#like my good bitch .... ive been ahead of the curve for fucking hears

[agdab]

my brother's copying me lol

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Hurt S/o! | Shikamaru + Kiba + Shino | ANGST + Fluff | HC’s

Request: This is my first request so please forgive and correct me if I do something wrong. I was wondering if you could maybe do an angsty headcanons for Shikimaru, Kiba, and Shino from Naruto’s reaction to their S/O getting seriously injured protecting them. If the S/O recovers or dies and the enemy is all up to you, I’ve just noticed a real lack in content for them and I’m craving it hard. Please and thank you!

Word Count: 1953 words

Page Count: 5.5 pages

A/N: i got so caught up in writing this it became way too long lmao. im sorry i forgot about naruto :( but i hope you do enjoy the rest! i made sure to end everything well. i have a shit ton of angst requests so i thought id leave this on a happier note :)

Tags: @bipolartryingtosurvive

Shikamaru Nara

- I could see this being during the Hidan fight.

- Hes set the plan in motion at that point.

- And you’re to make sure Hidan is distracted for the time being .

- Hidan may be an ass, but he isn’t dumb.

- He notices how you are keeping him from Shikamaru.

- Fucking LIVID

- You notice how hes shifting your fight closer to Shikamaru until he gets to the point where he definitely can get a deep slash into the Nara.

- You knew he was trying to get to him.

- You were fast, one of the fastest in the village, but that was because you were fairly weak when it came to strength.

- You tried to zip around, gaining speed and momentum, and within seconds- right when Hidan was going to bring his scythe down on Shikamarus neck, you slammed your body to his side.

- Shikamaru flew away as Hidan managed to get a large and deep slash into your body; you felt it start from under the right side of your ribs, curving across your stomach, and finally finished above your left knee.

- You didn’t feel it until you fell to the ground- shock really is a bitch.

- And then you felt the dull sting grow and blood dripped from the wound.

- The stinging grew into a pulsing and unbearable ache, and you knew for a fact he cut through each muscle in the way of his scythe, but your organs were nipped ( at best ) in the process.

- You couldn’t hear what was going on.

- You heard your heart beat in your ears, it was deafening, but you focused on your breathing and trying to keep calm.

- You trained for this- having a close friend beat your ass near death so you could focus on remaining in a state where you could prolong the inevitable.

- Yeah you thought of the most wild scenarios, and managed to prepare for them- turns out it worked out well.

- Once Hidan is buried Shikamaru went straight to you, managing to help out with Ino and Choji, stopping some of the bleeding while getting you to the village.

- You’re passed out at that point, so Ino cauterizes the wounds ends, the part under your ribs and the entire thigh.

- Shikamaru starts freaking at this point, he almost passes out, and Choji has to get his ass back together.   

- Once you get back to the village Tsunade is ready to go, with Sakura by her side your ass isn’t ending up on that stone.

- It takes about four hours to get you all settled, and into a private room, out of critical.

- He’d stay by your bedside, your hand in his till you woke up.

- “Shika…?”

- “Oh my gods, [ Y/n ]!”

- “Hi”

- Your soft giggles helped ease this poor boys heart.

- “You look awful.”

- “Don’t look too hot yourself.”

- “Wow. Okay.”

- “Get up here, you need some sleep. And don’t even deny it.”

- He took off the bulky clothes, only in his pants and tank top, climbing in next to you as you settled your head on his chest.

- “Thank you for taking care of me,”

- “Thank you for not dying.”

Kiba Inuzuka

- Being in Anbu had its ups and downs.

- But mostly downs.

- Okay. Only downs.

- But you managed to find your light, in a childhood friend and now lover.

- Though- he managed to act more like a puppy than a boyfriend at times.

- You didn’t mind though, and you lived your life peacefully after having to leave Anbu due to an injury that limited your eyesight greatly and it hindered all sight starting at arms length.

- Though, when in Anbu, its always- ALWAYS expected to have an old rival or two come back for more, even when one is retired.

