop with a deafening thud -- with comical slowness you look up to see bruce.

fuck's sake.

"you're hurting yourself." he hums worriedly, his thumb running over a particularly deep bruise on your wrist. his frown deepens as he pushes up your sleeve to reveal a series of bruises, cuts and splinters. "(name)..."

thats how you find yourself smothered by your family as they bandage and rub ointments on your wounds, cooing and scolding.

so annoying.

meeeeyow

[cloudrunnerscinnamon]

An "early-ish" House MD one shot. House and reader :)

The reader experiences a particular bad night and finds herself stuck in the ER with the one and only Greg House. This could really go either way...

gif is not mine (found it on google)

"Getting mugged wasn’t the worst part about my night"

„I’ll do it“ House took the IV-bag from the nurse before she could argue with him. You on the other hand really didn’t want him near you. However, you knew House well so you decided against putting up a fight and let him take care of you. He made clear that he wanted to watch over you, discussion over. Doctor’s orders. 

Wilson, Cuddy and all of  House’s attendees (old and new) were standing a few meters away from the two of you. The initial shock of you getting mugged and being delivered into the ER with a grade 3 concussion and a laceration to the forehead had worn off but they all felt like staying close. Now, in fact, they were shamelessly watching the scene in front of them unfold. They all knew this would probably be the pivoting point of House’s and your relationship. For a month the two of you had been buzzing around each other. Chase had bets running as per usual. Wilson was sure you would crack first and confess to House how you felt about him. Cuddy on the other hand had put in for „House, taking one more risk for the sake of finally finding happiness“, what can you do, she was sappy like that. There were a few more variants going around in the bookie but those were the two most popular. 

It wasn’t like House or you were denying that you liked each other. It was obvious, the amount of time you spent together and the pile of insiders you shared annoyed everyone around you. But whenever somebody tried to inquire, all they ever got was a 

„Oh, House and me?“

„(Y/N) and me?“ 

„We just hang out, we watch the same crappy shows and like to piss of the pizza place with weirdly specific orders.“ 

„Seriously, we are just friends!“ Even Wilson couldn’t coax a confession out of his stubborn friend. 

Funny thing, neither of you wanted to screw things up by showing your cards. 

„This will sting a bit,“ House was sitting on a chair in front of you taking your hand in his and carefully inserting an intravenous catheter. His hands were steady and his movements well practiced. You still hissed a little when the needle pierced through your skin and you could feel House’s blue eyes immediately on your face. He wanted to say something but reconsidered busying himself again with attaching the tube of the IV- bag to the IV-line. 

„Sure didn’t sting as much as the rest of the night,“ you snatched your hand away as soon as House seemed satisfied with his work. 

„And no, I am not talking about getting mugged.“ The harsh tone of your voice surprised you. Yes you were hurting because of him and yes you were out of your mind from the pain in your chest, your heart, but still. Wounding House didn’t give you any pleasure or redemption. It still sucked. All of it. Stacy sucked, their kiss sucked and what you heard him say, well, that just was the cherry on top. 

House didn’t get up from his chair but remained right in front of you. The chaotic atmosphere of the ER didn’t seem to phase him at all. Slowly he went to take your hand again but you brushed him off. 

„Fuck off House. I don’t want you near me.“ For a second you could see the pain in his eyes flash, then it was gone again. Replaced by his usual wall of safety guards. Safety guards he had let slowly and steadily dissolve with you. He wasn’t going to give up that easily now.

„Yeah, sorry I’m not going anywhere.“ House sounded firm even though you were sure he was confused and so out of his comfort zone. Him prolonging eye contact and taking a „stance“ was all just an act to hide his feelings and ever growing insecurity. For once the doctor was actually scared to lose someone. Displaying confidence and nonchalance was all he knew how to do right now. 

„What? I am not being funny here.“ You leaned further back, unconsciously creating more distance between you and House. Why didn’t he just leave already. Did he take some weird pleasure in knowing that you had overheard his and Stacy’s conversation? That earlier this week you had seen them kiss in his office? You were so angry and hurt that getting mugged almost felt like a nice distraction. 

„Just go!“ You made a flinging motion with your hand and your voice broke from all the emotions. House scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes at you like he simply didn’t understand what was going on. He was confused by your actions. He was here, he was taking care of you and still you wanted him to leave. 

„Why do you want me to go away?“ His voice was small, he seemed sincere which made you want to jump out of your skin. Sad, hurt, humiliated all of which you were feeling right now but deep down there was also frustration and anger. All those month of casually hanging out and spending time together. Was that all a lie? It had felt so genuine. Could you have been so wrong about another person? You sure weren’t stupid. You had never thought of yourself as the one that would change House. You knew many had and tried to be friends as well as love interests and they had all failed more or less miserably. You simply enjoyed being around him as he was. You liked being his friend. Oh how very stupid you felt now. Friends? Your thoughts were interrupted by House’s voice. It sounded modulated like he was really trying to stay in control of his demeanor.

„(Y/N)?“  

Irritatingly for you the shock of getting mugged, the thudding pain in your skull and Stacy’s performance had taken a big chunk out of your self-control. There just wasn’t anything left to hold back the emotions from spilling over. Tears blurred your vision and your mouth twisted into a thin line. At least you were able to hold back that sob building in your throat. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer, something had got to give. 

„Because it hurts to look at you.�� And there it was. Painfully aware of all the people around you and House blankly staring at you. Was he in shock? Your voice had been so much more penetrating than you had anticipated. Shit, where did all that pain come from all of the sudden? Why weren’t you able to look away from those blue eyes? Was he even breathing? Were you breathing? Why was it so quiet? Was anyone breathing? 

„I love you and you crushed my heart!“ Those eight words had slipped out of your mouth before you even noticed they had formed on your tongue. Your own thoughts betraying you and that at the worst time. Why was your face so wet? Then the blue eyes were gone. House remained unnervingly silent. He had however gotten up from the chair. The doctor’s back was turned towards you. His right hand held onto an unused IV-stand. Was he steadying himself? Might be his leg but the pain had gotten a little less excruciating of late. You knew that because he had confided in you. Hot tears were still running down your reddened face while you stared at House’s unmoving figure.

Behind the two of you, at the reception counter of the ER, Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. Cuddy throw a cautious look at him. They both felt bad. Usually Chase’s bets didn’t turn into such a flurry of dramatic events. Wilson could sense the rising uneasiness of his colleagues around him. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, turning his head towards Chase. 

„Now that it happened I don’t know why you let me place that bet.“ Chase’s arms were crossed in front of his chest. He silently stared at (Y/N) and House. 

„This is totally upsetting and those are our friends.“ Wilson knew the Aussie doctor wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy and he especially wouldn’t lend any emotional comfort. 

„So you forfeit?“ Chase raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 

„I,“ Wilson hesitated, his moral compass was spinning like a merry-go-round. 

„No, I don’t. I just think we are terrible friends.“ 

Chase snorted and rolled his eyes. 

„Just because we took on bets doesn’t mean we aren’t their friends. Or well (Y/N)’s friends, I don’t know about House. Does House actually have friends?“ 

Wilson looked dumbfounded and left Chase hanging for a good comeback. The other doctor took that as enough of an answer. Just then Chase‘s pager went off. He glanced at it quickly and with another nod towards Wilson, he pushed himself off the reception counter, he had been leaning against and left.

The machines, next to the bed you were sitting on, started to beep loudly. Immediately House turned around and checked for the reason of the onslaught of alarms. A nurse standing nearby also rushed over. You followed House’s line of vision and quickly realized that your condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse. The pulse oximeter that had been clamped onto your left index finger had slipped off. You hadn’t even noticed. 

„It’s okay I got it.“ House waved at the nurse stoping her in her track. She just nodded and went back to scribbling on the chart of another patient. House’s hands took a hold of our left one, he slipped the pulse oximeter back on. The noise stopped and the numbers on the screen went back to somewhat normal at least as far as your non existing medical understanding told you. He kept holding your hand and you let him. Your outburst and confession had drained you even more and you were left longing for contact. 

„There, looks good, normal heart rate. So it can’t be crushed.“ House smiled openly at you although it seemed a little too assertive. You couldn’t believe your ears. 

„You are kidding me right?“ Once again you wanted to pull your hand away from his but he held on. It took you a few seconds to untangle your fingers from his, he watched you struggle a bit bevor slowly letting go. You sniffled and tears started to come anew. The way he kept looking at you made you nervous and confused. House’s weird behavior was something you clearly couldn’t deal with. The moodiness, rude arrogance and sheer lack of interest in other people’s necessities you could handle – but this? This was worrisome. 

