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motherofagony · 7 months

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A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,�� you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

#my writing #ahfe #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #a heart for eating #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us smut #motherofagony

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beanxiv · 1 year

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admonish ; izuku midoriya ✩࿐

summary: izuku always puts himself last, and needs a good chewing out for it!

word count: 1.4k

warnings: aged up, swearing, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, mentions of marriage

it was the third time this week that izuku had come home with some kind of injury.

it's not like you expected him to be completely hale every time he came back from patrol, but really it was the third time this week! in a row! and he didn't even go to a hospital or anything, he'd just messily tend to the wound himself with some bandages from the first aid kit in the bottom drawer of his office desk or something and head home.

the worst part? today he was off-duty and happened to see some villains in the act while on his way home from his morning jog. so he wasn't even in his hero garb nor did he have any gear on-hand.

naturally though, each time he came back with an injury you'd be quick to properly treat it (unless it was something major, but fortunately your boyfriend was smart enough to check with an actual doctor if the injury was that bad). but if the injury wasn't bad enough to be in dire need of a professional doctor, then izuku figured he'd be fine to rush home to see you.

and of course he'd protest the whole time, telling you not to worry about it, and he'll get it checked out after dinner, and blah, blah, blah.

you didn't let him get three steps past the front door without dragging him to your shared bathroom to appropriately tend to his wounds.

this particular injury wasn't as bad as usual, but you forced him into the bathroom nonetheless.

"baby, i promise it's fine! it's just a little cut, don't worry, please."

"izuku, i don't care if it's a papercut, i'm still going to treat it."

oh, and i forgot to mention.

it isn't "just a little cut," it's a three inch long gash down his rib cage. the cut isn't deep, at least not deep enough for the need of stitches or anything dire enough for expert help.

"sit," you nodded to the counter and your boyfriend sighed at your obstinacy, but obeyed nonetheless.

he had grown since his first year of high school; a good 17 cm since then (about 5-6 inches). now standing at 183 cm or so (like 6'), he was taller and a lot better built.

so when he sat down on the bathroom counter he was taller than you, and when you told him to remove his shirt you couldn't help but mumble a curse under your breath.

"oh. shit..."

not because you were squeamish of the gash or anything, no. but because of your boyfriend's godly physique.

of course, being the observant top hero he is, izuku notices this and fails to conceal his smile. you ignore his expression and dig around the bathroom drawers for the kit you'd supplied just for izuku's proneness to injury.

"last time you put it in the cabinet, not the drawer," izuku says, trying to help. he's sitting on the counter with his shirt in his lap, he'd folded the bloodstained, now ragged piece of cloth as if that helped. it'll just be thrown away anyway. its state is beyond washing or sewing.

"thanks," you close the draw and duck to check the cabinet below the bathroom counter. and, lo and behold, there sits the big make-shift first aid kit you'd pulled together specifically for your boyfriend.

you set the container on the counter next to izuku and wash your hands. after drying your hands, you grab a clean towel from the drawer to run under the tap water. when the towel's damp enough you press it to izuku's gash, cleaning the wound while looking up to his face for any hints of discomfort. when he doesn't seem too bothered or pained, you dig around the first-aid kit for an antibiotic cream you'd recently bought.

once you find it you don't waste any time unscrewing the cap and smearing some on izuku's rib, rubbing it into the wound. when izuku hisses, cringing away from your fingers you look up at him with a a scolding look.

"what?" he frowns at the glare directed at him.

"if the cream hurts then i'm sure it hurt worse to get this little cut, didn't it?" you reply, quoting his earlier words.

izuku pouts, "that's not fair."

you soften, "yeah, yeah. i know, it's your 'job and passion'."

izuku smiles until you continue speaking, then his smile deflates into a sigh.

"but izuku, you can't keep doing this-- getting 'little' injuries every time you patrol i mean-- because little is going to turn into medium, and that'll turn into big, and big'll turn into major. and who knows what kind of shit you'll get into then. hell, you weren't even patrolling today! i'm not saying you should've left the villains continue, but at least call for backup before throwing yourself at every battle." you pause for a breath, "you know, if i get gray hairs before we're married, you'll have to pay for someone to photoshop them out of our pictures."

izuku's mouth dropped open slightly at your last statement, forgetting the rest of your condemnation. "married..?"

you smile playfully, wiping the excess cream off of your hand and screwing the antibiotic tube's cap back on. "what, are you planning on marrying someone else, then?"

izuku almost slips off the counter, "no, no, no!! i just..." he looks down at his bloodied shirt, smiling. "i'm glad you want to do this forever."

"what? tend to your wounds?"

"no-- well, yes, but no. i mean this" he gestures between the two of you bashfully like you're freshly in a middle school relationship. "be together, married." he says the last word with a blush crawling onto his cheeks, making his freckles more prominent.

"of course i want to marry you, izuku." you say this like it's obvious-- which it is. rising on your toes you press a kiss to izuku's forehead, before lightly flicking him on the same spot right after.

he looks betrayed when you do so, bring a hand up to rub the spot, "ow... what was that for? i thought we were having a nice moment."

"we were. but that doesn't mean you're off the hook." you smile to yourself triumphantly as you pull out a roll of bandages from the container.

izuku frowns as if he was hoping you'd forgotten about his current position. though he does look genuinely penitent about worrying you, "i'm sorry, baby..."

you wrap the bandage around his torso, making sure it was snug against his wound, and wouldn't loosen. once you finish you look up at izuku admonishingly, "i know you're sorry, but that doesn't mean it won't happen again; which is okay, you're a hero-- it's your job. just don't be so self-sacrificing, okay?"

he nods and you smile, "either way, i'll always be here to be your personal doctor."

izuku smiles back, freckles touching the laugh lines of his eyes. he pulls you in by your waist, previous bashfulness long forgotten. "and for the record, (y/n), whether or not you have gray hairs, you'll still look amazing to me. in my eyes, there's nothing more beautiful than you, love."

you playfully roll your eyes, though touched by his words. "that's sweet an' all, but now you're just admitting that you'll probably give me gray hairs."

izuku falters at that, "uh no..?"

"it's okay though, i'll suffer through gray hairs for you, my love," you tell izuku dramatically, leaning against his bare, freckled chest.

it's izuku's turn to roll his eyes now, but he holds you tight and warm against his body. "babe, there's villains wreaking havoc and you're worried about gray hairs."

"hey, don't change the subject. i'm the one scolding you, not the other way around." you jest.

"okay, baby," izuku chuckles a bit and grins, and that's all he says. maybe your lectures take up a lot of time, and you were always mad at izuku during them, but you scolded your boyfriend because you loved him, and that was evident in the way you admonished him. izuku isn't a masochist--far from it-- but maybe he doesn't mind getting yelled at if you're the one reprimanding him.

#beanxiv writes #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku fluff #deku x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero

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lovable-chica · 3 months

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The Sodor Red Stone Infection

Note: This story starts in the whispering woods, and Yap, Yip and Suzi were coming to visit Carol the owl(my oc) at her cottage, this content bleeding, bites and screams.

Suzi: Will you two hurry it up?

Yap: “yawning” we’re coming ok?

Yip: it’s almost the afternoon, should we get back to the store?

Suzi: Come on girls! We haven’t seen Carol in 3 weeks, and she hasn’t been visiting the engines and sir topham hat too!

Suzi: and I bet she’ll be happy to see us.

Yip: maybe she went on a holiday or she doesn’t feel like coming outside.

Suzi: well, we made it this far into the Whispering Woods, this will be quick ok?

Yap and Yip: “sigh” okay, I guess.

Suzi: We Made it!

Yap: Since when was the last time her house was quiet?

Yip: Well this is a small forest.

Yap: Yeah, we usually see birds here but I don’t see any birds here, do you?

Suzi: Yap? Can you please stop with all the creepiness, it’s freaking me out!

Yip: Yep!!, have you been reading one of those horror books or films again?!

Yap: No i didn’t!

Suzi: “Laughing” yes you have! Ofc you did!😏 just look at her face.

Yap: well scary stuff doesn’t scare me!!!

Suzi: Well, they do and you don’t have to read all the time.

Suzi: Alright I’ll knock on the door first, “knocks” Hello? Carol? It’s Suzi, Yap and Yip!

Yip: Maybe she didn’t hear you or she is sleeping.

Suzi: Hello? Carol?! We came to say hi!, huh??

Yap: What is it?

Suzi: It’s Pitch Black in the living room.

Yip: I was Right! She did went on holiday! Or she just does not want to come outside.

Suzi: But Carol never told us that she was on holiday, she sometime does. What if something happened in there?

Yip: Like what Suzi?

Suzi: Well, she live by herself, maybe she is knock unconscious or just sleeping. We have to check on her!!

Yap: Wound that be breaking in?

Suzi: not if she is in danger or hurt!!! “Opening door” Carol? Are you Ok?

Carol: “Making growling noise and bleeding”

Suzi: Carol??! “Gasps and Screams”

At Knapford Station

“Thomas and Percy was Having 3 days off from work when Amber Arrives”

Thomas: Hey Amber.

Amber: “breaths heavily like a dog because she is half-dog and Panic”

Percy: Whoah! what is the panic?!

Amber: Guys we need to get to Yap’s Hyper Mart Right Now!!

Thomas: WHAT!!? But Why? What Happened?

Amber: I just saw Yap and Yip, They said something about Suzi being injured.

Thomas: Cinders and Ashes!, well we have to chuff over there quick!!

Percy: I’m coming too!!

“So Thomas and Percy Chuff along the track to get to the store with Amber in Thomas’s cab.”

Bah-Bah: Oh Thomas this all my fault, I told her not go to the whispering woods I should have known she be a little stubborn.

Percy: What happened out there?

Bah-Bah: Well, honestly Percy I don’t know. It just happened so fast I just had to rush for help, it look like she been bitten??

Amber: The whispering woods is full of different types of animals, we talked to her to find out what happened. Did she go by herself?

Bah-Bah: No, She went with Yap and Yip. They wanted to see Carol the owl.

Thomas: Oh Carol? We haven’t seen Her in 3 weeks.

Percy: Yeah, it’s been awhile since I have seen her around the island.

Amber: Hey, Don’t worry B.B let’s get some answers and bet up that owl who hurt her.

Bah-Bah: That Sounds Good, let’s go.

“So they went to check on Suzi”

Suzi: Thomas, Percy and Amber? What are you guys doing here??

Bah-Bah: They came to check on you Suzi, After you decided to run off to the whispering woods and getting yourself injured.

Nurse: I gave her some pain medicine and antibiotics to prevent the infections, she should be okay for now.

Suzi: It still hurts though, and it’s bugging me.

Thomas: Nurse, Were you able to find out how Carol bite her?

Nurse: Well Thomas that the thing, Suzi Sweetie the marks on your arm appear to be from “Owl Teeth”

Valarie and Doll: Huh?!

Amber, Thomas and Percy: What!!!??

Bah-Bah: Suzi Honey?, What happened out there?

Suzi: Um Well, I don’t want to say much because I didn’t want to worry you but, Carol Me, Yap and Yip went to go see her and I knocked on the door but no answer so i went in and She didn’t look well at All!

Suzi: There was blood and Glass Everywhere and her eyes they were pitch black with red pupils.

Amber: Carol, Was she still-

Suzi: Yes, She was still moving that’s when she saw me and bit my arm, all I did was scream and ran out. We had run far away to get away from that crazy owl-girl.

Bah-Bah: Suzi, Promise me you are telling the truth, no time for games.

Suzi: I swear, something did happened to Carol

Nurse: It Sound like Carol was Attacked.

Percy: We are going out there and Save her!!

Thomas: If We can try.

Doll: Well Me, Nurse and Suzi are coming too.

Bah-Bah: You are going to the whispering woods? What if a creature that got Carol will get you too???!

Amber: we’’ll be fine Bah-Bah, We’ve dealt with stuff before. You Stay here with Valerie and I’m bring James with us too.

Doll: WHAT?! why?

Amber: Because He’ll protect friends like me.

Thomas: Alright everyone let’s go!!

“They Brought James along with them and went off to the whispering woods”

Doll: Hurry up Slow Coaches!! Rescue mission are important then this.

Thomas: we can only go this fast Doll! Stop trying to show off your speed like James here!!

James: Hey!😡

Doll: I’m Just saying, if Carol is in a pool of blood with black and red eyes then she has not much time, LETS GO!! “Runs like a cheetah”

Percy: Doll just likes to be quick.

Thomas: do see anything in there?

Doll: “looks on the door widow” No.

Thomas: Nurse let me and Amber go in first.

Nurse: Yes, Thomas

“They Go in”

Thomas: Carol?? It’s Thomas the tank engine and Amber, we’re here to check if your Alright.

Amber: “smells something” Ugh! What is that awful smell?!

Thomas: Carol? “Hears a noise sound of growling”

Amber: “Gasps in Horror to see Carol on the floor with stone all over her body”

Amber: Oh My Goodness, Carol!!! what happened to you?! Carol: “Trying to Get up and speak”

Amber: What is it? What are you trying to say?

Thomas: “worried” Um Amber? Carol: “Try’s to attack Amber” Hisss!

Thomas: AMBER!! “Push Amber out of the way and Carol puts her hand on Thomas’s buffer trying to pull it off”

Amber: THOMAS!!!

Thomas: “pushed Carol out of the way” I’m fine!

Carol: “push thomas”

Amber: NO! “Turns into a ali-pup and zaps Carol with her horn” Oh No I’m so sorry Carol!! I’m Sorry!! “cries a little”

Thomas: Is She-

Amber: Yeah, She’s Dead.

Thomas: what in the name of sodor happened to her? Why was she trying to attack me? Why is she covered in those rocks or stones?