- And here you were, walking through the forest with Kiba and Akamaru, talking about his past mission with Hinata and Shino.

- He got so excited to tell you that he didn’t notice the shift in scents in the air, and you couldn’t see ahead or through your peripheral.

- It happened so fast.

- Too fast.

- One second you were smiling with his arms around your waist, his chin on your head as you both laughed with Akamaru yipping.

- The next you were slipping from his arms, and blood was pooled at his arms, the slash at your neck was gruesome.

- Your hands went to your neck as Kiba yelled, Akamaru going after the person who came from the shadows.

- “No. No. No. No. No. No. [ Y/n ], NO!” He was panicking, picking you up quickly as a hand wrapped around your throat, gripping it so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe.

- Almost.

- You learned to stay calm in situations like this, and with Kiba’s harsh grip you didn’t have to waste any energy to help with the bleeding, so you focused on breathing and not getting your heart to pump too fast.

- “Tsunade! Fuck- get a medical nin! Now!”

- He yelled, running into the village again, where many were coming to help you out.

- Akamaru had come back by then, his mouth bloodied as well, but nothing else- indicating he got a good bite on the fucker.

- You made it to the hospital before you lost consciousness, making Kiba worry even more, because THAT was never a good sign.

- He had to be the one to lay you down on the table and his grip never wavered, getting into a sterile room and waiting for some instruction.

- He was freaking out inside, he wanted to cry and let go, just hold you- but you would die if any of that were to happen.

- He had to stay calm for you.

- He wasn’t going to let you die.

- The tell him to let go quickly and all hands go to your neck, working quickly to stop the bleeding, while a nurse came to get Kiba cleaned up and situated.

- His mom even came to help the boy, who looked dead while staring at your room, not even wanting to go in.

- “Boy." 

- Oh did she go off, telling him to go to his girlfriend and be a man.

- He did want to go, but he couldn’t help but feel so… helpless.

- "Helpless? Helpless! Boy, you do understand you just saved your girls life? That if you weren’t there she’d be laying there dead?”

- Kinda rocked his shit, but thanks mom.

- He went into your room alone first, your neck was bandaged and you looked pale, with blood and other IV fluids being attached to your arms.

- He noticed the especially dark bruise on your neck.

- It could have been either from his hand or the surgery, but he still felt bad.

- His mom came in and sat with him on the other side of you.

- They both held your hands and visited you till you woke up.

- “I lived bitch.”

Shino Aburame

- I honestly can’t see his S/o getting hurt so bad.

- Because when you think about it his bug control is OP AF.

- Like he can essentially control you with a bug.

- I would go with someone would be after him, but since they can’t get to Shino- you would be the best option.

- Get hurt him physically so lets do it mentally and emotionally :)

- Poor boy

- I could see this being when your both adults, and teaching the younger generations, including your kids :)

- And you’re chilling on your house rooftop, that you’ve decorated with couches and tables and such, even hanging lights around.

- You had Shino build a retractable sliding glass on top in case it rains.

- If you’re having trouble imagining this- think Fast and Furious ending where everyone is eating dinner together.

- Yeah that’s ya’ll with the rest of the group :)

- You’re relaxing, reading a book and curled into the couch and drinking some tea or coffee or hot cocoa ( THEY’RE ALL VALID ) 

- You had gotten up a second to go to the large chest you had near one of the tables, to pick out a fluffy blanket.

- You never noticed how someone had mixed a poison into your drink, because they were gone before you could even decide on a blanket.

- Your kids would have been home soon, and they knew you liked to hang out up here, especially Shino since he kept the bees up here.

- You settled down and read some more, before taking sips of your drink.

- You noticed it tasted weird, and you had gotten up to check it out you felt your head get light, and your throat was stinging- making you cough horribly.

- You honestly felt like death was coming for you, and you knew something was wrong, but by the time you had gotten to the door you fell down and struggled to breathe.

- “Hey mom, Aponi kicked me-”

- “Shut up! Adonis don’t be- Mom!”