„House, please just – just leave.“ It sounded like a plea, your tremulous voice not helping. However House didn’t respond. He looked back up to the monitors again, busying himself, biding his time. You knew he wasn’t gonna leave. A frustrated huff through your nose. Shaking your head in disbelieve you let its weight sink down into your hand, rubbing over your forehead. 

„Why do you call me House?“ Your head snapped back up. The blue eyes were on yours again. 

"You never call me House.“ He said his own name like something foreign, something he had to get his tongue acquainted with.

„It’s always been Greg,“ his eyes fell and you had to bend forward a little to still hear him. „Right from the beginning. You only ever use House when you talk to other people.“ To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

„Seriously? This is what you are going with?“ The harshness of your tone was matched my House’s soft response. You had never seen him so abashed.

„Just tell me,“ a quiver at the right corner of his lips, „Please?“ This, you weren’t able to deny. House was either being sincere in all his coyness or he was playing you to get what he wanted but whichever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging him.

„I call you House because everybody does and I am not special.“ Fast and prompt, no time to think about your choice of words. This day wasn’t gonna get any worse, was it? Might as well lean into it then. House was right though. You had always preferred calling him Greg. You understood that at work people referred to him as House. It was both formal and still not too friendly for coworkers. In the beginning you hadn’t actually really noticed that hardly anybody besides you called him Greg but when you realized it you couldn’t help but ask yourself why. The nature of your relationship (or friendship to be correct) was purely pleasure. You didn’t share anything work related and so the version of House you hung out with struck you more as a Greg kind of House other than a House House. 

„To call you House is safe,“ you said and in your head you added: and it is less intimate. With a heavy sigh House took a few steps and let himself sink down next to you on the hospital bed. Both your feet were dangling down and you followed the swinging motion with your eyes. For some reason a comfortable silence fell over you. The ER was, now as before, busy but the different sounds and monotonous buzzing worked like a coat slipping around the two of you. There was enough room to stay still in all the hectic. For the next couple of minutes House and you quietly agreed on taking a breather. 

The dull thud of Houses cane on the floor made you jerk up a little. He was going to say something. Repeatedly hitting the and of his cane on the floor was a tell-tale-sign of the Doctor building up to saying something. You had noticed that relatively early, but you weren’t sure if he realized you knew. House would mold the words in his mind until they satisfied him enough to actually say them. You also knew that he only ever did that if he was nervous or stressed out about what he wanted to say. 

„(Y/N), I am not with Stacy. Even though you might think that after what you heard tonight.“ Ah of course, yes, this would definitely make House uncomfortable. You just stayed silent, letting him continue.

„And trust me I know it sounds cliché but it is not what you think it is.“ He half laughed at that, it sounded studded with frustration and a hint of desperation. 

„What is it then? Because it really did sound like the two of you were making up.“ As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You really didn’t want to know. It was enough for you to know that it hurt. 

„You know what? Don’t answer me,“ you lifted your hand, pressing the palm of it against your eyes in an attempt to dampen the headache. It didn’t work and you let your hand sink down again, resting it on your upper thigh. 

„Do you love her?“ Since you had arrived in the ER you had tried to avoid looking at House but the question you had just put to him demanded you to make eye contact. House didn’t immediately answer. His long fingers scratched absentmindedly at his stubbled chin.

„No I don’t and I haven’t for quite some time.“ There was so much conviction in House’s voice that you didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. 

„What I said, what you heard,“ the doctor kept looking around while continuing to explain himself. Scanning over the room but hardly registering what was going on. 

„I wasn’t talking about Stacy and me. But without the proper context I can see how you might think that.“  He snuck a peek at you trying to gauge how this conversation was going. Only the white knuckles of his hand holding his cane in an iron grip gave aways how tense he was. Throwing your hands in the air you could only shake your head. This whole situation was ridiculous. 

„You kissed, I saw you, in your office.“ you said bluntly. You were ready to start a fight. Leaving everything pent up wasn’t gonna work. If House thought he could fool you with this talkative demeanor you were sure as hell gonna make him work for it.  

„I know and I felt awful“ Small voice, barely more than a murmur and two absurdly blue irises. Aaaaand there you crumbled again. You involuntarily mimicked House’s wispy smile.

„Didn’t look like that,“ you muttered. He grabbed your hand carefully avoiding the IV catheter. His fingers drew small patterns on the back of your hand. 

„Well do you believe me if I say you got that the wrong way around as well?“ 

Yes, your thoughts screamed and you wanted to threw yourself into House’s arms. Instead you pressed out a, „No.“ 

But he let you have that one, making sure you could keep your dignity. 

„Fair enough“. House intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them a little. He sucked in a breath of air.

„But,“ drawing out the vowel, House made his point anyways,“I’m sorry, you do have it the wrong way around.“ Was that his teasing tone? Was he actually mocking you? To be fair you could feel the tension draining from your body. If anyone would ever try to convince you that House wasn’t able to understand emotions and steer them empathetically you would just laugh in their face. Which is also what you did now. You laughed because frankly you were overwhelmed.

„Whatever. This is humiliating.“ You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or to laugh.

„She kissed me.“ House added, looking all dopy and school boyish. You gaped at him. House was carefully maneuvering this sinking wreck off a ship into saver waters and you knew it but it was still annoying you. Why was it working? 

„Oh well that changes everythi–„ You jumped right on board and countered sarcastically but House cut in.

„Yeah no, I know it doesn’t.“ He agreed with you however he wanted you to fully understand the circumstances. 

„The only reason I let her was because I am shit at feelings.“ House shrugged his shoulders.

„What? Sorry you lost me. You are shit at feelings so you kiss your married Ex-wife?“ Was he kidding you? Your hand slipped away from his and you tugged your arms tightly around your middle. You didn’t want to fell like that but anger and frustration where front runners again. House got the message. When he talked next the lightness in his voice was gone.

„If you are shit at feelings you might not be able to trust them. Sometimes I need actions to fully understand them. Actions I get and I am good at them.“

Your mouth opened but potential words were stopped by an index finger pressed against your lips.

„Ah ah ah wait!“ The Doctor removed his finger and continued.

„So when she kissed me I was able to say goodbye,“ he paused for a second, “ because there was nothing. No love, no anger or other sentiment. It was only a kiss which I did not particular care for. It cleared my head.“ 

„Hmm.“ Not as articulate as you would have liked to be but you couldn’t manage more, so you just kept listening. 

„I wanted to come after you. I…“, House hesitated then he turned a little more towards you. He wanted to see your eyes but you kept your gaze low. 

„Your face. The way you just turned around and left.“ His voice was husky.

„I told Stacy then, what I just told you… and to be fair she was pissed. I should have know that she wouldn’t leave it at that.“ A bitter chuckle slipped from House’s mouth and he shook his head. The doctor was lost in his thoughts for a second. Your voice pulled him back into the ER.

„So when you asked me to come by to talk, you in fact wanted to talk?“ Maybe all was not lost. Maybe just, maybe this day had still something good to offer.

„Oh yes, yes I did and other stuff“ A cheeky grin appeared on House’s face and he softly bumped his shoulder agains yours. When you looked at him he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

„Shut up,“ you snorted. This man is unbelievable. 

„Not funny yet?“ He lightly poked your thigh, testing the waters. 

„Nooooo,“ you said, returning the shoulder bump. 

You looked at each other, wary smiles meeting. House drew in a heavy breath then. He still had a few things he wanted to say, get out of his system. 

„Stacy rang the doorbell 10 minutes before you. She must have left the door ajar. And the rest, you witnessed first hand.“ He scratched the back of his neck and proceeded.

„Annoyingly not all of it. Seeing that we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.“

You nodded slowly, processing. Neither of you knew what to say now so you just kept sitting next to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward it just seemed necessary to pause for a bit. 

After a few minutes you suddenly had this weird feeling of being watched. You became more aware of your surroundings and let your eyes drift. Behind you, at the reception counter you saw House’s attendees as well as Cuddy and Wilson jump apart like they had been caught red handed. All of them were making it a point to be terribly busy looking. 

„I can’t believe they are all still watching us.“ You nodded towards the group of doctors. House followed your line of sight and you could feel him growing a little bit uneasy. There was no smile on his face and his features seemed more in control. You didn’t want to see him so gloomy after there had just been some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You wrapped your hand around House’s elbow and tucked a bit. His head turned back to you. You were surprised to find sadness and, what was that? Remorse? Etched into his face.

