#i don’t think they’ll be able to run to the hospital

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

[darkbluekies]

How would the yandere's react to a reader who gets propositioned/asked out alot ? Lol i can imagine their reactions being funny and terrifying at the same time.

Warnings: a lot of jealousy, threats, death, rude Hedwig :O

Silas: 

His jealous ass wouldn't be able to stay calm in front of you. Everytime he brings you outside or around people there's always one who has to approach you. He’ll grimace and roll his eyes in annoyance. He’ll pull you close and kiss your neck while death staring your suitor in the eye. Thankfully, one look at his gun and a threat about hiding their corpse and they’ll most likely run.

“You prick. This one’s mine, asshole, and the longer you stare at my partner, the longer your punishment will be. Trust me, I don't go easy on the ones trying to steal my things away from me. Especially not my partner. Y/N, stay back, this person doesn’t seem to understand what’s best for them. I’m going to break their bones until they get it through their thick head. Afterwards, we’re going home, I’m sick of people looking at what’s mine!”

Dr Kry:

He tries to keep his jealousy at bay, knowing that you’re not a couple. He’s not allowed to be jealous when people come up and ask you out, but it’s happening so often that he sees red. He tries to make you stay in your room, but if you’re not coming to them … they come to you. He chases them out and closes the door after himself to make sure that you won’t have to hear his threats.

“Listen, I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you’re not going to come close to my patient ever again, got it? I’m caring for them and they’re not in any condition to play around with you. If you don’t want to end up in the morgue, you better run back to whatever facility you came from and stay there. Otherwise you’ll leave this hospital in a body bag.”

King Edmund:

Jealous ass number two wouldn’t be able to keep his composure in front of you. The people in the castle know not to come in contact with you, but people outside … they’re not so lucky as to know what measures to take when they see you. Edmund will have his knights grab the people who talk to you. He’ll spit at their shoes in disgust.

“How in the entire world did you think that it’d be a good idea to ask out my dearest? I’ve had enough of these thoughtless peasants! I’ll behead them all! Starting with you. Then maybe people will start to understand that Y/N is mine. As for you, my dear, you’re not leaving our bedroom for a long, long time.”

Jerry:

At first, she would laugh upon seeing people approach you because of how uncomfortable you were, but when it happened again and again … and again, she’d be sick of it. She’ll walk up to you and give your lips a warning kiss, although none of this is your fault. 

“It seems like I’m not the only one who has opened my eyes for you, baby. You seem to be quite the catch here. Ah, what a pity … I liked this club. Now we can’t come back. Go outside. Wait for me there. I’m going to create a bullet rain to make sure that no one leaves with impure thoughts about you in their heads.”

Hedwig: 

Hedwig’s neediness will shine right through when you’re talking to a classmate, rejecting them politely. She’ll cling onto your arm and wait impatiently, eventually kissing your jaw and cheek. The classmate doesn’t seem to get a hint. It’s not the first time. Hedwig’s never rude or impolite, but she’s had enough of people eyeing you like this. Before she claimed you, no one came up to you, but suddenly people see you. It’s infuriating. 

“Are you blind? I’m their girlfriend and I’m right here! But you’re oblivious to that, aren’t you? The only thing you can think of is to get my sweetheart's number. They’ve already rejected you! Leave, I’m losing my patience. If you’re still here in two minutes I’ll call my father. You’ll never be able to come back here again and your parents will lose their jobs. What are you waiting for? Leave!”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere fics #yandere mafia #yandere oc x you #yandere female #yandere king #yandere doctor #yandere reactions #yandere headcanons

[bowiebond]

AU where right after Billy crashes, he’s about to have a good old angry cry over his baby, he’s about to touch the goop on his cracked window and be lured away by his own curiosity, when he’s blinded by headlights.

“Oh my god, sir, are you alright? I thought I heard a crash…” Joyce “Psycho” Byers is rushing out of the car to check on him, some kid she doesn’t really know, because she’s on her way back from work and heard the whole thing and has never been able to ignore a situation where someone might need help.

“Oh god, you poor thing, you’re bleeding, um, I think I have some bandaids in the car - wait no, we should probably get you checked out all together, what if you have a concussion, do you have a concussion? Tell me if this hurts.” She’s talking too fast in her panic, and he’s kind of bewildered as she reached out to feel under his curls for more wounds, but he snaps out of it quickly when she does poke at the growing lump from where he hit his head on the door more than once. The spilt on his forehead hurts enough.

