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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 5 months ago

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Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes.

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear.

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home.

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon.

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry.

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away.

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug.

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward.

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering.

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke.

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment.

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him.

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path.

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you.

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief.

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing.

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick.

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-”

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor.

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

And just like that, Bucky was gone.

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life.

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance.

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon.

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative.

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field.

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him.

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured.

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies.

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.”

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none.

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even.

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous.

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response.

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited.

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…”

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late.

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself.

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…”

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you.

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale.

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have.

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could.

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-”

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.”

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival.

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed.

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities.

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him.

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat.

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake.

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you.

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate.

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed.

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have.

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel.

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory.

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows. “I think I’m right around the corner.”

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know.

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.”

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek.

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be.

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive.

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin.

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have.

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later.

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach.

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds.

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again.

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better.

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change.

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still.

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer.

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that.

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions.

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest.

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over.

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again.

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat.

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw.

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over.

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating.

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life.

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you.

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-”

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you.

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his.

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed.

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible.

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.”

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.”

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge.

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch.

Bucky only shook his head.

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused.

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face.

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded.

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-”

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears.

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod.

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind.

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you.

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home.

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him.

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make.

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor.

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you.

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you.

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again.

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet.

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door.

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours.

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again.

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath.

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured.

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral.

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him. “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off.

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone.

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.”

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success.

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option.

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this.

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.”

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of.

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach.

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…”

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off.

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

“Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay.

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this.

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words.

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love.

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way.

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how.

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.”

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth.

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything.

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.”

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after.

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche. “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home.

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theundercoversquid · 7 months ago

Text

All night

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles is worried about his car and you

Warnings: Fluff!

A/n: yes I know that it doesn’t work like this! But humour me.

A/N2: This may or may not have been sat in my drafts since Feb 24 2022...

Masterlist

Charles was an idiot. That much everybody could agree on. A lovely idiot. But an idiot nonetheless.

"I'm so sorry." Charles apologised again. His voice was small and sheepish as he looked at your unimpressed face. His arms were resting on the tail of his car.

"I'm not angry at you." You assured him. Your hands were on your hips as you stared at his car.

"Do you think you will be done in time?" Charles asked. His voice small and worried.

"I will." You assured him your voice filled with confidence you didn't feel. But Charles didn't need to know that.

"Really?" Charles asked. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas. And that face was the reason you would be pulling an all-nighter on the off chance it would let you fix his car in time.

"Really." You nodded, determination filling you. "But you should probably go back to the hotel.

"I'll wait for you," Charles told you.

"No, you won't." You told him. "You need to have a good night's sleep for when you race tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Charles asked you unsurely.

"Of course." You assured him. "Now, the sooner you go, the sooner I can get started, and the sooner I can be finished."

"Thank you so much," Charles grinned. Kissing you on the cheek before he whizzed out to tell everybody he could race.

Taking a deep breath, you put your headphones on. Putting your favourite playlist on shuffle, you got to work.

Charles bounded into the Ferrari garage. He hadn't seen you since last night when you promised him you could fix his car.

Charles hadn't seen you at breakfast, so he just assumed that you had headed in early.

But as Charles walked in, he could see his Ferrari looking brand new. And you were nowhere to be seen.

Charles spotted a post-it note stuck to the car, taking a tentative step forward. Gently pulling it off, Charles recognised your handwriting.

'All done! She's ready for your race x.' Charles read. Grinning to himself, he picked the note and searched for you.

But Charles couldn't find you anywhere. And no one had seen you. However, they were singing your praises for fixing his car. Frederic Vasseur had even gone to sing your praises to the rest of the world. Happily dropping the bombshell that Charles would still be racing, much to everybody else’s dismay.

Eventually, Charles had to give up on his search for you and retreated to his driver's room.

Opening the door, Charles swung his bag around to throw it on the sofa. Thankfully he caught himself in time as he spotted your prone figure curled up on his sofa.

Dropping his bag to the floor, Charles pulled his hoodie out. Laying it over your asleep body, he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek. Murmuring a quiet thank you.

Charles then left the room to warn everybody where you were. And unsurprisingly, no one suggested waking you up. After all that you had done, people didn't mind. After looking at the timings of some of the data logs, they were glad you were catching up on some sleep.

When Charles told Vasseur, all he did was shrug. Say that you probably needed it, and he would send you back to the hotel to sleep in a proper bed when you woke up.

And you did emerge not five minutes later. The hustle and bustle of the Ferrari garage coming to life, waking you up.

When you appeared at the entrance to the Ferrari garage, everybody burst into applause. You just looked slightly startled. Your hair slightly messed up from sleep and Charles's hoodie dwarfing you.

"Am I late?" You asked, horrified. "I could have sworn I only closed my eyes for five minutes."

"Your not late, mon amour," Charles assured you as he sidled up to you. "We are cheering you on for fixing my car."

"That was nothing," you waved them off. Embarrassed as your cheeks went a shade of red to envy the car you had given your night up for.

"It's not nothing," Charles told you. "It's everything. Because of you, I can compete in the grand prix."

"He's right," Vasseur told you from where he had appeared. "Now go back to the hotel and sleep."

"Yes, sir." You nodded to Vasseur. Knowing better the to argue. Especially as you could feel a yawn clawing its way up your throat.

Turning, you retreated to grab your stuff from Charles's driver's room.

"Sorry for falling asleep in your driver's room." You apologised.

"Don't worry, mon amour." Charles assured you. "I'm sure you needed the sleep." Gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear Charles smiled down at you. "Thank you so much for fixing my car," Charles said. His voice was a reverent whisper as he placed a feather-light kiss on your cheek. "Now go back to your hotel and get some sleep. Charles ordered gently.

Nodding, you bashfully smiled up at him before retreating out of the garage once again, with everybody cheering you and congratulating you as you left.

#f1 #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #Imagine #x reader

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seeingivy · 9 months ago

Text

picnic

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

(^^make sure you check since this was a double upload and I posted the last one very recently :D)

dear head of the cullen clan, keep evening plans open – im getting off work early and we’re going on a picnic. coldest regards, the head of the volturi (ps. am expecting a very wholehearted appreciation for the fact that it’s coldest regards and not warmest regards, because they are, in fact, vampires and therefore cold. because they don’t have a heart and such.) (extra ps. this is a link to a shared spotify playlist. i’ll add a song and then you add one. we’ll keep it going.)

you snort.

dear aro of the volturi (does he have a last name???), so much to unpack in one email, yet again. you really know how to keep a girl on her toes. first and foremost, you are SOOOO ran through. so offended that i wasn’t the person who got to put you on to twilight and whoever it was, I HOEP SHE DIES! if you’re team jacob, you’re a freak. second, SO VERY FLATTERED that you think i would be carlisle. a little haunting that you think YOU would be aro…but it’s ok cuz former companions to enemies back to lovers in our case would be kind of crazy??? third. done and done. i just added a song so hurry up bc i have like ten other songs i want to add and i am #impatient see u after work pookie :D, carlisle cullen (very appreciative of the cold regards. you are a king among men.)

his response back is very prompt.

Never call me pookie again. (very offended that you think i’d be stupid enough to be team jacob. and direct your murderous rage towards yuuji and my mom, who forced me to watch it in theaters with them.)

you wait for sukuna at the park two blocks down the apartment complex. the sun is hours away from dipping into the horizon, the chilly wind rustling through the trees. you realize now that the red skirt and white sweater might betray you in a few hours but decide that you’ll simply have to steal his jacket when he gets here.

and you would have already but he’s twenty minutes late.

and while this part of the city is extremely safe, sukuna’s ever constant fear of people attacking you on subway trains and stabbing you in alleyways has instilled an acute fear of strangers in you, which is why you’re gripping the sparkly pink pepper spray he bought you very harshly in your palm right now.

you think it’s sweet that he bought you a pink one.

but of course it’s severely ironic that you almost used it on him.

because he scares the living daylights out of you, by placing his hand around your shoulder from behind.

“hey. i’m sorry i-”

“jesus fuck-”

you instinctively hold the pepper spray up to his face, your hands shaking in front of you.

“i’ll use it, you pervert!”

sukuna leans his head to the side, which is when you’re finally able to log that it’s actually him standing in front of you and not a stranger, and you drop your hands in embarrassment.

“i mean, i’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t doll face but–”

“oh my god, sukuna. i thought you were trying to rob me!”

“i’m smarter than that. the only thing inside your purse is lip gloss, which has very little value to me.” sukuna responds, dropping the little basket at his feet and taking the little stalk of flowers out of the top handle.

“i’ll have you know that it’s actually sold out in every store right now. so you could make bank if you sold it.”

“don’t tempt me. and for your sake, i’ll accept the apology you didn’t give me for just trying to rob me of my eyesight and for calling me a pervert? i’m getting really tired of the age gap jokes, y/n.” sukuna responds, as he lifts your hands at your sides and places the stalk of flowers in your hand.

you give him a big smile as you press your nose to the flowers, the scent fresh in your nose. and sukuna props down, setting a billowing white blanket on the ground before he taps the spot next to him and signals for you to sit next to him.

“who needs eyes?” you joke, as you squeeze his hands and set the flowers down next to the little basket.

“me, dipshit. how else am i supposed to look at you?”

you cover your hands with your cheeks as you watch him place all of the little things inside the basket next to you, laying them out perfectly. it’s albeit a weird assortment – two wine glasses, perfectly wrapped sandwiches, a mini-cake, and strawberry lemonade.

“well, stop perceiving me. this is so weird!” you murmur.

it’s enough to catch his attention and stop him in his tracks.

“what?”

the question makes you pause. and a little embarrassed. it was a little harsh to say while you were joking.

“oh, i mean…i didn’t mean it like that! i was making a joke about perceiving because eyes…vision…and i almost took your vision away! and you perceive with your eyes, because how else would you see…”

sukuna smiles, before shaking his head, and continuing spilling out the last of the contents – a set of gouache paints and two little small canvases. and he drops to his feet, yanking his shoes off, before sitting flat on the blanket and gesturing for you to join him.

“there’s no way in hell that was what you meant. but we’ll ignore that for the time being.” sukuna responds, hiking his legs to his chest and gesturing towards the spread he just put out.

you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“you look very pretty today.” sukuna responds.

“thanks! you too!”

he narrows his eyes.

“uh huh. well, pick what we do first. the paint, the sandwiches, or the weird wine glass cake.”

“the wine glass cake? like from tiktok?” you ask.

“correct. i’m really bad at…cute dates. so…i did some research.”

sukuna refuses to look at you. because after admitting it, he’s suddenly busied himself with reading the back of the box of paints, like it’s the most riveting, intriguing thing he’s ever read in his life.

but the pink flush that’s creeping down his neck betrays him entirely, as you reach forward and push the little box down. and sukuna’s already glaring at you.

you place your chin on the top of his knees, reaching for one of his hands and smiling.

“you did research for a date?”

“you can choke on your spit.”

you grin.

“you really know how to turn a girl on.”

“you’re filthy.”

you grin.

“and you’re actually so precious, i–”

“don’t call me precious, y/n.” he whines, as he reaches forward to flick on your forehead.

you smile as you sit by his side, tucking the folds of your skirt under your leg as you reach for both of the wine glasses and hand him one.

“so how humbling was it to have satoru explain all this to you?” you ask.

he sneers.

“don’t even ask. he’s like the biggest nuisance i’ve ever met in my life. top ten worst moments of my life.” sukuna responds.

“i’m flattered you humbled yourself to him for me.”

“i actually asked suguru. they’re like…two peas in a pod, they can’t do shit without each other. the paints and stuff they gave me and the nice basket too.”

“that’s sweet of them. remind me to send them something later to thank them.”

sukuna scoffs.

“no need. they were more than happy to give it up for you.”

“ah yes. i hear they’re big fans of this camping bag story. the scouts honor and the fake story we had to tell them makes a lot more sense now.” you respond.

sukuna rolls his eyes.

“okay, you know what? sue me. i was like sixteen sleeping next to a girl for the first time. god forbid i enjoyed myself. and i don’t know why they’re all so hyperfixated on that story because it was a very normal thing to assume when you’re asked that question.”

you snort.

“and you say you’re not a pervert…”

sukuna leans forward, his eyes flitting down to his lips before he looks back up at you. and he can tell that you’re in a mood, that you’re trying to push his buttons by annoying him.

“you know i despise you right?” he whispers.

you grin, leaning in.

“is that right?” you whisper back.

“oh yeah. you irritate me.”

there isn’t even a shred of earnestness in the words he’s uttering. you know he doesn’t mean them.

“keep going.” you respond, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your cheek.

“you’re a nuisance.” – a kiss to your forehead.

“an irritation.” – a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“like a fucking thorn in my side.” – and a kiss to the sweet spot right in your neck and his hand snaking up your thigh, which makes you nearly keel your head back from the sensation.

you place your hands on his cheek and pull him back, face flushed and his eyes nearly glazed over.

“are you crazy?” you whisper.

“what?” he asks.

“we’re in public, dumbass. you can’t just start trying to rile me up.”

sukuna leans back, obliging.

“so you admit it? i was riling you up?”

“oh, shut up.”

you reach for the sandwiches and unpeel one for sukuna. before he takes it, he places a tiny white box in your lap.

you frown. first the fancy date but the jewelry too?

“sukuna. you didn’t–”

“just open it. i’m impatient and i’ve been waiting all day. and i actually think you’ll like it. otherwise, you’re ungrateful and rude and you hate me.” sukuna responds.

you give him a tight lipped smile before you open the little box and actually smile.

it’s a dainty silver chain – the exact same as sukuna’s from the chain-links, but the build is a little thinner. and right at the center, a little charm of a star.

you reach forward for his chain, dangling around his collarbone. and surely enough, in addition to the original charm he had of an interlocked circle, there’s a star charm added right next to it.

“you always reach for it. when you’re talking or when we’re kissing. figured i’d get you your own since you’re such a big fan.”

“you are so…”

“perfect? sexy? the father of your children?”

“i was thinking adorable. can i answer d for all of the above?” you respond.

sukuna grins.

“survey says yes, princess.” he responds.

you yank the chain from the little box and hand it to him, before turning around for him to secure it on you. his fingers tickle against the nape of your neck, accompanied by a warm kiss, before he taps your shoulders to signify that he’s done.

“you know. you really are perceiving me right now.” you respond.

“and how’s that?”

“i know you’re obsessed with me and pay attention to every word i say.”

sukuna smiles.

“obviously.”

you jab at his side.

“i mean, i know you’re doing this because i mentioned picnics yesterday and always feeling left out. sure you could put two and two together that he never really bought me any nice gifts or anything when i said he ruined my birthday.”

“okay, captain obvious. and?”

you shove him once more, before leaning your head against his shoulder.

“well, i appreciate it. i know the whole…cutesy painting date isn’t your thing. we won’t have to do it again. and that you…you’re trying to make this whole thing special for me.”

sukuna scoffs.

“i’m offended. first and foremost, i always like to eat with you. every time i think that there’s no way you can amaze me more, you find another way to spill food on your clothes.”

“hey! that’s not true.”

“you already spilled on the blanket. second, this is a very violent way to eat cake. you literally mess up all the layers by doing that and destroy the piping on the cake which i can admit, i am a fan of. and third, i’m going to paint us as worms, which seems enjoyable to me.”

you curl your nose.

“worms?”

“yeah. what were you going to paint?”

“i don’t know. but it certainly wasn’t going to be worms. like the park or flowers or something.”

“boring. i’m going to paint us as slimy worms. and because we made it on this date, you’ll have to agree to put it up in the apartment, even if it’s ugly.”

“sukuna.” you whine.

“especially if it’s ugly. it’s a testament to our love.” he responds, dramatically placing his hands on his chest.

“you know, you’re so right. worms have been a really defining feature of your relationship.”

sukuna leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips and an additional one on your cheek.

“you just get me, princess!”

and he breaks the little joke by lifting one of your hands to his lips, and pressing a kiss on all four of your knuckles before pressing your hand to his cheek.

“and i have to do special things for a special person.”

you return the gesture, lifting his tattooed fingers to your lips and doing the same.

“you know…you’re really good at this type of thing.” you murmur.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean, being a boyfriend. and…and being supportive about everything. sometimes i feel like i’m trying really hard to be the best but…just comes naturally to you.” you respond.

sukuna shrugs.

“don’t know if i’m perfect but…loving you has always come really easy to me. i don’t really have to think twice about it because these are actually just things i want to do for you.”

you groan.

“see! that’s what i’m saying! you always just…say sweet things, do sweet things. sometimes i’m convinced i’m not even half deserving of it, just because sometimes i don’t reciprocate that back.” you respond.

sukuna leans forward.

“you know, you actually do though.”

“as if.” you groan.

sukuna pauses, before leaning his cheek against the tops of his knees and looking out at the expanse of grass in front of you. you follow his line of vision – to the dog running in the distance, the wide, billowing trees, and the little flower truck on the side – which you now realize is where sukuna copped the flowers from earlier.

“i mean, this type of thing. that we have, or…or the way i act around you. it means a lot to you because, you…you’ve never had this before. right?”

“yeah.”

“well, i haven’t had you before. i know you see me as perfect, but…but when you say that i can tell that you don’t mean it the way my mom or…or yuuji think that i’m perfect. in the untouchable way.”

you lean forward, cupping the side of his face.

“sukuna. you’re so touchable.” you joke.

“you’re disgusting.”

“you love it.”

sukuna smiles.

“yeah, i really do. it does actually mean the world to me that you think i’m perfect how i am and don’t think i’m larger than life.”