Amber: I don’t know thomas, something is going on here, we need to find why this happened “but then finds a notebook that was carol’s” her notebook may find answer for us.

Thomas: Bust my Buffer! We have to get out of here and does my buffer look okay?

Amber: Yeah, let’s just get out.

Percy: Thomas, Amber! What happened in there we were worried sick!!

Amber: Carol is…. Gone.

Percy: oh no, but did she bite you Amber?

Amber: No, I’m fine, I think we should leave it’s almost getting dark.

James: alright, should we check inside?

Thomas: no, it’s best if you stay away from the body, this is not a scary creature we are dealing with, it’s something different.

Amber: But she almost attacked you thomas!! And almost broke your buffer!!

Thomas: I know, but I’ll be fine don’t worry 😉

Amber: Ok, I’ll let the other engines and sir topham hat know about this, this something big on this island and not good at all, don’t worry we are going to be okay.

THE END

Part 2 coming soon.

#horror story #thomas and friends #my ocs <3 #Infection au #yapandyell #yap and yell human au #This story was inspired from youtube

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iam-warrior · 2 years

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I’ve been hiding from myself for years. Disassociation, anxiety, depression, all together felt helpless, self harm an eating disorder, multiple misdiagnosis’s. I still can’t show my face, not yet.

I currently sit in my boyfriend car, doors locked; the only truly safe person who’s led the way for me, so far? It’s mad tuff. He still hurts me, but doesn’t want to. It’s just that hatred, pain and abandonment in the eyes of the one you love when you’ve done none of those things.

Family is who you choose. I have an evil stepped up father, wicked mother & was teased by a possible relationship with my real father and his family for years before burning bridges.

I was sexually assaulted both as a child and adult. No one has ever been able to help me so I had completely shut down. Running off of decision being made for me, anxiety, nicotine, beer& caffeine. It has all caught up to me. I was diagnosed with celiac’s disease & H pie Laurie and am on my second round of antibiotics. Please send prayers and/or good vibes.

I wrote as a child and stopped due to no privacy. My 8th grade teacher gave us a diary at school aka a folder. That was the last time I was relaxed and writing for a reason.

I’ve been working on a diagnoses for years. How many? I honestly don’t even know.

3 years ago today I woke up in an RV on a lake straight up fucked up. I felt like I was dying at first, it took me about an hour to get myself out of the bed. No one checked on me.

I checked myself out, gathered myself and walked onto the patio. The sun burned worse than normal, I figured I was hungover?

Everyone was over the top perky and looked caught off guard. The young boy, scared?

I asked what happened to me. They told me the around 10 year old was driving and I was thrown from the back. I was immediately petrified and shocked. I felt helpless like I had before, when I was a child.

“We gave you Ibuprofen and the boy took care of you while you threw up.”

They asked if I wanted water my response, “I HAVE TO GO HOME!” I left pretty quickly.

This woman’s dog had bitten me in the past and I let it go because, that one was my fault. Walking to fast and the pup loved on me after!

I made it maybe halfway I’m guessing. I was falling asleep at the wheel. I pulled into a rest stop, left it running, locked the doors and climbed into my backseat.

It felt like 2 seconds later my phone rang. When I opened my eyes it was dark “how long have I been out?”

My at the time and now ex “what are you doing?”

“Taking a nap at a rest stop.”

He as a normal person asked me why the fuck I was doing that. I got off the phone quick and was anxious enough to get myself home.

I was met with my now estranged cousin/abuser/best friend on the couch when I walked in.

“What the hell happened to you?” Pissed.

“I don’t know, I gotta go to bed.” We said our good nights.

In the morning, my shoulder was unbearable. I groggily got up and made my way to her room. I asked her to take me to the hospital, she had to get ready. We went.

I got to the hospital and was was to happy to not be injured if you know what I mean. I was checked in, I don’t even remember waiting.

We had a plan to scan the shoulder, the curtain was ripped open ***sccrrrrkkkkk*** A woman doctor, I was terrified but kept smiling.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Hahaha, I don’t know” I said lightly.

“Okay we’ll we’re just going to check it out and make sure everything is okay!”

“Sounds good, thank you!”

They took me back for the head ct. The contrast felt like hot lava in my veins, i started to cry. The man ran out, slowed down and got me calmed down.

Today.

The next ****scccccrrrkkkk****

“Okay so your shoulder came back clear, however we are going to meet you downtown because you have a brain bleed and skull fractures.”

Starts nervous giggle, look at my cousin “will you call my parents lol.” I I needed, somebody, to take care of me.

I don’t remember much after that once I knew that I was bleeding from my brain & the only people who could help me in my situation, I felt helpless again.

Today is a hard day to be alone. Everyday I feel the lord gives me the strength & a second chance.

I’m now a simply wrecked rounding 25 year old. I’m figuring it all out!

I won’t lose my life for anyone else.

#healing #complex ptsd #trauma #accident #anniversary #second chances #my god #bless this mess #blessed #family #mentally fucked #wrecked #comeup #watch out

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booppooo · 3 years

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Body Guard: Chapter Seven

Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader Series

AN: sorry for the slow uploads but I've slowly been revising the plot with the help of @caitlinisfruity <3 hope you guys enjoy! As always I enjoy any feed back :)

Warnings: blood and injury

Word Count: 3082

June 14th, 0 hours remaining

Y/n all but collapsed into Abby's arms, but powered through and just tossed her arms around Abby's neck. Her head came to rest on her chest and the blood that soaked Abby's jacket rubbed off onto the doctor's cheek.

Y/n gasped, "Quick, I need to stitch you up before you bleed out!" she scanned the ruins around her for something, anything that she could use as a makeshift examination table.

Abby panted, "Don't have time.." she was exhausted and lost enough blood to make her vision fuzzy.

Y/n clenched her jaw and just in time before she could blurt out something that could possibly leave her stranded here in this flooded emergency room.

"Everything okay doc?" Mel softly closed the door as she stepped into Y/n's office.

Y/n leaned against the desk and hovered over the scattered paper work, "It's malignant."

Mel nodded, "I figured."

Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose - was she really going to follow through with this?

"I need you to...ugh..." why couldn't she just ask?

Mel stepped closer with a concerned gaze.

"I need you to do the surgery, I won't be here to do it."

The shorter woman furrowed her brows, she was well aware how uncommon it was for Y/n to leave the stadium, "Where are you going?"

With a tired sigh Y/n plopped into her seat and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. Today had taken a turn she hadn't quite expected, but she didn't have much of a choice.

After Y/n reported to Isaac how his tumor was slowly killing him, he requested she take Abby and find the supplies, however she failed to mention how Isaac had far less time than she anticipated to him. He would have to go under the knife within the next day in order to keep him alive and Y/n knew that.

"You said we wouldn't have the tools or the antibiotics." Mel cut in.

And Y/n explained how that was simply a play on words to convince Isaac to let her go beyond the stadium. They did need the tools and antibiotics - but not for that procedure. Isaac would be fine without strong antibiotics until Y/n returned with them. She loathed deceiving patients, especially her leader, but everything added up.

Abby needed to prove her loyalty as a member of the WLF after carelessly retrieving Owen without consent. Isaac figured if Abby could safely guide and protect Y/n to the hospital and back she would prove herself a dedicated member and redeem herself. He trusted Abby to return within the forty-eight hour window Y/n had given Isaac.

Y/n requested Mel do the surgery the next morning after their departure since his time would run out approximately that time, but his seizure sped up the process. Mel was satisfied the surgery had been a success nonetheless and nervously awaited the head surgeon to return with more substantial antibiotics. She was used to the dirty looks and hushed whispers behind her back so she didn't mind taking some heat for the 'premature' surgery.

The plan had been set in stone, but to assure Abby was an honest person who didn't let her personal conflicts influence her actions (much like with Owen), Y/n would have to pull a stunt during their journey.

Isaac let Y/n decide the conflict, "I trust your judgement, you know how time is of the essence."

Therefore justifying Y/n's 'mindless' wandering their first night on the road. Would Abby continue to the hospital anyway and just grab the nearest medical kit she could find, or would she find Y/n and follow through with the mission correctly? Surely all the tedious and irritating check ups and overnight stays in the infirmary would sway Abby's judgment and convince her to leave the doctor to fend for herself.

But Y/n had been proven wrong thankfully. She not only rescued the doctor but also assured she stayed on her heels for the duration of the mission; Isaac would be very pleased and Abby had cleaned up her reputation.

Things had gone accordingly on Y/n's end, so she could only hold high hopes for Mel to hold up her end.

"We have time, here-" Y/n let those few words slip and aided Abby over to a metal table that still stood proudly.

If she were to tell Abby how her efforts were all to prove herself, she'd have her hands wrapped around Y/n's throat. The soldier had risked her life countless times to keep Y/n safe which proved more than her loyalty...it had to. She wanted it to mean more than that, the doctor liked to think (as unprofessional as it was) that Abby had set her own life aside for more than the sake of her position as a soldier.

Her mind continued to wander as she cleaned away the blood on Abby's pale shoulder. Every touch against the tender skin was gentle despite the uncomfortable sting it left in its wake. The blonde was far too tired and numb to grit her teeth and comment how Y/n needed to be gentler - if anything her tender care was soothing and reassuring. That seemed a first.

It was almost second nature to be sewing Abby's skin this way. The doctor didn't have enough fingers on her hand to count the number of times Abby had waltzed in unfazed as a portion of her clothing or skin was stained by her familiar crimson liquid. And like every other time, Y/n would also be the one to remove them and delicately (maybe even suggestively) run her finger over the scar that tainted the fair freckled skin.

Sighing as Y/n bandaged the wound, Abby lulled her head forward and let her eyes flutter open. Her vision was still blurred but had cleared up some since the bleeding subsided. Her gaze lazily flitted over to the surgeon patching her up: tongue peeking from between her soft lips, defined brows tightly knit together, and eyes narrowed at the task at hand. Though Abby had seen it before, this time it crossed her differently. Differently in that it made the tips of her ears hot and her muscles hyper aware of every touch Y/n laid onto her.

I'm just dazed from the blood loss. She tried to rationalize.

"Okay, all done." the smaller woman huffed.

Abby straightened her back, "Uhm, thanks.."

She wished her heart didn't beat so hard, only to make up for the blood loss of course, no other reason.

With a small wobble the doctor gave Abby space to slide from the table. Meanwhile, she took the hem of her dirtied shirt and tore at it, ripping around the circumference of her body.

"What are-"

"Tourniquet for my leg." Y/n interrupted.

The daintier woman took a deep breath and quickly made woke of the cloth, wincing and groaning as she tightened the knot.

"Y/n.."

Abby reached out but found herself hesitating. Her voice was barely above a murmur and failed to reach Y/n's ears. She wanted to help in any way she could, the sight of Y/n panting as the pain died down some was taking an unexpected toll on the blonde.

What was this?

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson

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subwaysurf45 · 3 years

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Winter Makes Ice (Ep.7)

Summary: you’re captured after a brawl at the Avengers building, Bucky and others must save you before Hydra makes a new Winter Soldier out of you, Bucky has given up that title

Words: 3412

Episode: seven

Warning: PTSD, vomiting

Masterlist! Winter Makes Ice Episode: Six

Time: 8:01am

Date: October 7th 2024

Were you running late?

Yes.

Your final appointment with Bruce was today and it was scheduled for 8:00 in the morning, you had set your alarm with enough time to get there but Bucky had other plans. While you were getting up Bucky snaked his metal arm around you, he knew you couldn’t break out of it, he pulled you back in his chest so you could stay for a little longer but you managed to bribe him after giving a few kisses down his neck. As you sucked his hand relaxed and when he didn’t see it coming and you snuck out to your bathroom to get ready for the day, you knew he was too tired to get up and pull you back.

The surgery for both your nose and removing the serum went without a hitch, though you did have a panic attack a day later because it seemed too good to be true for you, everything else went fine. Bruce managed to take samples of your skin and make them into cartilage for your nose, it took a couple days for it to marry and accept your face, it would turn really red and then lose all colour in a matter of minutes. The serum removal took longer than expected, and it turns out what Bruce’s lab was creating wasn’t what he was expecting. The antibiotic would actually get into your bloodstream and split the serum from the red blood cells, but it wouldn’t remove them, the serum would still circulate in your body but just next to the red blood cells.

A heart-lung by-pass machine was used while you were sedated, you could have been awake but seeing your blood fill a tube and then go back into you while a bag filled with blue liquid was just extra trauma you didn’t want to see. There were always complications with being sedated, but Bucky supported you no matter what. You weren’t left feeling sick after but like you hadn’t slept in days, you found there was a difference between waking up from passing out like you did in the cell and just lack of sleep, Bucky had looked at you quizzically when you said it randomly, but you couldn’t seem to explain.

You still get headaches from time to time, it normally comes from that same spot in the back of your head and high on your neck, you’d feel around for a scab or scar but would find nothing. There was a bump when you’d checked recently but it seemed as though it was a goose egg form getting hit, but that was so long ago. You didn’t talk about your bump much because you thought people would look at you crazy, some people already did; while others looked at you like you were a ghost.

As you walked to Banner's lab an agent stopped talking to her friend to look you up and down, and hand came to cover her mouth but you saw the smirk in her eyes. You just shrugged and turned into the lab.

“You’re late,” Bruce said, he was sat on his stool with everything in hand, clipboard and pen at the ready.

“Sorry,” you smiled and sat down.

Bruce began to do the checks, he got good at hiding that he was taking blood, he’d point across the room to show a floating hologram of all your vitals and while you were reading over them he’d quickly stick the needle in to draw a bit of blood.

He did the same except he pinched your thigh as he stuck in the needle point to make your attention go to your leg instead of the inside of your elbow.