“Watch it, lady.” He doesn’t have enough will power to yell at an older woman, a mother, but he’s running pretty high on emotions right now.

“Let me check your eyes - Jesus, it’s dark out here.” Joyce mutters, Billy dodging her attempts as pulling his pinched brows apart and up.

“Hands off, will you? I just fucking crashed.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.” It’s an instinctive response and it leaves Billy flushing with shame, which only makes him want to throw something, kick something, and it ends up being his car because he’s not gonna kick a woman.

“Sorry, I have two boys, the oldest used to have a bit of a smart mouth.” Joyce flusters. “Is this your car? It was just you?”

“Yeah. Something hit my fu- my windshield. I swerved. Hit the pole.” He felt ridiculous. It was a silent road, he could have just stepped on the break and he would still have a car, his only fucking freedom and possession.

“It happens to the best of us. I’m just glad you’re not dead. Do you need a ride home?”

“I had a date.” He muttered, but his sour mood would not be fixed by seeing Karen Wheeler. Even he knew that.

“Oh, well, I’m sure they’ll understand if you give them a call. The hospital can be a pretty penny, but I can take you home and your parents can keep an eye on you, I’m sure you have a first aid kit, right?”

Yeah, his parents would not give a solitary shit about his condition. Neil would add to it if he was feeling particularly mean.

“My dads gonna kill me.”

“A car is just a thing, honey, it can be replaced. You can’t be. He’ll understand.” Joyce placed a hand on his shoulder and Billy shook her off with a glare at the hunk of junk. All his best memories, down the drain with one crash. His baby was gone so quickly. Like all good things.

“He really won’t.” He muttered, huffing to him. He’d have to find a pay phone. Get someone to tow her back to his place. She’d take a while to fix up, but he prayed he could do it.

Joyce was quiet a while.

“Why don’t you come home with me? Our couch is a pull out, I have a fully stocked first aid kit, I even did a little nursing in the past, volunteer work, so you can relax for a bit until I’m certain you’re good to go.”

Billy sighed. He had two options. Stay here, sort this shit out himself and walk home, or go with the lady everyone calls crazy but seems relatively nice, who has a pull out that’s somewhere other than his own house.

Billy wasn’t stupid, even if he was stubborn.

“Okay. Thank you. Ma’am.”

“Oh please, Ms Byers or Joyce, whichever is most comfortable for you.” She waved off his attempt at manners and put a hand on his back. “Come on, it’s muggy out here, even this late, and I’d like to go home too.” She joked.

“My car…”

“I have a friend at the station.” She patted his chest. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to tow your car home, or to the nearest shop, whichever is best for you.”

She really was doing too much. Billy was gonna start feeling guilt above the slight humiliation he already felt. He rounded her car, a sense of ease filling him as he opened the door. He felt like he had just escaped something really bad, for some reason. Maybe his fathers wrath for the evening.

“Oh, what’s your name again, honey? I forgot to ask.” Joyce asked from over the roof of the car, a little pinch between her brows.

“…William. Most people just call me Billy though.”

“William, that’s my son name.” She broke into a bright smile. “Well, now I’ll have two Williams in my house. I do hope I don’t mix you two up.” She joked as she slipped into the car. He cracked a small smile as he followed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be calling you Mom like he does.”

“Oh, Jim says I’m everyone’s mother.” She chuckled as she started the engine. “I won’t hold it against you if you slip up.”

“I won’t.” As nice as she was, she wasn’t his mother.

As she drove them away from the scene, Billy felt the anxiety ease in his chest. She was playing pop hits from the previous decade, but they’re nice, nostalgic, and he finds himself almost drifting off.

“Don’t go falling asleep, Will, you might be concussed, sweetie.” Her hand reaches out and brushes his curls back from his face.

“It’s Billy.” He mumbled, and everything kind of goes hazy as his eyes unfocused. Her car is equally muggy as outside, with the smell of artificial lavender, and the music has trilled to something softer. It’s just perfect for a nap.

“Right. Sorry, honey.” He likes that she’s still patting him as she drives, just his hair where it doesn’t ache or sting. “Just stay awake, okay?”