- “Mom?!”

- Your kids started freaking out, with your little girl noticing how strange you looked and saw the cup that was broken at your side.

- “Addy! Get dad! Mom drank something!”

- “Alright! Stay there- I’ll be back!”

- They managed to get their dad and Uncle Kiba, with Aponi looking to the cup- having some of her bugs recognize what was in it.

- “Dad! Its Saifu Ants! Someone poisoned mom with Saifu ants!”

- Shino had gotten some for himself and used their toxins to create an antidote.

- You were currently at the hospital, and declining rapidly, stressing out everyone around you.

- Even Naruto came and the dude is Hokage and is busy as hell.

- “You should all be prepared for the worst.”

- Everyone’s hearts dropped, and Shino couldn’t be there- he was helping making the antidote.

- It took about 20 more minutes until Shino came rushing in with it.

- Everyone made their way to your room and god.

- You were so pale, you honestly looked dead. Your kids only knew you were alive due to the heart monitor and your weak chalkra signature, your breathing was supported by a machine and even then your lungs sounded horrible.

- God Shino worked as hard as he could so fast.

- He felt like his heart stopped, that everything was moving too fast for him and he was going to pass out.

- Thank god his eyes were covered cause he had tears in them the entire time.

- He felt his soul ripping apart, what would he do if you left him so soon? The kids?

- You had gotten the antidote in time- but not before the poison had it’s time with you.

- Your lungs were destroyed and your heart was weak, your muscle was torn down.

- But you made it back to them.

- Everyone held a sigh of relief.

- You were a little off at first- still sleepy and slurring.

- After a few month you were able to leave- with everyone visiting you in the meantime with what had been going on in the village.

- Once you made it home you collapsed on your bed with Shino, easing his heart just a bit.

- Your kids jumped in too, snuggling up to both of you, with Aponi on your chest and Adonis on your stomach.

- “You scared us. Please, don’t do that again.”

- “It’s okay. I told you. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

- “Like I’d want to.”

[halvatir]

move along, prince charming;

requested by anonymous!

right there’s a damsel dressed in scars // she’s not in distress, she’s fought her own wars

so. doing your duties, huh? she asks. his eyes are still set straight ahead, but he does spare her a glance. what do you mean? she snorts rather loudly before answering. carrying damsels in distress in your arms like they’re spoils of war.

i.

she should give her croce staff a good repair.

or better yet, pull it out to stop it from digging any further into her bloody thigh.

margaretha chokes out a laugh and damn does that hurt, the mere attempt of breathing does too - there’s the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth and it isn’t the slightest bit funny of how much the taste spreads on her tongue like wildfire. she mumbles a couple of prayers and other complaints to up above such as good god spare me it’s like i’m having a dinner of rust in mouth, how awful is that before she attempts to raise an arm - any arm would do.

she just has to raise a damned arm.

(it’s a sad day for margaretha sorin, really - first she gets cornered by a group of adventurers without backup and there were four bloody warlocks in there, what was a poor high priestess to do on her own? a couple of well-aimed whacks to the head and some holy lights later she manages to stay alive but battered like hell, so much for brushing her hair for at least thirty minutes before guard duty, her hair’s fallen to the state of a bird’s nest - and then when she was about to leave, another group saunters in and catches her unguarded... how peachy.)

her attempt to raise her left arm sends a terrible jolt of pain that starts from her fingertips and slithers quickly up fingers, hand, arm and even until her shoulders and it leaves her breathless, tears stinging her eyes and nails clawing desperately at the cement floor. she bites her lower lip to keep her from screaming, and maybe it’s a good thing that her staff’s keeping her pinned down to the floor to keep her from writhing.

(but good god above, what would she give to writhe badly because it hurts, it stings, it burns, it’s agonizing -)

he finds her in one of the floor’s corridors in that state, sitting on the floor with her arms limp at her sides and her head downcast. the gruesome sight of mutilated bodies and copious amounts of blood splattered on the floors, walls, and the ceiling aside; his eyes widen at the sight of where her weapon stands.

it’s right there, tall and blood-stained, its heel digging through the flesh of its wielder’s thigh like a sword set in stone.