 „They are making sure I don’t crush your heart twice in one night.“ With the bitterness in House’s words came also a promise. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make this work and find out what this between the two of you could be. He acknowledged how his actions from earlier had hurt you. Everything about this conversation was so out of character for House that you had a hard time believing you weren’t imagining things. Maybe your concussion was worse than you thought and you were having crazy hallucinations. Could you have hallucinations from concussions?

„Yes, but that is highly unlikely in your case, since the CCT-scan did not pick up any intracerebral bleeding.“ 

„What?“ Surprised you looked at House. 

„Did I just say that out loud?“ The doctor smiled at you amused and your stomach fluttered. You always had liked it when he bestowed you with one of those uncensored grins. 

„Yup.“ House confirmed. Chalking it up to the most ludicrous day you have had in a while you decided to ignore reason and precaution and just trust your gut. You let your head sink against House’s shoulder and immediately the side of your body melted agains him as well. Before a sigh of relieve could escape from you House had already wrapped his arm around your waist. This was nice. It felt good and easy. 

After a while you could feel the weight from House’s head on yours. You watched your feet dangling again. The calm breathing and the warmth between the two of you had you feeling drowsy in no time. A stifled yawn from you and House nuzzled his face into your neck.

„Yeah, me too,“ he whispered.

„How much longer ’til this thing is through,“ you asked quietly while pulling at the tube of the IV-bag. House lifted his head and frowned at the IV-bag. He considered his answer for a couple more seconds and before hopping off the bed.  

„Maybe 10 more minutes. We can speed it up a little.“ The doctor reached for the drip and adjusted the roller clamp. Immediately the solution in the IV-bag started dripping faster and he turned back towards you, sitting back down. 

„I don’t want to stay in the hospital,“ You sighed. Next to you House was blowing raspberries, obviously thinking something over. 

„You should with a third degree concussion. But I can take you home and make sure you’re okay.“ House offered looking at you expectantly. You considered your options and figured that the perspective of having House fussing over you wasn’t too bad. Your stomach rumbled loudly. An idea came to you then.

„Do you still have that pizza I brought, at your place?“ House had to chuckle at that and his laugh lines appeared. He nodded.

„Yes I do, at least I didn’t eat it. I went straight after you this time.“ House looked at you carefully, in all the joking there was also truth. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found in your eyes because he continued lightheartedly.

„If nobody broke in and ate it, it should still be sitting on the kitchen counter. “ 

„Great!“ You exclaimed happily.

„I could eat, really had a long night. How about you?“ You really wanted to get out of the hospital and leave the last few hours behind you.

„Nooo, completely normal night. So relaxing.“ House earned a slap from you on his shoulder. 

„Ouch! Don’t hit the cripple.“ His fake whiny voice made you actually laugh out loud and you were so relieved to feel somewhat normal again. 

„How about instead of taking me to my place, we go to yours and warm up that pizza then? I can be on concussion-watch anywhere right?“ With that you slowly slid off the bed, carefully steadying yourself. House watched you, assessing if you really were able to leave the hospital.

„I was kinda planning on that anyways.“ He stood up as well and undid the tube from your IV-catheter. The IV-bag was empty. With his hand he indicated for you to sit down once more. While he removed the IV-catheter from your hand you were happy to run along with the banter. 

„Sure you were. What if I’d refused.“ You cocked an eyebrow at House, challenging him. Even before he spoke you knew there would be some kind of quick-witted comeback.

„Oh I would have just kidnapped you.“ He shrugged his shoulders casually, a big fat grin on his face while he peeled off the adhesive tape that had kept the IV in place. 

„Of course.“ You laughed. The needle in your arm was gone and House pushed down some gauze on the exit wound. After a few seconds he put a plaster over it to keep it in place.You used his focus to study his features. There was still that smile on House’s face, though it had faded a little. You wondered what was on his mind. The heaviness that started to appear on his forehead couldn’t be from doing some routine doctor stuff. Just when you wanted to go for it an ask House what was going on, he mumbled your name.

„(Y/N)?“ Was his voice shacking? Your heart sank. Please don’t mess this up. Your imagination started to run wild and you feared for the worst.

„Hm?“ you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable let down.

„Can you not… can you maybe?“ House leaned closer to you. He seemed oblivious to your emotional turmoil. The whispering made his voice sound rough. With another sharp intake of air he took the plunge. 

„You are special, you know. To me you really are special.“The words tumbled out of his mouth practically rolling over each other. You scooped them up, holding them, they felt soft and warm to the touch. 

„So could you maybe not do the House-thing like everyone else?“

You smiled at him. This was big. House just committed to talking about his feelings leaving himself unguarded in the process. 

„Okay, Greg.“ 

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Family

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: While you thought you're about to spend your perfect anniversary night with your boyfriend, life reminds you otherwise.

Warnings: sadness, depressive thoughts, infertility, pregnancy, endometriosis

Word count: 1k

A/N: What can I even say.. I've been at the doctor's today, for check up after my surgery, which was a year ago and I got confirmed that my endometriosis is growing back. Not that I wouldn't know, because I know my body, but being said the facts out loud is hard. I spent my afternoon crying, curled on the couch, questioning myself in case of being able to have a child one day. To get myself out of the misery, I wrote this, because I would like to have someone to come home to me and hold me in his arms, just giving me the support through all this shit. I already wrote a few pieces endometriosis related, so if you want, check it out too. Love you all. <3

---

It was meant to be a perfect day, you had plans to cook some dinner and also had some spicy things in your mind for the night.

Getting through your doctors appointments was something you got used to in the last year, after you had a surgery for your endometriosis. You felt something was off for a few months, your cramps crawling, stabbing you in the back again, those flares being harsh to the point you couldn't even sit. But you held your optimism, trying not to scare George, because worrying him while he was at his prime perfomance during the season wasn't on the list.

Today was meant to be special because you had a two years anniversary.

"Can you see these lesions here? It's back again, I'm sorry."

The words you somehow expected, but didn’t want to hear. The same spiral of pain, hormone shots, nausea and... infertility.

Yeah, you discussed it with George, because everything seems so easy to talk about with him, the idea of having kids.

It gutted you deeply, that you might not be able to give him a child.

As you got home, the space was quiet, only the soft humming of aircondition was heard, making your heart clench, that he's not even there to embrace your mess, even though it's not his fault. George was meant to be home in the evening, but you had a message in your voicemail, that he can’t get home in time, because of the delayed flight. Okay, he'll be here in the morning.

But your sadness and depresive thoughts will be with you through the night. Torturing your mind, getting the best of you, making you feel worthless and weak.

---

"Baby...?"

The faint sound of the deep voice woke you from the nap. You cried yourself to sleep in the living room, still wearing your clothes you went to the doctors in. The coat scattered on the ground next to the couch, your shoes kicked in the hallway, tissues to which you drowned your tears everywhere around you.

George knew something happened, it tugged at his heartstrings, when he saw you like this. Sad, messy and depressed.

You groaned a little, disoriented, while he sat beside you, his gaze locked on your face.

"What happened?"

Softly, he took your hand into his, brushing over your knuckles, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

Then it hit you again. "It's back again, I'm sorry."

Tears burning in your eyes, you avert them to the side, not able to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

"Hey, love... Don't do this. I know, that something is wrong, but don't try to avoid me, I'm here for you, remember?"

The flicker of hope, that you’re not that worthless went through your mind, your gaze finally locking on his, pouring all your hurt into the pool of his positivity.

"I was at the doctor's today."

Oh no. There's was only one thing that was able to get this reaction out of you.

"How bad is it?"

His hand wander slowly to your cheek, brushing a thumb over it.

"It's not worse than last time, but still... It's there. Again. For fucks sake, again. I hate it so much. I hate myself."

The breaking point, your emotions flew out, your voice cracking and your tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red even more than before.

George pulled you closer to him, letting you lean against him, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him mixed with his cologne was enough to calm you down a little bit. He was your safe haven.

"Shhh... It's okay, just- just let it out. Be angry, scream and cry. Don't hold it in your mind. I'm here to hold you, to pick up your shattered pieces." his voice was soothing lullaby, when your cries got louder and more desperate. Brushing his fingers through your hair, he pressed the kiss on your temple, rocking you as his arms were wrapped around you tightly.

"I might not be able to have a child, George." you choked out between your sobs, and he looked down at your face with frown.

"Is that the thing that concern you the most?"

"Obviously. What a woman I am, to not give her man a child."