“Okay…” He would. Or at least, he really did try. He’s pretty sure he’s not concussed, just…sleepy.

It feels nice to fall asleep with a hand on his head like the old days.

#just some Joyce and Billy fluff <3 #Joyce mothering Billy like she does Will <3 #because Billy is a sensitive boy too #Billy hargrove #Joyce Byers #fix it au okay #stranger things

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : Hospital Visits

A/N : I guess I have to remind you that I’m not a writer and I mainly do Instagram AUS. So to the anons that left me some pretty wild things with my last “fic”, don’t read if you don’t like. 🫶🏻😘

“Dude he’s going to flip.”

Clay nods “I know but he was already on stage.”

“Why didn’t she call any of us?” Urban asks.

Neelam shrugs “She was blowing up his phone and you know I usually have it so I can record for him while he’s performing, so I called her back and that’s when she told me.”

“You do know he’s going to want to go home for this right?”

Neelam nods “I do but he’s not going to be able to. He’s booked, he can’t leave.”

At that moment Jack is walking backstage after his performance. “What’s going on?”

“Y/N called, everything is ok though so don’t worry.” Neelam tells him.

That has him worried in an instant “What happened and where’s my phone?”

“Mia got pushed at school and she broke her arm.” Clay answers.

“WHAT?” He snatches his phone from Neelam’s hand and starts calling you. “She’s not answering.”

“She told mom they were still in the waiting room, so she’s probably not getting any signal in there.” Clay reassures his brother.

“Okay, let’s go, I want to be there before Mia gets in.”

“Jack, wait, you can’t leave just like that, you have an appearance tonight.” Neelam tells him, getting a bit annoyed at him.

Jack stares at her, “You’re crazy if you think I’m making a club appearance when my daughter is laying in a hospital bed with a broken arm.”

He then turns to look at his friends and brother. “You two can stay here, I’m going to see my daughter.” And he walks away, his security team and Urban behind him.

“You and KY go to the club if you want, but you should’ve known my brother wasn’t going to sit still, not when it concerns his family.” Clay says and follows after his brother.

Just then Urban walks back in, “Thank fuck you’re staying, you host the club for him.”

Urban chuckles “Nee, that’s my goddaughter, no way in hell am I staying here.”

*********

“Mama, where’s daddy?”

“He’s working baby, I left him a message so he’ll probably call us when he’s done performing.”

She sighs “But I’m scared and I want him here.”

You smile sadly at her, “I know mama, but everything will be okay I promise you.”

She nods “Okay.”

You and your daughter were currently in the emergency room. She would be getting surgery because she broke her arm in the playground.

Well that’s putting it lightly, she actually got pushed down the slide and it resulted in a visit to the emergency room in which they told you she indeed has a broken arm and will need surgery.

“How will I eat or play with brother mama? I need my arm.”

“It’s not a forever thing Mia, you’ll heal and your arm will be back like normal.”

She groans “But that’s forever.”

You nod. “But that means lots of cuddles and movies in bed.”

She smiles, “I guess that sounds fun.”

“You’re being brave bug, I’m proud of you.”

“It hurts though.”

“I know baby, hopefully they call us soon.”

Twenty minutes later and a run to the vending machine you were getting annoyed that they haven’t called for your daughter. As much as you want to go ask when they’ll get to your daughter, you have to also be understanding and wait until there’s room, or until everyone who has an appointment gets attended first.

“Mommy, me duele.”

“I-“

“Harlow? Mia Harlow?”

You stand once you hear them call your daughters name. “Oh let’s go honey, it’s time.”

******

Two long hours later, your daughter was out of surgery and in her hospital room. She was currently sleeping, but the doctor told you she would wake up soon.

“Hi Mrs. Harlow? Little one has some visitors.” A nurse comes popping her head in and opens the door.

You’re confused because you weren’t waiting on anyone since your mother in law had your son for the evening.

“Who is-“ you don’t finish your words because the door gets pushed open and in comes your husband, your brother in law, and your compadre. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We rushed here for the princess.” Clay says

You nod “I see you also made a pit stop.” You look at the balloons and teddy bears. “She’ll love that.”

“Jack wanted to buy the entire gift shop but somehow there’s a limit on balloons per person here.” Urban jokes.