“Ow!” you slapped his hand away, “I’m used to it by now, and I also trust you and know you’re not trying to stick a foreign serum into me.'' You shook your head and read the file that was left open, “I can’t believe it’s my last test,” you sighed and leaned back in the chair.

The whirl of the centrifuge wasn’t too loud, Bruce stood beside it with one arm holding his weight on the desk. He watched as you looked over the file again and again, your finger would trace the words and slowly find their way to the corner of the page to flip. The further you got into the file the further back you went, Bruce noticed you tend to stay on your injury report page a bit longer than the others, you’d study the little picture of a person and all the ‘X’s that were drawn where you got hurt; you could barely see the human drawing underneath. He’d watch as you read over every description of the injuries you’ve gotten, one time he asked why and you looked at him and said.

“Because I go over how to fix each injury, so when I go back into the field I can stay on my toes.”

But he knew you were just tired of feeling like you weren’t helping when in reality you prompted a medical breakthrough, not everyone gets infected by a mind controlling serum, but the new use of a heart-lung by-pass was being looked at by hospitals.

Bruce took the blood out of the centrifuge and looked into the vial, there was no trace of blue like there was the first time he did it, just plasma and blood. You were still reading and he knew you’d pass his test so instead of telling you he was starting the evaluation, he just did it.

“Close that book.” He lowered his voice which sent a boom through the lab.

You didn’t close it but it did scare you for a second, a little jump but you went right back to reading. You weren’t trying to be mean by not listening but you had to show that you wouldn’t follow orders but rather respond like a normal human, the first day you flinched for the stool when Bruce asked you to walk it over to him but after that you tended to act like he wasn’t in the room.

“Stand up.” he barked.

You looked over to him, “no thanks,” you smiled, Bruce smiled back.

“Can you stand for a second, please?” Bruce squinted and leaned back on the desk, he was challenging how you’d react to an indirect command, it was an offer rather than a command.

“I don't know, can I?” You tilted your head to the side, a wide smile was being suppressed by a terrible poker face.

“May you please stand?” Bruce walked over with a proud smile on his face, he was no longer challenging you.

You just laughed and stood, “only because you asked so nicely,” you let your teeth flash while you both laughed. “Why did you choose standing? That’s like, day one stuff,” you sighed from laughing and closed the file.

“Because I want to hug you,” he opened his arms wide, “to congratulate you. Now give me a hug, that’s an order!” he giggled but laughed even more when you pretended to scope him out, “just kidding, come ‘ere, kid.”

You fell into a hug and wrapped your arms tightly around him, Bruce did the same. It was quick but it meant the world. “Thanks for everything, Bruce.” You smiled as you walked out of the room, “I mean it, you really helped me out.”

“Don't mention it, you’re free!” he opened his arms wide to shew you out of his lab.

You walked out and closed the door behind you, you only took a few steps before staring off into the distance. “I guess I am…” you muttered to yourself before continuing to walk back to your room.

As you walked you didn’t even see Bucky in the kitchen “doll!” he called and you turned instantly, “breakfast?” he tilted the frying pan over so you could see french toast.

Your eating and sleeping were the only things that didn’t seem to get better, nightmares plagued you every night and you could barely stomach a workout smoothie. Bucky would try his best to get you to eat but he typically ate your leftovers instead of making a meal for himself, it was hard to watch because you weren’t gaining weight and he still felt guilty when he’d touch your back and feel every ridge.

“I’ll have a bit,” you smiled and walked over, “I’m a free bird now.” you commented as he slipped the bread on your plate.

“Way to go, babe, I knew you could do it.” He scrunched his nose and took the stool beside you, “eat slow and as much as you want, no worries.” He kissed your temple before pulling out his phone.

You slowly started to eat, you put the corner of the bread in your mouth and chewed slowly. The sweetness and the flavour was still overpowering, you weren’t used to this much intensity and it only made you feel nauseous. As much as Bucky acted like he wasn’t paying attention you could see his eyes look over as far as he can to gauge your reaction, when you’d catch him looking he’d just cough and look forward. You only got four bites in before turning your nose up and pushing the plate to Bucky. He didn’t want to seem disappointed but he was, not in you but rather himself, nothing was working.

“What do you think you can eat?” He asked softly.

“Plain yogurt?” you questioned.

“I’ll give anything a shot,” he breathed and stood. The yogurt was far back in the fridge but he found it eventually, he poured a little bowl, “you want granola?” he asked.

“Just yogurt,” she sheepishly replied, a thin line formed on your lips.

He served it up and went back to eating the french toast, you scooped it up and took a spoonful. It was so plain and boring, nothing tingled on your taste buds. There was no category for it, it wasn't sweet or sour, it wasn’t savoury; it was just plain. The metallic taste from the spoon had more power than the yogurt itself. Nothing to chew, no berries or granola.

It was perfect.

In no time you scarfed it down, the spoon clicked on the bowl as you scraped for the ends of it. Bucky had been cooking your favourite foods to make you feel at home, you liked spice and sweetness normally. You’d turn down yogurt a month ago if it didn’t have your favourite granola in it, but what both you and Bucky didn’t realize was that you started with crazy flavours instead of the basics. Butter and bread, plain crackers, and maybe some almonds sounded great right now.

Bucky looked over in shock to see you done with your food, he watched as you went to the pantry and pulled out some unsalted crackers. You plopped a few into your mouth and just waited to see if your body would reject it, but it didn’t.

“Guess I went too fast, too soon, huh?” he let out an unhappy laugh, “you could’ve been eating for a while…” he muttered and stood. He was exhausted, the darker circles under his eyes and the flatness of his skin didn’t go unnoticed. You woke up every night screaming and thrashing around in the bed, the sheets would be piled on the floor from your arms swinging around. As much as Bucky wanted some sleep, he knew for a fact that you’d been in disposition before, you’d been the one to gently ease him out of a nightmare for three weeks straight.

“You did your best and I love you for it,” You smiled and leaned across the counter to kiss his lips, he sat back down again, “I would have done the same thing, if it makes you feel better.”

Bucky just rubbed his face and looked up to you, “how?” was all he asked.

“How...what?” you giggled, but Bucky didn’t crack a smile.

“Why are you so upbeat right now, I get it you finished your tests with Banner but, god, I don’t know how you’re so happy?” He didn’t sound angry but more in disbelief, if it were him, Bucky knew he’d be curled into a ball in the middle of the bed for days, there wouldn’t be anything to make him happy.

You just sighed and sat down next to him again, “I’m not upbeat right now, if I’m being honest,” you looked forward and the sleek grey cupboards, “I can’t train because my stitches will fall out, I can’t run for the same reason. Half of the team treats me like fine china while the other half still punches me in the arm when they tell a funny joke, if I’m hanging out with Steve he will ask if I’m okay after every little thing while Tony doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t like sneak attacks anymore.” You wiped down your face with both hands, “my head still hurts like crazy, especially in that one spot in the back, everyone is too loud and I’ve been called ‘too quiet’ too many times for me to count.” You finally looked over to Bucky who had the saddest eyes, his lips curled down as he scanned over you, “you’re the only one who I can be, somewhat, happy around because you get it. Yes, you can be very cautious but you’ve backed off when I’ve said no and you’ve learned not to push when I can’t remember much. Bucky,” you cupped his face with one hand, you could feel him push into it, “you see me happy around you because you’re the only one who knows how to put a smile on my face right now, and I’m so happy it’s you.” Before he could say anything you pulled him in for a kiss, he hummed into it and reached up to place his hand over yours; it was still resting on his stubbled cheek.

“I didn’t know I was doing all that right, I thought I was failing.” Bucky muttered against your lips, you could feel the sadness in his voice.

“I still can’t lift my arm up all the way without it hurting, you wash my hair and put it in the clip when I ask, you might not have figured that food out or my nightmares but you do the little things, and that’s what makes it better.” Bucky’s arms moved down to hold you at your waist, you were still close. All he could do was smile, the kind of smile you use when you get a prize for a thing you really didn’t think mattered or when you’re embarrassed of how you fell in front of everyone; his lips turned down but his eyes smiled.

The rest of your morning flowed into your afternoon easily, you’d spent some time just lounging in the bed and keeping each other warm. Little make-out session might brew but nothing went too far, it wouldn’t for a while and you both agreed on that. At one point you fell asleep curled up against Bucky’s chest, he stayed still and when it came time, he helped you out of your nightmare. The little kisses littered your face until you were calm again, he didn’t dare to fall asleep at this point because he knew you would too and being woken up by twitches and little pleads for help weren’t something he enjoyed for his own mental health.

Time: 9:30pm

Date: October 7th 2024

Everyone filed into the cinema room for movie night, this was your first one since you came back. Bucky had tried to talk you out of it due to it being October and a horror movie was on the list, apparently it was a early 2000’s slasher, basically the worst movie to come back to. You were done with hiding away from the team, you wanted to see them again, scary movies didn’t bother you before because you knew they were just movies and alien killers weren’t real, you really didn’t know how much could change now.

There was a bowl of popcorn for you and Bucky, you sat in the corner so you were nestled into the armrest and the back pillow, Bucky was on your left, cautiously watching you as Nat queued up the movie.

“I now present,” she held her arms in front of the screen, “Camp Blood!” The movie faded in from black and a hush fell over the team. People snuggled deeping into their blankets and got ready for the movie, you just leaned your head on Bucky’s shoulder and threw a few pieces of popcorn- without butter -in your mouth.

Not even a half an hour later you were really shaken up, the gore and the blood had slowly broken down your walls and gotten to your head. You had hid it so well Bucky genuinely had no idea even though he was checking in on you after every kill, a little kiss to your temple before a double check.

“I have to pee,” you whispered to Bucky and left the room.

You sprinted down and to the back where there was a door to the outside, the air was suffocating and you couldn’t breathe. It seemed everything you could remember was flashing in your mind all at once while new memories were coming into play, it was all so overwhelming and you couldn’t handle it. You pushed the door open and stumbled to your knees and the cold fall weather opened your lungs so wide you thought they were going to pop, the gasps came out unevenly and some were quick shots of air. Your hand was pulling and scratching at the finally held bruise on your neck, it was like you could feel the chains slowly wrapping around you like a snake's tail, coming up around your neck and squeezing tightly.

With one push, the chains in your mind snapped and all the popcorn you had eaten came back out, right onto the deck that was power washed three days ago. A few pieces of kernels got stuck when you took your first breath in but after spitting them out you could finally breathe again.

You sat back up on your feet and just looked into the night sky, it was too cold for you to be out here but it was peaceful. With the serum you would have been fine with this weather but that had left you, you were free now, if you wanted you could run down the grass into the forest and never see anyone ever again. It was horrifying that that idea was pleasant to you, you’d never see Bucky ever again but you could be free.

One foot hit the grass, but then the sound of a lock pulled you from your fantasy, you looked over your shoulder to see the lights off and the red emergency lights spinning around. You ran up to bang on the door but no one could see or hear you, “let me on!” you screamed for anyone but you knew these glass doors were sound proof. “Fuck!”

“Soldat,” you froze, the voice you remembered vividly rang through your head, you shook it off and kept pounding on the door, “they’re never going to help you,” it chanted in your mind.

“No, let me in!” you screamed again, your head hit the glass door in defeat, the voice mocked you in your brain. You pulled away from the glass and looked into the building, but then your focal point focused on the reflection.

“Soldat, break in and kill them all.” the voice said, the slick hair and the notch in his brow, the leader that got away. To your horror, your break straightened and your chin went up, you turned towards the man who never gave you his name. He dressed in all black and wore a Hydra pin over his heart, “you really think we’d let you get away?” he asked, “you really think we only gave you the serum?”

“What is happening?” you asked, your mind was being taken over.

“I’ll say it again. Soldat, break in and kill them all.” his smile grew.

You didn’t want to, but somehow the other part of you did.

“copy.”

And the glass shattered with one punch.

Winter Makes Ice tag list: @small-death-and-codeine @commonintrest @buckyys-doll @lil-baby-nor @wafflesncream

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thran-duils · 3 years

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And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (P.4)

Title: And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Tony Stark. Too many fringe gangs were making ties and your father noticed. He reached out to the Stark mob for an alliance, offering up a piece of his territory at first. When Stark told him he had enough land, your father offered up the next best thing: you. He knew Stark needed a wife and what better way to solidify a relationship between the two mafia families? You were not naïve, you knew the life and you were trained with guns and negotiations. Your father had made sure of that. The two of you had seen each other on multiple occasions at mafia get togethers and knew of each other. Stark accepted the transaction but little did he know he was going to get a little hellion handed over to him that would not kiss the ground he walked on. He would grow to love it too. Words: 3,561 Warnings (more WILL be added, I am sure): Eventual smut, power dynamics, sexism, smut, public sex, fingering, dom/sub powerplay, kidnapping, violence, death, knife kink, gun kink, angst with a happy ending

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

You and Tony had stared at each other – you down at him and him up at you. It had felt good, fucking him. You had surpassed the real intimacy of a relationship – something the two of you had never had – straight to physical. It was how you normally did things, but it had just taken longer this time than a one-night stand.

But this was different. This was your husband.

You had a deeper connection now. You were startled out of your desire for this to be continuous.

And suddenly by your own doing, the two of you were apart, you standing yourself and him sitting, and you brushed at your hair, uncomfortable before turning for your clothes just to try to escape this unfamiliar territory. Normally, you would say something witty, grab your clothes, and leave. But there was no leaving him. You slept in the same bed. Even if that bed itself had not been christened by the two of you yet.

Tony was off the couch and came up to grasp your arms, stopping you and you looked up at him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The words fell around you. And your breath was short, working yourself up again. Tony saw it too and his thumbs caressed your arms, peering in closer. It was not threatening the way he was acting – comforting more than anything.