George felt partly offended by your words, but he kept his composure, because he was used to your hateful comments towards yourself, even, for the most of the time, you were a hell of a confident woman, loving yourself.

"Don't talk like this, please. You're much more than a baby machine." he tried to be funny and.. it worked. You smiled through your tears. He reached for your cheek, wiping off your emotions, smiling a little.

"You can't lose hope just like that. We can be lucky, you know. We just have to try, be patient and somewhere along the way, we're gonna be blessed. I don't care if it's gonna be in a month or in years. I'll be there for you along the way. As I always am. And even though we don't get lucky, I'm lucky to have you. And that's all that matters in my life, because you're my family."

And as ever, he managed to give you peace, calming warmth flooded your soul, making you sure in that George is the one.

---

Watching the screen of the ultrasound machine as you laid down on the examination table at your doctor’s, you couldn’t shake the excitement. George, holding your hand, standing beside you, was watching your expression, his chest fluttering at how happy you were.

"Ah, seems like you got very lucky." The doctor chuckled, pointing to the screen, showing two strong fetuses.

"What does it mean?" George asked first, clearly confused.

"That means that you're gonna have twins."

You nearly passed out while you gasped loudly.

"What?! Two of them?"

George only chuckled, kissing your forehead, nuzzling his nose to your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

"Guess we were pretty thorough with our trying." he whispered with teasing tone in his voice.

[eternityhistoria]

Director.

[icallhimjoey]

supreme leader, would you ever write a sequel to ‘ground rules’ where our baby with joe is here and it’s just a cutesy dad!joe moment? (also wouldn’t be opposed to some smutty times as well bc i just can’t go past gotta-be-quiet-cause-the-baby’s-sleeping-but-fuck-i-want-you-right-now-new-parent-smut) heart you, as always!!

we're switching gears, everyone! sorry for the whiplash! Wordcount: 3K

---

Only Have Eyes For You

(read Ground Rules here)

Joe has yet to stop staring at her.

It’s either eyes on her, or eyes on you, and even though you’re gorgeous and make his chest swell beyond what he thought his ribs could ever manage, looking at her is different.

New.

“Will you keep an eye on her?”

“Yea, of course I will. Go get some rest, please, baby.”

It’s been over an hour, and he still needs to raise a thumb up to wipe a tear from an inner corner about every thirty seconds. For several reasons, too.

It’s been five hours since you’ve given birth, and both sets of grandparents – grandparents, that sounds so fucking wild – have left evidence of their visit all over the room. There’s balloons, cards, flowers, bags with gifts in for you and for the newborn baby girl and Joe feels like they brought too much and too little. Were there for too long but left too soon. Should’ve been there right after instead of two hours later, but also maybe should’ve come to meet the baby tomorrow instead of today.

He wants to protect and hide this little girl from the world, but also needs everyone to see how gorgeous she is.

Five-hour old baby, fast asleep in her clear plastic bed that’s been placed right next to your hospital bed where you’re asleep even faster.   

He’s got no idea how much sleep he’s gotten over this weekend. Doesn’t care, either. Just knows that he’s staring at perfection no matter which way he turns, and that the small of his lower back aches because he’s been sitting in his chair weird, but this is the only way he can both touch you and see her little face.

Her perfect little face.

Joe’s got a hand around your ankle as you lie passed out in your hospital bed, finally in what seems to be a deeper sleep rather than just a quick nap, and he wishes you could stay like that for at least the next ten hours. He knows it doesn’t work like that with a newborn, and you’re obviously in a hospital which doesn’t help, but God, you deserve to sleep for a fucking lifetime.

Everything that surrounds you looks and sounds normal, so he guesses your blood pressure must be okay, but he keeps his ears pricked, just to be sure.

The birth was a long one. Almost everything you had tried preparing for hadn’t happened in the way you’d expected, which is what everyone kept telling you was going to happen, but it was still frustrating. It did however feel very fitting with how the two of you had even gotten together.

It was a good thing you managed to pull through most of the labour with humour.

Doctors and nurses had started making jokes of you becoming permanent residents when your dilation had halted at six centimeters for ages, and in return, you had started making jokes that they were going to have to start knocking before coming in, because you knew of a way to induce the labour that Joe would feel more comfortable about if he had some privacy.

“No, no, I do not–” Joe had immediately protested the first time you’d cracked the joke, and the lack of laughter coming from him plus your weird eyebrow wiggle had only made the nurses laugh louder.

“Sorry to inform you,” the doctor said in the middle of giving you another check. “But having sex will not cause labour to begin before your body is ready for delivery.”

“It won’t?” You’d acted all heartbroken. Made Joe mutter, “Jesus Christ!” under his breath, because, you were six centimeters dilated for fuck’s sake. Of course he wasn’t going to have sex with you.

“We’re still not in labour, are we?” the doctor said, insinuating that he thought you had probably tried it at home already.

“Ask him how many times we’ve had sex...” you’d challenged immediately, making Joe groan from the corner of the room where he was sort of pacing around, facing the wall more than the room, because there was another man with fingers deep inside of your vagina, talking to you about sex.

“Can we please focus on—” Joe started, equally as embarrassed as he was humoured by you.

“Once.” You answered your own question and gestured at your stomach. “One time! All it took!”

It had become a running joke between the two of you that Joe didn’t think you were going to involve so many other people in. Joe had gotten you pregnant and then hadn’t touched you since.

Not true. There had been plenty of touching. But you were super pregnant when you’d gotten together and it never felt right for Joe to insert parts of himself into parts of you that felt like they belonged to a whole different person for the time being.

Which actually made a lot of sense to you.

It was just unfortunate that hormones had made you super horny for half the pregnancy.

Hence why it had become a running joke.

One that really annoyed Joe. You were lucky that he loved to hear you laugh and to see you smile so much.

When the two of you were left alone again, Joe scolded you through a smile and pressed kisses to your temple, because you were being funny and entertaining even though you’d just gotten bad news. Again.

Joe lovingly touched your stomach, and pressed his cheek to yours as he looked down at it and said, “You’ve made it too nice in there. She doesn’t want to come out.”

“Remember when we were like, let’s do this as friends...” you joked, but Joe could hardly focus on your light tone of voice when you grabbed hold of his bicep with a strong grip.

“Idiots.” Joe commented, finding your hand and covering it with his.

“I think we would’ve been able to do it, but—”

“You think so?”

“Yea. I was very determined. But, this is nicer.” You smiled and made eye-contact with Joe. He was quick with a tissue, to dab at your wet eyes. He’d learnt to be ready for every and any emotion over the past few days; everything and anything could bring you to tears.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it.” Joe said, smiling too. “I was already sort of head over heels if I’m honest. You were determined for two, I think.”

That had made you burst into actual sobs.

The last hour of giving birth, you’d cried non-stop. A weird silent steady leaking of water from your eyes as you struggled through the delivery. Joe guessed it was the pain – had to be, because, what the fuck was even going on? How the fuck had nature decided that this was meant to be normal? But then finally, when soft baby cries filled the room, one of the nurses said, “You’re there, you’re done. Relax, we’ll take it from here.” He’d realized then that it they were tears of exhaustion over anything else.

You’d been going for hours, and then your blood pressure did something funny after the placenta got removed, so now they wanted to keep you for a bit, which was scary. But going home with a newborn sounded even scarier, if he was honest... so he wasn’t going to complain about how uncomfortable his chair was.

Or how tired he felt.

He’d been going for hours too, but his tired was different from your tired. He could feel it in his bones, sure, but it was easy to keep his eyes open. Easy to keep staring at her. Easy to do jobs whenever someone asked him to do one.

“Mum’s done. Now, dad, come here. Pay attention.” 

And he has not been able to stop paying attention yet. He’s listening to your breathing, paying close attention to the rhythm because you’re the priority after all that’s happened. Yet he can’t keep his eyes off of his baby.

There’s a baby next to your bed.

The one he watched you gave birth to.

Your baby.

His baby.

He thumbs another tear from the corner of his eye before it leaves a wet trail down his face and uses his sleeve to dry both his eyes as he pushes his nose into his elbow for a second, not letting go of your ankle.

Life is ridiculous.

He still feels emotional over seeing you scream and cry, in pain and all sweaty. You’d performed a miracle, but it was no fun to witness how difficult the whole thing was on you. Had he not already convinced you to be with him, he would have started that quest today and would’ve likely never stopped.

When he blinks his eyes back into focus, it’s to you stirring in the white sheets of your hospital bed.

He freezes.