You smile and go up to your husband. “Didn’t you have to host a club tonight?”

“Like I told Neelam, I wasn’t going to go to a club when my daughter was in here.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well?”

Clay scoffs “She’s acting a bit crazy as of lately, she needs to relax.”

“Wait, but how did Mia get hurt?” Urban asks, he’s currently putting on some gloves and going towards the bed and checking on Mia.

“Stop messing around.” Jack tells him.

“The school called me, told me Mia was hurt but that it wasn’t severe. When I got there Mia was crying and clutching at her arm.” You look at Jack. “They didn’t even tell me she was pushed, I asked Mia what had happened and she said a boy kept bugging her since the morning, she told him to leave her alone, she told her teacher but I guess the situation wasn’t handled correctly. The boy decided pushing her down the slide was something he had to do for tattling.”

Your husband shakes his head and goes to lay next to Mia, careful not to hurt her. “I guess moving schools or getting homeschooled should be something we talk about later.”

“Babe no, she’s a child, she should have a childhood. We can go talk to the school, but if it makes you feel better changing her schools, then we’ll do that. But that’s also something we need to talk to her about.”

He nods “Was she scared?”

“She just wanted you, but she understood that you were working.”

Your daughter starts stirring in bed waking up. “Hi baby, cómo estás? Cómo te sientes mi vida.?”

She looks around the room, then to her left and gasps “Daddy?” Then she looks to her right and smiles. “Nino Urby and Tio Clay.”

“Hi baby.”

“Hey princess.”

“Hi Mia bug.”

“How are you feeling baby?” Jack asks his daughter, brushing her hair out of her face.

“It hurts a little.” She then lifts up her arm to look at her cast. “Ohh, pretty color.”

“That is a nice purple huh?”

She nods “My favorite color daddy.”

“I know and look, we got you balloons and teddy’s.”

She smiles “Thank yous.” She then looks up at Jack who’s still laying next to her. “You gonna work daddy?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, I'm going to stay until my baby feels better. Then we’re going home and watch all your favorite movies.”

She gasps “And cuddles?”

“Oh, most definitely. We can never forget about cuddles, and we’ll even use those fluffy blankets your mama has in the closet.”

“With the lions and zebras?”

Jack nods. “Anything my princess wants.”

She smiles at that. “Nino and tio go with us too?”

“You got it.” Clay answers her.

“Only if I get the fluffiest blanket and get to cuddle with you.” Urban answers.

“But I want to cuddle with daddy and mama.”

“Fine but then I’m next in line for some Mia cuddles.”

“Deal.”

**********

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#jack harlow #jack harlow x yn #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x reader #jackman thomas harlow #urban wyatt #Jack harlow fic

[callsignthirsty]

Stuck in the Middle — Chapter 3 — Both

Co-written with a friend who isn't on tumblr. Pairing: Ron “Slider” Kerner x Reader x Tom “Iceman” Kazansky Summary: The one where Maverick’s sister is on a mission to give her brother a heart attack by sleeping with not one, but two of his colleagues. Word Count: 6400 Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, threesome, creampie(s) Chapter: 3/3 Read Previous Minors DNI

Pete returned home some hours later to find you in a very… festive scarf. Unfortunately for Goose, who had opted to stay with you until Pete arrived, it had done little to hide the hickeys littering your neck. That had been an interesting night.

Little did any of you know that hickeys, unseasonal scarves, and the Iceman would be the least of your worries in the coming days.

A hop gone wrong had you and Carole scrambling to get to the hospital.

They were alive, but it had been a close thing.

Pete was released that same day after a thorough evaluation. Goose was still unconscious. As tears leaked from his eyes, you knew that your brother was blaming himself, but there was little he could’ve done to avoid flying through Ice’s jetwash — Viper had stopped by the hospital to say as much.

You spent one, then two days in the hospital. Classes continued — fly long enough and it happens, they said, but Pete wasn’t ready to go up again. Not without Goose. And on the third day, like a miracle, Goose’s eyes blinked open. “Holy shit.” His voice was scratchy from disuse.

Carole sat upright at his side. “Nick?”

“Mav, where’s my camera?” Goose croaked, ignoring his wife. “There’s an angel by my bed. The guys ‘ll never believe it if I don’t take a picture.” When a nurse entered the room, relieved tears were tracking down a laughing Carole’s face, Bradley smiling in his Uncle Mav’s arms.