“I’m here… I’m here to be with you,” he started slowly, stumbling though. He was a man after all in the mafia, raised with the toxic masculinity that came with it. He was trying to navigate his feelings and be soft with you as well. “I want you to feel safe with me. In all aspects.”

It was intimate. And it was reassuring to know that he was making the effort to move even deeper with it. It was exciting. But you still wanted to be guarded.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you answered. Your eyes shot down and then you said, thinking on your feet, “We are both just naked in this room… standing in front of each other. I want my clothes. In case someone walks in.”

Tony’s eyes shot down and he gave a strangled laugh. “Right.” He let you go.

You gave a half smile before you ducked down and grabbed your bra, doing it up. Tony followed suit, beginning to dress himself back up. And then you grabbed your dress. You pulled it over your head and turned around promptly, “Zip me?”

The complete opposite of what you had asked merely ten minutes ago.

Tony cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

He zipped it up and his hands rested around the base of your neck. You were only suspended for a few moments before you turned around to face him again, your faces close. His slacks were back on, belt done, but his dress shirt half buttoned up, that drew your eyes for a split second.

“This is awkward,” he acknowledged sheepishly.

“Yeah,” you agreed and then cleared your own throat. “Um, let’s exit separately. That would seem normal to everyone else. Don’t want to shock them and all.”

He was amused, giving a little laugh, “Right. Don’t forget your thong though.”

“And there you go being the ass that I know,” you retorted, going to grab it and shimmying into it as he gave another laugh.

<><><>

You saw Bucky and Rhodey watching you come back out, curiosity painted on their faces. They had seen how angry Tony had been taking you back into the room and now that you were coming out alone, that was sure to draw their attention. Shit. Tony should have walked out first. You looked away quickly walking past their table and going back to where your friends were sitting before they could stop you.

Moving through the center of the group, you sat back down, adjusting your dress but did not miss the white-hot stares you were receiving from your circle of friends. You met their gazes and leveled them before giving an expectant shrug.

“Where did you go?” one of them asked.

“Nowhere,” you answered simply. You picked up one of your bottles on the table and began pouring shots. “Let’s drink.”

Another friend answered with a giggle, “She went somewhere with her husband.”

You glowered, stalling in pouring the shots, and asked, “So?”

“Did you finally give it up then? Because you’re being defensive. Oh, look, here he comes.”

Following their gaze, you saw Tony walking out now. He was being as normal as you, no sign of a smirk on his face. But then he did give it away. His gaze did flick over to you and the two of you locked eyes for a moment before he looked away again.

“You totally did,” your same friend crowed.

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to kick you out of the VIP section!” you threatened her.

“Touchy, touchy! Fine, I’ll drop it. It’s done. And so is your honeymoon officially!”

“Ass,” you snapped as you passed the shots out.

<><><>

Tony sat down at the booth and straightened out his suit jacket. “Where are the shots?”

“Well, we took them without you because you were gone for so long,” Natasha said with a twinkle in her eye.

“There’s plenty of alcohol in this bar. I should know. Where’s our bar—”

Someone showed up at the table, dress in the staff uniform and asked, “What’ll it be, Mr. Stark?”

“A round for the table. Bourbon.”

Natasha and Bucky protested. “No, vodka, please.”

“Fine, bourbon and vodka. Just bring two bottles, everyone has their glasses already. Blanton’s and Grey Goose.”

The server nodded, “Of course, Mr. Stark.”

As soon as they walked off, Tony looked around the table again. And they all averted their eyes. Sighing annoyed, he asked – even though he had a good idea already what was going on – , “What is it?”

Clint took the dive for everyone else and tried to say as nonchalantly as possible, “You look… not pissed off.”

“And?” he asked with a sharp edge to his voice. “Do I always look pissed off?”

“Yes,” came the chorus around the table and he frowned, displeased.

Unable to help himself, Bucky chortled, “You fucked,” as Rhodey cracked a wide smile at his statement.

“Be respectful,” Tony snapped at them.

Bucky closed his mouth, biting his cheeks as Tony took a long swig of his drink.

“Respectful? You’re the one that’s been complaining she sleeps turned away from you!” Rhodey said, still laughing lightly. “I was frankly getting tired of hearing about it. This is good news for everyone.”

“You’re welcome then,” Tony muttered to everyone’s continued amusement as the server came back with their bottles. He thanked them and took the bottles, beginning to pour everyone their own respective shots.

“To the King and Queen then,” Natasha proposed, holding up her shot glass.

<><><>

A few weeks later, there was commotion at the front door, and you put your book down before sliding out of the recliner you were in. You could hear Tony; he was angry, ranting. You came into the entrance hall cautiously and found him storming up the stairs. He stopped and was shouting still back at Steve, something about making sure that the car was destroyed and far from the city.

He noticed you were standing there suddenly and that is when you got a full view of his face. He was scraped up.

“Christ, what happened?” you asked him worriedly, coming closer to the bottom of the stairs between him and Steve. Steve took the hint and told Tony he would make sure it happened and turned on his heel to leave.

To you, Tony said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” He began to turn to go up the stairs further.

You followed quickly, “You don’t look fine. Here, let me help.” He started to protest but you were already there, going past him. You stole another glance and saw there were scraps by his eyebrow and upper cheek, bleeding still. “There’s a kit in the guest bathroom. That’s closest. Come on.”

Tony followed you and you told him to sit on the toilet. He did as you said, looking hesitant. You dipped to grab underneath the sink and pulled out the first aid kit. Working quickly, you got the hydrogen peroxide as well and used the cotton balls to wipe at his face. He hissed and you apologized gently, dabbing with care.

“What happened?” you asked again as you wiped at the cuts.

“It doesn’t—”

“Tony.”

He ground his teeth for a few seconds before saying, “I almost got run over.”

You stilled and pulled away to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“One of Weston’s guys.” You knew Weston. He ran an outfit outside the city, smaller but it was influential for keeping the borders secure.

“Weston?” you asked in disbelief. As far as you knew, he did not have any issue with Tony.

“I don’t know. We were working at a site and all of a sudden I heard someone coming in quick and Thor shoved me out of the way.” Your heart clenched and he saw. “He’ll be fine. He got nicked and it sent him spiraling. If it had been one of us, we would have had broken bones. He’s shaken up and bloodied, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s good,” you said dropping the cotton balls into the trash and moving towards the bandaids and antibiotic ointment. “But, did Weston send him?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said honestly. “I don’t think so. The guy is someone who had an issue with me personally. Seems his brother got killed or something in a recent raid. Wanda and Rhodey were interrogating the guy after Steve forced me to come back here in case there were other people gunning for me.”

“That was smart of him,” you said tapping the ointment onto the cuts. “I’m glad he brought you back.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asked with a small smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, I would like you to always come back alive if you could manage that for me,” you retorted, opening up a bandaid. You bandaged up the worst of it and added for good measure, “And if you could be more cognizant of your surroundings that would be a good place to start to make sure that happens….”

Turning away from him, you heard him give a light chuckle at your quip. You felt the air shift behind you, and you closed the kit, pushing it back further on the counter.

You made to ignore how close he was and walked towards the door, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and stilling your movement. His other hand grasped the door, and he threw it closed before turning you around and holding you against it. Staring up at him, you stayed still, waiting for him to make his move.

“I’ll take that into consideration, just for you. I’ll keep my head on a swivel. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a good plan.”

Tony’s lips curled into a smile before he leaned in and you followed his movement, coming in to kiss him softly. He hummed in approval, his hands ghosting up your sides. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you wrapped your arms tight to paw at his ass through his pants. He liked that by the noise he released, and you sucked in at his bottom lip. Pinning your wrists above your head, his lips dragging roughly over yours. You bit at him now in a mock threat, and he chuckled before capturing you in a passionate kiss. Your pelvis ground towards him and your tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling. The two of you were locked in a passionate dance.

Tony groaned, pulling away as you brushed his length through his slacks with your thigh. He turned you around in a fluid motion, keeping your wrists pinned and pressed himself against your back. Your neck was sucked and peppered with eager kisses, him dry humping you. You dragged your teeth across your bottom lip, a wanton whine escaping.

He let go of your wrists and made quick work of pulling your sun dress up and freeing himself from his pants. Working with him, you spread your legs and arched your back, anticipation crawling over your skin. Pulling your underwear aside, he drove up into you, holding tight at your hips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasped as he picked up speed.

Anyone walking by outside the room would be greeted with loud, pleasured moans and the sound of skin slapping skin with how hard Tony was driving into you. You hardly cared; it was your damn house after all.

The two of you found a slow rhythm to relieve the intensity, a needed break. You rolled your hips, riding him with precision. His hands flexed, one coming up to cup your breast, kneading at it through your dress. He leaned forward enough to suck at your earlobe, whispering filth into your ear before he gave a rough nip.

You pushed back roughly and hissed, “I’m so close. Please.”

Tony’s hand fell from your tit and found its way between your panties and wet pussy. His fingers worked at your clit, and you groaned loudly, begging for him to not stop and he promised you he was going to fuck you good. He was working fast again, his breath coming quick and hot.

“I…I…” you stuttered moments before you clenched, your heat enveloping him tighter.

“Oh, god, that’s it, baby,” Tony praised in a low groan, his fingers faltering on your clit. But he thrusted quicker for a few seconds before he was pulsating. His hand fell to your thigh, fingers digging in as he stilled, emptying completely.

His head rested on your shoulder, the two of you breathing heavy. He found his breath again and laid a soft kiss at your neck.

“Well, that helped my stress,” he breathed.

Leaning back, you turned your head to be able to see him well enough to give him a kiss. Against his lips, you smiled, “Glad I could be of some assistance.”

<><><>

Erick was walking beside you, checking his phone. He suddenly stopped, holding out his arm to stop you as well. “We should go to another store.”

You furrowed your brow and said, “What? Why? I’m done. And they said they would be at the café now for lunch.”

“They’re going to be late.”

Shooting a look across the street, you spotted Bucky inside and slid your eyes back to Erick, looking completely unimpressed. “Nice try. Bucky is already inside.”

Erick swore underneath his breath and you frowned, sensing you were being kept out of the loop about something. You had been surprised when Bucky and Natasha had asked to ride along with you and Erick when they learned where you were going to be going shopping but had told them to come along. They had made it clear they were going somewhere else but would meet back for lunch.

You began walking again and Erick said more firmly, “Y/N, we should find another store to go into.”

Pressing the crosswalk button, you crossed your own arms, your bags bumping up against your middle. You always insisted on carrying some of the bags. Erick was your bodyguard, not your servant.

“Y/N.”

“I heard you. And I’m choosing to ignore you.”

Erick sighed loudly as the light came on to cross and you did so, hearing him follow you despite his protesting. Bucky spotted you through the window and his eyes shot back to Erick, giving him a disappointed glare. It only served to encourage you to move a bit quicker. Upon entering the café, you saw Bucky staring directly at you and Natasha looking at you over her shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be shopping,” Bucky said as you approached the table.

“I’m done. I thought we were having lunch,” you told him, sitting down beside him, placing your bags on the ground. “What’s the hold up?” Natasha was tight lipped as was Bucky as Erick sat down next to Natasha. You exhaled deeply and said in a quieter voice, even though you were alone in the corner, “You can trust me. You know you can. You’re doing a drop off, aren’t you?” Bucky cocked his head and you picked up his coffee and took a sip. “I know Salazar likes to do business in that building. You must need some new toys.”

Natasha and Bucky exchanged a look and for once, you noticed Erick actually looked amused at the fact you had forced yourself into the situation. He knew you were not stupid and he was probably feeling a little sense of pride that they were noticing that as well.

Adjusting in his seat, Bucky admitted in low tones, “Yes. And someone who isn’t gonna be happy about it has people set up inside watching to see who goes in and out.”

“I can do it.”

“It’s dangerous, Y/N,” Erick told you immediately before the other two could respond. His amusement was gone.

Seriously, you asked, “For me? They’re not even to think twice about me walking in. Sure, I’m married to Tony and my dad is a boss. But people really don’t pay attention to me except thinking about getting me on my back.”

Natasha ground her teeth at that, uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said, shrugging. “They’ll think I’m just going in to look at the back jewelry room. All I care about is shopping anyways, right?” Natasha cocked an eyebrow and you said with a smirk, “Yes. I do know about that too, and I’ve been inside. Problem is I’ll have to actually go up to the room and that guy — Tucker — is a sleazebag.”

“You think I’m gonna let you go alone?” Erick asked.

You patted his arm, “Look at you being chivalrous.”

“Tony would have my balls if I let you around Tucker without me.”

“Wait, we did not even agree to this,” Natasha cut in, holding up her hand.

“Give it to me,” you told her, holding out your hand. “I can carry it in my purse. Go upstairs, get something small from Tucker or act like I was not impressed with the selection, and then come back down a back way to drop it into the chute before circling back and coming back out the front entrance.”

You flexed your fingers after they did not react quick enough. “I have concealed carry if anything goes wrong. And you know Erick is a great protector.”

“I have to ask Tony—” Bucky started to say.

“Bullshit,” you told Bucky. “This needs to get done. I’m assuming it’s time sensitive. And you had an unexpected snag and you have the solution sitting right beside you. Not acting on it is going to make you miss your goddamn window. I have gotten my hands dirty before and involved with this type of shit. It’s nothing new.”

Natasha nodded at Bucky stiffly and he sighed, reaching into his jacket, pulling out a thick bag and handing it to you. You felt it was money and put it into your purse swiftly. It was concealed by the fact it was hidden in a grocery store bag, not see through. Picking the menu up, you quickly scanned it.

“Erick and I both like breakfast sandwiches, his with ham and mine with bacon,” you told them putting the menu back down on the table. “I want an orange juice too. You?”