Maybe if he holds his breath and doesn’t make a single noise, you won’t wake up. He’s not sure how easy it’ll be to fall back asleep if you pull from your unconscious state completely. He wasn’t there when it happened – had gotten hauled off to help wash and dress his baby (the tiniest clothes he’d ever seen still too big on her, he was pouring tears as he tried to put the socks on and hated how you weren’t there to see it) – but he was informed that you lost a lot of blood and needed a lot of stitching.

After going through all of that, you’d needed stitching.

Your baby had been taken to get cleaned up, and you’d told Joe to go with her. To watch her. To stay with her and to not lose her out of his sight.

He’d listened.

Knew better than to tell you no.

But then you were left on your own, and you’d needed stitching.

You can’t move without wincing now, and Joe could probably jog home if he really wanted to. How is that fair?

Joe holds his breath, and watches you stretch your spine in your sleep before you relax again.

But then suddenly, your slow movements turn jumpy as you jolt awake with a gasp. It makes Joe jump almost just as much, and he narrowly avoids your knee to his face.

He watches you wince in pain, clearly uncomfortable, but then you immediately sink back into the mattress when your eyes find the clear plastic baby bed that holds your child, and you release a relieved breath.

“My God,” Joe whispers, already humoured by what just happened. “She’s still here, calm down.”

“Sorry,” you croak, curling a hand around the edge of the hard plastic and Joe watches your knuckles go white.

“You okay?” Joe’s already up on his feet, hand on your face to wipe your hair back.

With your eyes still closed and head slumped to the side, you softly answer, “Hmm. My vagina hurts.”

“Yea, of course.” Joe nods, unable to look at you without all the sympathy in the world displayed on his forehead. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“I need to pee, but I don’t want to. It’s already burning.”

“I’ll go get someone.”

“Please.”

Joe gets a nurse in, and he helps you get out of the bed before you’re helped over to the toilet. Not before you tell Joe to watch her. Watch the baby.

“I’ll keep an eye,” Joe says, because he’s already found it’s his new favourite thing to do. To stare at her. “Go pee.”

The door to the bathroom is left open, and Joe listens to your conversation as he does as he’s told.

It’s a lot of, “Careful, mum. Careful. Slow movements.” coming from her, and a lot of hissing in between your teeth from you. A lot of, “Is this normal?” questions coming from you, and a lot of “If you feel this, it’s probably for this reason, which is totally normal.” answers from the nurse.

Joe gets the room and the fresh new little person all to himself for a second, and he leans all the way over your bed, feet still on the floor, his head resting in both hands as he slowly blinks at what you’ve created together.

He can’t get over how you’ve made this.

Two people have just gone and accidentally made a whole new person... it’s legitimately insane, Joe thinks.

The peeing takes longer than Joe thought it would take. He doesn’t blame you for taking your time, but he hopes that you figure out how to do it without being in pain or needing any help before you get to go home.

Joe hears a shocked gasp coming from you before you softly ask, “That’s a lot of blood. Is that a lot of blood?” followed by a toilet flushing and a reassuring, “Absolutely totally normal. Don’t worry.”

Baby is still asleep. Soundly and so peacefully, small tiny nose doing a perfect job at breathing, Joe’s already so proud of her it’s stupid.

“Well done, mum! First bathroom visit!” the nurse claps her hands together and laughs when you give a sarcastic yay in faux celebration.

You’re miserable, but Joe can hear your smile through everything and it makes his heart swell even more with pride. For you. For urinating. He’s proud because you peed, what the hell.

He shares his first secret smile with his daughter. “Mummy peed!”

You get helped back into your underwear and joggers, and Joe lets his view distract him enough that he almost doesn’t hear what you ask just before you step back into the room.

“Six weeks before sex, right?”

You’re joking, but Joe hears the serious confusion when the nurse asks, “Oh, have you not been talked through—”

“We have. Don’t listen to her.” Joe interrupts, and when he looks over his shoulder to see you shuffle back over to the bed, he catches the cheeky smile you’re trying to hide.

Before he can say anything else about how he’ll have you wait twelve weeks if you keep bringing it up, he catches your eyes flash in pain, just from your small shuffling steps, and he’s up in an instant. Pushes himself from your bed and turns to place both hands under your arms to make sure you’re safe and supported.

You hold onto him like a lifeline and pause in place for a moment.

God, the labour is done. Can you have a single second without any uncomfortable sharp pulling down there? Jesus.

You don’t see how Joe and the nurse share a look over your shoulder. The nurse is smiling at him, and Joe gives her a tired shake of his head as he rolls his eyes, quietly communicating that the girl he’s chosen to have a baby with is an actual menace.

“Maybe eight weeks?” Joe carefully jokes, hoping it’ll get you to laugh and forget about how sore you’re feeling for a second. Instead you just sigh and go, “Yea, maybe.”

You’re helped back into bed by four hands, shuffle slowly into position and leave enough room for Joe to join you.

You’re sore and tired and in a weird emotional state, and it’s simply much nicer to be all of those things squeezed tightly up against him. Joe knows to curl into you with his whole body and lays an arm over your pillow for you to place your head on. It gives the both of you the perfect view of your baby.

Your baby.

You feel a flash of want for her. To have her in your arms. Against your chest. To hold and hug and keep her close. But she’s asleep and you’re not quite sure what to do when she wakes up. What if she cries and you can’t get her to stop? This is safer.

You can both just watch her.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” the nurse says after checking a file, and you ask, “To help me feed her?”

The nurse smiles, says, “Yea sure, that too.” and leaves.

You make a funny face, confused, and look at Joe like you think she was being rude.

“To check on you.” Joe softly says, and your face drops immediately.

“Oh. Yea. But I feel fine, now.” your focus is barely on yourself. There’s this whole other brand new human to be worried about.

“Hmm. Okay. Think you can sneak a little more sleep before she’s back?”

“Probably not.” you say, but Joe sees how you close your eyes anyway. Feels how you carefully move your hips back a little to feel more of Joe against your body. Feels how you grab onto his arm and firmly press it into your stomach that’s still big and round, but all soft and squishy now.

“Can you try?” Joe whispers, lips touching the shell of your ear.

“Will you watch her?” you’re already sinking away. Joe’s body heat is pulling you under quicker than he’d anticipated.

“Of course I will,” Joe says, but lies, and watches you for a moment instead. You’re his priority. Thinks it’s silly how you wouldn’t accept that if he told you. “I’ll watch her.” he confirms, not lying then, because he’s talking to his daughter as he says it.

Joe watches you until he feels you drop of the deep end. Feels you relax in a way he’s not felt you relax in ages.

After a while Joe repeats, “I’ll watch her.” in a barely-there whisper before he places a barely-there kiss against your cheek as you sleep.

His gaze moves back to the small baby girl in the room, and Joe’s eyes immediately well up again.

It’s stupid how even just the sight of her feels new and unexpected again. Like he’s seeing her for the first time once more.

And he simply finds that, once again, it’s so easy to stare.

Finds he can’t stop staring.

“Yea, I’ll keep an eye,” Joe whispers to himself. Thumbs another tear from his inner corner before it can run down his face and bother you.

“I’ll keep an eye.”

---

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add yourself

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi hi! I came across your blog thanks to the kidnapping HCs and I must say I love your HCs!

If you don't mind me asking for some HCs... how would the vanilla game bachelor/ettes react when they find/learn that Farmer (they/them) is close to death's door in the mines after a bad argument with them (basically, the spouse and Farmer got into an argument (could be anything really!), and Farmer stormed out and went to the mines to blow off steam)? Farmer gets better of course, with some possible hurt/comfort please? 👀

Angst with comfort, yay! :D

Sure thing, thank you for your ask and have a great day! 🫰💕

_________________________________________

Penny sobbed the whole time by Farmer's hospital bed, where her spouse lay in bandages. The young teacher tearfully apologised, promising that she would no longer react so much to her spouse's gift of a mead bottle to her mother Pam. A huge torrent of words, which Farmer stopped by quietly saying that they were the ones who should apologise, for not thinking how Penny would react to such a gift to her mother, given her past with alcohol, and that they were a complete idiot for going into the Mines unarmed out of anger. After Farmer recovered from their wounds, Penny was afraid to broach the subject again until her spouse sat her down for a talk themself and, apologising again, resolved all concerns.