On the fourth day, Goose encouraged Pete to return to class because “You can’t let Ice and that big oaf run away with our trophy. They’ll never let us live it down.” Pete had reluctantly agreed when Goose gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll do great.”

Pete smiled. “Thanks, dear.”

So the summer continued: hot days spent on the tarmac and by Goose’s side. And then, graduation was just a day away. Goose, unfortunately, wouldn’t be able to attend, but he had enough points to graduate, and Pete planned on going for both of them. You, Pete knew, would be in the audience, and there lay his current predicament:

Iceman.

Well, more accurately: Slider. After he’d returned home from his date with Charlie, Pete got an eyeful of hickeys and Goose’s side of the story. Namely, everything had been fine until Kerner opened his big mouth and burrowed beneath Goose’s skin so that Ice could steal you away.

If Pete had any hopes of keeping you and Ice separated after the commencement ceremony, he needed Slider.

* * *

Classes wrap and Slider is cleaning out his locker when he becomes acutely aware that he's one of two people left in the room. And even though Mitchell's back is to him, years of training and locker room antics mean that Slider knows when he's being watched. But the silence grows long and goes stale to the point that he's almost convinced that Maverick isn't going to say anything — which is a surprise because Maverick always has something to say.

"Kerner."

There it is.

"Mitchell."

"Congrats on the trophy." It must be killing Maverick to say it, and Slider smiles because, yeah, the trophy is his. It feels fucking good. But that's not what Maverick stuck around to say. It isn’t what he’s after.

Slider doesn’t want to drag this out longer than it has to be, so he gets to the point. "What do you want?"

The question hangs while Maverick takes a second to think before speaking — and isn’t that a scary thought? — when he finally spits out: “I have a proposition for you.”

"I don't swing that way."

"What? No." And Maverick spins to shoot Slider a dirty look. "I want your help keeping Ice away from my sister. At graduation."

"Why me?" The million-dollar question, though Maverick doesn't realize it.

"If you're helping me, you aren't helping him," Maverick says like it should be obvious. And, okay, yeah, that’s fair.

"What makes you so sure I'll help you?" Slider can’t tamp down the Cheshire grin at the way Maverick squirms. But besides being his pilot, Ice is his friend, and… well, they aren’t putting labels on whatever this thing is with Mitchell’s sister. "Besides, I think he's earned a little celebration." Hadn't they both? From the look on Maverick’s face, Slider would say his answer is ‘no.’

"I can pay you."

“No, you can’t.” Because even if Mav did have money, which Slider’s sure he doesn’t, his price would be too high. The trophy and a fuck? Pete Mitchell would have to be the richest man alive.

“I heard the guys say you got yourself a girl.” It’s a reach at best, but it shocks Slider into silence. Briefly, he wonders if someone had, in fact, seen the two of you in or on his car. But if that were the case, he doubts Maverick would be talking with him now. “She coming to the ceremony?” Maverick tries as Slider collects himself, trying to come off cool and collected like Ice always manages to.

“She hasn’t decided yet.” A lie. You’ll be there. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hadn’t let Maverick and Goose come to Fightertown without you in the first place.

Maverick smiles as if he’s got an idea. An in. “If you help me out,” he says, “you can borrow my bike.”

“Why would I—”

“Ladies love it,” Maverick insists, and Slider ignores him in favor of clearing out his locker. “Even you’d look good on a bike, Kerner,” Maverick tries again. “Everyone does.”

“Hey.”

“Think about it,” Maverick’s voice drops as he sets the scene. “She’s clinging to you as you speed down the road. Wind in your hair. Her arms wrapped around your waist. Tight body pressed all up against your back. And the adrenaline rush—” Mav’s eyebrows raise as if he’s remembering something fondly or really trying to sell the idea “—makes for amazing sex.”

Slider can’t help the smug grin that overtakes him — ice-cold, no mistakes was never his schtick. “Is that right?”

Mav’s smiling too, his head nodding lightly like they’re on the same wavelength. And maybe they are because Slider’s thinking about it. “Mind-blowing.”

Well, if Mav insists. “Alright.”

“So you’ll do it?” Maverick seems almost surprised that it’s worked. Like he hadn’t imagined Slider was, in fact, a man who could be reasoned with.