“Water,” Erick answered before following your movement to stand up.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Hopefully before the food gets here. Mind my bags, please,” you told the pair before striding off and not waiting for their answer.

Tucker was a sweet talker as always, commenting on how nice your jumpsuit looked. His hands trailed along your own and you pulled away naturally, not forcing it. When you politely brushed off his advances, he congratulated you on your recent marriage since he had not seen you since it happened. You bantered back and forth with him about how he was always able to find out the latest gossip. He told you that it was big news that Tony had gotten married; if you did not know it, you were not keeping your ear to the ground at all.

To your surprise, he had something in stock you really wanted. And it was for Tony. A nice new ring and you took it happily. Hopefully if Tony caught wind of this – which he certainly would, you doubted Bucky or Natasha would lie to him – this would soften the blow.

On the way down, you did exactly what you said were you going to do and you dropped the bag off in the chute and came back around. Walking right past the people that you knew were watching for whoever it was that Natasha and Bucky were worried about. They only glanced at you and looked away when they saw the small signature bag of Tucker’s business.

Sliding back into your chair, you placed the bag on the table and said, “It’s done. Also, do you think Tony will like that?”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl @namjoonwatcheshentai @kaylamcd2000 @damntonystarkandhissmile @aditimukul

Fic tags: @patheticallysentimental @suchababie @downeyreads @teenageregression

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fic #mob tony stark #mob!tony stark #my shit

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rebeccccccaaa · 3 years

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🄱🄰🄽🄳🄰🄶🄴🅂

_________________________

🄱🅄🄲🄺🅈 🄱🄰🅁🄽🄴🅂 🅇 🄳🄾🄲🅃🄾🅁!🅁🄴🄰🄳🄴🅁

🅁🄴🅀🅄🄴🅂🅃🄴🄳: obsessedwithmarvelman

hey there. i am new here so i don't know much. could you please do something fluffy where the reader is a doctor and bucky comes to her house after fighting with some dudes. All he wants is sex but she takes care of his wounds. and it ends with a smut. by the way i love your work. 💞

🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: smut 18+, angst-ish, fluffy, fwb to lovers, cw; bl00d, gashes, and ouchies lol

🄰🅄🅃🄷🄾🅁’🅂 🄽🄾🅃🄴🅂: dude, this such a good concept i literally could not wait to write this omggggg please enjoy babes ps i know nothing medical but i did take a year long course in high school retaining to sports medicine so i think i did ok? Idk lmao

_______________________________

You were in the middle of watching whatever sitcom was being aired, at this point there’s too many to keep track, when loud and hard knocks boomed through the quiet apartment. You set your snack down and walked to the door wondering who could possibly be a guest in the dead night.

“Buck?” you answered the door to see the gorgeous man clutching his side.

“Did you get my text?” he asked quickly.

“No, I’m sorry I- uh I didn’t-”

“Doesn’t matter,” he barged through your door.

“Is everything alrig-” Bucky interrupted you mid sentence grabbing your throat and pulling you into a deep and messy kiss.

“God, I need you so fucking bad,” he mumbled against your lips; of you which you gladly leaned into to give him what he needed.

You slipped your hands around his waist when he suddenly flinched and breathed in harshly through his gritted teeth. You took his hand away from your throat and assessed his state clearly understanding he was in no shape to have sex; at least not now.

“What happened?” you asked worriedly.

“Nothing, I just need you,” he tried to lean in again but you dodged his kiss moving under his arm to grab a first aid.

“Y/n, I don’t need whatever it is you're getting. Super soldier, remember?” he chuckled breathlessly

“Oh, I remember, Sargent. Which is why…” you emerged from the bathroom with first aid and a bottle of alcohol and peroxide in hand, “the sooner we patch you up, the faster you’ll heal.”

“Ok, doctor,” he said sarcastically.

“Excuse me, don’t mock my title,” you grinned.

“Not only can I assist you in need sexual frustration or as you call it, your personal fuck buddy, but I help you out when you come me to looking like the goddamn crypt keeper covered in blood,” you smiled sarcasically, which made Bucky chuckle.

“Now take your shirt off, let me assess the damage.”

When he did there was a huge gash spilling blood on the side of his ribs. Bruise and cuts litter his stomach and chest, even his arms. You gasped and your heart ached for him and even though he wasn’t in immense pain because of the serum, the fact that this is what it took for him to be in any pain scared you.

“Did you really think you could get away with fucking me in this condition?” you asked; you were upset.

“I didn’t want to worry you. Besides it doesn’t hurt anymore and I’m gonna stop bleeding,” he brushed off.

“Fuck you, Bucky. Didn’t want to worry me my ass. And if you stained every surface in my apartment?”

“I’ll buy you a new apartment,” he smiled, his beautiful stunning smile, shit.

“Fuck off,” you said making him chuckle.

You swiped the blood away gently with a towel soaked in peroxide. You applied a bit of triple antibiotic ointment on his smaller cuts even though it was unlikely they’d become infected but you took precaution nonetheless.

Bucky watched you with soft eyes. He thought about when you said the he called you his ‘personal fuck buddy’. It didn’t sit right with him anymore. His face held a somber look and you looked up at him concerned.

“Are you ok?” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

You took an emergency stitching kit and although everything comes pre sterilized you poured the alcohol over the curved needle and threaded it through the bruised skin. Bucky tensed under your cold hands and flinched at the first stitch. Your head instantly shot up to make sure he was alright.

“I’m ok, angel,” he reassured.

You continued to stitch his wound expertly and yet again he flinched ever so slightly but you caught immediately apologizing.

“Doll, it’s ok. It’s like a little pinch, relax.”

“I’m sorry; I don’t usually have to do this to people I care about,” you said smoothly as if it was something you always said; you care about him.

“Well, don’t worry too much about me, darling,” he smirked.

“Hey, I have every right to worry about the man I fool around with,” you said playfully.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bucky laughed. You finished stitching his wound and cleaning any areas to prevent infections and grabbed a cloth bandage to place over it in case it bleeds again.

“There. Do you need anything else? Water? Food; are you hungry?” you stood up.

“Not for food,” he said lowly, making your stomach flip.

“You’re still horny?” you played off the butterflies.

“Only for you darling, you’re addictive,” he moved his hands under your large shirt easily.

“No, you're insatiable,” you threw back.

“Yet you feed my desperate appetite.”

“Shall I stop then?”

“If you had the willpower, you would’ve by now. Maybe you’re just as addicted as I am,” he leaned in.

“Maybe I am,” you whispered.

“Well? Are you gonna stop me?” he teased.

“Of course not.”

Bucky crashed his lips against yours hungrily and you melted against his body perfectly. His hands squeezed your sides gently making you smile and Bucky picked you up and carried you to the bedroom; a place he knew like the back of his hand, so many nights spent with you that he cherished more than he’d like to admit.

When he got to the bedroom you released your feet down to the floor and Bucky helped you land gracefully. You grabbed his hand and led to sit comfortably on your bed. You kissed him passionately and soon after slowly kneeled to the ground in front of him. Bucky’s lust-blown eyes hungrily drank you in as you sank to the floor.

“You don't have to-”

“Uh-uh, you need to relax and let me take care of you, baby,” you rubbed his thighs slowly making Bucky squirm under you.

You pulled his pants down his legs and pressed light kisses to his thighs before grabbing his hard cock in your hand. You pumped up and down in your hand and Bucky’s head fell back and he sighed pleasurably

You licked the underside of his cock and Bucky moaned; he was already turning into putty in your hands and you barely touched him. You circled your tongue around the swollen tip before placing the head inside your mouth. You tried your best to breathe steadily through your nose as you sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks around his dick.

“Fuck, Y/n,” Bucky threaded his hand thorugh your hair and pulled you further down on his length.

Your hand pumped for what you couldn’t take in your mouth and you moaned around his cock. The vibrations from your throat made Bucky climax and spurts of hot ribbons of cum shot down your throat. You pulled away from him and Bucky’s legs trembled subtly. Cum dripped down the side of your chin and you swiped it into your mouth and sucked on your fingers seductively staring into his eyes making Bucky groan lowly.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he pulled close and kissed you sildly he could taste himself on your tongue and he instantly became hard again.

You practically tore your shirt and pants off, pouncing on Bucky playfully. He laughed before kissing you again and flipping you delicately onto your back. He kissed your neck and collarbones gingerly, his hands roaming around your naked body.

His thigh pressed between yours and he could feel the wetness from your core spreading across his skin. Your fingertips grazed his sides as you sighed from his soft lips against your burning skin. Bucky’s hands fell between your bodies and pumped his cock a couple times before lining up with your slick entrance.

His tip flicked your sensitive clit ever so subtly and just that alone made your entire body jerk. You could feel the puffs of air escape Bucky in the crook of your neck as he chuckled.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered.

“Please what, baby? What do you want; tell me,” he whispered against your ear.

“Fuck me, please. Bucky, I need you,” your nails clawed at his skin on his back and Bucky hissed immediately pushing into you passed your folds.

His thrusts weren’t exactly soft but they weren’t quick. It was the perfect tempo, rutting into you roughly and slowly. His hips snapping against yours harshly surely to leave bruises to commemorate his time spent with you.

You moans were loud against Bucky’s ear but he loved every second of it. He loved hearing you fall apart under him; so much he perked his head up and watched your beautiful features contort in pleasure caused by him and only him. Your body moving against his like a ragdoll as he had his way with you just like you always let him.

Your legs wrapped around Bucky’s torso pulling closer to you. He started hitting a new angle of which made your eyes roll back and your back arched. His grunts mixed with your high pitched moans and echoed throughout the entire apartment.

Bucky cupped your face softly with his metal hand and traced your lips as he continued to thrust into you. His thumb passed your lips into your mouth and your eyes flashed a sparkle of mischievous as you began to suck on his thumb. Your tongue circled his thumb as you had done to his dick not so long ago and Bucky groaned at the erotic sight.

You released his metal thumb with an exasperated pop and Bucky crashed his lips down to you. The bed under you two shook and hit the wall; surely to annoy the hell out of any neighbors home in the late hours, which was more than likely.

“Fuck, Bucky! I’m gonna cum!” you whimpered.

“Cum baby. I’m right behind you, doll,” he pressed his forehead against yours looking into your eyes intimately.

Your entire body shook against his. You saw stars in your eyes, your toes curled, your back arched; you felt euphoric. When you came down from your high you opened your eyes and found those special blue eyes, the ones you simultaneously sought comfort and desire in.

Bucky looked down on you with a small smile before leaning down again to kiss you faintly before cleaning the both you up generously. He went to gather his clothes and for a moment you reminded yourself that he wasn’t yours, he didn’t live here, he had to go now; just like always.

“Bucky, will you be alright?” you asked gingerly.

“Um,” he looked down at his gash that no longer held those badnages you carefully placed and simply revealed his already scarring flesh that you expertly stitched up; you were a doctor after all.

“I should probably stay, you know in case I need your help,” he said shyly; it was suggestive because you and him both knew that he wasn’t going to need help, he was going to be in perfect condition again by morning but neither of you could say goodbye to each other.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” you said timidly.

Bucky smiled softly and crawled back into bed with you. He pulled your warm naked body against his and you practically melted into his side. You fit like a perfect puzzle piece. His hand caressed your side bringing goosebumps to skin and you chuckled when Bucky realized what he did.

“Stop, that tickles,” you said muffled as your head was buried shyly into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“What?” he feigned innocence.

“Fuck off,” you both laughed breathlessly.

There was a moment of silence that rested between you two. What you had was quite domestic but you weren’t in a relationship. Without the other knowing, you both thought about what life could be like for the two of you if you did say the words.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you something?” he whispered, you instantly knew what he was going to say; you felt it.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” you cupped his face, “I do.”

Bucky kissed you and gently rubbed his nose against yours before asking, “Can you say it again?”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you so much,” you curled your fingers in his tangled hair.

“Oh god, please, again,” he practically moaned.

“I love you. I love you. I love you, Bucky.”

You leaned back to look at him and noticed tears brimming his eyes; you gently wiped them away kissing his cheeks. This feeling was entirely new to him. He felt overwhelmed a bit but he loved you so much it was all he could think about right now. He didn’t exactly know when he really fell in love but it didn’t matter because here you were in his arms, actually his, and he wasn’t gonna let you go. Not a million years.

“I love you.”

=====================

TAGLIST:

@mathletemadison

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #marvel fics #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes smut

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theamberwriter · 3 years

Text

Always Be My Hero [Pro! Eijiro Kirishima]

A/N: I read THIS by @dreamy-writings and was inspired to write this, lol

Warning: Angst, cursing

Pair: Pro Hero! Eijiro Kirishima x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

*~*~*~

"Oi, you need to talk to shitty hair," Katsuki snapped, throwing a bunch of flowers on your bed.

Mina sat on the edge of the mattress, took your shoulders in her hands, and gently shook you. "Please, [Name], Eijiro has gone off the deep end."

"I'm sure just Ei is just a little stressed," you tried to sound soothing. "He's been working a lot -"

"We wouldn't be here if we didn't think it was serious," Denki urged.

"He's going to hurt himself," Katsuki growled. "Don't need both you idiots out of commission."

"We know, after everything, we shouldn't be bothering your healing time. But…. Eijiro needs you." Mina hung her head in defeat.

Just what was going on? When your fiance was home, he was as cheery and bright as you'd always known him. Was he different at work? With his friends?

"Shitty Hair thinks this -" Katsuki gestured to your broken arm and leg, the bandages around your head, your sprained ankle and broken ribs, the numerous bumps and bruises, the multiple hairline fractures and surgery incisions, and the antibiotic drip the hospital sent you home with. "Is some how all his fucking fault. That damn idiot won't listen to us! He's been working the hell out of himself. Spends hours beating himself up."