(the mere analogy is horrifying.)

he rushes to her side, bent on one knee and hands landing on her shoulders. gingerly, he shakes her a bit and it takes a while before margaretha raises her head.

her eyes are closed.

seyren doesn’t bat an eye when he sees the scar that runs diagonally across her right cheek, a long and narrow cut that’s bright red like the splotches of blood that decorate some areas of her face. his eyes are set on hers and when she flutters her eyes open, he can see traces of tears at the edges.

her eyes - they’re green, and they’re supposed to be a bit brighter like emeralds - take some time to focus on his face. she licks her lips, and boy was that a bad move because she tastes her blood on her tongue again.

(what she’d give to get that taste out of her mouth, teeth, and tongue, too.)

he says her name, voice tentative and soft.

she laughs dryly in response.

you’re late, damn it.

ii.

it’s him who found her, and honestly she can’t help but groan. both of his hands are still on her shoulders, keeping her steady while he assesses her condition with narrowed eyes. her outfit’s a mess, her hair’s a mess, her face is a mess, her limbs are a mess, she’s a mess - but yet he says nothing and asks her nothing.

absolutely goddamn nothing.

she leans her head against the cold wall and squeezes her eyes shut.

oh no, don’t get her wrong, she’ll make a trip to the makeshift chapel in their floor later and thank god that someone came to help her out when her inhuman regeneration abilities weren’t kicking in as fast as she wanted it to and instead she might have nearly bled to death. she’d probably ask though why it had to be seyren of all people, since she couldn’t help but become unnerved at how his eyes - they’re a natural red, how quaint - would scour her body in silence. she still has a good amount of clothing on, torn and burnt in some places but still intact, but his eyes are sharp with such focus and he gazes at her so thoroughly that she has the impulse to run her hands over her clothes to see if they’re still there.

she wills herself not to squirm, despite the sensation that she was naked under his scrutinizing gaze - how does he even do that?

(how he manages to hold her shoulders gently despite the heavy gauntlets that he wears on his arms is beyond her, too.)

she lets out a small gasp when his right hand drifts away from her shoulder to land on her lower right thigh: a jumble of the ripped white satin of her stockings, blood, torn skin and muscles, and the area where her own staff’s heel has dug itself deep. when seyren pushes away a little of the satin, margaretha could feel the cool of the metal gauntlet scratch lightly against her bare skin, and she hisses.

i’m sorry. i didn’t hurt you, did i? he asks. he isn’t facing her, and his gaze is still on her thigh.

watch it, she growls, and she means it. to hell with the pain, there’s another pressing matter. those fingers better not drift elsewhere.

he nods, and his hand goes from her skin to lightly grasp the staff’s shaft. the movement shifts the staff’s position on her thigh a bit - she lowers her head and winces when a dull, throbbing pain courses through her leg.

she swears a bit, and somewhere along her whispered curses he hears his name and something along the lines of when i’m fine and dandy again, watch me pull my staff up your -

he apologizes, the word sorry tumbling out of his lips quickly - and she groans again.

as if your sorry makes me feel any better.

... i’m not here to make you feel better, though.

what was that?

... i’m here to help you.

she laughs at him again, and this time it sounds like ringing bells to his ears.

i didn’t realize help comes when you’re near death.

iii.

seyren clears his throat before he looks at margaretha - her gaze on him is still unfocused but there’s a small smile that plays on her lips, despite her irregular breathing, disheveled state, and numerous injuries.

i’ll have to pull your staff out to get you to safety, he says.

at this she blinks a bit, before he sees her shoulders raise slightly to fall down again. was that a shrug? you might as well cut my leg off, she replies, voice flat.

seyren glares at her. margaretha raises an eyebrow, and her lips curve downward.

we both know it will grow back.

but that doesn’t give me the excuse to hurt you any further.

how sweet. but i’ve lost both legs, an arm, and oh! the whole lower half of my body before, she laughs at the memory briefly. losing a leg? it doesn’t make a difference, really. even if it’s by your hands.

the grip on her shoulder tightens.

i wish... he pauses to angle his head away from her to close his eyes and draw out a sigh, voice a distant whisper. i wish that you wouldn’t treat yourself this way.