“if anything, your ego could be smaller.”

sukuna leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“and…and even the other day. i know you were acting squirrely and weird when yuuji was near us and heard us bickering, but i was half convinced that you were going to take his side at the end, when he started saying that stuff about me. because it is true and i have acted a certain way in the past…and, you would have every right to agree with him if you wanted to.”

you frown.

“no, i wouldn’t. you’ve never treated me like that and i know you’re being earnest when you say these things to me. this would be a very elaborate way to get into my pants if that was what you were trying to do. and i know it’s not.”

sukuna smiles.

“that’s what i’m saying. every other person for me has never given me that benefit of the doubt, but you always do. you were the person who thought to tell me that my grandpa died when you all came to get me and you were the one who wasn’t mad at me. the things you do for me are the same, in equal magnitude, as what i do for you. if this makes you feel good, or…or on top of the world, you have to know that’s how you make me feel too. i’m half convinced that you’re basically made for me at this point the way you get everything right on point.”

you lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“i really think you’re made for me too, ryomen.”

sukuna groans, dramatically leaning his head back, before nearly pushing you over and peppering kisses to almost every surface on your face.

“quit fucking saying my name. you have no idea what that does to me.”

“i mean, i think i have an idea.”

sukuna clamps his fingers over your mouth, before pressing a few more lingering kisses to your face and pushing off. and subsequently, picks all of the grass out of your hair as you roll your eyes.

and after that sukuna, admittedly, very aggressively uses the wine glasses to portion off little slices of the cake and makes it a point to finish off yours when you can’t stomach the sweetness. and true to his promise – sukuna paints the two of you as worms, but at the park, stargazing.

it’s a little silly, the way he paints it. you were expecting it to be more gory or gross, but it’s so corny that it makes you smile. because he draws the two little worms, but distinguishes between the two of you, by swiping some of your pink paint and adding a little ribbon to the one that’s supposed to be you.

sukuna explains the stars. because before sukuna had dragged you out of that shitty bathroom bar, it’s what megumi and yuuji said in his drunken mess – he had pointed at two little stars and likened them to him and megumi.

and you’re almost positive that at the time, sukuna found it utterly ridiculous. but now, he understood it – the sentiment. that you and sukuna were two little worms, and two stars, and two little flowers too.

and to his promise, the two of you decide to place the little canvases you drew at the end of the kitchen counter.

it’s only then that you realize that you have to go the whole ten miles for sukuna the way he had done for you – countless times again. and that if you were going in blind in trying to make something special, you’d have to take a page out of his book and do some research.

and there was only one person who could really help you, who you’d rather die than humble yourself to than ask for help.

regardless of that, you still call sammy the next morning.

next part linked here

an: they're about to do it. anyways....there is a very real playlist to match the one that they talk about in the fic -- and it matches the way it described in the fic! so it's interleaved, the first song is a song that sukuna would have added, the second one that y/n added, the third sukuna, so on and so forth. it's linked here! happy listening babies

second an: thank you for the love on the last chapter. it makes my heart really warm bc all of that was actually based on a REAL MAN and real things that I have felt/have said to me and just having people comment that they felt seen by it or it made them feel a certain type of way actually made me really happy and so warm. this blog was one of the first things I did after I stopped being really, really sad and i'm glad that i'm able to share a little joy here and there, if that's what this fic is for you. anyways this is long and sappy and gross and actually I just love you all for enduring the ouchies and the sillies with me a little bit 💌

third an: double upload bc yall were so patient with me :D

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @wishmemel @gyros-cum-sock @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani79 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

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dizscreams · 2 years ago

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Show Off — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack Champion x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Jack showing off ur matching necklaces during an instagram live

A/N: “honestly i know u had a thought abt the instagram live one and i feel like with him you could do a lot with answering questions and then him going over to readers dresser and showing the necklace and maybe some fluff when reader comes back?” A LITTLE COLLAB FROM ME AND @ang3lik <33 I KNOW I HAD SAID INTERVIEW WHEN I CAME UP WITH THE IDEA so I hope you guys don’t mind that I switched it to a instagram live! I just couldn’t think of a way to start the interview idea I’m sorry :(

He toyed with the initial of your first name on the gold chain he wore around his neck while thinking of what to do. You weren’t at home with him, you were at work which he was very bummed out about. Luckily being in your room comforted him as he waited for you to arrive home.

He wasn’t snooping around or anything he just missed you and your bed was comfortable. Plus the room smelt like you and he liked admiring all the posters and decorations you had in your room.

He looked at the clock, it hadn’t changed from when he looked at it just 30 seconds ago. He groaned and kept scrolling through Instagram pretty bored out of his mind and not really paying attention to his feed. After thinking of what he could do he decided it might be a fun idea to go live. Why not? He’d never done one of his own before, well he’s never done one now that he’s gained popularity.

He made sure he looked presentable and looked at the ‘Go Live’ button. He wasn’t sure what he’d do, probably just talk to fans and hope it wasn’t boring. He had a feeling they’d eat it up though. Lately, it seemed he could breathe and everyone would go wild. It amused him to be completely honest.

He propped up his phone and sat against the headboard of your bed and pressed ‘Go Live’.

Once it started he awkwardly played with his hands waiting for people to join. It didn’t take long, in about 2-3 minutes there was already a bunch of people flooding the chat with ‘hi’s’ and ‘love you’s’ and a bunch of questions. They weren’t anything specific just about him and his job, he was grateful they weren’t too invasive.

user97027: hii jack! are you working on any new films right now??

He saw the comment as it quickly flashed by, “Yeah I am actually, I’ve been working on Freaky Tales and Everything’s Going to Be Great. So yeah, I’m excited for you guys to see those,” he said with a soft smile across his face.

user88992: did you always want to be an actor?

“Uh, it wasn’t really planned,” he chuckled, “just the day I found out you could get paid for acting and it was a legitimate job I was immediately on board,” he talked with his hands as he answered the question. He leaned forward with his eyes squinted a bit, trying to find another question.

user561183: Jack!! Who would you say inspires you the most?

“Oh man that’s a good question, who inspires me the most,” he repeated the question as he put his chin in his palm and lightly tapped his fingers across his cheek as he thought of a good answer. “I’d have to say my castmastes and my family definitely. Oh! And my girlfriend, of course. They’re all very supportive of me.”

He slightly laughed as a bunch of “awe’s” ran through the chat. He scanned through the chat, almost getting a little bored cause of how awkward he felt. It wasn’t uncomfortable for him he just wasn’t used to this but he liked talking with his followers nonetheless. As he was about to come up with an excuse to log off he saw a question that made his eyes light up.

user336473: what’s the initial on your necklace stand for?

He wasted no time in answering, “The initial on my necklace is my girlfriend’s! She actually has a matching one but it has my initial instead. I could probably show you guys, one second. She didn’t take it to work today” He explained as he got up, taking his phone with him, and excitedly waddled over to your vanity. Jack propped his phone on a little stand up mirror you had and gently took the piece of jewelry and held it up. “Isn’t it cute? I got these for us on our 6 month anniversary,” he told his viewers as he proudly smiled.

A knock on your door made him quip his head towards the entrance of your room, “Jack, you in there?” He looked at his camera whisper shouting a little “She’s backk! Hold on,” he then looked back at the door, “Come in!” he yelled.

Once he saw your figure opening the door a lovey smile adorned his face. He was head over heels for you and made no effort to hide it. “Oh hey babe, I was just showing them our matching necklaces.”

“Them?” You asked raising an eyebrow.

“Mhm, I’m on instagram live,” he softly grabbed your hand giving it a chaste kiss before bringing you in front of the camera. “Guys this is y/n my girlfriend, y/n these are my instagram followers,” he introduced with a goofy smile as he wrapped his hands around your waist and gave the back of your head a kiss.

You looked at the chat, which was gushing with comments about how cute you two were. It made you smile as you remember what he told you when you came in, “Wait, you were showing them our necklaces?”

“Yeah! Someone asked about it and I think I started rambling,” Jack explained as he toyed with the chain that was still in his hands suddenly getting an idea, “Can I put it on you?” He whispered into your hair so only you could hear. You nodded at his question not being able to contain the shy smile on your face as he let go of your waist and put your hair to rest on your left shoulder, giving you goosebumps. Once he made sure none of your hair would be in the way he undid the necklace and slowly put it around your neck. He made sure it was centered properly and closed the clasp, “Perfect,” he said as he gave a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You’re such a show off, Jack,” you laughed at his shocked expression as he put a hand on his heart with a small scoff, “What?! Can you blame me for wanting to show you off? Look at you!” He told you as his signature goofy smile reappeared on his face causing you to laugh more. “No I guess not,” you smirked as you gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, causing him to get a little flustered. To be honest you both kinda forgot you were live, you were too busy wrapped up in each other, until Butters entered the room meowing so loud you and Jack snapped out of your love sick gazes and turned to him.

“Aw, what is it, Butters?” Jack asked as he went over and picked the cat up and cradled him like he was his baby, technically he was. Butters only answered with another meow causing you to pet him on the head, “I think he’s hungry,” you looked up at Jack. Another meow followed.

“Alright, I hear you Butters,” he turned back to the camera where he saw the chat freaking out about the adorable moment you two just shared, “We have to go but thank you all for joining. Byeee!” He disconnected the live and quickly put Butters down.

You looked up at him confused but didn’t get to say a word before Jack was kissing your lips. You kissed back and pulled away after a few moments. “What was that for?”

He shrugged, “I dunno, I’ve just been wanting to do it all day,” he said as he smirked. As he was leaning in for another, his movements got cut off by another loud meow from Butters. Jack groaned as he put his head on your shoulder and you laughed as you lifted his head up and slightly pushed Jack’s curls from out of his eyes before you kissed his forehead, “C’mon lets go,” You grabbed his hand and you followed Butters into the kitchen.

He had a lazy smile on his face with hearts in his eyes. This man was so whipped for you.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! I love this sm <33

tags: @ashlesys-blog @wekiamo @dizzyscreams

#not proofread #dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫#angel!! :)#jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #avatar the way of water #spider socorro

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furiousgoldfish · 10 months ago

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When I was a little kid, I asked my mother 'What does a child need to survive in a desert?'. She wouldn't give me a straight answer, so I had to pull it out of her bit by bit. Would a child live if they had fruit? 'That's not enough', she said. Would it work if the child had milk? 'Maybe'. I kept asking what else, and then she put the dots together, and figured out why I was asking. 'Children can't survive without their mother', she told me curtly. I frowned, not liking this response. 'But, if they had fruit and milk?' I insisted. 'No. Child can't survive without a mother. Don't even think about it.'

But, I was thinking about it, and she knew it. She knew I was trying to find a way to escape the house we were living in. I was 6, maybe 7 at the time. She repeated over and over to me, you would die outside this house. Nobody else would take you in, there's no place for you anywhere else. You would only be a burden.

I didn't like that. I didn't like the idea of being a burden anywhere. But, I supposed she was right, other people didn't need a stray kid.

In my quest of not being a burden, I wanted to learn how to work. In the house I lived in, there were countless chores to be done, but somehow I was always stuck with the ones that required no knowledge or skill. Put the logs over there, clean, carry this over there, sweep, scrub, throw, wash, dig, gather, relocate, hold, lift, put down, bury, shut up, and don't ask questions. I wouldn't get any answers even if I did ask, why am I doing this, whats it for? I wasn't to know. I was kept blind, following orders, up to myself to figure out what was this a part of.

When I'd be ordered to do something I didn't know how, I would be told I 'should have learned it by watching others do it', but I was never free to watch while others worked. In fact, if anyone in the house was doing anything, and I was sitting or lying down, I would be screamed at for 'just watching others work and doing nothing'.

Reaching adulthood, I really wanted to know about cooking, but mother always chased me out of the kitchen if she was making something, or she would chore me with 'peeling the vegetables', which would then take all of my attention. I tried to sneak into the kitchen and learn by myself, but she chased me away as soon as she'd catch me, telling me off for 'wasting resources'. But, as she noticed my inclination, she decided to inform me, in a very clear manner, that I would never in my life know how to cook. You see, I was clumsy, slow, stupid, and would always only mess it up and waste precious ingredients. It was far above my abilities to learn how to cook. She gave me a clove of garlic to cut, and I couldn't do it well on my first try. She told me it was a proof that I was 'no good'. Then she gave me an onion to cut, and yelled at me for 'taking too long'. Now it was proven twice over. I couldn't cook. Everything would be ruined because I was taking too long to cut the vegetables. Also, I didn't know where food was even stored in the kitchen. She would never show me. (The food was stored in boxes in the basement. I would find out years later.)

With a heavy heart, I gave up on learning how to cook, and resigned myself to feeling forever guilty for 'eating their food', which was something my family regularly held over my head. You know, after I helped digging, working the soil, sowing, planting, weeding and spraying, it was still their land, and their food, and I 'had no right to it'. They were careful never to show me how to actually grow food, but just kept me busy with menial tasks that were never explained to me.

I was convinced my mother was a good person, because she usually wouldn't forbid me to eat, and if she wanted me to do a task, she would tell me in a humane way. For example 'Can you do x?'. The other family members had a more crude way, something like 'Why are you waiting to be told, do I have to spell out everything to you??' so her polite manner had completely won me over, I would have done anything for my sickly, poor, kind and generous mother, who was so worried for my troubled self, who couldn't learn how to do anything, or survive outside the house.

Even though my mother repeated through the years, that I would never be able to do anything, and also berated me if I ever tried to learn a new skill because 'it was worthless and wouldn't earn me any money', I would still sometimes gather a bit of momentum and courage, and figure hey, I should try to get a job. It would take months to gather that kind of confidence. And one such time, I announced my intentions, I'm going to look for a job! My mother laughed without looking at me. 'Who would hire you? You can't do anything.' Poof. That was my balloon of confidence, popping and then deflating into a tiny bulb. I didn't think she had any reason to lie to me. She knew me all my life. If she was confident that I can't do anything... then it had to be true. Otherwise why would she say that?

The rest of the family, of course, agreed. My grandmother, she had fantastic stories to share with me about how quickly I would be kidnapped, robbed, murdered, tortured, sold into slavery, you know all that good stuff that happens to every person outside their parents house. My father, who inherited massive amounts of land, 2 houses, illegally got his hands on a third, earned a very formidable salary, and constantly had me working for free for him, told me that it was in fact, impossible for a person to survive out there without inheritance. I frowned because I didn't agree with this, and I asked, what about the people who get a job and move into the city? They were living just from their wages. He shook his head and said that it may look like that, but they're all just living from their family's resources. I was old enough to not believe him. It's him who couldn't live without his inheritance, because he's an idiot, I thought.

So, I finally got to earn some money online. It was slow, and very tiny amount, I was freelancing and there was no consistent income, but my enthusiasm on being able to earn anything, was strong. After all, I had earned absolutely nothing working for my family for forever, and this was mine. I remember securing a big project and rushing to reassure my mother, to tell her that I was in fact, good for something, and she didn't have to worry anymore, I was going to make something of myself.

'You will never get another project again.' Her face was dead serious. 'You were lucky once. Don't count on this happening again'. I was speechless. Self doubt swallowed me whole. Was this only one-time occurrence? Was I stupid to believe it would happen again? I despaired. She was my mother, and she was older than me, and she knew the world better than I did. She wouldn't say this for no reason. Could she be right?

She brought it up to the rest of the family, and they all had things to say about it. 'Online work isn't real. The money doesn't even exist. You'll never see it. Show us where is this money. You can't, can you? And even if it does exist, it will all get stolen from you'.

Leaving me wrapped in my survival panic attack, they went on with their day, satisfied that they put me back in my place (which was an ongoing panic attack). I eventually recovered, and continued to work on projects. I was approached and told I would fail constantly, but even then, what could I do but work with my anxiety levels up to the roof and wait to fail? I had to try.

I didn't believe I would make it, because my mother's words 'you'll die, you'll die' were on repeat in my head, but I realized I would die in that house anyway, so I ran away from home. My mother was worried about me; she was in fact, so worried she called every person who knew me, all of friends, relatives, their kids, and told them about how badly worried she was for me, and how I needed to come back home. These people, well they were all worried too you see, so they had to call me, to tell me that I'm breaking my mother's heart, that I don't know how it feels to have a child and not know if their child is okay, apparently she was crying every time it rained because she thought I might be outside in the rain.

My guilt was activated, but I knew just what to do to resolve this situation. I responded to my mother's call, and she told me too, that she was dying from worry, so I said, listen! Listen to what I have! And I went around the apartment, and I listed all of the groceries I had bought and stored. I listed everything out to her, and then explained how to make multiple meals, I offered proof to her that I had already, in this short time, learned how to cook, and I was doing fine. I was sure she'd be so relieved to know that her child had food.

In my mind we were continuing the conversation we had when I was six. I have milk and fruit now mommy. You said I might survive if I have that.

'Okay, we KNOW you can do everything yourself--' She interrupted me angrily, unwilling to listen to my ongoing list of resources and skills. I froze. '--but you need to think about what you're doing to us and come back home!'

I hung up. Unbelieving. Two things I've been told in that sentence, and I had a hard time believing either. She- they- KNEW I could do everything myself. Since when? For how long? How could she possibly say this, after telling me my whole life, not only that I didn't know anything, but was too stupid to even learn? She knew I was capable the entire time? She knew I'd do just fine? And, she was angry about it. Hearing the list of resources and skills I had, it made her livid. After crying to all these people, and convincing me she was dying out of worry, she wasn't worried even one little bit. It was all fake. The entire time. She could either tell I was capable the entire time, or.. she never cared enough to even tell. It didn't matter. It only mattered that she convinced me that I can't survive. So I wouldn't run. So I would stay in that house, and so she could watch her violent husband, and violent mother in law beat me and call me animal names. While blocking my only possible exit.