You felt like you cracked in half. Like a bit of you shattered. Not the ones from being thrown into buildings and trampled on by a giant villain. But deep down in an untouchable place. You felt like you broke apart.

Knowing you caused your beloved so much anxiety and stress had boiled up in him. Maybe you should've seen it. But he was just so happy. Glued to your side, helping you bathe, helping you get to the bathroom, changing the bandages on your head - assuring that he still thought you extremely attractive, even though you were going to have a hell of a scar going from the middle of your hairline down under your left ear. He was always smiling and joking when he was with you.

"The wheelchair they gave me is in the closet," you muttered, eyes on where your hands were balled around the blankets. You had to be strong. Normally, Eijiro was your rock. Now the tables had turned.

Mina pulled out the wheelchair while Denki and Katsuki helped get you out of bed. Luckily you'd asked Eijiro to help you into sweatpants and a decent t-shirt before he left for work. You asked for one of your shoes to put on your uncasted foot (which was wrapped in an ace bandage instead). Then unhooked the IV and pinched the line. The bag was nearly done anyway.

"I'm ready when you all are," you muttered. A silent tremor passed through the room. Then you all were out the door.

In his agency training facility, Eijiro was giving all he had to a punching bag. Sweat poured from the hardened ridges in his skin. He felt the solid bag meet his fists, but none of it was satisfying. None of the hits eased the guilt.

No amount of punching had shaken away the image plaguing his mind. You lying in bed, barely seeming to hold on. The doctors said you had internal bleeding, a concussion, then listed off all the broken parts. A bit of himself broke with each word.

Eijiro had bawled hysterically when the doctors left and he was alone with your unconscious body. He gripped your hand, begging to anyone who would hear him. Asking them to let you pull through. That, in exchange, he'd get stronger. No matter the cost.

Eijiro was determined to keep your spirits up. To not let you know how much he'd been suffering. You couldn't imagine the wells that wanted to overflow the first time your eyes opened. The first kiss you gave him after waking up. He felt like bursting, you'd been returned to him.

In exchange, he'd train himself raw. He'd push himself past his limit. It didn't matter what Katsuki, or Tamaki, or even Fat Gum had to say. Eijiro was going to protect you next time. For now he'd train. Then go back to you at the end of the day with a smile, no matter how much he hurt or how tired he was. Coming home to you, hooked to an IV and barely able to move around the house - that image drove him.

Eijiro had been so excited to have you home. But every time he looked too long at your casted arm, or uncovered the puckered gouge on your head. Everything reminded him he hadn't been there to help. To save you. Deku had been, he lifted that gargantuan off you like a pillow. Eijiro didn't think he'd ever have been able to do that. So he was going to train until he could.

You hadn't complained once since you'd been home. Only grateful when you'd gone out a few days after to greet your fans. There were so many who thanked you for saving them. Each felt like a bit of a hit to him. You'd saved all those people and he didn't even manage to save you. Was he truly a hero if he couldn't protect those he cared about?

It didn't matter to him that he was a five hour plane ride away when it all happened. Eijiro had gone to do some publicity stuff with other heroes. He had to hear it from an insensitive reporter who asked how he felt knowing his fiance was in the hospital. But he hadn't. He didn't know. His fellow heroes outraged at the question and Eijiro was on a plane back to you within the hour.

He swore he'd be there next time. That he'd never let anything like this happen again. Eijiro had gone in the plane bathroom and had a good deep cry a few times. When he saw the videos, read the articles, saw all the people asking Where was Red Riot? He hadn't been there. He'd let down the one person he never wanted to. It broke his heart into a million bits. He didn't think he'd ever be able to repair himself.

Eijiro cried as he punched. No one would be able to tell through the sweat. But each and every punch got harder, and so too did his tears.

Pitying looks were passed your way as Katsuki pushed you through Eijiro's agency. You stopped in briefly to talk to Fat Gum. He looked so put out and desperate. He said he'd tried everything. But everyday, Eijiro had been in the facility's gym. Working himself until he bled or passed out.

Katsuki pushed you, Mina and Denki in tow, down the halls to the gym. You heard the blunt hits long before you saw the doors. Each one grating into your mind. You were never going to forget the hot guilt that bit at you with each thud.

Katsuki pushed you to the gym door way. It was empty, except where your beloved stood hardened to the max, shirtless. You saw a bit of blood dripping from his back. The punching bag was losing sand and stuffing. A defeated one laid in a lump on the floor already. You watched a long minute. Then you realized each grunt turned more into a cry or a wail.

You turned to Denki, and held out your hand. He gave you the crunch he'd been carrying. Luckily the arm and the leg you'd broken were on the opposite sides of your body. You hauled yourself up, your friends helped steady you. Then you limped your way across the gym. Finally, you came into view in the mirror in front of him.

A few spots on Eijiro's face were bleeding. His eyes were blown out. His features scrunched up in….there wasn't a word strong enough to explain the pain. The anguish. The despair. His eyes met yours and, all at once, he broke down.

Eijiro collapsed to his knees. His quirk finally releasing him. Sobs still wracked his shoulders, they shook violently. But his sobs were silent now. Though you didn't miss the tears that dripped onto the floor.

"Eiji," you cooed and lowered yourself to the floor.

He shook his head. "You….sh-should be-e….hom-m-me. He-healing."

"You need me more." You put a hand on his shoulder. Eijiro latched on to you. You didn't care about the blood, sweat, or tears, or how much sitting that way hurt. You just needed to get him to breathe now.

"I -" he hacked. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not….I'm not manly enough. Even now. What if you get hurt again - or worse? Because I couldn't….I can't…."

You shook your head and kissed his damp hair. "Eijiro - honey, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. Really. This was me being overconfident. It was my own fault. You're an amazing hero. Thousands of people look up to you. You have to stop beating yourself up. You're being the best hero you can be. And I love you for every bit of who you are. No matter what happens to me, you'll always be my number one hero."

Eijiro sobbed harder, gripping you closer. You didn't complain at the protesting throbs of pain screaming all over your body. You sat a while longer. When he was finally feeling better, he carried you back to your chair. Then he took a quick rinse in the shower before pushing you home. Your friends had prepared everything for a movie night when you got back; movies, drinks, takeout.

You could see the relief in their faces.

You still caught him giving you long, guilty glances. You would only lean over and kiss the look away. But you could never know the weight of what you said. He wanted to eat, sleep, live, and breathe by that creed.

You'll always be my hero.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha headcanons #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha kirishima #kirishima #bnha kirishima #kirishima eijirou #bnha eijiro x reader #bnha angst #mha angst #angst to fluff #kirishima angst #theamberwriter

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

Nobody's Perfect (part2)

The aftermath of your apparent one night stand with Cillian Murphy.

Warnings - smut / angst / language

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x

The hangover was pretty mild compared to the absolute shame you felt walking onset that afternoon. Not only did Cillian simply discard you after he had his way with you, now you had to face him in an intimate scene. Well, as intimate as Clara Rose being fucked over a desk by Tommy Shelby can be...

Paul greeted you with a warm smile, which you didn't expect, surely the whole set would be laughing at you?

"Y/n! Where did you disappear off to last night?" He hugged you and you walked over to the canteen area together, one eye over the whole set checking whether he was here yet.

"Oh, I think I just had one too many.. once my head hit the pillow I was out like a light!" You lied, convincingly. Well, you were an actress...

"Cillian said it wasn't difficult to get you into bed!"

"What?!" You nearly got whiplash from the sudden neck movement.

"You were so drunk, you were practically asleep before you got there!" Your face softened in relief. Paul was one of his closest friends onset. If he hadn't told him, maybe no one else knew..

"Yeah, didn't put up much of a fight, did you love?" That voice appeared out of nowhere behind you both and you couldn't help your hands shaking a little.

You smiled, gritting your teeth.

"Bet you weren't feeling too hot this morning?" Oh when was he going to shut up... "Bit sore?"

"I felt fine thank you." You forced a smile and turned your back on him before walking over to Sophie and Natasha to get a coffee and some adult, non-innuendo conversation, leaving Cillian and Paul to head to makeup to get ready for their scenes.

You forced it down enough that Tash and Sophie didn't notice anything untoward. Before long, the director was calling you to get ready and your heart sank - THAT scene. Brilliant.

The set was closed to everyone except you, Cillian and the directors due to the 'sexual nature' of it, and you were casually sat leaning against the desk waiting for Tommy Shelby to make his way over. The sooner this was over, the better. A few moments passed before he made his way over. You didn't speak as he sat on the chair next in front of you, both of you in full costume.

"Can we at least be professional?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"It was just sex y/n," he chuckled making your blood boil. The directors came onto the set and took you both to the side explaining what they needed. These scenes were never fully choreographed - it was down to the actors to know their characters well enough to just run with it.

You both got into position, ready for the call of Action. You, dress hitched over your waist bent over the desk, Cillian behind you ready to go. One of his hands on your waist, the other on your lower back. You could feel him rubbing the skin there gently, as if he was trying to make you feel more comfortable.. but as quick as it started, it stopped. The director called Action and the pounding began.

Once the 'climaxes' had been reached, he 'removed' himself from you and you straightened yourself out, turning to face him. The cameras still rolling, the scene wasn't done. But the script couldn't have been more perfect.

"Better, Mr Shelby?" You asked, as Clara.

"Much. Thank you Clara, you can see yourself out, eh?"

"Does this life satisfy you, Tommy? A different girl every week? Just mere objects for you to get your end away... Never spare a thought for them do you? They're just there to what, serve a purpose I guess? How many was it this month, huh, do you even know?" A pause, his gaze never left yours. You weren't talking to Tommy now, and he knew it. Finally he took a deep breath and pointed behind you.

"The door's over there."

Your eyes watered. Unscripted, but the director didn't call cut... You bit your lip and headed out the door.

"CUT! Jesus y/n, you nearly had ME welling up.. that last shot was incredible..." You smiled at the director and looked back at Cillian, who was still watching you, a stony expression on his face. Without missing a beat, you walked off set and back to your trailer.

You sat at the table in your trailer with a coffee, closing your eyes and pushing away everything from the last 24 hours. A knock on your door stunned you. You opened it to find Natasha, who saw your red eyes and immediately let herself in, closing the door behind you and pulling you into her arms. Without thinking you allowed your tears to fall. Sobbing almost uncontrollably.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" She asked, easing you onto the sofa and kneeling down in front of you.

"Y/n... Talk to me, you're worrying me.." you took a deep breath and shook your head.

"I'm fine... Just a tough week and... I guess I'm just overwhelmed with it all a bit... you know?"

"Your acting skills are impeccable, y/n, but I'm not buying that for a second," she smiled. "He's an idiot, Y/n... And I should have warned you..."

"Oh god... Everyone knows don't they?"

"Only me. He doesn't know I know. He's a sucker for a nice pair of legs and dark brown hair. When he came back down after taking you to your room, it was written all over his face. That, and he had his t-shirt on inside out." You couldn't help but laugh. Idiot!

"Everyone was wasted - no one else noticed. But when you're on antibiotics and can't drink? You notice it all." Your smile was gone, as you held your head in your hands.

"I can't believe I let it happen.. he must think I'm such a slut.."

"You never had a one night stand before?"

"No, and I wasn't planning on having one with Cillian fucking Murphy either. My GOD he's an arsehole.. how the fuck am I gonna get through the next few months?"

"You hold your head high and walk proud. Kill him with kindness. Nothing more satisfying than letting him think you're not bothered! Come on, you're an actress aren't you? Channel your inner Clara!" She squeezed your hands and smiled.

"Thank you Tash..."

"And your secret is safe with me. Cillian's not the type to go shouting his mouth either don't worry. He's too in love with his reputation." She smirked.

You knew she was right - time to channel your inner Clara.

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

The next few days went well. Your conversation with Tash played over in your mind every time you felt down about what had happened, making sure you remembered exactly who was in control here - and it certainly wasn't him. You couldn't help but notice him watching you from the other side of a room though, and Tash had certainly noticed him glancing at you when you weren't looking.

You were sat reading in your trailer when the door opened.

"Paul asked me to drop this off, said you left it onset." Cillian's voice filled your trailer as he placed your handbag on the table in front of you.

"Thanks." You looked up and smiled, before returning to your book. He went to speak, but seemed to second guess himself and stayed quiet.

"Door's over there, Cillian." You stood up, moving past him to get to the door to open it for him, brushing your body against him as you did. You felt him tense and smiled internally.

"What are you reading?" You were stood by the now open door, he hadn't moved.

"A book."

"You gonna be like this for the next two months y/n?"

"I don't know what you mean Cillian."

He moved closer to you as if to leave, his body now in front of yours. He held his hand over yours on the door and your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, you closed the door and his lips were on yours. The kiss soft at first, increasing in intensity as he pushed you against the wall. You lifted one leg up to his waist as he pushed his arousal into your core, making both of you groan at the contact.

"What are you doing to me y/n..." You wanted him, that much was clear.. but your brain suddenly kicked back in and you put your hands on his chest to push him away.

"I'm making you leave.. now.." your breath was heavy, you were turned on beyond belief but you couldn't let him do this to you again. He rested his head against yours and nodded. Without a word, he straightened out the clear erection in his trousers and wrapped his jumper round his waist to hide it, before stroking the side of your face and heading out the door.

#cillian fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian smut #cillian x smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy

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harbouredsoulss · 3 years

Text

Exit Wound - 2nd & Final Part

Author’s note:

SUPRISE!

I was so close to turning this into three parts. Instead I decided I would make this one longer! I really loved writing this!

I am so excited to share more stories with you! I have so much planned.