Despite his best efforts to remain calm and composed, Alex's courage cracked as he waited nervously outside the Clinic for the end of the surgery and the doctor's verdict. No matter how his grandparents and friends tried to reassure him, the athlete was nervous. It was all his fault, wasn't it? His lover wouldn't have gone off angry into those stupid Mines if he hadn't been such a stubborn ass. And Harvey didn't immediately answer if Farmer was going to be okay... Alex grabs his head and freaks out at the thought of the worst outcome. But luckily, Farmer survived and is on the mend already, and when the doctor and his assistant leave the room, leaving the couple alone, Alex falls to his knees and whimpers quietly, begging for forgiveness until Farmer's weak voice replies that it was their own fault and begs him to forgive them.

"Fucking- go wherever you want, I don't care!" Those words, those last words that Shane had thrown to Farmer in a fit of anger, echoed in his head as he ran towards the Mines, stumbling with exhaustion. Damn, what a fucking idiot he was... So many arguments, Farmer's tears on their cheeks as they left... Shane knew where his spouse had gone at this late hour and wanted to apologise for being such an ass. And saw them lying on the ground in the Mines... with Marlon standing beside them. "Get Harvey quickly, the kid needs help." Farmer had nearly died.... As Shane stood outside the clinic, recalling the last words he had said to his lover... He wouldn't forgive himself for that for a long time.

"What? Just like that?! Are you serious right now?" Leah's can't believe it: her partner just walked out, slamming the front door loudly. Went to Mines in the middle of the night, great... like a child, for Yoba's sake! And they've been there for over four hours. The artist is determined to bring them back home and solve their argument. Just when she was near the clinic, she saw Harvey and Marlon dragging her spouse's limp body to the building. "We found them in the Mines." All anger was gone in a flash, replaced by anxiety. Farmer's wounds were healing quickly, but Leah kept quietly calling them a fool, not leaving their room and holding their bandaged hand gently, trying not to cry.

Elliott refused to leave the clinic and sat next to Farmer's bed or in the lobby. Until Harvey or Maru gently send the writer, who has been without sleep for days, back home, promising that Farmer will be fine. He believes their words, but doesn't want to leave his lover. After being informed that Farmer was on the brink of life and death. After Elliott let Farmer walk away, heated over a stupid argument that is not worth anything now, in the dangerous Mines. He waited and watched Farmer go on the mend. He apologised to them a thousand times, and hugged his spouse tightly as they began to apologise to the writer for the dumb act that had nearly cost them their life and left a scar on Elliott's heart.

A loud, rumbling sound came from the cave in the Mines, and it made Abigail's heart freeze with terror. "Farmer!" Just a moment ago, standing not far from the Guild, she had been angrily cursing their over-cautiousness in not allowing her to join the adventure without proper protection. And now the purple-haired girl was hurrying back to the Mines, where Farmer, also heated from the argument, had left... forgetting to take their elixirs from wife. Abby found her partner covered in blood, barely crawling and ready to let out their last breath. With tears, she hastily pulled out a pink bottle and brought it to Farmer's lips so they could drink the elixir. The wounds began to heal slowly, thank Yoba, and Abigail sat on the cold ground, stroking the hair on her lover's head as they apologised to each other.

Farmer, lying on the cold ground, all covered with mud and their own blood, was already unconscious and did not hear Haley's scream, who caught her spouse near the Mines in such a state. Nor did they hear Marlon's voice as the old adventurer tried to soothe the sobbing girl and call Gil for help. Nor did they see her walking beside them all and shining a light on the two adventurers as they both dragged Farmer's body to the clinic. Nor heard poor Haley sobbing outside their room where she sat hiding her face in her hands and mouthed "this stupid argument, it was my fault, I'm sorry" over and over again. But Farmer did hear her joyful voice, and saw tears of happiness when she noticed that her spouse had finally opened their eyes after a week of coma.

Sebastian is smoking his third cigar, standing not far from the entrance to the clinic. A bad habit, he knows, but he needs some way to calm down while his half-sister Maru and Dr. Harvey perform emergency surgery on Farmer. The last conversation he had with Farmer echoed in his head: a small disagreement turned into shouting and they left. Left to cool off in Mines, then he found them, and... Sebastian smoked nervously, and begged Harvey and Maru to save his lover. Thankfully, the emo's pleas were answered and Farmer is fine. Although Harvey and Maru didn't let Sebby into the room (due to the smell of smoke), but relayed Farmer's words that they were apologising to Sebastian, causing him to nearly cry right there on the spot.

Almost every half hour Maru would step away from her counter into Farmer's room, inspecting their wounds, checking the medical devices they were hooked up to and asking if they needed anything. So throughout the week, almost forgetting everything in the world, including basic needs like eating and sleeping, she monitored her spouse's health, giving reports to Harvey and listening carefully to his verdict. To every attempt of Farmer to apologise to their wife for such a stupid act in anger, to go to the Mines over their recent quarrel, Maru gently hushed them and asked them to put this conversation aside for later, what mattered to her now was their health.

It's been three hours and Farmer hasn't returned Harvey's calls. The doctor must have made over 50 calls already, but no response from his spouse. Worse, Farmer went to the place that was the cause of the couple's recent heated argument - Mines, where they were constantly getting injured, which made Harvey worried for their life. Finally, at 51 rings, the mobile phone receiver was picked up.... But it wasn't Farmer's voice. "This is Marlon. Farmer-" He didn't hear anything further, and just on automatic, grabbed the first aid kit and bullet-rushed out of the hospital building towards the Mines. He performed the operation RIGHT THERE, for time was short, keeping his composure. By the time everyone calmed down and Farmer woke up in his clinic, Harvey's glasses would be wet with tears. He could have lost them...

It wasn't supposed to happen... Just a day ago, Emily and Farmer always found a solution to problems and arguments, there was always harmony and mutual understanding in the house, and now.... Now she sits at home, sad, and Farmer, overwhelmed with negative emotions, has gone somewhere. The heart of the blue-haired girl felt that it wasn't right for her to let Farmer go, and a call on the phone from Harvey in the middle of the night confirmed her fears. She was frightened and felt helpless when she saw the condition in which her beloved spouse had been brought to the operating table. Emily had asked Gus for a week and was staying with Farmer, who had woken up after a successful operation. They would live in harmony again, but the incident would forever be etched in Emily's memories.

"Hey, come on babe, just a little bit more and we've already made it to the clinic..." Considering that Farmer was unable to even stand, let alone respond to Sam's words, the musician was more saying it to himself, trying not to panic. "Our dear uncle doctor Harvey will patch you up in one moment and everything will be super-duper!" Though he tried to sound optimistic, his voice gave a shiver. "Everything's going to be great." Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why did he have to argue with Farmer to the point where they left the house to go to the stupid Mines? "Farmer, please... H- hang in there, we're almost there..." Sammy would be with Farmer every day at the clinic, never taking a step away from his spouse.

[fanaticsnail]

Why are you giving me this, Wire?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 880+

Synopsis: Wire hands you a small, cyllindrical object that has your curiosity peaked. It is not until he begins eating until you realise exactly what it is he's given you.

Warnings: surgical talk, mention of a food allergy, exhausted Doctor, grumpy doctor. gn!reader x platonic!Wire, undressing crewmates, medical administration, swearing.

Notes: This is brought to you by one of Australia's greatest comedy trios. The link is available here for Aunty Donna's skit. I was meant to be doing chores, but my hand slipped and now there's some more Kid-Pirate Doctor fic crack.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23

“Hey Doc?” A smooth, warm baritone purred down at you from your position lining up for food in the mess hall, “I've got something for you.” 

Curiosity plagued your mind, prompting you to turn and view the taller member of the Kid-Pirates who loomed over your body with his great height. In his larger hand, he held out a small, cylindrical object and passed it to you without a further word. 

With brows furrowed, you turned the lengthy object in your hands and read the scrolled print on the exterior of the smooth surface. A small, blue cap was protruding from the end, a coiled blade hidden in the orange end of the barrel. Leaning closer, you sounded out the title aloud. 

“Epinephrine?” you quizzed him, looking up at Wire and darting your eyes around his posture, “Why are you giving me this, Wire?” His eyes moved from the tube to your face with a soft, playful smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

Looking down to Wire's ceramic plate, you noticed his amassment of crustaceans piled in a whopping heap in the center of the dish. Pursing your lips, your tone held a deep warning in your chastising words. 

“Wire,” you narrowed your eyes, looking to his plate and back to his mischievous gaze, “Are you allergic to shellfish?” His eyes twinkled, plucking a skewer with freshly charred shrimp and scallops dressed in chili butter and herbs. 

“Wire,” you tilted your head to the side, “Don't do it.” Your dark, hummed warning only seemed to spur him to draw it closer to his lips. 