Later I found out she changed her story. She was now telling people that I was now 'rich but so selfish I would not give any of my money to her'. It was almost funny. Her perspective of me rapidly shifted from 'incapable idiot who cannot survive' to 'selfish rich snob who won't give money'.

It stung. I had spent my life trying to protect her. Even after running, all I could think was how badly I wanted to take her away from that violent place, how much I wanted happiness for her. She watched me dying in that house and blocked my exit. She threw me back into the hands of violence and cheered them on as they broke me. She watched a kid being broken and told that kid they could not live, except if they stay and continue being broken, over and over again. I got jealous of all of the mothers who helped their kids escape. And of all the kids whose mothers escaped, taking them with. Keeping them safe. Why wasn't I worth keeping safe? But I can't look back in that way. That's not it. There was nobody to keep me safe. Nobody was my mother. Nobody was my parent.

My six year old self reached their goal. What does a child need to survive in a desert? Some fruit. And some milk. And some other groceries also don't hurt. And definitely not a mother like this one.

#abusive mother #recognizing abuse #cruelty concealed as worry #escape sabotage #mother keeping a child trapped in abuse #using a child as a shield from violence #abusers keeping your confidence down to stop you from escaping #abusers lying through their teeth #child abuse #survival resources #toxic family #toxic mother #i don't even know what her deal is #but her cruelty crushed me

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

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Running On Sunshine (hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 3 || masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: You haven't spoken to Aemond. Tensions rise between the two of you and come to a head at the arrival of a disruptive patient.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: NSFW mdni medical terminology, use of needles, discussion around addiction (specifically alcohol, rehab, recovery), fighting, blood, punching, explicit sex (p in v) fingering, oral (fem receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, spanking, language

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

note: here it is! long-awaited, thank you for being so patient as my brain jumps around 😂 hope you enjoy it!!

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

It’s been a few days since your ultimatum with Aemond.

No texts.

No calls.

You pass each other in the halls and avoid eye contact, brushing past him close enough that if you extended your little finger you’d be sure to brush against the back of his hand.

You weren’t going to chase him.

You’d told him what you wanted. Told him you’d wanted him. And he had stayed silent. If that was the end of you and him, so be it.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you inside. Watching him day in and day out walking through the halls of Citadel General in those stupid blue scrubs that he somehow wore like he was strutting down a runway not the hallway of a hospital.

It didn’t help that observations often included surgeries he was a part of. Aemond was a model resident, often asked to assist the attendants. And he was hard to miss, always wearing his signature scrub cap with little dragons peppered all over it, mid-flight. You’d catch him glancing up at the viewing gallery, peering up over his mask every now and then. You never caught his eye, he was much too quick for that.

“Switch with me,” you’d begged that afternoon after Baratheon had informed you of the plan to observe Dr. Cole’s surgery. There was no way Aemond wouldn't be there, Dr. Cole had chosen him as an obvious favorite.

You’d been catching up on notes with Cory for the past ten minutes, the pair of you both trying to shove food in your mouths before your pagers inevitably went off.

Labs. Observation. Notes. Scut work.

The never-ending revolving schedule of your internship.

Cory reaches into her bag of salt and vinegar chips, clicking her mouse furiously, her brows pinched together in concentration.

“I can’t,” she says through a mouthful, “Besides, you’ve already done this lab. If I don’t get these hours by the end of the week I’m about to take Jace’s place as Baratheon’s least favorite.”

You groan in frustration, letting your head rest against the keyboard of your computer. Nettles pops her head into the room, frowning at you both, “What’s wrong with her?”

Cory shrugs and you turn your head to face Nettles.

Beep beep!

Cory groans, checking her pager, “Shit, I gotta go,” she says, crushing her chip bag and logging out of the computer before heading out of the room, “Sorry again, Y/N!”

You mumble something along the lines of don’t worry about it just as she disappears from sight. Nettles raises her eyebrows.

“McDreamy?” she asks, and you continue to pout, “Damn. Dick is so good we should change his name to McDick.”

“You suck,” you tell her, but you can’t stop your smile, “Definitely not your best work.”

“McOrgasm? I’m still thinking of one that truly encompasses the distress he’s causing you. Dr. Cum?” she makes a face, “Okay ew. Definitely not Dr. Cum.”

You groan, putting your face in your hands, “What am I going to do?”

Nettles walks towards you, slapping the back of your head. You lift your head, mouth open in shock, palming the place she slapped.

“Hey! I was recently concussed!”

“And apparently it scrambled your brains more than we thought!” she snaps, “See what you’re not going to do is spend your days moping over Dr. Sexy. I don’t care how good his dick was. You are a doctor. You are an insanely smart woman and you are in your internship.”

Nettles lowers herself to your height, taking your hands in hers.

“He is very dreamy,” she says, her brown eyes empathetic, “But this is your time to shine. Not his. He’s not this important.”

It hurts---gods does it hurt---but she’s right. And you know it. You’ve been through situations like this before. You’ve gotten through things like this, and worse. Smiling at Nettles you squeeze her hands.

“Thank you.”

“Mhmm,” she says, smiling, “Always here for a reality check. You’re the sun, babe.”

You smile back at her, “I’m the sun.”

“Damn right,” she says, chuckling, “How’s Cece doing?”

“She was discharged this morning,” you tell her, beaming with pride, “Just finished her last round of antibiotics and her labs are clear. I’m working on her note now.”

Nettles plops down in Cory’s seat, reaching into the chip bag she left behind. Her hand comes out empty and she frowns.

Jace opens the door, looking rather sweaty and discombobulated. He’s been running around the most, trying to get on Barartheon’s good side.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath, “Can you guys help me in the pit?”

“No can do,” Nettles says, “We’ve got observation soon.”

You nod agreeing, but become curious noticing Jace’s panicked expression.

“Why what’s wrong?” you ask.

“Just…five minutes,” Jace says, “Please, I need someone. And I can’t find Sara and Cory--I just need someone, please.”

You turn to Nettles.

“The pit?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you, “Really?”

“Tell Baratheon I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her, “Besides, maybe it’s a good case.”

“Girl,” Nettles says, sighing and shaking her head.

“I just really need your help,” Jace says, leading you through the emergency room, weaving between nurses and patients, “It’s just that…I mean I didn’t know the other day but now…”

“Didn’t know what?” you ask as he stops outside a curtain.

“-- he’s back again and family members--,” Jace says, brown eyes wide, “We’re not supposed to work on family members.”

Your eyebrows concave together in confusion when suddenly the curtain pulls back. A man is lying in the hospital bed, a halo of platinum hair cascading onto the pillow he lays on. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, a lazy grin appearing on his face as he gives you a once-over.

“Nephew,” he sing-songs, giggling, “You brought me a present!”

Jace sighs, pulling the curtain from his grasp. Wait a minute. Nephew? Your eyes scan the giggling man as Jace snaps something at him. The silvery hair, the violet eyes. Seven hells.

How many Targaryens are there?

“Excuse me?”

“He’s kidding,” Jace says, forcing a smile and turning to his uncle, “You’re kidding.”

His uncle shakes his head, lower lip jutting out in a pout, “I’ve never told a joke in my life. She’s pretty Jacey, well done.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, at the way his eyes cascade down your body. You’ve never felt more exposed in simple scrubs.

“Stop calling me that,” Jace snaps, cheeks reddening.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Jacey boy,” he croons, “Thought Baela had taken your balls when she dumped your ass--”

“Funnier every time I see you, Aegon,” Jace interrupts, closing the curtain once more.

Aegon’s mouth drops open in surprise before he’s hidden from sight. You raise an eyebrow at Jace, folding your arms across your chest.

“He’s harmless,” Jace assures you, “Please, please just help get him out of here as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s sort of difficult when we don’t know what’s wrong--”

“I know what’s wrong.”

You frown, raising an eyebrow at him, “You know?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking drunk. He’s always drunk. Just give him a banana bag, let him sober up, and get him out of here,” Jace instructs.

“How do you know he’s drunk?”

“Considering the fact he hasn’t been sober since I was eight years old, it’s not hard to guess,” Jace tells you, “He’s been to more rehab programs than I can count. Trust me on this.”

“I’m still going to have to do some labs,” you tell him, not willing to go against protocol.

“That’s fine, do what you have to do just…keep him out of the way,” Jace pleads, eyes widening as though he’d just remembered something very important, “And don’t let Aemond know he’s here.”

Your gut tightens at the mention of Aemond.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if no one knows Aegon is here,” Jace finishes, “Thank you, I owe you big time.”

“Yeah you do,” you confirm, and then Jace hurries out of sight, eager to escape the pit.

The curtain opens once more and you turn, meeting the curious gaze of Aegon Targaryen. You try to stop the scowl that threatens to overtake your face as he grins widely, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Ow!”

“Will you hold still!”

“You’re killing me!”

“Stop being so dramatic!”

“It hurts!”

“It won’t hurt if you stay still, Aegon!”

Aegon throws his opposite arm over his eyes as you attempt to find a vein for the third time. He’s too squirmy, too anxious that as soon as the needle pierces his ivory skin he’s flinching away and howling.

“I’ve seen children do better than you,” you grumble, and he gasps in feigned shock.

“They let you torture children?”

“Hush!” you insist, and to your relief, he’s able to stay still as you start the IV, “There you go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Aegon peaks over his arm, glancing down at the tubes as you assemble them properly, making sure the drip is even. He frowns as you release the tourniquet.

“I bruise like a peach,” he mumbles.

“Sounds like you need more iron in your diet,” you tell him, walking to the other side of his bed. You need to take his blood pressure and begin wrapping the band around his arm.

“Can I have something for the pain?” he asks.

“No, you may not.”

“Not even Tylenol?”

“No.”

“Hells,” he mumbles, “You should know, I enjoy it when women are mean to me, it turns it on.”

“Of course it does.”

“Mhmm. I eat that shit up.”

You’ve been trying not to look at his face for too long. If you look at Aegon, you’ll start thinking about Aemond.

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about Aemond.

They don’t really look alike, despite the matching hair and eye color. Though he’s sitting down you can tell Aegon has none of Aemond’s height. He’s soft whereas Aemond is sharp. Their mouths may be the most similar thing about them, both awarded beautifully pouty lips made to be kissed.

“What’s on your mind, doc?” Aegon says, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying, I’m very perceptive,” Aegon insists, “Come on tell me. What is it? Doctor drama? Boyfriend drama?” Your face must give something away when he asks, because his eyes light up, “Boyfriend drama.”

It’s no use, you can feel your face heating up, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

Your head snaps up at him, and you remove the blood pressure sleeve. Discarding it in favor of your stethoscope you place the end against his chest.

“Breathe in.”

“D’you have a girlfriend then?” he relentlessly continues.

“No.”

“A fuck buddy?”

“Hells,” you mumble in frustration, trying to listen to his heartbeat.

“Please tell me it isn’t my nephew,” Aegon says, making a face.

“What?” you answer, far too quickly, “No! Seven hells, Jace and I are friends! And I do not sleep with colleagues.”

“Everyone sleeps with colleagues,” Aegon argues, “How else do you meet people?”

“That working well for you?”

“Oh I don’t work,” he answers, “That’s boring.”

You choke back a laugh. The man truly is ridiculous.

“Alright then. Well, you’re all set once you’re done with your fluids we’ll check your vitals again and send you on your way,” you tell him, making a note in his chart, “I can have the nurses reach out to some detox programs if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Look, I understand a bit of your history from what Jace shared. But you should know, recovery isn’t linear, and relapse is completely normal-”

“I haven’t relapsed.”

You blink.

“Your BAC was 1.06,” you inform him, “That’s more than a little buzzed.”

“I haven’t had a drink since Nyra birthed her last gremlin,” he insists, not elaborating on who Nyra was, “I’m just like this.”

Your eyebrows knit together. He could be lying, you know that. Addiction is one hell of a disease.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

You’re silent for a moment, just staring into his violet eyes.

“Your blood--”

“Fuck the labs,” he groans, “They always come back like that. I haven’t taken anything. I haven’t drank anything. Believe me, I’d be much more obvious.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t be so far away,” he comments, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, “I don’t know why this happens. I think my body got so used to being fucked up, it just does it on its own now.”

“You’re being serious,” you comment, and he nods.

It goes against everything you’ve learned in med school, and in residency thus far. Your pager beeps and you glance at it. It’s Nettles. You’re supposed to be joining her soon.

When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras.

You chew your bottom lip. Aegon raises a brow, already looking better with the intake of fluids.

Fuck it.

You quickly page Nettles, and let her know you’re needed longer in the pit. Hopefully, Baratheon doesn’t kill you for this.

We’re going with the zebras.

“Okay so I’m going to send the sample to the lab and see what comes back,” you inform Aegon, “And if you’re being honest with me, we should have some answers for you.”

Aegon swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Why would I lie?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you’re sure if you do in his presence once more they’ll fall out of your skull. He gives you a cheeky grin as he notices your exasperation.

“People lie all the time,” you tell him.

“To you?” Aegon asks, snatching your hand is his, “Never, princess.”

You hear Nettles suddenly, her voice flowing through the ER and your stomach turns. Surely, it's Dr. Baratheon coming to reprimand you for missing observation to spend time in the pit ‘trolling for surgeries.’ The curtain opens then, and to your horror, it’s Aemond who has discovered you rather than Dr. Baratheon.

His eyes fall to your face first before he turns to Aegon. His gaze drops to your interlocked hands. Something washes over him, his expression cold and calculating.

“Out,” he says, voice quiet as death.

Aegon chuckles, but you can hear the nervousness he’s trying to hide. You can see it in the way he wets his lips, the way he pulls his hand from yours.

“Bro…”

“Out, now,” Aemond repeats, “Don’t make me drag you out in front of all these people.”

“Careful now,” Aegon says, standing, “you know how mummy feels about you getting your hands dirty--”

Aemond steps forward, hands fisting Aegon’s shirt and dragging him forward. Your eyes widen in shock and Nettles yelps as Aemond pushes past her, dragging Aegon with him.

The display has gathered the attention of several nurses and patients as Aemond continues to drag him through the ambulance entrance and out the automatic doors. You and Nettles remain closely on their heels as they exit the hospital.

Aemond releases his hold, sending Aegon stumbling into the road.

“Seven hells!” Nettles says, a shocked expression on her face.

Aegon laughs maniacally, bending over with his hands on his knees. He shakes his head several times, like a dog before looking up.

“Go home,” Aemond says, flexing his hand.

“Where’s that?”

“Wherever you’ve been staying I suppose,” Aemond quips.

Aegon is panting, staring at his brother.

“I’d like to see Helaena.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Helaena!” he yells at the sky, “She’s my sister, I know she wants to see me.”

“You’re not shaking her down for any more fucking money,” Aemond says, his voice louder this time, making you flinch, “Go home, Aegon.”

Aegon wets his lips, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours.

“You’ll call me? With the results?” he asks, and Aemond snorts.

“Another STI screening?” Aemond snarks.

Aegon’s tongue pokes his cheek, an angry smile on his face.

“Gotta make sure I’m all clear before saddling up with a fit bird,” he taunts, eyes falling on you as he says it, grabbing his crotch for emphasis.

Aemond lurches forward his hand connecting with Aegon’s cheek. Nettles and you both scream as Aemond jumps back, Aegon spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. He laughs again, smiling with bloody teeth.

“Get him cleaned up and get him out of here,” Aemond instructs Nettles, before heading back inside and leaving the three of you standing there.

Aegon’s lip is split, along with a cut on his cheekbone. He spits again, wiping his face and nodding at you.

“No boyfriend eh?” he says, grinning. Your face flushes.

“I wasn’t lying.”

His grin widens.

“One of us is,” he says, referencing your earlier conversation, “Guess we’ll find out who.”

Nettles approaches him, and he winces. She turns to you.

“You should go see if he’s okay,” she says, nodding to the doors.

You run back inside leaving Nettles and Aegon, your eyes searching for Aemond. Hurrying to the nurses' station, they inform you which direction he took off in. A nervous sweat breaks out on the back of your neck as you hurry down the hallway. You spot him then, taller than everyone else, watching as he ducks into an on-call room.

Quickening your pace you follow him inside. It’s quiet as you close the door, besides the sound of a noise machine echoing white noise in the dimly lit space. There are two beds in this room; truly the on-call rooms are in such sorry states. Small twin mattresses with paper-thin sheets and pillows that may as well be pieces of foam.

Aemond sits on the bed to the left, his head resting in his hands. You close the blinds on the door, flipping the sign that says “Both Beds Occupied” along with flicking the lock. You don’t think he’ll want to be disturbed.

“Aemond,” you say softly. He doesn’t move. The knuckles of his right hand are bloody.

Taking a step closer, you watch his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking. Anxiety churns in your stomach, and you take a step back, placing your hand on the handle of the door.

“I’ll just leave you--”

“Don’t,” Aemond speaks quietly for the first time, raising his head. His gaze softens, his eyes somewhat glassy. “Please don’t go.”

Your heart starts to race, but you nod, stepping back toward him. Sitting beside him the bed creaks; you cross your ankles and place your hands on the edge of the bed. Aemond rests his chin on his hands, arms propped on his knees. The pair of you sit in silence for several moments. It begins to rain outside, fat droplets of water beating against the window.

“You should get that looked at,” you finally say, nodding at his hand.

Aemond merely hums in response, flexing his fingers.

“Seriously, you’re a surgeon,” you continue, “What are you thinking, throwing punches like that?”

Aemond glances at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, “He brings out the worst in me.”