I really really hope you enjoy this! Please don’t forget to like, comment, & reblog. I would really appreciate it 💞

If you’d like to be added to my Tag List for any EZ, Angel, Mayan or all of my fics, just let me know 🥰

You can read Part One here and my Masterlist here.

EZ Reyes X [OC] Amalia

Warnings: Injured EZ! Mentions of blood. Swearing! Fluff. SEX.

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: EZ brought a knife to a gun fight. Now Amalia is stuck having to use her nursing skills to save her boyfriends life. Will she save him?

_________________________________

She sat there for a time, kneeling beside the couch, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took in unsteady breaths. Angel had begged her to go to bed and get some rest but she couldn’t bring herself to leave EZ’s side.

Angel tried everything he could think of to convince her to go to sleep but knew nothing he would say could change her mind.

It was moments like this where Angel hoped he would find something like this one day. The unwavering love and commitment Amalia had for his brother was unshakeable and made him slightly jealous, though he would never say that out loud.

Later on in the night Coco and Gilly had come back to drop off the pain relief and antibiotics. They didn’t stay too long, they could tell just by looking at her she wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, nor should she be. They left with goodbyes and good luck, though they kept the latter for Angel’s ears only. Amalia was grateful they had gotten back so quick with the supplies and she desperately wanted to wake EZ and give him the medicine as soon as possible but she knew he needed to rest, and decided it could wait until he wakes.

The minutes ticked down as did the hours as she sat there, eyes trained on the rise and fall of her lover’s chest. For a time, she sat there caressing his face, allowing silent tears to stream down her own. His forehead was covered with sweat, his temperature rising. She wiped at the beads of sweat with a wet rag, allowing the cold cloth to mildly ease his fever down.

When dawn was nearing, Amalia found herself drifting in and out of consciousness, head resting on her arm that lay on the edge of the couch, her fingers intertwined with EZ’s. Her mind continued to torture her with fleeting visions of EZ dying on their sofa, blood pouring from his wounds, voice screaming in pain, echoing all around her. There were moments where she would wake with a start, eyes wide, squeezing his hand, running hers up and down his arm just to feel his warmth. To see he was still there with her.

She continued these bouts of suffering as her body fought for her to sleep and it was only after the third nightmarish vision, she had of losing EZ that her mind rewarded her with a faint memory instead of a twisted dream. It was of a time when their relationship was new and fresh. Yearning, and anticipation reaching the cusp, they had finally given in to their desires. It was the beginning of everything, and that’s where her memory took her.

Amalia’s body was wrapped in his arms, legs tangled together she couldn’t tell where she began and EZ ended. Her breathing was laboured, hands running up and down tracing the ridges of his chest. It was the night they had first slept together, though this moment was long after they enjoyed each other.

EZ had fallen asleep with his arm around her waist. Sleep didn’t come easy to Amalia that night. She was too buzzed with what they had done. She’d had sex before, and like EZ, she would have drifted off by now but that night everything felt different and it was as she continued laying there listening to his intake of breath, as his dreams consumed him, she soon realised why.

“How do you feel,” she heard him murmur against her skin.

“Amazing,” she whispered, a coy smile on her face, “but I thought you were asleep?”

Craning her neck, she turned to look up at EZ and found him just as she thought, fast asleep. It took everything in her to not burst out laughing. She felt ridiculous beyond belief. EZ was talking in his sleep.

“I love you,” she froze, hand stilling on EZ’s cheek as she heard him speak those words they had never shared before.

“Te quiero, Amalia.”

The memories were so intense, and powerful Amalia ended up crying herself awake. Though this time when she woke, she found EZ’s head turned towards her, eyes opened wide watching her.

“You’re awake,” she said, voice cracking.

“Barely.” he whispered back, wincing as he tried to move his body to face her more clearly.

“Baby,” she whined, standing up and gently placing both her hands on his shoulders to keep him from moving, “you need to stay put.”

Her face hovered above his as she stood like that, trying to make her point as gently as possible. His eyes stared into hers not before taking in the look on her face, which happened to be wrought with anguish and exhaustion, cheeks tear stained with lips cracked and bleeding. He could only imagine what she had gone through within the past twenty-four hours.

She didn’t say anything for a moment and neither did he. They just stared at one another. Observing the contours of one another’s faces, making sure to mark this moment in their memory. Though EZ had no problem with that, he never forgets.

“How long have you been sitting there?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“All night,” she said as she pulled away to sit on the coffee table behind her, “I had to make sure you didn’t die. I wasn’t alone though.” She pointed to where Angel’s sleeping form laid on the recliner positioned to EZ’s right.

“He refused to leave and kept nagging me to go to bed.”

“You should’ve listened to him.”

“And you wouldn’t have done the same thing? EZ we both know if the roles were reversed – if it were me on this couch right now, you wouldn’t have left my side either. Hell, you would’ve driven me to the hospital.”

They were at a stalemate both knowing she was right. Both knowing nothing more could be said to contradict her statement. He was madly in love with this woman and wouldn’t live in a world where she didn’t. He would have also stayed.

“If I had lost you EZ, I-I I don’t think I could live with myself.”

She looked at him then and allowed all her despair and anger to seep its way out of her. To expose him to it. His body stilled and he tried to turn away not wanting to see what he put her through. But he looked and watched as she could finally breath in relief. It struck him suddenly – piercingly, as to how much he had put her through, and because of that he could have sworn he heart his heart begin to break.

“I know,” he whispered, though he knew he would never truly know until he was in the same position.

There wasn’t much that could be said for what happened. EZ knew he could apologise; profusely, however, it would do no good. What he brought to Amalia – what he put her through was something he knew would kill him had it been her bleeding, damaged body brought to his door step. If it were him who had to sew up her wounds.

Throughout the day little to no words were shared between them. Though that didn’t mean anything sinister to their relationship. EZ knew once he was better, he could make it up to her and Amalia knew that nothing EZ did to hurt her was intentional. He didn’t ask to be shot. She knew what she was getting herself into when they started dating, hell, even before that. She knew who EZ was and she loved him anyway.

__________________________

Four weeks later

“No fondling the help!” Amalia said, doing her best to swipe EZ’s wandering hands away which were trying to make their way up her skirt.

He lay on their bed, wound still covered and healing. He was a lot stronger than that night. Since then, he had been out and about, though his nurse was strict and limited him when it came to wandering around. She was too afraid he would rip open his stitches.

“It’s not my fault you’re so… sexy.”

Through his healing process Amalia found EZ’s sex drive, which had thus far been neglected, had grown, and at first, she was scared. Too afraid of hurting him, or injuring him further. Though as he began to heal, albeit, slowly, she allowed their nefarious activities to return – though they were limited. She could tell he wanted more than what she gave but she couldn’t quite get past that fear.

The first time they had sex after the incident involved Amalia on top, hands on either shoulder, straddling EZ’s waist. His wound was still on her mind at all times, as was the fear. EZ couldn’t have cared less. He wanted inside and was willing to have his stitches tear if it meant getting what he wanted.

She felt like a nervous teenager again who was about to lose her virginity, unsure of what to do with her hands. She was too afraid to put too much pressure on different parts of his body. Too afraid to hurt him.

“You won’t kill me by touching me,” he said, hands gripping her waist as he ground the most sensitive part of her body onto his, “but not touching me, will.”

A small gasp left her mouth as he repeated the action again. It had been so long since they had touched each other like this, though she was still clothed. She wanted to give in and remove the fear from herself. She was close to doing so, especially when his fingers found her clit. He had moved her panties to the side and began rubbing the little nub slowly.

EZ loved hearing the sounds that escaped as he teased her. He lay there looking up watching her as he continued to pleasure her, and allowed himself to ease a finger inside.

“Fuck! EZ!”

He grinned, proud to hear his name on her lips and added another. He could feel the tension within her begin to build slowly as he picked up the pace, and knew she was close, but he was selfish. He wanted to be inside her when she came.

Removing his fingers, he tried as best he could, withholding a wince, to push his cock inside her. By this point, Amalia had stilled already missing where his fingers had been, not expecting the intrusive entrance of his cock.

“Ride me,” he rasped, “ride me hard.”

She did as he begged, disregarding her previous fears.

She fucked him hard and fast, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing throughout the room. His pleasure was ecstasy and that made him numb to the pain. It made him lean forward gripping the back of her neck, pulling her head back so he could lavish her throat with his lips. With one hand on her waist, he allowed the other to find her breasts. He began to tease her nipples one at a time tweaking the little buds enjoying the sounds escaping her as he did so. Soon his mouth ventured down to her chest and gave it the same attention he did her throat. He left small purple bruises on her skin. Some that would have been easy to hide, others more difficult.

The pressure was beginning to build inside them both, becoming more intense. It caused them to go harder and faster than they did before which Amalia did not think was physically possible. This meant that they had no rhythm. Not that they minded. They just continued to thrust their bodies towards one another seeking the friction and pleasure they needed to get to the end. EZ’s fingers we back on her clit rubbing furiously, willing Amalia closer and closer to her orgasm. He wanted her to cum first, clenching herself on his cock as he had experienced in the past. He had missed this. Her.

“Fuck EZ!” She was close, so close.

“Come on baby,” he panted in her ear, urging her on.

“I’ve got you,” he cooed, “just let go.”

And she did.

She screamed his name, voice cracking as he continued to fuck her.

Her clit abandoned, he gripped her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he finally brought himself to climax.

A loud moan escaped him, her name a whisper on his lips that he chose to repeat over and over again as his climax washed over him. His thrusts began to slow as they began to cool down. He brought his face closer to hers, forehead to forehead. Lips brushing each other’s.

“You’re bleeding.” She whispered.

He looked down briefly and caught sight of his white bandage that now showed splotches of blood.

“It was worth it.” He grinned.

TAGLIST [OPEN]: @appropriate-writers-name

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

Text

Melting Winter, Chapter 5

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: trauma, injuries, mentions of blood and medical situations, angst, abuse of power, mentions of murder, a/b/o dynamics.

Curtis growled as someone opened the curtain to their bunk. The dim light from the train filtered into the otherwise dark cubicle and as he opened his eyes, he was angered to see that it was not his thirteen-year-old omega, it was his annoying fifteen-year-old shadow of a beta.

“Edgar, let me sleep.”

“I want to talk to you, Curtis!”

“Later,” he growled, reaching for his curtain again. But Edgar held it open. Cutis flipped fully so that he was looking at the young wolf, “What is it?”

“It was my birthday a few days ago!”

“I know, Edgar.”

“I-I want to ask Winter out!” he said quickly, looking around the cabin to make sure that she wasn’t coming down the path, “she’s thirteen now, and Gilliam assigned you as her guar-“

“NO!”

Edgar’s brows furrowed, “W-what?”

“Winter doesn’t need the hassle of ‘seeing,’ someone. And you don’t need the distraction either,” Curtis growled, “but if you really want to try and find someone, choose someone else.”

Curtis flipped back over, subconsciously reaching to grab the pillow, and holding it to his chest.

“Curtis, I-“

“Close my curtain, Edgar,” Curtis growled, “I’m going to need to sleep now. When she gets back, she’ll want to be in the bunk alone!”

Edgar obeyed the order, but dejectedly walked away from the bunk. Meanwhile, Curtis sighed to himself as he held the pillow that smelled lightly of shea and jasmine. It’d been a few days, and he was missing his best friend enough so that he’d begun to cuddle the pillow that smelled like her.

He was embarrassed to admit it, but ever since that first day when she came back from the cages when she was ten, Curtis found himself becoming even more protective of Winter. It wasn’t that he had a crush on her or anything, she was a child, still a pup.

But he respected her. She followed Gilliam and the other elder’s rules and had continued to work in the cages. It tore little pieces of her innocence away, but she was so happy when she came back with supplies that helped keep them all afloat. Sometimes, the guards would hand out extra portions of water and bars. Sometimes she’d come back with pills or medical supplies. Sometimes even some worn clothes. But she never kept any of it for herself.

And he cared for the little omega.

And neither her, nor Edgar needed the distraction of dating one another.

When she came back, she was beyond exhausted. A few of the smaller children had run to find Curtis working in another part of the tail end when she returned. They said she was covered in blood. There had only been one other time where he remembered her being covered in blood.

So naturally, Curtis ran to find her.

When he did, she was rinsing herself off in Gilliam’s little nook. Her tired eyes looked hollow as her gaze caught his. She was washing herself off, trying to get some of the dried blood out of her dirtied coils. Curtis frowned when he saw a gash on her collarbone.

“Shit,” he hissed, rushing up to her. She didn’t flinch when his hands splayed out near the wound, “Win…what happened to you?”

She shrugged, barely reacting to the words, “they didn’t restrain one of the cagers and he slammed me against a rigid edge of a pipe.”

Curtis could sense a bit of a lie, but was quick to grab the medical supplies he needed to sew her up, and some of the bootleg booze that Gilliam had, “jesus, Win…they just let it go like that?”

“Gauze in the bag,” she mumbled, nodding to the table. Some dissolvable stitches. Antibiotics. Gonna give it to the med-“

“No you aren’t,” he growled, sitting beside her on a little crate, “you’re going to take that for yourself…y-you can’t get infected, Win…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Curtis grabbed your face. Behind the ‘emotionless’ façade, he could see the tear-stained cheeks. The red-rimmed eyes, “how old?”

Her lip warbled, but she didn’t say anything. She just took a shuddering breath and turned her head to the side, “j-just sew me shut, Curtis.”

“Winter!”

“Alpha, please,” she whimpered, lip quivering once more as she looked back to him, “I-I can’t…”

Curtis nodded, knowing that meant that she’d either had to kill someone young, or pregnant. He let go of her face and moved the bra strap out of the way. Setting the booze in front of her, he started to open the bag and prep her for stitches, “take a big gulp of this…then we’re gonna clean the wound. To help prevent infection…then I’m gonna sew you shut.”