“I swear, Wire,” you stepped closer, prompting him to retract his proximity and turn away from you, “If you're anaphylactic, I swear to the great sea-beasts, Wire.” His smirk widened, and his playful eyes never left yours. His mouth opened, his tongue darted out and flickered over the tantalizing skewer Killer had dotingly prepared for the crew. 

Placing your own plate down beside you, you attempted to jump to collect the shellfish from his hands a moment too late. His lips opened further, the shrimp and scallops passing into his lips and having him crunch on the juicy shell and swallow it whole. 

Humming in satisfaction at the flavor, he opened his mouth and began heartily shoving in crab flesh, lobster tail, pipis in curry broth, and fresh oysters with lime. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, Wire!” you growled at him, slamming your unoccupied fist on the cafeteria railing and reading the instructions on how to administer the epinephrine with the greatest success. 

“Remove blue safety cap without damaging the cartridge-... Fuck, Wire!” you began hastily reading, watching your crewmates face beginning to swell and turn purple. He was smiling and wincing all the way, swallowing another juicy scoop of lobster tail down his rapidly closing throat. 

“Swing and push orange tip against outer thigh with force and wait until you hear the click-... Wire, stop eating!” You roared, tugging off the blue cap and removing his belt to get better access to the muscle of his thigh. There was no way you could penetrate the thick leather pants with the small blade hidden within the barrel, prompting your rage to ignite further as you undressed your crewmate. 

“Hold for at least three seconds-. -Wire, put down the king-crab leg!” You managed to usher Killer in to aid you in your plight, who managed to pry away the delectable assortment of crustaceans on Wire’s plate and toss it to Kid. Your captain was not hiding his smile in the slightest, laughing as Wire threw him a swift ‘thumbs up’ and a rapidly swelling smile. 

Finally punching the epinephrine barrel into Wire’s bare thigh, he breathed in a heaping lungful of air and began to pant as his throat reopened. The swelling of his face went down after thirty seconds, the soft tears gathering in his eyes from the lack of oxygen did not take away your fury at him for making you puncture his skin as a balm for his stupidity. 

“Wire, what the fuck?” your barked growl prompted a laugh to rise from within the mess hall, the loudest was your captain's amongst them. “Happy with yourself?” Wire joined his crew with another hefty laugh, looking to Killer and clapping his hand over his shoulder. 

“Worth it,” he nodded in satisfaction before looking down into your eyes. He pinched your chin between his index finger and thumb, scrunching up his nose and teasing you with his gratitude, “Thanks, Doc. You're a lifesaver.”

You tugged your face away from his grip and turned back to your discarded meal. Huffing out an exasperated puff of breath, you shook your shoulders and returned back to reassembling your evening meal with your lips grimaced in agitation. As you sat down beside Killer at the table, you took a bite of the dish and immediately felt the tension and agitation leave you instantaneously. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, bringing your palm up to your lips and chewed on the mouthful of shellfish. Sparing a glance at Wire, you hollowed your hand after swallowing and called over to him, “You were right, Wire. It is worth it.” 

Killer smirked beneath his mask, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze in thanks for your praise before he stood to begin tidying up the mess left behind by the crew.

[reevesdriver]

The 141 Clinic: Crack It (NSFW)

Summary: Your lower back is killing you so when you mention it to your mum and she recommends a gruff and handsome chiropractor that can work wonders with his hands who are you to refuse?

Word count: 2625

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): Captain John Price / AU Chiropractor Price

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut / Pervert behaviour / Masturbation / Fingering / Oral sex (Fem Receiving) /

Support Me: Kofi

(AN: I woke up in the middle of the night and my back was killing me and this idea came to my head so enjoy. Also I've always wanted to go to a Chiropractor and get cracked like a glow stick, is that normal or am I just getting old??) (Also I'm not a chiropractor but I've seen some videos here and there so for the sake of the fic let's pretend I know what I'm talking about.)

Your back was well and truly, fucked. After throwing it out doing something you can't remember you'd popped some painkillers and hoped for the best. Unfortunately for you no matter how much resting, stretching and painkiller taking you did nothing seemed to be working. A few days post back throw-out you were sat in your mums kitchen slowly massaging your lower back with a grimace on your face.

"Oh dear, has the pain not subsided yet?" She stopped in the middle of her conversation to ask when she saw the pained look on your face.

"Normally it goes after a day or two but it's been almost a week now and it's still the same."

"Hmm." She thought. "My friend Val said there is masseuse clinic that opened up not too long ago next to that new gym. I'll get the number from her hold on."

Before you could protest she left the room to grab her phone, it couldn't hurt to go and see a professional could it? If you went to the doctors they would tell you to rest and take painkillers and so far that had done nothing for you so why not give it a go? She returned to the room, phone in hand, and opened on a text message thread. "Val said to ask for John Price, he's the Chiropractor who helped her hubby with his back pain a few months ago. She said he's very handsome too."

You nod adding the number to your phone and choosing not to acknowledge the last thing your mother said, her friend Val had terrible taste in men so you were positively sure that the Chiropractor would be nothing special. Pressing the number you just saved you raised your phone to your ear as it started to ring. After a few rings you heard the phone being picked up and the deep and gruff voice on the other side of the line immediately made you lose your train of thought. "Hi this is the 141 clinic how can I help you."

"Oh, uh, hi, sorry. I'm looking to book an appointment with John Price please."

"That's me love, can I take some of your details and reasoning as to why you're looking for an appointment." God his voice was like velvet, goosebumps rose on your arms and you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand.

"H-Hi Mr Price." You stutter and quickly give out your name and details. "The appointment is for my back, I threw it out about a week ago and no amount of rest or painkillers is getting rid of the pain."

"Ok I see, I can fit you in tomorrow at 5pm if that's any good? If I get a cancelation I could get you in earlier but if not then it'll have to be that time please."

"Yeah, that's fine. Is there anything I need to do before the appointment?"

"Nothing at all love, just turn up and make sure you're wearing something comfortable. I'm going to put you in all sorts of positions so best not to have anything movement-restricting on." John spoke and then grinned when he heard the sharp intake of breath from the receiver.

“Ok I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow love, bye.” He hung up and added your appointment to his diary for his own record. Your mum smiled at you as you put your phone down on the counter. “Well did you get an appointment.” She asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah, that was Mr Price on the phone, he's booked me in for tomorrow."

"Oh is that why you blushed?" She laughs.

"I'm not blushing, I just didn't expect his voice to be so deep."

"Mhmm." She smirks and you shake your head in response.

You spend the next day working from home perched on your office chair at your desk as you replied to emails and sorted through documents to try and occupy your mind. Anxiety crept in as you checked the time on your laptop and saw that it was nearing 4pm. Deciding you were done working for the day you clocked off and took a quick shower before riffling through your closet for some cycling shorts and a baggy top. They were comfortable and non-restricting, just what Mr Price had said to wear.

Once dressed you grabbed your bag and shoved your purse and a bottle of water into it before pulling up your phone and typing in the name of the business so you could get directions once you got into your car. The drive didn't take long and soon you were pulling into the almost empty car park which was dimly lit. Parking up you took your keys from the ignition and made your way towards the building after grabbing your bag and locking the car.

Entering the building you were hit with a sweet smell of flowers and fruits from the wax melt that was burning near the reception desk. An older lady with glasses perched on the edge of her nose looks up to you as you enter. "Hi Miss, can I help you?" She asks with a smile.

"Hi yes, I have an appointment with Mr Price. I'm a little early." You shift nervously.

"Of course you must be the last appointment of the day, follow me please." She says standing from her chair and rounding the desk. You anxiously follow her down a hallway and stop a little behind her as she knocks on a door before entering.

"Mr Price, this young lady has an appointment with you." She says as she holds the door open urging you to step into the doorway and you fight the urge to drop your jaw at the man sat behind a desk.

"Hi." He greets you with your name and stands extending a hand out to you. You step forwards and shake it making note of the size difference between your dainty hand and his large muscular one that had specks of hair on the knuckles. "You're free to go Dorris, lock the door on your way out please."

"Thank you Mr Price, I'll see you tomorrow." She replies and with that the door to the room shuts and you're left alone with the very handsome chiropractor.

"You seem nervous love, I've not scared you have I?"

"N-No not at all, I've just never had anything like this done before so I'm a little anxious that's all."