“Your brother.”

“Mhmm,” he answers, shaking his hand. It’s not as bad as it looks, thankfully. He could have done some serious damage.

“I’m sorry. Jace told me…well I’m just sorry.”

“It’s alright. Someone has to treat him. I’m sorry if he was inappropriate to you.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, “We don’t get to choose how patients behave.”

“Aegon can be a lot. Take it from someone who knows him rather well.”

“Noted.”

You sit in silence some more. The sky outside has begun to turn dark as clouds roll in, the sound of thunder audible in the distance. A storm is looming.

“I’ve missed you,” he says so softly you almost don’t catch it.

Your hands dig into the side of the bed, your heart pounding against your ribs making your chest feel painfully tight.

“Don’t-”

“Y/N..”

“Please Aemond,” you cut him off, eyes watery, “Please. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he insists, turning his head toward you, “It’s just…Y/N that day I didn’t give you an answer. And you deserve one. I like you. I like you so much. You’re an incredibly intelligent person, funny, adorable, and…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself.

“And what?”

“And that scares the shit out of me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I wasn’t expecting you. When I moved here I just planned on keeping my head down and then….then there was you,” he looked away, his eyes lit up in wonder, “I saw you in that bar, and it was like the sun came out.”

Your lips part, your stomach flutters pleasantly at his words, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. He glances at you shyly, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“And then I saw you here and you’re an intern, at the beginning of your residency I just….I mess things up. I don’t want to mess things up for you. Or with you.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, “Okay.”

“But…I miss you. I miss talking to you, kissing you,” Aemond continues, the top of his cheeks turning pink, matching his ears, “You asked me if I’m in or out. I didn’t answer, and I should have. I’m all in.”

“Aemond…”

“If you’ll have me,” he adds, “If you…if you want to give this a try.”

You smile at him softly.

“It’s all I wanted from the start.”

Aemond smiles, leaning toward you and connecting his lips to yours. You sigh against his mouth, as his hand snakes around the back of your neck, keeping you from going anywhere. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, and you part them eagerly accepting the warm muscle into your mouth.

Your hands bury themselves in his scrubs as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. His opposite hand reaches for your waist, sliding down to rest on the meat of your thigh. He rubs soothing circles there for a moment, before gripping you hard and pulling you on top of him.

You straddle his waist as he scoots backward, pressing his back flat against the wall. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, tugging your blue scrub top over your head, before desperately chasing your lips once more. Shivering in the cool air, your nipples harden in your bra. You almost wish you’d worn something a little sexier, the plain black bra making you feel underdressed.

Aemond eyes your tits like a madman as his skilled hands eagerly unclasp your bra, pulling it from your torso.

“Should we be doing this--” you gasp, grinding against the hardness between his thighs.

“Yes, yes we should,” he says, kissing you once more before pausing, his eyebrows knitting together, “Unless you don’t want..”

“No! I mean--fuck, yes, yes we should and I want to,” you whimper as his teeth graze against your neck, “But I mean, here…” Aemond continues his attention to your neck, his perfect mouth nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“No one’s coming,” he murmurs, “You locked the door, yes?”

You nod, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, groaning as you clench your fists, tugging at his hair.

He catches your lips once more and you arch your back, pressing yourself against him trying to get as close as humanly possible. Moaning against his mouth he chuckles softly, the sound reverberating against you.

“Shh,” he croons, brushing some hair from your face, “You have to be quiet.” He nips your lower lip as he says it, smoothing his tongue along where he bit, “Something you have trouble with, I recall.”

Your cheeks warm at the memory of your first night together, the puddle he’d turned you into with such little effort. Lashes fluttering, you look up at him as he admires you.

“You’ll have to remind me,” you tease, earning a growl from him as he flips you onto your back beginning to pull your scrub pants from your body.

Eager to assist, you kick wildly trying to get the soft material off. Aemond catches your right calf in his large hand, trying to avoid being kicked.

“Careful,” he chuckles, pressing a hot kiss to your calf, helping you out of your scrubs, shoes, and underwear.

“Sorry,” you manage to say through your giggles as he tosses the ball of clothes toward the opposite bed, “We’re a bit uneven now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Grinning, Aemond pulls his scrub top from his body as thunder crashes outside. The sky has darkened considerably and lightning flashes, illuminating the room. Aemond’s hands travel up your calves, hooking against your knees as he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Better?”

Your eyes trace down his exposed front following the planes of his chest, the chiseled outline of his abdominal muscles. You swallow, feeling yourself clench as your gaze rests on the outline of his hard bulge.

Nodding, you take your lower lip between your teeth, dragging your gaze back to his face. Aemond’s breathing is heavy as he sits on his haunches, eyes raking down your naked body.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he breathes appreciatively, “Gods…” He lets one hand move up your body, fingers dancing against the skin of your waist, up the side of your ribs to your breast. He explores higher and higher until with a desperate whine you reach up pulling him toward you.

You could kiss him forever.

You want to kiss him forever.

The hand that rests on your leg curls inward, stroking the soft flesh of your inner thigh before inching higher. Your breathing has started to turn to pants as Aemond lets one of his long fingers part through your silky folds, spreading your arousal.

“Seven hells,” he groans, swirling his finger against your clit, “All this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, biting your lip and trembling against him already.

Aemond only smirks, that familiar look of confidence in his eye, “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you tell him, as the tip of his finger sinks inside of you, “Fuck-- just for you.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pushing further inside of you, stretching you out on his forefinger. A second finger soon joins and he scissors the digits against your fluttering walls.

You’re trying to be quiet---really you are trying--- but it feels too good. He’s too precise with his movements, too insistent on bullying that sensitive rough patch that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. “Aemond…I can’t--”

“Shhh baby, I know, it feels too good to be quiet, huh?” he says, voice full of mock sympathy, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum really quick, let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nod furiously, a choked moan escaping you as Aemond presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Moving away from you, he keeps up his relentless pace with his fingers as he slides onto his stomach on the bed. Your eyes widen as Aemond glances up at you from between your legs, a cheeky smile on his handsome face.

“Aem----oh fuck!” your concern is short-lived as Aemond presses his mouth against you.

His tongue traces lazy circles over your clit, groaning, “Hells, I missed this sweet little pussy,” he mumbles, taking the sensitive button between his lips and suctioning around it.

Throwing your head back against the pillows, your back arches, and your mouth opens in a silent scream. The rain continues to pour outside, the drumming against the window matching that of your racing heart.

“Oh yeah, I know that’s so good, huh?” Aemond mumbles between licks of your clit, his free hand snaking upwards to grope at your breasts, “Fuck you look so pretty…all whiny and desperate.”

He curls his fingers as he says it, massaging the tender spot inside of you causing your pussy to spasm against his fingers. His tongue traces nonsensical patterns around your clit, his lips sucking and releasing causing lewd wet noises to echo through the room.

“Next time,” he murmurs a quiet promise, “Next time, when I’ve got lots of time…we’ll see how long I can keep you like this.” His fingers pinch your right nipple, tweaking it harshly.

Your belly tenses, muscles constricting against his fingers as he returns his sweet torture on your clit, and you finish with a muffled sob as you turn your head, pressing your mouth against your shoulder. Aemond murmurs soft praises, talking you through your orgasm as your legs shake around him.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss through your teeth as he slowly pulls his fingers from your fluttering pussy, bringing them to his mouth.

You watch, wide-eyed as he sucks the lengthy digits, moaning at the taste of you.

“Turn around baby,” he says, sitting up, “Put your face in the pillow.”

Shakily, you turn on your hands and knees, before letting yourself fall to your forearms. Aemond slides his hand down your back, admiring the curve of your spine, spreading your cheeks wide.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, slapping your cheeks, causing you to yelp, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re an ass man?” you tease, looking back over your shoulder.

“I’m a ‘you’ man,” he argues, grabbing his length and sliding it against your folds, “Now be a good girl, and let me take care of you.” The fat head of his cock pokes at your entrance.

“Please,” you breathe as he starts to slide in. Aemond pauses, groaning slightly.

“Fuck baby, you can’t say that all sweet right now,” he growls, “We don’t have time.”

“Please, put it in,” you whimper, cheek pressed against the pillow, drool forming a wet patch under your cheek.

Aemond’s hand cracks down on your ass once more, “Be a good girl you little brat.”

You whimper, your begging ceasing as he slides fully inside your tight, wet heat. The stretch of his fingers was nothing compared to his thick cock. Your walls tense around him, pulsating around his thick length as he bottoms out. Rocking backward, he slides nearly all the way out before thrusting back in.

Electricity bursts through your veins, pleasure crackling through your limbs like the lightning outside of the window. The force of his thrusts sends your face deep into the pillow, muffling the sharp cries of pleasure you emit. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, it feels too fucking good, the head of his cock rubbing ceaselessly against your g-spot as he ruts against you; he’s grunting softly, muttering praises all the while, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Fuck,” he gasps as your knees slide down, legs shaking so bad you’re unable to keep them upright, “It’s okay baby, just relax I got you.”

Your legs bend against the mattress, thighs splayed, hip flexors burning with the deep stretch it awards you. Aemond never relents, just continues to slap his hips against the softness of your ass, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out, in and out.

“Aemond,” you moan, “Fuck it feels--”

“Yeah?” he groans, “How’s it feel baby?”

“S-s’good, Aem, fuck, it’s so good,” you whimper, hands fisting the sheets, the bed shaking with every harsh thrust.

The bed grinds against your sensitive nipples and clit sending sparks of pleasure burning through you.

“Gonna make this pussy feel so good,” he says, leaning some of his weight on top of you, his face next to yours, “Gonna take you home after our shifts, you’d like that, yeah?” His arms hold him up, propped on either side of your head.

“Yes, fuck please,” you agree, turning your face, and feeling him press a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Gonna have you ride my face,” he promises, dragging his nose between your shoulder blades, “Wanna make that pussy feel so good, till you can’t fucking take it anymore.”

“Fuck Aemond,” you shiver with delight at his filthy words, at the promise of a repeat of the first night you’d been together. A promise of more.

“Missed you too much,” he murmurs against your shoulder, sending warmth pooling in your belly, “Need you close to me.”

“I missed you,” you whimper, “Fuck, need you so bad.”

“I’m all yours,” he says, nearly whimpering himself, “Fuck baby, you’re so tight, feel so good clenching around my cock.”

“Yeah?” you ask, lifting your head slightly, and glancing back through hooded eyes.

Aemond maneuvers himself, leaning to capture your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss as he continues to pound into you.

“Fuck….c’mon baby, one more time,” Aemond encourages as heat winds a tight coil of pleasure in your belly, “Can’t have my baby only cumming once, now can I? Come on, that’s a good girl.”

The pitch of your cries increases and you slam your face against the pillow to muffle your strangled cry as your whole body tense, pussy constricting like a vice around his cock as you come. It’s intense, it burns with a brutal passion that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond’s thrusts become sloppier and with a few more slaps of his hips, you feel his cock pulsate inside of you and the warmth release of his cum filling you up. You turn your cheek from the pillow, your body tingling with the remnants of your orgasm as you suck in a breath. Gently, Aemond pulls out of you, peppering kisses down the length of your spine as he does so.

You hum happily as he slides out, placing his hands under your thighs and maneuvering you out of the frog-like position you were previously in. Your hip flexors ache, but it’s a good pain--well worth being fucked into the mattress. Aemond turns you on your back, brushing some hair from your sweaty forehead.

“Hey there,” he says softly. The room is quiet, the rain has stopped. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever walk right again,” you tell him with a content sigh, “but that aside, I’d say I’m more than alright.”

Aemond chuckles, thumb smoothing your cheekbone, making you lean into his gentle touch.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, standing up, walking to the adjacent bathroom, and flicking on the light.

You watch him walk away, admiring his ass. He’s got a rather nice one. You hear him turn the water on and a moment later he returns with a washcloth. Not trusting yourself to stand, you simply spread your legs and let him clean up the remains of your combined releases. Your hips jerk as he carefully brushes against your swollen clit causing him to release a breathy laugh.

Beep beep!

The noise snaps you both out of your post-coital bliss bubble and you hurry to find your clothes. Aemond reaches for his pager, desperate to get his scrubs on.

Beep beep!

It’s your pager this time. Shit, Baratheon must be pissed.

Both of you scramble, switching scrub tops as Aemond accidentally tries to put on yours, causing you to erupt into a fit of laughter that is only stopped when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for a heated kiss.

“Stop, stop,” you beg, pushing against his hard chest, “Shit we have to go.”

“One more--”

“You’re insatiable--”

“Oh I’ll show you insatiable,” he says, lips tugging upwards in a smirk, “You just wait until tonight.”

Your cheeks burn as you yank on your bottoms, fixing your hair. Sex hair is not an option, not when Baratheon will be up in arms about your disappearance. Glancing at your pager, you read what it says before clipping it to your waist.

“Okay, I gotta go,” you tell him, shoving your feet into your sneakers.

“Meet me in the lobby? When you’re done?” he asks, unable to hide his smile as you walk to the door on trembling legs.

“Okay,” you tell him, leaning forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “And we could get dinner?”

“Anything you want,” he says, cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, “Anything” another kiss, “At” and another one, “all.”

You hum happily, placing your hand over his, your entire body warming with his affection.

“I’ll see you then,” you tell him, unwillingly pulling away and unlocking the door.

You leave first, Aemond leaving a few moments later. Watching as he fixes the collar of his scrubs, you find yourself beaming. Aemond turns, catching your eye before turning down the hall, a small smile playing on his lips.

Gods, this is going to be a long shift.

note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

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otakubimbo · 1 year ago

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BAD COMMUNICATION SKILLS

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Profanity, Angst, Anal (f!receiving), Aggressive Sex, Verbal Fighting, Miscommunication DID NOT PROOFREAD

summary: You broke up with your boyfriend Gojo Satoru out of what he thought was no where. He hasn’t heard from you since you took all of your stuff out of his house while he was at work. But now here you were, soaking wet at his house in the middle of the night. Let’s just say, he wasn’t that happy to see your face.

Day 3: Hate Sex

A/n: I’m actually really enjoying making these so I hope y’all are liking them too <3

masterlist

You didn’t even know how you got to his door. Your feet just led you there as if they knew the way. So, here you were knocking on your ex’s door in the middle of the night. Well 1:00 am to be more specific. It was pathetic in a sort of way, especially since you were the one that broke up with him and also because you got caught in the rain. Your freshly done silk press now ruined.

“I know that fucker is awake. Answer the damn door.” You go to bang on the door again when it’s yanked open. Now you’re just standing there like a dumb ass with your fist raised. Gojo Satoru wasn’t wearing his blindfold, shades sitting on the point of his nose. When his face met yours, immediately a scowl fell upon his beautiful lips.

“What the fuck do you —“He paused taking in your appearance. You knew you looked like a drowned rat in running attire. You were even wearing the running shoes he got you for your birthday last year. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just come in.”

He steps out of your way and you carefully make your way past him to get inside. Immediately you remove your water logged shoes, standing with your arms around yourself now in the coolness of his apartment. He left you standing there in the cold until he came back throwing a towel in your direction. You could it, attempting to dry yourself off but you were soaked to the bone.

“I just need to charge my phone and I’ll call an Uber and be out your way.” You mumble attempting to gently squeeze some of the moisture out of your ruined hair.

“What have I told you about going on runs without charging your phone?! Especially in the middle of the night are you crazy?! I’ve told you how dangerous that is.” He scolds you and you simply roll your eyes.

He always thought he knew better.

“I would have been fine if I didn’t get caught in the rain” You spit back avoiding his eye contact trying your best not to freeze. Why the fuck was it so cold in here?

“You think that makes it better?! It’s the middle of the fucking night Y/N! Your house is 10 miles from here! Do you not understand how dangerous that is?! How many times have I told you?!”

You finally met his angry gaze, your face reflecting the same “I can take care of myself! If I didn’t get caught in the rain I wouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

Your arms are crosse in front of you, rage was starting to warm the cold out of your bones. You could tell your response pissed him off even more by the glare he had and the way he was aggressively moving toward you.

“Cut the bullshit. It started raining 40 minutes ago which gave you plenty of time to go home. And don’t even try to tell me you were going to run 20 miles in the rain on a fucking Tuesday.”

Yall are face to face at this point as he stands over your. His face is red with annoyance, he always looked so damn hot when he was mad. Yall ended up having a lot of angry sex that way. Not today though because for once you didn’t have any bite back. He was right and you had no idea why you were here. Your face still hardened as you sniffle, your nose trying to run. At that, his face softens and he sighs taking a step back. He didn’t have it in him to be mad at you when you looked like that. His broken heart breaking even more with every sniffle.

“Go take a shower before you get sick”

“I’ll be—“ You start but he cuts you off before you could finish your rebuttal.

“No you won’t, don’t argue with me and just go.”

He always thought he could tell you what to do.

You clamp your mouth shut. There was no point in arguing because you in fact did always get sick this way, then he used to have to take care of you for a week everyday reminding you of how maybe you should listen to him sometimes because he was right. With no further arguing, you made your way to the bathroom. You turn the shower on and strip while you wait for the shower to heat you. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked terrible. Only part of your hair had reverted, the bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep made you look ill, overall you looked dreadful.

“What the fuck are you doing here” You question your reflection. You hadn’t seen Satoru’s face since the break-up and it wasn’t a good breakup either. That was mainly your fault though, you just up and left no explanation. Yeah, you had your own place but most of all your things were at his place. You packed your shit, said nothing to him and blocked him. Even though, he only tried coming to your place once. Just once. And that confirmed to yourself that you made the right decision by breaking up with him the way you did. That didn’t stop you from missing the man you hated so much.