(it’s unspoken in between them for so long, but she’d be lying if she said that she hasn’t seen him clench his hands into fists and keep it at his sides away from her sight or see his jaw tighten and eyebrows furrow together when he’d hear of the umpteenth time that she had or forced an unfortunate floor mate to amputate a part of herself due to dire injury. but still, all she gets from him despite what she sees is a stern voice that only tells her to be careful and not to be so aggressive most of the time, and she would reply with laughter, a wave of the hand, or the roll of her eyes.)

i wish you wouldn’t treat me like i’m still human either, she says, a wry smile playing on her lips.

seyren opens his eyes at her words, and margaretha holds her breath when the fingers on her right shoulder scratch at her skin when they form themselves into a fist.

(those scratches might’ve left bruises.)

he looks at her again, slowly this time and she can see sunken red eyes that resemble glass (they look like they’re going to break), furrowed brows (come on - convey anger, disappointment or whatever but its different now, why is it different now), and lips in a thin, subtle frown. 

(he looks like she broke him.)

  iv.

they’ve had a similar conversation before.

(the only difference is that before, the topic was loud and clear and staring at both their faces.)

it starts off simple and civil, and maybe it turned downhill when she mocks him for his humane concerns.

she makes it crystal clear that she won’t bother to heed his advice about being careful when engaging in battle or about caring for her body because for starters she’s practically immortal, a godforsaken blasphemous entity brought about by science and fueled by sheer power and hatred. no matter what the adventurers do, the result’s the same - she can fall, lose, and die but only to rise again. so what the hell’s the big deal if she doesn’t take care of herself? 

it’s like she’s been blessed by god.

arm burned even up to the ligaments, cut off by heavy and enhanced blades, cursed with magic, or completely immobilized?

(it’ll cure itself.)

leg frozen till its gone numb, stepped and stomped on repeatedly, rendered useless because of poison, or caught in a trap?

(it’ll sting like a bitch, but it’ll cure itself.)

insides jumbled and threatening to spill out onto the floor, eyes pecked out, heart pierced through, head struck by arrows?

(good god and angels above, she’s still breathing.)

she tells him all that with a lilt to her voice and twinkle in her eyes and she even laughs as she proclaims that death’s a fucking joke - she’s lost too much of herself, oh so much of her damned self every single bloody day that she has long forgotten how to fear death when every day her life hangs by a damn thread, every day her body is torn apart by them, those that she used to be, and she gets to witness it with her eyes wide open.

(because what better way is there to experience your own death other than witness it? watch how the sword goes through your heart, count the seconds that passed by since you held your breath, watch your murderer thrust their sword even deeper and even twist their blade, grinning like they’ve killed the fucking devil - )

but despite all what she said, he still stood tall.

he would stand there in silence, his face a blank slate.

no words of reprimand. no words of distaste for her monologue. no lectures about her well-being, of being human, or of being humane.

was this - their current - conversation so different from what they had before?

... no, it probably wasn’t.

(then why does he look so broken?)

     v.

... i will take the staff out, whether you like it or not.

point is, i don’t care if you cut my leg out. that option’s way better.

... margaretha.

are you pleading? this is rich.

... please. just this once.

you know what? doing it your way is much more painful than actual amputation. are you some sadist? do you want me to suffer longer?

you know that isn’t my intention.

your intention of going through human motions to ‘save’ me is sickening.

sickening as it is, you have no other choice. i doubt that your regeneration is flowing smoothly due to the number of injuries you have.

nice try. i can wait for myself to repair myself, thanks.

and risk being discovered again?

if you’re that worried, then you can fend them off while i sit pretty and recover.