"Well I promise you're in safe hands, but if you feel uncomfortable at any point just let me know and we can stop ok?" He says and you nod in response. "Good, now you said it was your back that was hurting you so I'll make a start with that, if you lie down on the table for me darling I'll have a quick feel and see what I can do."

You nervously dropped your bag against the wall and took off your jacket and shoes before stepping over to the table. Kneeling into the material you quickly lie down onto your belly and rest your arms to the side of you. You feel him step to your side. "So where do you work sweetheart?" He asks as he runs his hands up and down your spine and across the expanse of your shoulder blades.

"I work from home, just admin work mostly." You explain and for once you wished you had a better sounding job.

"You spend a lot of time sat at a desk?" He asks as he feels different points on your back and gives them little tugs here and there. He's trying to work out any knots he can find before he turns to cracking and so far he's having a field day with your middle and lower back.

"Um yeah, a few hours sometimes. I try and take breaks when I can but I get so stuck into my work that sometimes I forget."

He tuts. "That's not good for your back darling no wonder you're in pain." You hum in agreement and try to steady your breathing as his digits roll over your vertebrae. "Okay I think I know where your problem is. I want you to breathe in for me when I say so doll and exhale as I push, can you do that for me?" He asks and awaits your reply.

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Good girl." He says gruffly and you clench your thighs together, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by him. "Breathe in doll ... and breathe out." On the exhale his heavy hands press into your spine which cracks and almost instantly you can feel a wave of relief wash over you. The pain that was nagging you all week had finally subsided and you couldn't help but let out a breathy moan at the feeling.

"That do the trick darling?"

"Yeah, fuck, thank you."

You feel him lift the bottom of your t-shirt up. "I just need to have another feel of your back, easier to do it without clothes in the way. Can I undo your bra?" He asks and you gasp softly.

"Of course." You reply a little too quickly earning a throaty chuckle from the man. "You're an eager one aren't you." His hand runs up your bare spine and you feel his fingers pinch your bra as he expertly undoes it with just a finger and thumb.

You feel him lift a leg over the bench so he's straddling your body, his hips resting dangerously close to your arse as he rubs your back feeling each vertebrae. John reaches to the side of the table and starts to lift a section of it up, you feel your arse begin to rise in the air as your pelvis is pushed upwards from the cushioned bench.

"So, how long have you been a Chiropractor for?" You ask trying to distract your mind from the position you're in.

"About 10 years, a couple of my mates and I had the idea to put our skills together and open this place up as well as the gym next door."

"That's nice that you're all working together, you must be close."

"Yeah we are." He says and edges himself closer to you so his hips are pressing against your arse. The growing bulge in his sweatpants prods at your rear and he can hear your breaths deepen and sees your fists clench around the edge of the bench when he presses against you. He finds another spot he wants to crack and makes you breathe in again. On your exhale he presses down onto your lower back, nudging his cock against your closed arse and pushes his palms until he hears the crack.

You let out a breathy moan. Any attempts to stop the sound are futile as John bends over your body, his rough hands wrap around the sides of the bench as he lowers his mouth to your ear. "You alright there darling?"

"Mhmm, perfect." You say, your voice muffled slightly. John laughs softly, he's looking at your face, your cheeks are flushed and there's drops of sweat on your forehead. You let out another soft moan when you feel his cock twitch against your rear, eager to be touched.

John rises back up and runs his palms against your back once more, he can feel the delicate little hairs on your back rise slightly as he moves his hands to cup your arse. "I think we're all done with your appointment sweetheart." He says and you whine again. An hour had passed by so quick and although you felt relief with the pain in your back gone you still craved his touches. Your ears prick up when you hear him continue. "Unless there is anything else you'd like me to help you with?"

"Please John, touch me." Your voice more clearly now since you've raised your head to look back at him.

"Are you sure?" He questions and you quickly nod.

In one swift motion John moves his hands from your arse cheeks to the waistband and is tugging your shorts and underwear down and off your legs, discarding the clothing haphazardly across the room.

"Fuck." He mutters seeing the gloss that is smeared across your inner thighs. Your arse is still raised on the portion of the bench and he has a clear view of your leaking pussy. You wiggle your arse slightly earning a rough strike to the plump cheek. "So needy." He says and immediately dives his fingers into your sopping heat.

You moan at the intrusion, two thick fingers eagerly pump inside of your wet cunt with ease. "So wet, so warm, fuck." He groans feeling your walls clench around his digits. John retracts his fingers as quickly as he'd put them there and before you could protest the lack of him he presses his wide tongue against your pussy. Effortlessly he lifts your hips up a bit more with his hands and laps at your clit, devouring your pussy and coating his stubble with your juices.

His tongue moves feverishly between lapping the small bundle of nerves and diving into your cunt. Your nails dig into the leather of the bench as he eats your pussy better than any man ever has, spit and cum is drenching his face and your pussy so much that you almost miss the rough slaps of skin on skin as John tugs his cock.

"God John, fuck." You breathe as you cum against his face, legs jerking so much that they threaten to fall off the bench. John pulls his face from your pussy and jerks his cock quicker, throwing his head back he plasters your arse with thick ropes of cum, an animalistic moan falling from his mouth as he climaxes.

When a few seconds pass you finally speak. "Do all your clients get this kind of treatment?" You ask panting, a hint of jealousy present in your tone.

"That wouldn't be very professional of me now would it?" He replies and you laugh. He grabs some wet wipes from off his desk and cleans you up before wiping his cock and tucking it back into his pants.

“You did really well today sweetheart though I feel you would benefit with these appointments becoming a regular occurrence. I’m going to put in a recommendation for you with some of my colleagues too and we can take it from there."

You blush. "Thank you John." You say moving off the bench and tugging your shorts back up your body, your underwear nowhere in sight. Being the gentleman he is he helps you put your shoes back on and ties the laces for you before forcing his lips against yours. You can taste yourself on his mouth and tongue as runs his hands up your body and around to your back where he refastens your bra with ease.

"You're free to go." John says finally detaching his mouth from yours. You stay stood still for a moment, catching your breath and trying to calm your legs that are still numb from pleasure. John watches as you throw your bag over your shoulder and grab your jacket from the floor. He opens the door for you and leads you back to the front doors, the building now completely empty from any staff who would have been walking around before your appointment.

"I'll see you soon love." He says opening the door for you once more and allows you to step outside into the cold air. With a smile you turn away from him and slowly walk back to your car unaware of John pushing your underwear deeper into his pocket.

[gallifreyrises]

I've been revisiting Capaldi's episodes (who doesn't) and what's very cool about all those - when you compare them to Season 14/15 - is that Stephan Moffat didn't raise the stakes on every single episode, or in every season finale. There were so many episodes where the Doctor was focused on saving his own arse, his companion's, and maybe the arses of a few people in a wee village or on a ship/space station. I mean sure, n=1 is everything if you're 'n,' but the universe/the Earth were perfectly safe.

Even in RTD's first run, with Tennant and Eccleston, he had a few too many "Oh, for fuck's sake, someone's invading Earth again" episodes, to the point where it felt like it was getting silly and meaningless by the time we got to David's final episodes. Oh Jesus, the Master *and* Gallifrey?? Though in fairness, he balanced it out with ones where the Doctor was only sorting out himself and his friends, but Davies had more episodes to play with in those days. The 'filler' episodes matter. When Moffat took over, he seemed to increasingly back off that world-ending-all-the-fucking-time paradigm, even for series finales. Of course, he wrote a few. But when he did, you paid attention. I loved Extremis, et. al., and the one during Matt Smith's tenure with the wee cubes. Dark Water/Death in Heaven went in that direction, but then Missy's motives for making her Cybermen army turned out to be impressing the Doctor, not really world domination.

And of course, Heaven Sent/Hell Bent are the best series finales, ever, and they are so grounded in character, and while the stakes for the Doctor himself are very, very high, most of the universe/Earth is just cracking on, not giving a shit.

I found it deeply disappointing and utterly beautiful that Twelve twatted himself and died because he did something stupid, trying to rehab Missy, and got himself sucked into the clusterfuck on that colony ship. In the grand scheme of the universe, none of it mattered. I was upset and angry at his life choices, but from an non-diagetic point of view, it was stunning.

In season 15, the stakes were always so high...in every episode, with the Earth, the universe, all on the edge of catastrophe, and at some point, you stop caring. It was like RTD letting his bombastic side run wild, whereas in his first run as exec produce, his work was at its best when he wasn't being bombastic, like 'Girl in the Fireplace' or 'Midnight.' Just let the Doctor save a village of 5th century Vikings and bitch about it being a waste of his time, and then do it anyway.