You sigh at your reflection before snorting, “You’re so stupid”

The shower was finally hot enough to slide yourself in. Once the hot water hit your skin, you immediately melted into the feeling. The tension from the argument melting away with the heat along with the cold in your bones. You decided to just go ahead and wet the rest of your hair, there was no saving it. Putting your head under the steaming water made you feel even better. You almost forgot that you couldn’t get too comfortable in there, so you quickly finished up your shower using his conditioner to make sure your hair didn’t get knocked putting it into two plats.

Once you step out the shower you see clothes laid out for you on the sink. He must have slipped in when your head was under the water. It was your favorite shirt of his and some shorts you guess you forgot, almost bringing a smile to your face.

You slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you. He wasn’t in his room, thankfully, so you made your way back to the living room. His back was to you as he lounged on the couch. Oh how many times you’ve come out to this sight. The smell of ginger filled your nostrils and you noticed his favorite mug filled with a hot ginger tea, a bottle of whiskey next to it.

He doesn’t turn to you, but acknowledges your presence “That’s for you if you want it. I know you like it when you’re cold.”

It was your favorite., you gladly picked it up placing more than a shot into the warm cup.

He was only thoughtful when he felt like it.

“Thanks.” You say barley above a whisper but you knew he heard you because the room was completely silent besides your soft sniffles.

“No problem. I tried to charge your phone but there’s water in the port so it’s drying out.” He finally turns to you. His eyes always held secrets. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as you nod at his comment going to sit on the opposite side of the couch. You tuck your legs into you to bring yourself some comfort as you sip on your hot tea.

Gojo didn’t know what to say to you. You broke his heart and blocked him. He had no clue why you were here. He had no clue why you even left him. All the sudden he came home, expecting to see the love his life except he came home to an empty cold apartment. You and all your things just up and gone. He tried going to your house but when you didn’t answer knowing that you were home, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was now just alone, again.

You could never read him.

The silence between you hung in the air. It seemed like time was stopped and moving too fast at the same time. Gojo was the one to finally break the silence.

“Why?”

A simple question.

Your head slowly raised to meet his gaze. His eyes were sad, the blue sparkling in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Why what?” You knew what he meant but you didn’t want to just come out and say it. He should fucking know why.

“Don’t piss me off more than you already have.” He scoffs at you, unamused.

“You literally have no reason to be mad” now that really pissed him off. He pushed himself off the couch and stormed over to you, looking you into between his arms on either side of you. You try and sink further into the couch, casually taking a huge swig out of your cup as if you weren’t fazed by his behavior. His eyes looked wild, you hadn’t even noticed he didn’t have his shades on until right then.

“I have no reason to be mad? Me? You took all of your shit out the house and fucking blocked me, Y/N. And now here you are showing up at my door in the middle of the fucking night to play fucking mind games with me”

“I told you –“ You begin getting cut off yet again by him. He usually let you speak your mind but not tonight it seemed.

“I don’t give a fuck what you have to say. I fucking hate you, you broke my heart and then just show up like its not a fucking deal. Why the fuck are you here?! To torture me?!” His grip is tighter on the couch.

Your voice is small, “ I don’t know why I’m here. I just went on a run and before I knew it I was here.”

You avoid his gaze as he leans back aggressively running his fingers through his hair. He laughs almost defeatedly.

“Maybe I’m the cursed one instead of the honored one.” He says as he paces in front of you.

“Satoru” You say softly, reaching out to him, your hand moving on its own. He looks at your hand, snorting.

“No. You don’t get to do that.” He finally stopped pacing, standing in front of you. “Just tell me why you left” His voice and eyes pleaded at you. As much as you can see you broke his heart, yours was shattered as well too.

“I heard you”

“What” He says confused as to what the fuck you were talking about.

“With your parents. I heard you on the phone with your parents.” You say as you finally look up to meet his gaze. He still looks confused at you as if there’s no way he knows what’s going on. “Stop acting like youre confused.”

“Because I am confused!”

“You literally agreed when your dad said that you should break up with me! That you were too good for me!” You yell standing up, getting in his face.

You remember it like it was yesterday. You had fell asleep on the couch as you were watching a movie, but were woken up when you heard him talking quietly on the phone in the kitchen. His dad was yelling at him about how he needed to break up with you and that you were no good for him. His response: okay. You had never heard him not argue back with his father but this time? The time that it came to y’all’s relationship he was silent. He had no fight in him for you and you were crushed, you didn’t even know how you didn’t burst into tears right then. So you did what you thought was best and just left the next morning.

“You didn’t even defend me. You just said okay and that was that.” Your voice was cracking, tears threatening to spill out at any second. He looked at you as if you were a fucking idiot.

“For someone so smart you are so fucking stupid. I hate how fucking hardheaded you are.”

Before you could ask what he was talking about his lips crash into yours. Your bodies came together like missing puzzle pieces. You missed him so fucking much. His mouth moved harshly against yours, pushing your further into the couch.

“You never listen to me” He rasps as his mouth moves to your jaw trailing kisses to your ear. His tongue licks around your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You’re panting at this point, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist trying to pull him closer. He bites on your ear making your back arch into him, moaning into his shoulder.

“Fuck ‘toru.” You moan as your hands get tangled into his hair. His mouth licks and sucks on your neck, pulling the most delicious moans out of you. You can feel him growing between your legs as he presses himself into your now wet shorts. Your wetness is seeping through even his own layers of clothes which gets a deep throaty groan out of him.

“At least your pussy missed me, you heartless slut.” He scoffs, grinding more into you grabbing you by your throat. “Broke my heart for no fucking reason because you didn’t want to communicate.”

His grip tightens on your neck and you squirm under him as you feel yourself getting even more spurred on. The hand not occupied around your throat sinks straight into your shorts. His long thick fingers forcing their way into soaked cunt.

“Yeah your pussy really missed me. She wouldn’t have to be so needy for me now if you would of just fucking talked to me. I hate how you always just shut down.” He scolds as he’s aggressively finger fucking you, his thumb just as aggressively circling your clit. You could barely even register all that he was saying, his fingers were hitting the best parts within you. You moan his name over and over again. Your body was so close to reaching it’s climax, it was making you dizzy. Right before you were tipped over the edge, he yanked his fingers out. Before you could even complain about the emptiness in you, he shoves his slick coated fingers in your mouth. You suck on them greedily, loving the taste of yourself on his fingers. He looks darkly down at you as he yanks your shorts off, causing a gasp from you which makes him shove his fingers further down your throat gagging you.

“You know what I hate the most about you?” He asks pulling his dick free from his pants. It was as pretty as you remember, it wasn’t super thick but it was long and had the prettiest curve to it. “That you would think that of me. That you would think I didn’t love you.” He strokes his dick looking down at you, your eyes hooded and filled with love.

“But don’t worry, I’m about to fuck you like I hate you.” He says as he yanks you up, throwing you over the side of the couch so that your back is arched perfectly for him. Satoru doesn’t even give you time to think as he thrusts himself completely inside of you causing you to groan deeply from the sudden and harsh intrusion. He pounded into your relentlessly, hands placed firmly on your hips holding you in place. You didn’t know if you could take much more. He was so deep, ramming into your cervix with every thrust and every so often making your ass which you knew would make it hard for you to sit for days after. Your pussy was squeezing him tightly with every smack.

“Oh, you’re enjoying this huh? You didn’t have to break my fucking heart to get me to fuck you like this.” He growls smugly behind you as one of his hands moves from your hips to your front rubbing your combined juices on his fingers. With his, now wet, thumb he sticks it straight into your asshole that was puckering at him. You throw your head back at the intrusion now feeling overwhelmingly full. He matches the thrust of his fingers with the thrusts of his dick.

“Yes! Satoru! Yes fuck yes. Oh you’re going to make me cum baby.” You babble unable to control any feeling in your body anymore.

“Then come for me.”He commands, using his other hand to grab the back of your neck pulling you back. At that point, your mind was empty except for the feeling of him inside of you. After a few more thrusts, you cum, and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. Your eyes roll in the back of your head and you think they may get stuck like that with the way feel right now. The noises you made were so lewd and the death grip you pussy had on Satorus dick as he was trying to fuck you through your high had him cuming deeply in you.

Once both of your bodies stopped shaking, he let you both fall over the side of the couch, his back pressed against you panting hard. He catches his breath and gently pulls out of you, gaining a whimper from you. With a sigh, he picks you up and brings y’all to the bedroom, laying you down gently pulling the covers over your spent body. He slides in on the other side, turning your face to him.

“Are you ready to listen?”He asks gently, cupping your face. Your eyelids were heavy but you nod.

“The reason I didn’t argue with my dad was because I had planned on never talking to him again after we got off the phone, on top of the fact I thought you were sleeping.” Maybe he was more thoughtful than you gave him credit for, but you were still confused. Him and his father argued all of the time, but he wouldn’t ever just cut off contact with him.

“What happened?” You ask softly, now seeing how big you overreacted.

Satoru sighs before placing a kiss on your forehead, deciding on if he wanted to tell you or not. You reach out, stroking his cheek lovingly allowing him to open up on his own time, showing you were listening.

“I told him I wanted to marry you.” He says finally. Your movements immediately still and your eyes widen.

“Huh” You question, blinking several times to make sure you were awake and registering everything properly.

“I let him know I was thinking about proposing to you and when he gave me that reaction, I decided that there was no longer a point in talking to him. I couldn’t have anyone in my life who didn’t see how special you were.”

You felt like you couldn’t breath and you just said the first thing that came to your mind, “I’m an idiot”

You’re trying to hold back tears and he pulls you into an embrace.

“So it seems. But you’re my idiot. Yeah?” He asks rubbing circles into your back. You nod into his chest.

“Next time you think about pulling a disappearing act. Can you just talk to me first?” He asks and you nod again getting a chuckle out of him.

“Still hate you for breaking my heart but I can think of a few ways you can repay me” He says as he pulls you back, capturing your mouth once more. The rest of the night, you did your best to repay him for your lack of communication skills.

The next morning, you woke up wrapped up in your loving man, his head in your chest and your legs thrown over him. Unfortunately for you, you felt like shit. You, indeed, did get sick. Another incident you weren’t going to hear the end of until you got better.

#smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #jjk gojo #angst #hate sex #break up to make up #miscommunication #gojonsfwweek2023

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soulessjourney · 10 months ago

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Mother and Father Are Fighting Again

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Tav and Gale clash over the role of the party's leader.

Warnings: Some language, Humor, Tav and Gale Bickering

A/N: 100% how I envisioned the party selecting thier leader going. This guy is a little short but I do hope you enjoy it!

Your small yet growing group sits around the fire, their gazes occasionally landing on each other and often resting on you. There you are, half asleep, your hair tangled and messy on one side of your head. They had woken you up because the thought of having no official leader plagued Astarion’s thoughts at night, to the point where he couldn't meditate properly. Rubbing your hands over your face, Shadowheart picks at her nails before speaking up.

“I think Tav would be a good fit; I mean, she is the one who got us all together in the first place,” she says, earning a hum of agreement from everyone but Gale.

Letting out a yawn, you bring your hands up to rub at your eyes, and Gale points at you. “I disagree; she can barely keep her eyes open. We need a leader who can be alert just in case someone decides to raid our camp. She sleeps like a log; I mean, look how long it took us to wake her this morning.” Your eyes slowly trail over to Gale before falling into a tired glare.

“I’m sorry that it was hard to wake me. It’s not like we fought an entire goblin camp yesterday while you sat there and nagged me about having the Tiefling's celebration here last night,” you snap, brushing the stray hairs from your face. “Besides, I didn’t ask to be included in the nominations; they all just decided to include me. I don’t even want to be the leader of the group,” you say, throwing your arms in the air.

Gale goes to say something before Karlach speaks up. “Well, think about it, soldier. Whenever we speak to others, they immediately begin talking to you. You walk with confidence; they already think that you’re our leader. You defuse situations and persuade people just like a leader does,” she says, causing Gale to let out a groan.

Nodding along with her words, you can see where she is coming from. Those in Emerald Grove talked to you and only you as your party stood behind you waiting for something to happen. When you dealt with Auntie Ethel, she specifically dealt with you and only you. “You’re right; maybe I will consider running for the position. I mean, if people already think that I lead our group, why not?”

Gale shoots up, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “No, you just said you don’t want to lead our group; you don’t get to backtrack now. That’s not fair at all. Besides, my case still stands; you’re not fit to be a leader, especially if we can’t even wake you. You’ve also made some questionable choices. For example, who just decides they want to take on an entire camp for a cuddly bear?”

Crossing your arms, you lean back against the log and against Shadowheart's leg. “I’m allowed to change my mind, especially when someone makes a valid point. And I didn’t decide to raid the goblin camp just because Halsin is a cute little bear,” you gush, before your smile drops. “I did it because allying ourselves with most of Emerald Grove was in our best interest, and the best way to do that was to take down their leaders and then wipe the rest of them out. Besides, most of it was done for us when I chose to poison their drinks,” you shrug, a smug smile spreading across your face as Shadowheart pats your shoulder in agreement.

Gale lets out a scoff as he racks his mind for anything else to hold against you. His eyes widen before a sly smile spreads across his face. “Maybe if you and Astarion weren’t sneaking around so much, you’d actually be able to sleep.” So, he had heard you sneak off last night. Heads slowly turn to look at Astarion, who raises his hand, his eyes widening slightly.

“In my defense, oh who am I kidding, I won’t hide the fact that our night together was just as enjoyable as watching you get drunk and cry over Mystra.” Astarion shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Karlach lets out a laugh, and you turn to face her with a confused look. “Sorry, soldier, you just looked so horrified when Gale pointed out your nighttime escapades. Don’t worry; we’re all quite aware that you and Fangs fancy each other. You’re not that secretive. Just do tell Shadowheart and me the details later.” She shrugs, earning a groan from you as you hide your face in your hands while Shadowheart lets out a hearty laugh.

Gale clears his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention and giving you a break from the girls trying to fish for any details they could force out of you. “Are we just ignoring the elephant in the room here? That elephant being I’m the most qualified to lead our little group of... you.” You raise a brow, your hands moving to fix and straighten your hair out.

“Alright, Gale, since you’re being so moody, do I need to go find a boot for you to chew on so you don’t explode on us?” You press, “Besides, they’re our friends, and they all have names, so I suggest you start learning them. Some leader you want to be.” You grumble, looking away. The bickering between you and Gale goes on for some time as the heads of your friends move to watch whoever is talking.

You weren’t sure who got tired and broke first, but Lae’zel speaks up. “Why don’t we just vote? Each person can cast two votes, and we go from there. It can make figuring out the leader easier and just as fair.” Lae’zel wasn’t one for many words, but when she brought up ideas, they sure as hell were amazing. If only you could get her to actually pitch in on attack plans more often. “Those who want to run can’t vote, just so we know you’re not casting votes for yourself.” She says, grabbing a journal from her tent. Ripping out the paper, she sets them down on the makeshift desk made out of a rock a few feet away. Setting out the quill and ink, she turns and nods. “Cast your votes and then place them into the helmet on the table.” She says, watching as the other camp members stand up and walk over to the table.

Looking at Gale, he keeps his eyes trained on you, and you let your eyes narrow in his direction. “What do you want, lizard brain?” You snap, shifting your body away, and you look over your shoulder, your eyes narrowing even more.

“I have a lizard brain? Have you not looked in the mirror recently? Actually no, lizards are extremely intelligent creatures. Now, a good insult is that you look like a lizard.” He quips, sending you a triumphant smile.

Before you could respond, Shadowheart sighs and sits between the both of you. “If you two don’t stop arguing, I’ll have Astarion tie you both up and leave you here as we move on.” She grumbles, only to earn a laugh from Astarion.

“I would too! I mean, Darling, you would just as delectable tied up for me, begging me to let you go.” He hums, only to earn a horrified gag from Gale, and your expression to match his. Astarion was many things, but a shameless flirt with zero filter was one of them. Sure, you were attracted to him, given your many outings into the woods together at night, but sometimes you reevaluate just as to what about him drew you in with half the things he manages to say.

Lae'zel settles back onto the ground, arranging the scraps of paper before her. Counting them, she lifts her gaze, eyes shifting between you and Gale. "Tav wins the votes," she declares, casually tossing the helmet aside. Gale glances around at everyone, beginning to complain, alleging that you had charmed them in an attempt to secure the votes.

Karlach sends Gale a pitying smile. "Sorry, Gale. It's nothing against you. Tav just appears to have our best interests in mind and is a natural leader. Not that you're not a leader, but it just feels right to follow in her footsteps," Karlach says gently. Gale nods in understanding, then looks at you.

"I apologize for being childish, Tav. That was extremely wrong of me, and I shouldn't have done that. You deserve the role as much as anyone else here. I will follow your command and trust you to lead us in the right path," he states, bowing his head. His words and actions bring a smile to your face.

"Thank you, Gale, and I apologize as well. I promise to be the best leader I can be. Your input matters to me; I can't make decisions without you guys. But I do promise one thing: I will get these tadpoles out of our heads and save every single one of you. You're my family, and you all deserve saving." You notice Astarion looking at you, pride and admiration filling his eyes. There's something about that gaze that brings a blush to your cheeks. It's a look you'd kill to see over and over again.

Astarion uncrosses his arms, smiling gently at both you and Gale. "I'm glad you both kissed and made up. It's extremely odd to watch our mother and father fight again," he remarks, earning a confused look from you and Gale as the others laugh. Clearly, you both missed a chapter in this adventure.