“There are some shots and needles in there,” she whispered, looking to the bag, “o-one for tetanus and a vial of morphine in case I get gangrene…the guard thought it was unlikely, but he felt bad about it. The boy was stronger than they thought.”

Curtis frowned.

She caught her mistake and she looked away from him again.

She was forced to kill a boy her own age.

“Take a drink!”

She nodded, swallowing as much as her mouth would allow, sending a shiver down her spine, and a warmth down her throat. Curtis took the bottle and poured some over the wound. She hissed in pain, grabbing onto Curtis’ knee.

“FUCK!” Her nails slid up and dug into the meat of his denim clad thigh, “FUCKING HELL!”

“I’m sorry, Win.”

“Fuck sorry,” she growled, grabbing the bottle and repeating her actions of taking another large mouthful of the liquor, “around the wound is clean…made sure of it before I left the cages…use the lighter…sterilize the sewing needle.”

Curtis nodded, following her instructions. Her hand slid up from his knee, and she continued to grip harshly onto his thigh with every stitch, but by the end of it, she looked like she was ready to pass out.

“Hey…are you okay?”

“Tetanus shot!” she reminded him softly. He looked into the bag and grabbed the pre-filled syringe. She placed it for him, and he plunged it into the meat of her arm, “Fuck…”

She gave slow, deep breaths, but allowed him to use some of the antibiotic cream and gauze on her, using the straps of her bra to hold it in place, “i-I’ll do my laundry later…Curtis…c-come to bed with me…please.”

He nodded. Taking his jacket off, he placed it over her, so that she wouldn’t be walking around the tail end in her bra and underwear. Picking her up bridal style, his hands hooked beneath her knees and at her lower back, and hers looped around his neck. In her tired state, she instinctively tucked herself into the crook of his neck. Nuzzling against it, he released some of his pheromones to calm her down, allowing her to drift off into a dreamless slumber.

By the time he’d reached his bunk, she was long gone, still tucked into his neck, breathing in slowly and deeply against him. He felt a sort of pride as he climbed up to place her in.

He could take care of her.

He could protect her.

He was a good alpha

And one day he’d have an omega of his own to protect.

He sighed as he looked at her.

When he placed her in the bunk and placed the blanket over her, she’d snuggled into it.

He smiled.

He was her comfort.

“CURTIS!”

Curtis snapped around, instantly rushing the voice who had called his name, slamming his hand over their mouth, “Shh…”

His eyes flickered back to Winter to make sure that she was still asleep. Edgar stared at her, “she’s back!”

Curtis moved away from him and closed the curtain, “leave her alone, Edgar…she needs rest.”

“Curtis-“

“I’m serious,” he growled, looking back to the young beta, “they forced her to kill another one of the cagers…someone your age. He wasn’t restrained and they gave her a pretty good gash. Had to sew her up…let her rest.”

“Shit,” he sighed, his eyes going to the bunk, “is she okay?”

“The wound is clean…guards gave her a tetanus shot…hopefully she won’t get an infection.”

“Yeah…”

“Go do her laundry,” Curtis ordered, “it’s in Gilliam’s area…she was caked in blood.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’m gonna stand here and make sure no one bugs her.”

Curtis stood watch over her for a week. When the guards came to get her on the second day, he pulled back the curtain, showing them that she’d caught a fever. They came back with a small amount of antibiotics and some extra water, but otherwise did nothing, stating if she wasn’t better in a week, they’d have to contain her. Curtis made sure to clean the wound every day and change the dressings, despite her begging him in a delirium not to waste supplies on her.

The rest of the tailenders did everything they could, making sure she had plenty of water. Offering to give up their blankets. But she wouldn’t take it. The only thing she would allow was Curtis. He held her whenever she woke up, crying his name. He fed her bits of the bars, and all of his extra water. He kept her calm during the night, making sure his scent was thick and heady around her.

On the eighth day, her fever finally broke. Her warm chocolate skin which had been dotted with perspiration the past five days was suddenly clear, back to looking like the softest velvet that Curtis had been accustomed to. He watched as her hazel eyes flickered open, her voice sounding slightly hoarse, “Curtis?”

“I’m here, little one…” he reminded her, bringing her back into his chest, “everything is okay…you had an infection…but your fever broke.”

Her look of relief washed away, and she burrowed back against his chest, the smallest of sobs let loose into his chest, “I-I killed someone Curtis…th-they made me kill him…he was my age…”

“It’s okay, little one,” he shushed, grabbing the back of her neck with the slightest bit of pressure to calm her. He released a little more of his scent and she continued to cry, “by the looks of it, it was you or him…you made the right choice.”

“He was my half-brother,” she whimpered, “t-the guards told him that if he could beat me…they’d let him take my place…h-he was an omega that my father had with another woman…”

“Try not to think about it, Winter…”

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whimpered, fisting his shirt, “please don’t make me go back…”

“I promise, omega…I won’t let them do that again.”

Curtis sighed, his heart breaking for the young omega. She continued to cry again until she fell asleep once more in his arms, too exhausted to stay awake. As he laid there, he felt himself growing angry…the guards had used her.

They had put her in a life-or-death situation.

Against a half-brother none the less.

His jaw clenched.

They wouldn’t be taking her again.

Chapter 6

#snowpiercer au #snowpiercer #soft curtis everett #curtis everett #gilliam #edgar #a/b/o #a/b/o au #black reader #wilfred

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playboysaleen · 3 years

Text

Love Malady.

Part 2.

Part 1.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings- cursing i think, violence.

___________

Present.

February 12th, 2021.

The night Buck got sick changed everyone's life. I waited hours for my phone to ring giving me the ‘okay homeboys fine.’ but Jaime walked into my room with tear-stained cheeks telling me Buck didn't make it.

Then a couple days later after Bucks death one of the guys found Adam dead with the same symptoms. Then Pedro, then Jackson, then Shelli, and it killed off almost all of my fathers gang. The disease spread like a wildfire. From our home town to the city, the state then just did this hopscotch move and expanded around the whole world.

The first year the doctors tried to keep it a secret but it flared so fast that society called it the ‘Sinister Ash’. There was no cure when the officials realized it was airborne, literally nothing could cure anyone. Some were lucky with similarities of a stomach virus and a mild headache, and there were the less fortunate. Headaches, stomach bugs, fever and cancer like symptoms. The strong can work through it but it was permanent. The rest who had it worst? Died off just like Buck and Adam.

“Why are you not eating?” My fathers voice rang me out of my thoughts with his thick Venezuela accent, I peeked at my father shrugging my shoulders. Grumbling, he focused his attention to Jaime as they went over the next move for their ‘purloins’. I grabbed my plate walking towards the kitchen running the hot water over the greatest plate, a thud sounded in the dining room which caused my brother's name to boom out my fathers mouth. I ran towards the other side of the table to grasp my brother's shaking body, cursing under my breath. I dialed 911.

“The ambulance is on the way, go Pa.” I instructed my father watching his face fall, he sighed placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Our time has come, I love you, my child.” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my forehead making his way out the back. I cooed into Jaime’s hair as I held him in my arms praying to the man above if he could not let this disease invade my brother's body. ________________________________________ “Did you at least get the girls number?” Jaime stated in disbelief when he woke up and saw the EMT worker reeling him into the ER. I chuckled, shaking my head playfully, pushing his shoulder.

“She was pretty..” I mumbled causing Jaime to widen his eyes pushing me back-

“I TOLD YOU!” he laughed out loud when the doctor walked in with a clipboard. A man around his 50’s with a look that masked his face of light, but we all knew he was trying to survive like the rest of us.

“Good afternoon, I am Doctor Nives.” The man spoke ever so gently but his beard gave me Cap vibes. I nodded my head looking at Jaime slipping my hand into his.

“So there’s news, I do not know how you both will take it but-“ he grabs the x rays placing them onto the screen that took up half of the wall next to Jaime. I watched as the deeper detailed body of my brother's chest caged clouds of red, black, and green.

“As you can see you have stage 2 of the Ashen, the red that covers this area here-” Dr. Nives circled the red that surrounded the upper left of my brother's chest.

“Covers your heart, but after running the test I see your red cells are fighting the virus and it knocks more time for you.” A lump formed in my throat as the last 4 words flew out his mouth.

“Wait, what do you mean more time?” His eyes soften sending me a sympathetic look, Jaime gasped softly looking down at his hands.

“Well from the lab work it shows that you had 3 months, but at how good your cells are handling the virus you have 6 months to a year.” He finished taking his gloves off and applying hand sanitizer,

“Since you ma’am we’re around him can we run some lab work for your safety?” He asked looking between Jaime and I. I looked at my brother to see him nodding my way, turning to the man I nodded as he clasp his hands together.

“Great. We can move you right next door so you can stay close to your brother.” Reassuring the both of us, I placed a kiss against his forehead following the doctor out. I took a seat onto the bed leaning against the back of the wall holding out my arm.

For the last 4 years I’ve noticed a big change in my appearance that it actually scares me on the inside. First year, I lost a tremendous amount of weight, the extra weight turned into bulk in the places I always wished for.. huh..

During the first year, the acne on my face disappeared in thin air. One minute I’m trying to clean the pores with three different facial cleansers, I go to bed, then the next I wake up and my face is so clear. I was changing for the better, yet the world was changing for the worst. That first year we lost almost 2 million lives, including a lot of the people around me.

The second year is what sparked my curiosity of my body. One night, I was cooking dinner for Jaime and I, having a heavy debate with who is better at shooting the knife slid through my palm causing Jaime to spring off the island placing his hand against the deep gash trying his best to stop the bleeding. We knew we couldn’t head to the hospital for the sake of our fathers identity and the groups, so Jaime wrapped my hand the best he could and called it a night. I didn’t like his Tostadas anyways. Next day, I woke up to change my bandage. I opened the wrap to see no gash from the night before. Eyebrows furrowing together I question my own body for the first time in my life.. I can’t be immortal, that’s only in books. Then I noticed it. From small paper cuts to bruises- my wounds healed faster than any other person. From taking days for a wound to close, a couple minutes and it’s gone. Clean. Like it was never there to begin with.

Last year, an incident had happened; Traumatizing to say. Snuck out with an old friend of mine, talking around the den says she’s been trying to make a move on me but me being me I waved them off knowing she’s not the type. Met up with her, got a couple drinks in headed back to her place, got a couple kisses in. The kissing escalated until this small beautiful voice that I heard years back echoed in my ears, jumping back, I stopped what we had and went home. Next day I received the news that she passed away AND GET THIS- JUST like Buck. Since then, her voice echoes in my ear. It’s been quiet the last month, I miss it though.

A pinch brought me out of my thoughts when the nurse smiled my way explaining what the blood was for and Dr.Nives will be in shortly to give me the news. I snooped around heading to my brothers room when my name was said from the doctors a couple rooms down from me.

“That can’t be possible, it’s only been 5 minutes and she’s literally clean from head to toe.” A nurse quarreled, a couple more murmurs were heard but Dr.Nives voice caught my attention-

“Let’s do Code A.” A gasp was heard from within their circle with multiple disagreements, confusion flashed my face until a ‘yes sir’ and footsteps were heard coming my way. I sprinted towards my room taking a seat sending Jaime a small text message.

“Heya Y/n, do you mind if I give you some antibiotics just in case you are diagnosed with the Ashen?” The nurse requested which I nodded extending my arm watching her place the small plate next to me. I squinted my eyes examining the shot that contained a weird dark substance.

“Why is the stuff black? Isn’t medicine a clear color for safety purposes?” I blurted out, watching the nurse grab the shot striking the needle into my vein. I grunted feeling the warm liquid enter my body, I huffed lightly leaning my head against the wall. Then, it hit me.

“Wait, what if my test comes back negative? Why do I need antibiotics?” I glanced at the nurse feeling my heartbeat raise as the room began to shrink.

“What’s… what’s happening to me?.” I whispered watching the nurse draw more blood from the previous spot. I felt like I needed to throw up, once the nurse left I wobbled towards my brothers room next door,

“Man bro we need to get some take out when we leave this place- Y/n? Are you okay?” Jaime rambled out then his face washed with concern as I stumbled onto his bed.

“I don’t feel so good Brother..” I breathed out looking up to lock eyes with his own. He gasped, wrapping his arms around me, rocking me back and forth.

“Y/n…” he whispered, watching my contacts with my brown eyes slowly drain into this grey/golden color.

“What the hell happened?” He asked turning towards the door making sure no one came in.

“They gave me the Sinister Ash.. I can feel it in my chest. We have to go.” I grunted using all my strength to push myself off my brother's bed wobbling towards the door. A cough formed in my throat falling out my mouth, my hand flew to my mouth watching the black and red substance pool into my hands.

“Y/N?” Jaime shouted running to my side, I grabbed him for support walking out the room. I felt the fire in my chest pass when a small burp lashed out my lips. Sighing deeply I stood up straight facing Jaime.

“I… I feel better.” I mumbled opening the doors to the emergency waiting room. My body collided with another grabbing them instantly- I gasped at how quick my reflexes were, even Jaime’s eyes widened.

“Why thank you, I’m so sorry I- Y/m? Why are you not in your room?” Doctor Nives questioned looking between the both of us, I felt warm liquid on the side of my mouth. Quickly wiping it, a fake smile formed on my face slowly stepping back towards the exit just a couple feet from us.

“Sorry Doctor, but I think it’s time my brother and I head home- our father must be worried sick.” I bluffed, gripping my brother's wrist, giving him the signal.

“Y/n. We know who you both are.”

_______________

Thank you for the wait<3

taglist- @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda #The Avengers #avenger #powers #book #WLW #fanfiction

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