... no. i’ll be pulling out the staff at the count of three.

jesus christ, margaretha hisses. you’re desperate.

seyren breathes out a sigh. one.

i didn’t agree to this -

two -

wait! 

he raises an eyebrow at her sudden outburst. she’s glaring at him now, and she mumbles a couple of curses under her breath before addressing him again.

lean closer, she says.

seyren does what he’s told - he leans in, his face a bit closer now to margaretha’s and he can smell faint traces of lavender amidst blood and burnt flesh. closing her eyes, she purses her lips as she lifts both her arms up - she winces and he sees her biting her lower lip as her shaking hands find the back of his neck, and slowly, she moves forward to lean her forehead against his.

(her hands and forehead are lukewarm and shaky against his skin.)

get on with it, damn it, she says.

(her voice is a little shaky.)

seyren does, without counting three - and when he pulls the staff out with all his strength there’s a gruesome noise as it’s freed and a rasp from margaretha - he could feel her whole body shiver, her nails clawing at his neck almost desperately as if they’re trying to ground themselves, and her forehead pressing closer to his.

(he’s not so sure of what he saw, but he says nothing of the tears that trickle down her cheeks.)

vi.

they’re halfway to the infirmary when she speaks. he cradles her in his arms with one holding her shoulder and the other under her knees, and her face is almost flush to his breastplate. her hands are positioned over her stomach, tapping away idly.

it’s only when she’s been carried that she sees the exact mess done to her clothing: the front flap of her robe has been burnt up to her knees, and the sides were torn apart at various lengths but not reaching higher than her lower thighs. her silk stockings were frayed, ripped, and horribly discolored, but the garters holding them up were still intact. he protested at first, but he eventually gave in to making the sleeves of her robe into a makeshift bandage, tied securely on her right thigh. 

(it’s not like her sleeves were in a good condition anyway, so why not?)

so. doing your duties, huh? she asks.

his eyes are still set straight ahead, but he does spare her a glance.

what do you mean?

she snorts rather loudly before answering. carrying damsels in distress in your arms like they’re some spoils of war.

seyren frowns.

you’re no spoil of war, margaretha. you’re not an object that’s just to be won or left behind in battle.

damn right i’m not, she replies, then scoffs shortly after. or maybe i am - ruined by battles and then left to rot.

... i don’t know if that’s true. but believe me when i say that you are never in distress.

she raises an eyebrow, and she looks up at him.

no matter stubborn you may be... you find your way to victory, no matter what the cost. in the face of death, you find it in yourself to laugh. in extreme pain, you will yourself to hold back your tears.

seyren pauses to look at her, a small smile on his lips.

your strength is what makes you a damsel, and is what puts distress to shame.

(she finds herself at a loss for words.)

vii. (bonus)

... you consider me a damsel.

shouldn’t i?

both of us know i’ve fallen too far from grace to be called one.

... i don’t think that matters any longer.

what was that? speak louder.

... it’s nothing.

(perhaps he’ll just keep it to himself, that memory - - the memory of her knelt in front of a makeshift altar, back set straight, head tilted downwards, lips almost kissing the knuckles of her clasped fingers.)

(the memory of her voice, the drawing melody akin to that of a siren, a siren who pours her soul singing to angels and heaven above her; despite them forsaking her - )

(a tortured soul still singing her love and worship despite everything she’d been through, 

if that was not was not an act of grace,

then what else could it be?)

1: stylistically lowercase bc eyy i did it while at work and i’ll never see it ending - tho i will edit + check for typos later... maybe... when i get time... idk i think i butchered the ending so much for buildup uggggh  2: i have other ships for both seyren & margaretha but who am i kidding i always go back to these two whether platonic / romantic??? pls find the closest garbage can and shove me in, i’m trash 3: on another note talk about maturity rating + vague implications + formatting deficiencies wowee this escalated quickly than usual