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connorswhisk · 1 year ago

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and so it goes (miguel o’hara x spiderman!reader)

hi note this is a fic specifically for transmasc readers. don’t come anywhere near this if you’re a cis woman. you have a million fics you can read that aren’t this one. thank you 🍻

@spokentothewoods here you go ☺️

WARNINGS: Angst, slightly sexual situations >:)

That ever-present tenseness is visible in his shoulders; in truth, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it, for as many years as you’ve been working with him. You’ve been working late tonight and could really use a break yourself, but with Jess away for an ultrasound, someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Miguel.

Perhaps you volunteered for the job a tad too hastily, if the smirk Hobie had flashed in your direction was any indication, but Hobie’s always smirking at things. You’ve gotten pretty used to it.

In any case, even Margo’s signed off for the night. You know Miguel’s the Big Boss In Charge, but…couldn’t he benefit from some chill time?

“That’s it,” you say, yawning. “That’s the last of the logs done. Think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Miguel says nothing. He either is so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear you, or he’s ignoring you - both are likely in their own way.

After a moment’s more of silence, you frown, and web yourself up to his platform. He’s always brooding, that’s pretty normal, but…

Oh, you realize, because you recognize the video footage he’s watching. You’ve never seen it yourself, but you know what it is, where Miguel came from. You know why he is the way that he is.

You contemplate leaving and pretending you saw nothing, but then Miguel turns his head and fixes you with his dark, exhausted eyes, and it’s too late to act innocent.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just…”

“What.” He phrases the word as a statement, not a question. “I just what.”

You sigh. “I worry about you, Miguel. I mean, when you first found me in my universe…you were sad, sure, but you weren’t this angry. I don’t know what changed, but if you ever need to talk…”

“I don’t.” His stare is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his jaw hard as steel. “Nothing changed. I’m fine.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you tell him, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? I know when you’re lying to me.”

Miguel shakes his head. He’s been working with Jess the longest and all the Spiders respect him as their leader, but he’s never gotten as close to anyone as he has to you. You know this because he told you so himself, a year ago when MJ was killed and you were stumbling around HQ in a haze, the big empty pit in your stomach threatening to swallow you whole.

We all lose people, he’d told you, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it. But we persevere. You’re strong, Y/N. You can survive this.

I bet you tell all the Spiders they’re your favorite, you’d joked half-heartedly, desolate and depressed, sure you were right. But Miguel had given you this look that had told you plainly: I am completely serious. And then he’d started to say something, stopped as if he’d thought better of himself, and swung away.

You don’t know what he’d been about to tell you…though maybe you kind of do. The pair of you have never necessarily been the emotionally vulnerable types, but the connection between you is one that cannot be denied.

“I’m fine,” he’s repeating now, still hiding from the truth. “Just tired.”

“Which is exactly why you should call it for the night. You’ve done plenty.”

“I haven’t done enough.”

“Look, just…” You exhale deeply, pull off your mask so you can meet him eye-to-eye. You don’t miss the slight change in his demeanor when you bare your face, the fleeting look of quick relief. “Do you…want a massage or something?”

He blinks. “What.”

“I asked if you wanted a - “

“I heard you.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Ok. So? Your shoulders could really use it, dude.”

“I…” You can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to give in, posture slumped and scowl deepening. “…Fine.”

He turns back to face the screens - thankfully, the video from before is long gone. Miguel says nothing for a long time, ‘til he finally snaps, “Well?”

You lay your hands on his shoulders. You’re no trained masseuse, but your Aunt May does a wicked back rub and you’re sure you can replicate her technique, more or less. And so you try.

Are all shoulder muscles this knotted? Or is Miguel just overworking himself per usual? You’re not sure, but you press as hard as you dare, first with your fingertips, then kneading in and out with your knuckles. Miguel is silent as you work. The only sound he makes is the measured course of his breathing, up-down, up-down, up-down. You can feel it thrumming through your neurons, slow and steady.

“What, sorry?” You didn’t catch what Miguel just mumbled under his breath.

“Can you - go harder?” he repeats, practically spitting the words. He sounds as exhausted as you’ve ever heard him.

Wordlessly, you begin to apply even more pressure, and Miguel moans. You’ve never heard him make a noise like that before, and in your shock, you start and almost back away from him entirely. You manage to keep your wits, though, and you press again in the same spot, feeling the knot aching to unravel beneath his skin.

“Y/N,” he groans - but before you can begin to wrap your head around that, Miguel’s body is freezing up under your fingertips, and suddenly, he’s wrenching himself away from you.

“Woah - you ok?” You drop your hands to dangle by your hips, but you can still feel the buzz in your head, concentrated and slightly painful like a migraine, a hit off a cigarette.

“You should go,” Miguel says quietly, his back to you. “This…you should just go.”

“Ok.” You’re finding it hard to breathe, beneath all the spandex and bindings and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is the prob - “

“GO, Y/N,” Miguel seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Just leave me alone.”

You scowl. “Fine.” Pulling your mask down over your face again, you shoot a strand of web over in the opposite direction, pull yourself through the air until you land against the wall and cling there. “Fine, Miguel. Whatever you want. As usual.”

If he looks back at you as you leave, you don’t know. At the moment, you’re too hurt and angry to waste another thought on him.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #male reader #my writing #might write more if this does well! i have ideas 😈

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sugarcubetikki · 5 months ago

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Okay. I am annoyed by the everything so I’m gonna go ahead and debunk all the arguments against the Francesca X Michaela storyline.

In case you weren’t aware of all the complaints going around, here they are:

they’ve completely changed the storyline from the books! francesca’s infertility storyline was sooo important and now it won’t happen!

eloise would’ve made more sense as the queer bridgerton, her and cressida or some other female character would’ve been great over francesca.

by immediately making francesca attracted to michaela they downplayed john and her’s relationship that was built up this season, they cheapened the book storyline into a cliche love triangle!

michael was the best book hero ever! I can’t believe they’ve changed him to michaela.

I am taking all these criticisms/complaints at face value and ignoring any lesbophobia undertones (for now) just to prove how flawed they still are on their own.

Firstly, saying that Francesca’s infertility storyline has been ruined is far from the truth. Instead it can be done in a different way. Think about Francesca in a queer relationship and wanting kids in the kind of society she lives in. It basically mirrors the infertility storyline from the books except her struggles would become representative of the struggles that queer people who want kids face. If they went for this storyline in her season, I think it would be really really nice, we’ve seen a straight infertility storyline play out so many times, this would be great.

Secondly, I am so tired of hearing that it should’ve been Eloise over Francesca. I don’t think Eloise would’ve made more or less sense as a queer women. I think any and every character has the potential to be written as queer or straight. Being an outspoken women with little interest on marriage shouldn’t make Eloise more queer. I also really liked the idea of a potential Eloise X Cressida romance but that does not mean Francesca cannot be queer. In fact, I’m excited to see this introverted autistic queer girl rep! Francesca, go prove we exist.

Thirdly, Francesca’s season hasn’t even happened yet! Getting mad over one scene of Michaela, saying that John and Francesca’s relationship has been downplayed and that we’re in for a cheapened love triangle story is so unreasonable. It was a single scene and people are choosing to get mad over something that hasn’t even happened yet? Besides, if this storyline plays out, it wouldn’t mean that Francesca shouldn’t have been made queer but simply that the writers didn’t write the storyline to your liking. The fact that there’s this much outrage over this is so ridiculous to me. Wait till her season. We have no idea how they’re going to play out the storyline just yet so stop hating already (there may be some lesbophobia implications to this claim which I have spoken about below).

Fourthly, I know it’s not a nice feeling to not get the chance to see a beloved book character onscreen due to this gender swap. It may feel unfair but I mean but…give Michaela a chance? We haven’t seen her personality yet and we don’t know how Masali will bring her character to life. If your qualms are that the love interest is no longer a guy you can fetishise and fawn over, then well…log out of the internet, rant to a friend and stick to the books. Let the sapphics have their wlw romance that we rarely get these days because we keep getting cancelled since streaming services hate gay women. And no that is not an exaggeration but our plain reality. So let us have this.

Finally, to end things off, let us address the lesbophobia aspect to this separately because it is 100% worth mentioning.

The treatment towards queer women onscreen is hardly the same as the hype around queer men.

We can see it in the way streaming services and the internet hype up gay romances whilst sapphic romances are largely ignored and cast to the side (just to make it clear I have nothing against people enjoying mlm romance I enjoy mlm romance all I’m saying that it’s a real shame that wlw romance doesn’t get the same amount of appreciation).

The response to Francesca X Michaela has been largely negative and it’s frustrating. Outside of the cosy gay rabbit hole that tumblr is, there’s just outrage over this storyline/pairing for a number of different reasons that well…all feel ridiculous.

Bridgerton has gone off the books many times yet there’s more outrage than before when it comes to Francesca X Michaela?

Fans are getting a lot more defensive of John and Francesca’s relationship despite knowing he was never going to be endgame all because of Michaela? I’m sorry but I’m sure that if Michaela was Michael and we got the exact same scene with Francesca, do you think there would be as much outrage over John and Francesca’s relationship being downplayed? No. Let’s be honest. People wouldn’t be as mad because there’d be an attractive man involved.

I think the sapphics deserve so much more and better treatment from fellow non-sapphics. Instead of a show of appreciation, we keep getting unreasonable amounts of fire onto this storyline that hasn’t even happened.

What’s worse is that I know that Francesca X Michaela’s romance could follow the story beats of previous seasons that were eaten up by fans and still be bad to people because sapphic romances are just judged more harshly as straight audiences refuse to connect with them. If their romance isn’t phenomenal and just good, then it won’t be enough which is just frustrating.

So yeah, the hate towards Francesca and Michaela is unwarranted and unjust. People need to calm down and realise that their claims are contributing to lesbophobia whether they realise it or not.

#all this hate on pride too smh #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #francesca bridgerton #michaela stirling #francesca x michaela #lgbtq #wlw #bridgerton season 3

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 8 months ago

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Tutor Sesh

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You tutor the popular soccer genius who is failing one subject; the same subject which you happen to be excellent at.

Square Filled: “if you solve this i’ll buy you lunch.” for @badbitchesbingo

Author’s Note: JJ and the reader are in college

If you can get this paper done before you leave the library, you’re not going to have any homework for the entire weekend. This paper has been the bane of your existence and you’re about to finish it. The door to the library slides open which makes a weird air sound that causes you to look up in curiosity.

One of the most popular girls in school comes rushing in with her books clutched to her chest. Her blonde hair flows behind her messily but she doesn’t seem to care. She was supposed to meet you forty minutes ago but didn’t leave a message that she was going to be late.

“I am so sorry I’m late. Practice ran late.”

She is a soccer genius. She got a soccer scholarship when she graduated high school and is very good in all subjects but physics. She is very good at playing soccer but if she doesn’t keep good grades, she will be kicked from the team and lose her scholarship. You just so happen to be great at the subject she sucks at which is why you agreed to tutor her.

“It’s not a problem. Just let me finish this paper. I’m almost done.”

“Sure.”

She takes out her textbooks and notebooks while you try to focus on your paper. Her blonde hair falls in front of her eyes so she tries to blow it away only to have the same strand fall back in her face. She gets annoyed and tucks it behind her ear. God, she is so beautiful. Milky skin, golden hair, and oceans for eyes.

Yeah, you’re not going to be able to finish your paper. With a sigh, you close out your document and log out of the computer knowing this session is going to take most of your time.

“Okay, I’m ready.” JJ shows you her physics book which you’re quite good at. That’s the one subject that she isn’t good at which is why she asked you to tutor her. “Tell me what you’re having trouble with.”

“All of it,” she sighs. “We’re talking about the Magnus Effect.”

You try your best to explain the subject as best as you can but she isn’t getting it. You gave her a practice test just to see where she’s at but she fails it.

“God, I’m going to fail and I’ll be kicked off the team,” she loses hope.

“No, you’re not. Okay, I just have to go about this another way.” You look at her bag to see her soccer uniform sticking out of it. “I got it. Think about soccer, okay? A spinning object in motion exerts a net force on the air, which according to Newton's 3rd Law, exerts an equal and opposite force back on the moving and spinning object, altering its trajectory. The Magnus effect is why soccer players can bend a soccer ball into the goal around a five-person wall and why baseball pitchers can throw a breaking ball pitch.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” she nods.

As you explain it to her, you’re also drawing diagrams that are easy to follow. She has her notebook out and is taking notes to study later.

“When a soccer player kicks a ball off-center it causes the ball to spin. The direction and speed of the spin will determine how much the ball curves during flight. The curve of the ball during flight is known as the Magnus Effect.

“As the ball undergoes top spin,” you draw a clockwise rotation on the figure, “it causes the velocity of the air around the top half of the ball to become less than the air velocity around the bottom half of the ball. This is because the tangential velocity of the ball in the top half acts in the opposite direction to the airflow, and the tangential velocity of the ball in the bottom half acts in the same direction as the airflow.”

“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” she sighs.

“It’s the big words, right?” you chuckle.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, since the air speed around the top half of the ball is less than the air speed around the bottom half of the ball, the pressure is greater on the top of the ball. This causes a net downward force to act on the ball,” you explain.

“Think of when a soccer player kicks the ball right of the center. It spins counter-clockwise and the Magnus force acts left, causing the ball to curve left. When the ball is kicked left of center, the ball spins clockwise and the Magnus force acts right, causing the ball to curve right. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, better than this book,” she laughs.

“Okay, with that in mind, answer these questions. If you solve this, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Okay,” she grins.

You spend the next hour explaining physics in relation to soccer so she’ll understand it, and she’s doing a lot better when it’s compared to something she loves doing. You two get lost in time until she looks at her phone.

“Shit, I have to go. Thank you so much for helping me.”

“It’s not a problem.”

You’re about to clean up when she grabs your face and kisses you. It comes out of nowhere which is why you’re so shocked, but she’s gone before you have a chance to do anything about it. She rips a piece of paper from her notebook and scribbles her number on it.

“Call me, okay?”

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. She puts everything into her bag haphazardly before getting up. She waves at you as she leaves, and you’re still sitting there starstruck.

Did that really just happen? Even after she’s gone, you can still feel her on your lips. You touch your lips gently as if that will preserve the feel of her. Maybe you should tutor her more often.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jennifer jareau fanfic #jennifer jareau fic #jennifer jareau fluff #jennifer jareau fiction #jennifer jareau fan fiction #jennifer jareau fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 8 months ago

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One

Summary : After you treat him in the ER, Officer Tom Ludlow asks you out. You turn him down, thinking you know his type, but he’s not willing to take no for an answer. In fact, you find out he’s more than willing to abuse his authority in his pursuit of you. Maybe Ludlow seems like an asshole, but when you are drawn into a dangerous conspiracy that could go all the way to the top of the LAPD, he might be the only thing that stands between you and a shallow grave.

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary

The ER is overflowing tonight. There was a huge drug bust down on South Hampton Avenue that ended in a fire and gunfight: turned out to be a big enough debacle that they had to call a code black throughout the hospital, which basically means, at least for you, no breaks or time between patients. In times like this, charting even takes a back burner thanks to a hospital policy where everything you learned in nursing school flies out the window and you don’t have to document what you’re doing.

It’s a good thing, because you don’t have time to log onto a computer let alone write something down with pen and paper. Burn victims, gunshots, every bed full, people boarding in the waiting room and hallways with broken limbs and makeshift pressure dressings on bullet holes and stab wounds.

The once chemical, pristine floor and walls now look like something from a SAW movie, and you’re not much better off. Bloody, dirt caked scrubs, exhausted, sweat stains. You’ve probably done more chest compressing tonight than you have in your entire career leading up. And you’ve seen more people die tonight… well, more than you’d like.

You wipe some tears off your cheeks, pretending it’s sweat, before walking into the lobby to catch the stragglers. “Thomas?”

“Call me Tom.” He’s a cop, still in uniform, sitting on the floor with a big puff of gauze pressed into his shoulder. You kneel down beside him.

“I’m y/n, can I take a look?”

“Sure.” He winces, pulls the bloody dressing away to reveal a big, messy gash slicing into his left shoulder. It will need stitches, that’s for sure, but other than that it looks like a fairly clean cut.

“Knife?” You ask him, pulling back on his shirt.

“Some fucking idiot crackhead with a sword, actually,” he grits.

You laugh a little bit. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“So am I.” He tries to grin at you, but it comes out more like a snarl because of the way you’re poking and prodding at him.

Maybe it's just because you're exhausted, you've had a terrible night, and you hurt all over, but you can't help but notice how handsome this man is, even after his own ordeals on the mean streets of the City of Angels. He watches you with sharp dark eyes that miss nothing. You almost feel sorry for the criminals who find themselves on the receiving end of that stare. As it is, you almost feel a little unnerved yourself, until you notice a sparkle of humor for you in those dark orbs. However, you still get the feeling like he's studying you while you are tending his wound.

“I gotta stitch this,” you tell him, a little shy under his gaze, now.

“Are you good at that?”

You’re kind of in your own little world when he asks that, looking at his arms. Solid and big. Nice veins. It takes you a minute to register that he even said something. Yeah, you chastise yourself, why don’t you just start fucking drooling while you’re at it?

“Good at what?”

His grin tips higher. “Stitches…”

“No, but I'm going to stab you repeatedly with a needle anyway…”

He chuffs with laughter. “You just seem a little distracted.” The way he smirks at you, you just know you're caught out. Get it together, you scold yourself. Maybe act like a professional instead of oogling the nice police officer.

“Sorry. It's just been a really long night. I promise, you're in good hands.”

“Looking forward to it,” he answers, with a beam of direct eye contact that nearly brings you to your knees.

This is where you catch your lucky break, because this is where you start to get annoyed. Mostly, at yourself, but partly at him too. He clearly knows how attractive he is. He's just that kind of asshole. And it's been fucking forever since you've gotten laid, because the world is just so full of assholes… It's not fair, the way he uses this advantage to tease you, when you feel like an extra in a Rob Zombie film. You do your best to appear unaffected as you walk away to retrieve supplies. You also pretend not to notice him staring at your ass, which, okay, you have to admit, it’s a little bit of a confidence boost.

It’s almost stupid to put towels under his arm as you spray him off with sterile water - this floor could actually use it. You get the edges pink and shiny, uncake the blood and the viscera. Grateful for the distraction - distraction from the big, brown eyed cop who won’t stop looking at you.

He has that type of stare that has weight to it. You feel it, on your skin– and you hate to admit it– in the aching throb between your legs, which is the last thing you need to be distracted by right now. Ah, the stupid lady parts, always making their vote known at the worst possible time.

Even though you let the anesthetic sit for a while, modern medicine can’t account for all the pain. He’s wincing and grunting while you tug his open flesh back together, and those gruff sounds are not helping this whole being attracted to him situation. You feel like your skin is on fire from his overwhelming stare, from the noises coming out of that long throat. Christ, he’s not even touching you…

“You alright there sweetheart? I'm the one under the needle.”

You look at him, some of that anger escaping in your tone. “Please don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Sorry. Been a long night for me too.” He lifts one of those sculpted dark brows at you, and you feel it as your heart tries most earnestly to tap dance right out of your fucking chest.

You sigh, narrowing your eyes so that he knows he's not in the clear. Unfortunately, he just seems to find that adorable, those dark eyes sparkling like black diamonds.

“Just…let me finish you off so you can get out of here.”

“Didn't know you performed that service here,” he quips with a smirk, and you're almost relieved he drives this final nail into his coffin, even if the suggestion makes a spear of desire shoot through you.

“I'm starting to side with the crackhead now.”

“Ooo, ouch,” he snarks, unaffected. “Take your time, this is the most fun I've had in a while.”

You decide not to answer, concentrating on your work. This man has a quick comeback for everything, you have a feeling. Worse, you kind of doubt a girl like you has a chance in hell of outmaneuvering him.

As you're bandaging him up, he senses your time together is coming to a close. His demeanor changes a little– if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was sad about it. “Thanks for stitching me up,” he says, surprisingly humble. He rolls those big dark eyes up to yours, and you feel your resolve to be a stone cold professional crumble–a little.

“You're welcome.” It's possible your touch on his shoulder lingers just slightly longer than it should.

“Hey…” He clearly feels bold enough to catch your hand in his. And holy shit, that hand. Your little mitt disappears in his, wrapped up in long, blunt fingers. The things you bet that hand could do to you…

It's definitely not a helpful thought.

“Any chance I could give you a call sometime?”

Your initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question, from this fine-ass man, is Yes, please and thank you. You're sure he sees it in your eyes, the way you're practically ready to sit up and bark for him.

But then, past experiences raise their hands to the situation, and how grateful you are.

You know this guy's type, you convince yourself. Handsome, and macho, and they think they're so cute they can say anything and you'll just keep eating out of the palm of their hand, grateful to be their girl. You've starred in this show before– and it always ends in tragedy, with your heart in shreds, and them shrugging you off before moving on.

Not tonight.

“Sorry, but…I think it's best we keep this professional.”

Why does it hurt to say it?

You expect him to sulk, maybe even get mean, the way so many manly men do when a woman bruises their fragile egos. However, it seems this man is different. He just smirks, and you realize with a skip of your heartbeat, that he is not deterred at all.

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

With your heart in your throat, you have a feeling this is not the last you see of detective Tom Ludlow.

#Tom ludlow #street kings #keanuverse #tom ludlow x reader #collab fic #Johnwickb1tsch is amazing at graphics!!!#Tom Ludlow fic

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medlarmeadows · 6 months ago

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The Best of Us, The Worst of Us (The Last of Us)

q!Charlie Slimecicle x fem!reader

Synopsis: In the midst of the zombie apocalyptic world of The Last of Us, you and Charlie stumble upon a little girl who became the light of your lives for the rest of her life.

Warning(s): blood, swearing, violence, mild gore (descriptive scenes of wounds and blood), main-character (?) death, HEAVY angst, mild-suicidal ideation, physical threatening, panic attack, bittersweet ending

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: The last sentence in my notes for this fic was “This is angst we ball”. I am so sorry.

masterlist

Surviving in a zombie apocalyptic world was tough. If you weren’t fighting off zombies or other survivors, your next problem was finding food and shelter.

Luckily for you and Charlie, you both knew how to be resourceful.

You’d both done things you weren’t proud of. Between sneaking up on survivors and picking them off one by one so you could loot the bodies and the location, and savagely tearing apart the bodies of the undead without even blinking an eye, you could safely say the apocalypse had changed you both.

Whether that turned you into the worst versions of yourselves, you couldn’t say.

“Hey Charlie,” you had asked him on a rare day when you had simply relaxed by a brook. It had been a peaceful day, one without any scavenging runs, or even run ins with zombies or other survivors.

“Yes, my love?” he replied.

Despite yourself, you feel your chest warm. Ten years since the world turned to shit, but your boyfriend never failed to find a way to make you feel loved.

Too bad you would be the one to break that mood.

“Are we bad people?”

There was a beat of silence as Charlie registered your words. You see him frown from behind the old sunglasses he had picked up from an abandoned mall (“You can’t stop the drip, even if you might get bit!” “Charlie, if you wear that and we get ambushed, you are most definitely going to get bit.” “But I will look cool during it.” “And also dead.”), the sun reflecting off the lenses and shielding his eyes from your view.

“Sure, we’ve done questionable things,” he starts slowly, as if he was processing every word before he said them. “But I don’t think that makes us bad people. I think that just makes us survivors.”

It’s your turn to frown as you mull over his words. The dead leaves on the ground rustle as Charlie shifted, leaning over to hold the side of your face gently.

“We’ve been doing this for ten years,” he murmurs. “What’s got you thinking about this now?”

You worry your lip as you lean into his touch, his calloused hands bringing a striking contrast to his gentle hold. It grounds you in the midst of your busy thoughts.

“I don’t know,” you reply softly. “I guess, I’ve just been feeling a little sentimental recently.”

“Oh yeah? I get that too.”

You snort, before grabbing Charlie’s hand in yours and placing a kiss to the back of his hand. He responds by pulling you towards him into a cuddle on the forest floor.

“I guess that just shows we still have a little bit of humanity left over,” he murmurs as he places a kiss into your hair.

“I guess so,” you reply as the two of you drift off into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the soft burbling of the brook.

Camping out in the forest was always a gamble, no matter how peaceful it seemed to be. Without four walls to protect you, you could be easily ambushed by survivors and zombies alike.

You were up the second you heard the sound of empty tin cans crashing to the ground. Charlie shot up from the bed roll moments after you, eyes wide and alert.

The two of you had set up camp behind a couple of large logs, large enough to obscure most of your view of where your campfire had been (Survival tip number 1: never sleep immediately next to your campfire, and always put it out before you sleep) so you couldn’t immediately see whoever or whatever had knocked over your trash.

Reaching for your shotgun that was always within arm’s reach of you, you mouthed to Charlie, “I’ll approach, you flank.”

With a thumbs up from him, you make your way to the source of the noise as quietly and quickly as you can. The moment you step out to face the culprit, you aim the shotgun at them, ready to fire if need be and –

“Oh my god.”

The moonlight just barely illuminated the figure before you. Standing before you, in clothes torn, tattered, and muddied with both dirt and what must have been dried blood, was a girl who could be no older than eight years old. She was on her knees, seemingly having just tripped over the small pile of tin cans in the darkness, and you notice that one of her shoes was missing.

The girl is frozen for a second, eyes wide and staring at the shotgun. The pair of spectacles slips down her nose just a little, enough to draw your attention to it. One of the lenses was cracked.

Charlie appears behind her just a second later, moments away from tackling what he had probably thought was a lone adult survivor. She senses him behind her and turns, mouth falling open.

In a split second, Charlie has the girl in his arms, one hand pressed over her mouth to stop her from screaming. You drop the shotgun on the ground and run to them.

“Calm down,” you try as she wiggled in Charlie’s grasp. Her chest rose and fell in panic.

This wouldn’t do.

“Charlie let go of her,” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low to avoid attracting any potential threats.

“If I let go, she’s going to scream,” he hisses back.

You let out a deep sigh and try to put on the most kind and genuine smile you could muster.

“Hello,” you say gently. “I’m Y/N. We’re not going to hurt you, but we need you to calm down and not scream. If you scream, the zombies will come, and everybody is going to get hurt.”

The kid’s eyes widened just a fraction, darting around the darkness to look around. You reach for one of her hands and rub your thumb over the back of it in hopes to help soothe her.

“There’s no one here except for us, for now. You can relax, try to calm down.”

After a few seconds, the child’s breathing slows down, and she seemed to relax in Charlie’s arms a little. When he was sure that she wasn’t going to scream, he let go of her and moved to kneel beside her on the ground.

“Hey,” Charlie says softly. “Sorry for grabbing you like that, I’m Charlie. What’s yours?”

The girl raises her hands and starts to gesture shakily. Confused at first, Charlie turns to look at you, but you realise quickly that she was signing to the two of you. Your mouth opens slightly when you realise.

“– I – P – P – A. Juanaflippa? Did I get that right?” you ask.

The girl nods excitedly, a smile spreading on her face in contrast to the panic she had been in just moments earlier.

“It’s nice to meet you, Juanaflippa. What are you doing out in the forest?”

She starts signing again, but soon realised that you were reaching your limit of your sign language knowledge. You exchange looks with Charlie, who was equally lost. Then, Juanaflippa was gesturing again:

“Oh! Pen and paper!” gasps Charlie. “I think we might have scrap paper and a pen somewhere, let me find it.”

As Charlie rushed back to your bed roll, you move closer to Juanaflippa to help her stand up. She stumbles a little and leans a little into your side.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere?”

She nods, lifting her foot with the missing shoe.

“You hurt your foot?”

As she nods again, you feel something in your heart shatter for her. Why was a girl so young out in the forest all alone? Why did she have to suffer in this world that would never be kind to her?

You almost whiplash. You weren’t sure when was the last time you felt compassion for someone other than Charlie.

Pushing down your bubbling, confusing emotions, you say, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up. Come on.” And you gather her up in your arms and carry her over to where your bed rolls were.

The remainder of the night was spent patching Juanaflippa up. By the time you had finished wrapping her foot injury – which luckily seemed to just be a sprained ankle – with some bandages and wiped the dirt off her face, the little girl was sound asleep in Charlie’s arms.

Cradling her gently, Charlie looked up at you. His wide eyes met yours, and you immediately knew the question which was on his mind.

“Charlie,” you began softly. “It could be dangerous.”

“But – ” you wince when his voice cracked slightly “ – she’s just a child. God knows what she’s already gone through alone, we can’t – we have to – ”

“We won’t,” you say firmly.

You place a hand over one of Charlie’s which had started to shake over Juanaflippa’s shoulder. Intertwining your fingers with his, you lean over to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Strong emotions start bubbling up again from your chest, this time towards your boyfriend with a heart of gold. Charlie had already set his mind on taking in Juanaflippa, and you knew you would follow his lead in a heartbeat.

“We’ll protect her, I promise.”

You and Charlie had only planned to camp in the forest for one night, so you were going into the nearest town in the morning. As per yours and Charlie’s routine, the plan would be to scope out a potential camp for the night, preferably in a secured building, then search around for loot. If you were lucky, you would be able to sneak around zombies and survivors alike. Most of the time, the two of you would be able to make it through the day without anything more than a minor scuffle.

Truth be told, you and Charlie enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with a fight. You didn’t push you’re your luck often, but what was life without a little risk? However, with Juanaflippa to take care of, the two of you had to be more careful than you were used to.

The little girl was a good sport, even with her injury. But even then, the three of you moved slower than usual.

“We should probably set up camp, then one of us stays with the kid, the other goes and scavenges,” you had suggested in the morning.

“Are you kidding?” came Charlie’s worried reply. “We don’t ever split up. That’s like the worst decision ever. Besides, the kid’s gotta learn how to survive in this world.”

“Yeah, but maybe when she’s got some food and healed up,” you shot back.

“Fine, fine. But once she’s recovered, I’m gonna teach her how to shoot a gun.”

“Charlie, no – ”

“Hey, Juanaflippa! Wanna learn how to shoot a gun?”

That conversation had ended with Charlie and Juanaflippa jumping around you excitedly. You sighed exasperatedly, but it had been hard to hide your fond smile.

Luck seemed to be on your side because your plan for the day went smoothly. You managed to find an old video game store (“Oh my god, Dying Light! I loved that game!”) and secured it as your camp for the next few nights. Once that was done, Charlie had slipped out to gather some food and medicine, returning safely before night fell.

The three of you took things slow, slower than you and Charlie had ever done things in the past ten years. What was routine and almost second nature to the two of you became teaching opportunities for Juanaflippa.

And she had the best teachers.

“Okay, Flippa – can I call you Flippa?”

Juanaflippa nods at Charlie, bouncing on her toes excitedly.

“Awesome! Alright, here’s how you hold a gun – ”

Just at that moment, you emerge from the store to see your boyfriend and Flippa standing side by side, Flippa clutching Charlie’s handgun awkwardly in her small hands.

“What the fuck, Charlie – ”

“Don’t curse around the baby!” he exclaims, shooting you a look and covering Flippa’s ears dramatically. The young girl just looks at you innocently, eyes wide behind her cracked glasses.

Dumbfounded, you set down the water you had brought out for them.

“You’re admonishing me for cursing, but you’re teaching her to shoot a gun?”

Shaking your head at them, you march back into the store to retrieve your shotgun, coming back out to stand watch for them in case any runners or scavengers got attracted to the noise of a clumsily fired handgun.

A few days later, you find yourselves back in the woods after getting chased out of the town by some stray runners that had caught you off guard. The moment the sound of ambling limbs and uncoordinated footsteps drew near, Charlie had scooped Juanaflippa up in his arms and raced away while you covered their backs, occasionally letting a gunshot ring when a runner got too close.

After ensuring you were no longer being chased by the pack of zombies, you and Charlie decided to set up camp in the woods. Charlie insisted on bringing Juanaflippa with him to collect firewood (which you knew was a poorly disguised excuse for bringing her aside to teach her how to kill some small woodland animal probably) but you quickly denied the man, offering to teach Juanaflippa how to set up camp instead.

“So, Flippa,” you asked as you teach her how to set up the tarp for shelter, “how did you come to find us in the woods?”

Flippa worried her lip, setting down her side of the tarp to take out the notebook and pen you had managed to scavenge for her. After scribbling down a few words, she turns the notebook to you:

I was left behind. We were attacked. I couldn’t find anybody.

“Oh,” you breathed shakily.

Flippa nodded before hanging her head. One of her hand lifts to wipe at her face as her shoulders start to shake.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, before gathering her up in your arms. Her arms come to wrap around your neck, squeezing you back tightly as she buried her face into your neck.

“Flippa, I’m so sorry that happened to you,” you say as you rub circles into her back, “but we’ve got you now. Charlie and I will protect you, I promise.”

Juanaflippa takes a minute to calm down, and when she does, she pulls away slightly and brings one of her hands up to face. Opening her palm, with her pinkie facing you, she taps her thumb twice on her chin.

Curious, you tilt your head and ask, “What does that mean?”

A grin starts forming on Flippa’s face and she starts signing the letters to you. You feel tears well up in your eyes as you recognise the four-letter word as:

“Mama,” you choke on your words. Sniffling, you nod vigorously at the girl, gripping her tighter. “Yes, I’ll be your mama sweetheart. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I promise that I’ll keep you safe.”

Charlie returns to see the sobbing mess that you are, and a grinning, slightly teary-eyed Flippa. Knowing it took a lot to get you to cry, Charlie drops the bundle of wood he had collected and rushes to your side, holding the two of you and barraging you with a series of questions:

"Are you alright? What happened? Are you both okay?”

Flippa interrupts him by signing at him, making the same gesture as before but this time tapping her thumb twice on her forehead. Charlie frowns, confused and worried.

“What does that mean, Flippa?”

She manages to wriggle out of your grip slightly to pick up the discarded notebook and pen to write down one word:

Papa.

If you were emotional, Charlie was downright inconsolable. The three of you sit there on the forest floor, wrapped up in each other both physically and emotionally. Juanaflippa is sandwiched in a hug between the two of you, content to just be between the two humans who had decided to love her unconditionally that night in the woods.

By the time you calm down, the sun is starting to set, and you and Charlie both get to teach your daughter how to start a fire.

(“Charlie, please control your pyro tendencies,” you plead with him out of Flippa’s earshot. All you get is a non-committal “No promises.” and a wink.)

You make a couple days trek out of the woods and into the next town to search for more supplies. By this time, Flippa’s ankle had healed, and she was wearing tightly laced shoes Charlie had found in the last town. She was armed with a small knife (you had refused to let Charlie give her a gun) and walked between you and Charlie at all times.

Given that Juanaflippa was better equipped now, you and Charlie decided to take the chance and go on supply runs together as a family. It was a hard-fought battle between Charlie’s insistence and your anxiety, but he eventually reasoned it out with you, proposing a game plan.

Whenever you entered a new area, Charlie, being at the head of the group, would keep an eye out for potential hiding spots for Flippa, signalling them to you. If things went south, one of you would shout “Flippa, hide!” and point to one of the hiding spots for her to go to.

It was a fair plan, and the only way for him to convince you to let all three of you go on supply runs together.

Quietly, the three of you were sneaking into an abandoned grocery story in hopes you could scavenge some canned food, one of the supplies which dwindled the fastest now that you were a party of three and not two. The sliding glass doors were frozen half-open, allowing the three of you to slip through with no issue.

It was early in the afternoon, but the sunlight didn’t reach far enough into the grocery store for you to be able to see well inside. Electricity certainly didn’t work anymore, so after walking deeper into the store, the three of you took out your flashlights.

Too bad you didn’t notice the clicker first.

The sound of three flashlights clicking on at the same time was enough for the clicker to turn its gruesome, fungal head in your direction. The three of you freeze, breathing shallowly as the grotesque creature made its disturbing clicking noises. Charlie motions for the three of you to back away quietly, and so you do.

Too focussed on the clicker in front of you, you don’t notice the clicker that had crept up behind you until it clicks in your ear.

You side-step the clicker before it can take a chomp out of your neck, but not quick enough for you to avoid getting pulled down to the ground by it. There’s a high-pitched scream in the background, and you put all your strength into your hips and arms to quickly overpower the creature, rolling the two of you over and stabbing your knife into its neck. Mercilessly, you drag the knife, ripping it’s throat out in a spray of blood and gore to ensure it was dead.

The noise had prompted the clicker in front of your party to charge, and you could see Charlie engaging with it, dodging its arms, and slicing its jaw with his machete. Quickly, you turn your gaze to where Flippa was, ice seeping into your veins when you don’t notice her figure between yours and Charlie’s.

A second high-pitched scream rang out from your right.

Whipping your head further down the aisle, you notice a squirming mass on the floor, barely illuminated by the flashlights which had dropped to the floor. You sprint over to wrestle the third clicker off of Juanaflippa, yelling for Charlie to get Flippa out of the store. As your boyfriend scoops Flippa into his arms and runs out, you manage to climb onto the clicker’s back.

You’re briefly winded when the zombie knocks you into the shelf, but you quickly retaliate by plunging your knife deep into its chest several times, uncaring of how your hands were dripping in its blood. It finally drops to the ground, unmoving, and you sprint out of the store before any more unseen clickers or runners came looking for the source of the noise.

The first thing you saw was Charlie patting Flippa down, fussing over her and checking for injuries. You approach them after sheathing your knife, panic slowly dissipating seeing them out of danger.

“Are you both okay?” you ask, patting Flippa down quickly before turning to Charlie.

He pulls you in tightly and kisses you deeply, quickly pulling away when he remembers the small child watching. You catch his gaze briefly, noting his pupils still wide from adrenaline, before sweeping your gaze over the rest of his body to check for injuries.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “Adrenaline rush. I think that’s the most action I’ve gotten in more than a week.”

You nod in agreement. Your right hand shakes slightly from leftover adrenaline, and you glance down to notice it soaked in blood that wasn’t your own. Nonchalantly, you wipe it against your pant leg.

“It was a little fun,” you admitted, but turning to Juanaflippa, you feel a stab of fear in you again. “But Flippa, oh my god, I’m so sorry, we should have been more careful.”

You scoop her up in your arms, hugging her tight. You can feel the erratic beating of her chest against your own, and your squeeze her a little just to remind yourself that she was okay. Pulling away from her slightly, you check her again.

“Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

Juanaflippa shakes her head, holding up an OK sign. Satisfied, you ruffle her hair and stand up.

After that run in, neither you nor Charlie were in a state to go on another supply run, so you found an abandoned house to set up camp in. In a stroke of luck, you managed to find some leftover canned goods in the kitchen.

As you prepared dinner, you notice Juanaflippa draw into herself, doodling or writing something in her notebook. Worriedly, you turn to Charlie who was checking how much ammo you had left.

“Charlie, could you check on Flippa again?”

He looked up from your supplies, eyes darting over to where Flippa was before looking back at you.

“I checked on her just now,” he assures you. “She’s alright, just shaken. Said she needed some time alone.”

You hummed, not quite content with his answer, but accepting it. You hear a sigh, then footsteps, and a pair of arms was wrapping themselves around your waist.

“You’re worried,” Charlie mumbles into your hair.

“Of course I am,” you bite back, your gaze remaining focussed on the beans you were heating up on a makeshift stove.

“Love, you know it’s not your fault, right?”

You give a heavy sigh, gripping the spoon tightly.

“But she got hurt. We weren’t careful enough.”

“She’s alright, we checked her over multiple time.”

“She could’ve gotten bit.”

“But she didn’t.”

“But she could’ve,” you shot back, mindful to keep your volume low so that Flippa wouldn’t overhear your conversation.

The arms around your waist hug you tighter, and Charlie presses a kiss to your hair (which was dirty and slightly bloodied from the fight, but of course your boyfriend had to be a sweetheart).

“She’s okay,” he insists. “We all got a little roughed up, but we’re all fine. We’ll be more careful next time. And if anything happens, we’ll fight our hardest to make sure she’ll get out of it unscathed.”

A gentle hand reaches for your jaw, tilting your head towards him and giving you a light, reassuring kiss. You revel in the safety of being in Charlie’s arms, and in that moment, you feel as though you were sheltered from every horror the world could throw to you, both physical and emotional.

A tug at your pants draws your attention to the small girl who had made her way towards you two, giving you a cheeky grin as though she knew she was interrupting a moment. Letting out a playful sigh, Charlie picks her up and places a sloppy kiss on her cheek, which she protests by batting at his face.

You shake your head softly at them, turning your attention back to the food to ensure it didn’t burn. Your attention, however, was split again when Flippa and Charlie start launching double attacks on you, trying to outdo each other on the number of kisses they can sneak on your face as you cook.

(Charlie has Flippa in his arms, giving her an unfair advantage as he purposely sways her closer to you. He doesn’t acknowledge this when she cheers and raises her hands 5 to 2, signalling her win, but you shoot him a knowing look.)

As the night drew to a close, you tucked Juanaflippa into bed, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

If anything were to happen to her, you swore you would burn the world to the ground.

Everything was going to shit.

The three of you had decided to make a supply run the next day. You had banked on the hope that things would be more chill after the scare the previous day.

Of course, luck chose to run out on you today.

You had made it barely ten minutes into stuffing cans into your rucksacks when gunshots were ringing in the convenience store. Semi-automatic gun shots.

“Fucking Fireflies!” hissed Charlie as the three of you took cover behind the counter.

Your eyes scanned around, looking for a way out that was not blocked by the Fireflies. You notice the glass-less window by the counter.

“Charlie, roll your pipe bomb the other way, then sneak out with Flippa. I’ll give cover,” you whisper frantically.

Charlie nods at you before doing what you say. The bomb goes off, clearly taking some of the Fireflies down by the sound of pained screams, and the three of you are off. You whip out your shotgun and fire on the Fireflies nearest to you, taking down another two more before following Flippa and Charlie out.

Another series of gunshots ring out as you’re pulled down behind an abandoned car.

“Why the fuck is a whole squad here,” you curse.

“Hell if I know,” Charlie shoots back. He peeks up from the car to fire off a few shots from the semi-automatic rifle he had, cursing when empty clicks come out after only a few shots.

“Fuck! I don’t have anymore ammo for this stupid gun,” he says as he swings the gun over his back, pulling out another pipe bomb and throwing it at the Fireflies.

Between the two of you, Flippa is crouched with her hands over her ears, eyes wide and darting around. You wrap an arm around her shoulder, squeezing and trying to offer as much comfort as you can to the distressed girl.

“We’re going to get you out of this, Flippa, I promise.”

There’s another spray of bullets, then the sound of thundering footsteps. Gunshots start ringing again, but this time directed away from the three of you. Poking your head up from the car, you realise that a hoard of runners was attacking the Fireflies, clearly having been attracted by all the noise.

“Retreat!” one of the Fireflies yelled.

“Let’s go, now,” hissed Charlie, taking advantage of the chaos.

You follow Charlie as he leads the three of you through the chaos, ducking behind another car. However, it seems that the hoard was much bigger than you had realised because stragglers were starting to approach you too.

With your cover blown, you aim your shotgun and take down as many runners as you can, ears ringing slightly. As you reach into your pocket to grab more shotgun shells, you curse when you realise your pocket was empty.

“Fuck! Charlie, I’m out.”

“Your handgun?”

“Ran out of ammo in the store.”

“Fuck.”

You share a quick look of panic before he tosses you his machete. Turning to Flippa, he grabs her hand in his.

“Flippa, we’re gonna get you out of this. I’m gonna put you in a hiding place, okay? Don’t come out unless one of us comes to get you, alright?” he says, before glancing over at you.

You give him a short nod, before turning your attention to the runners. By now, you couldn’t hear anymore gunfire and you presumed that the Fireflies were either all dead or had fled.

One less set of problems for you.

You lunge at the nearest runner, slashing at it with your machete. You keep yourself between the runners and your family, trying your hardest to stop them from getting anywhere near where Charlie was trying to hide Flippa.

You let your mind fall back into the routine of combat, slashing and hacking at the runners with practiced ease. While Charlie’s machete weighed a little heavier on your hand, it gave you better range than your knife did.

In the corner of your eye, you spot Charlie return to the fray. He’s firing at the runners, landing lucky headshots, and taking down runners quicker than you do with the machete. You refrain from asking about Flippa, too high strung and tensed from the combat to break out of your hyperfocus.

One by one, the runners go down, but not fast enough. Your concentration breaks slightly when you hear a yell from Charlie. You turn around in time to see him get knocked down by a runner who got too close for him to shoot.

“Charlie!”

You try to rush over, but a pull at your pants holds you back. On instinct, you swing your machete without looking, turning to look right after the blade hits flesh with a heavy crunch.

Your blood runs cold when your gaze drops below your eye level to make eye contact with Juanaflippa, her eyes wide with fear.

Your gaze drops lower.

The blade was lodged right into the crook of her neck, blood spurting from the wound at a horrifying rate. Her blood seeps into her clothes, and what isn’t absorbed by the fabric drips down her arm.

The knife she was holding drops to the ground, right before her knees give out.

“NO!”

You barely register the scream you let out, focussed on catching Flippa in your arms to bring her softly to the ground. The machete drops to the floor the moment you let go, causing the wound to gush even more. Frantically, your hands press against Flippa’s neck, desperately trying to plug the wound.

Your world tunnel visions to just Juanaflippa. You feel words tumble out of your mouth, but you don’t register any of it. You don’t remember how to breathe.

Someone is shaking your shoulders. Muffled words rise to your ears. The person stops shaking you and you see arms enter your vision, reaching for Flippa –

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” you scream, one arm pulling her closer while the other still tries to stop the gushing wound. The fog lifts slightly and you finally hear Charlie’s voice saying:

“We need to go! More runners are coming.”

“Flippa, oh god – ”

“Fucking move Y/N!”

With incredible strength, Charlie picks Flippa up, balancing her on one arm while the other pulls you to your feet and drags you along with him. You don’t register where you’re going until you hear the door close behind you, and you realise you’re in a building.

Charlie softly puts Flippa on the ground before rushing back to the door to barricade it, ensuring you were safe from the zombies. But you barely notice his actions, your focus tunnelling into Flippa again.

You drop to your knees beside her, hands shakily pressing into her neck once more.

“Y/N stop.”

“No – Charlie – she’s bleeding, I need to stop it.” Your words come out in stuttered gasps.

“Y/N – ”

“I need cloth, gauze, oh my god where’s my medkit – ”

“Y/N, she’s – ”

“Charlie shut up! Help me, please – ”

Hands grab yours and tears them away from Flippa’s body. You protest with a cry, wrestling in Charlie’s grip as he forces one of your hands to Flippa’s chest.

You don’t feel a heartbeat.

You stop struggling.

“She’s dead,” says Charlie.

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

You stare at Flippa’s lifeless corpse.

Your hands slip from her chest to her upper arms limply, and you notice a scabbed over wound on one of her upper arms. Lifting the sleeve, you finally notice the bite mark.

Suddenly, you’re shoved away from Flippa’s body.

“Don’t you dare,” hisses Charlie, his demeanour changing like a switch turned on in him as he scoops Flippa’s body into his arms, shuffling away from you. “Don’t you dare touch her, you fucking murderer.”

You think your lungs stopped working. You think you’ve gone mute. But all you can do is stare.

“How could you!” he screams at you, tears spilling over. “She was our daughter!”

Numbly, you try to crawl towards them, but you’re stopped when Charlie draws his knife at you.

“Don’t come any fucking closer,” he heaves, one arm tight around Flippa. “I’ll kill you.”

That snaps you out of your stupor.

“Charlie – ” your voice cracks. “I – ”

“You don’t get to make excuses. This is all your fault.”

His eyes are blown wide, his entire frame shaking. Before you wasn’t your boyfriend, it was the horrifying consequence of your actions.

“Flippa – ”

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” he shouts at you. But his attention draws to the girl in his arms.

Flippa’s eyes were still open, devoid of life and the playful glint that never seemed to go away. Her body was limp in Charlie’s arms, which now curl around her protectively, knife forgotten on the floor.

“Flippa,” he wails, holding her close to his chest, uncaring of how her blood stains his clothes or the fact that her body was growing steadily colder.

You watch the two of them, your greatest loves.

You look down at your bloodied hands.

You want to cry, but you can’t.

You stare.

You and Charlie spent the night in the secured building, neither of you having the energy to move, much less fight through a horde of runners your dead daughter in your arms.

(“This was her hiding spot,” scoffed Charlie as he cradled Flippa’s body in his arms. “But I guess she wanted to come out and help”.

He glances at you from across the room. While you hadn’t moved from your spot, Charlie had shuffled himself and Juanaflippa’s body as far away from you as possible.

“I wish she hadn’t thought you worth helping,” he spits.)

The next day, once you were sure the runners had drifted off somewhere else, the two of you exited the building and brought Juanaflippa’s body to a nearby forest.

You buried her body by a tree, marking her resting place with a small stone that Charlie had carved her name into.

(Charlie finally notices the bite mark on her upper arm. You could see the gears turning in his head, questions welling up in his mind. But he heaves a heavy sigh, and you gather that he probably reached the same conclusion you did:

It didn’t matter anymore.)

You each speak your final words to Juanaflippa. Charlie casts loathing glances at you the whole time.

You camp near her grave for one night. You move on the next, survival instincts pushing the two of you back onto the monotonous routine of kill-scavenge-camp.

You and Charlie don’t speak to each other unless it was necessary, and even then, Charlie’s voice is laced with a poison you had never heard from your lover before. The animosity drives you to sleep apart from each other, never coming within two metres of each other.

Some nights, you wonder if you wouldn’t wake up at all.

Some mornings, you wish you hadn’t woken up at all.

Five days after Juanaflippa’s death, you’re taking stock of your shared supplies. As you pour out the contents of your rucksack onto the carpeted floor of the abandoned house, a folded note drops out along with the metal tin cans.

Unfolding it, you immediately recognise Flippa’s chicken scratch handwriting.

“Charlie,” you croak out, voice rough from disuse.

“Fuck off.”

You glance over to wear Charlie was laying by the opposite wall. You gesture the paper at him, knowing he could probably see it in his peripheral vision.

“It’s a note. From Flippa.”

He turns towards you slightly, and you can tell he’s debating whether or not to come over. His anger clearly trumps over any other emotion because he says:

“Read it, I’m not coming over.”

You open the note fully, and begin reading:

Dear Mama and Papa, thank you for being there for me. You saved me in that forest, and you taught me so many things. The past elaven ellen eleven days have been the best of my life. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the bite. I know what it means. I’m sorry that I’m going away soon. But I want you to know that it was not your fault. I love you both very much. Please live well. Love, Flippa.

You don’t realise that you’d begun crying until your tears clouded your vision. Shakily, you put down the letter, scooting away in case Charlie wanted to come over to read it.

You swipe your hands over your eyes, but nothing seemed to stop the tears from falling. You let out a whimper that turns into unbridled wails of despair you’d kept bottled up over the last five days. Burying your head in your hands, you shake and cry.

You don’t hear Charlie move until arms wrap around you. You flinch away from him, a warbled apology coming out from your mouth, but he holds you tighter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over, hands shaking as you try to pry yourself from the man you know hates you.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, and you can hear him holding back tears.

“IT WAS MY FAULT. I promised I would keep her safe and I KILLED HER,” you yell back at him, hands reaching for your hair to pull and pull because you deserved all the pain from the same hands that tore Juanaflippa away from this world.

Charlie’s hands reach for yours, prying them away from your head and holding them by your side. You try to wrestle them out from his grip, but he holds your wrists tighter. His legs and arms cage you in, holding you close to him as he whispers apologies and words of comfort between his own tears.

Finally, you stop fighting him, and you sob into your boyfriend’s chest. Charlie lets you breakdown, lets you finally come to terms with everything that had happened, and comforts you through it all.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats.

One of his hands comes up to wipe your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for the words I said.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you can feel how his cheeks are wet with his own tears.

“I still love you.”

Charlie holds you until the tears run out. He holds you until you stop shaking. He holds you even when words start tumbling out of your mouth again. He holds you as he counters every self-deprecating apology with apologies of his own and whispers of love.

In the abandoned house that was once possibly home to a loving family, a broken one reconciles over the shared loss of a beloved daughter.

Weeks pass. You and Charlie heal together and move on together, but Juanaflippa is never forgotten, always held close to your memories.

As you lay by a brook, taking a break from supply runs to simply relax, you turn to your boyfriend and ask:

“Charlie, are we bad people?”

Your boyfriend turns to you, grasping your hand in his and kissing it, before pulling you into a warm hug.

“Maybe we are,” he says, holding you close. “But just for those twelve days, I think we were the best of people.”

The End.

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