“Yeah,” Slider confirms, zipping up his bag and knocking his locker shut one last time. “Don’t make me regret this.” He wouldn’t.

* * *

“Gentlemen,” Viper says from the podium with a proud smile. “You came here the best of the best. We made you better.” You sit near the front of the audience, smiling and clapping with everyone else as the speeches finish, and the Top Gun trophy is presented to Lt. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Lt. Ron “Slider” Kerner. The new nameplate shines brighter than the others, but maybe you’re biased.

As soon as you can, you’re up from your seat. You go to Pete first; give him a hug and a heartfelt congratulations. Then, when he’s distracted by another graduate asking after Goose, you slip away. You’ve successfully snuck up on Ice’s six and are seconds from giving him a congratulatory kiss when Slider moves to intercept. Time freezes for a moment, and you’re worried that Slider intends to kiss you in front of this crowd — Top Gun trophy still in the hands of the man most of his class knows you to be with. When the moment passes, however, that worry twists into deep-seated confusion.

Ice frowns. “What gives?” Because he’s never known Slider to be a cock-block.

“I’ve got orders.”

“From?” And you can see Pete smirking into his drink as Ice all but demands an answer.

“Mitchell.” You and Ice look at Slider as if he’s grown a second head. “With Mother Goose still in the hospital, he needed some help keeping the Iceman away from his baby sister.”

“And you accepted?” Ice’s jaw clenches.

“Deal’s a deal.” Ice scowls, the look wholly out of place considering the trophy still in his grasp.

“What did he offer you?” you can’t help but ask.

“Not important.” Somehow you doubt that.

The rest of the graduation party is… well, not what you’d expected or hoped for. For one, you’re still there. Every time you try to get close to Ice, either Slider or Pete gets in your way. And this is worse than Pete and Goose because Slider is intimately aware of all your evasion maneuvers — he’d helped you come up with a good number of them.

You’re positive you’re going to scream when Viper swoops in with actual orders. Jester hands envelopes to Ice, Slider, Hollywood, and Wolfman. And Pete.

Before anyone can stop you, you wrap Ice in a hug. You throw your arms around Slider next, then Pete, who can’t be mad when you’re squeezing him like this might be the last time you get to. The “be safe” you whisper into his ear means more after Goose’s accident, but you don’t have time to talk about it before they’re all whisked away.

* * *

Maverick doesn’t want to give Slider his bike when they return to Fightertown. Says he’d barely had to work for it since they’d left the graduation party early.

“A deal’s a deal, Mav,” Slider says, but it’s gentler than it would’ve been a week ago. Mav and Ice are wingmen now, so Slider’s trying to be nice. Not too nice. Not I’ll-stop-fucking-your-sister nice — and Slider supposes that’s the one that counts the most — but nice-nice.

It’s a start.

You’d received no fewer than three phone calls, so you’re not surprised to hear the motorcycle roll up to the curb. What does surprise you is Slider at your door with Pete’s keys in his hand.

“Come on,” he says as he gathers you in his arms until you can feel the solid ba-dum of his heart on your cheek. “We’re going for a ride.”

It feels strange climbing onto Pete’s Kawasaki behind Slider, but as the engine roars to life and you wrap your arms around his middle, you’re confident you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

Slider pulls over at a roadside diner. Ice is already inside, fingers drumming against a table in the corner and Academy ring glinting in the sun when Slider holds the door open for you. He beams when he sees you and makes room beside him at the booth. It seems only fitting to sit beside him since you’d been clinging to Slider moments ago.

The three of you catch up over food and a shared milkshake. Ice and Slider tell you what they can about the mission: the tight bunks, the awful food, the budding friendship with your brother. In exchange, you give them the latest on Goose’s progress in physical therapy. It’ll be a long road to recovery, but if anyone can do it, you know it’s Goose.

When you’re ready to leave, Slider wants to take you out for a spin — after all, he’s been assured that the ladies dig a man on a bike, and he wants to test that theory.

Slider would rather swallow glass or wait in line at the DMV than admit it out loud, but Mav’s right. The warm press of you along his back, small hands clutching at his waist as the engine hums between your thighs, is something else. Ice isn’t thrilled to see him climb onto the bike with you, both sans helmet, and insists on trailing behind the bike in case something goes wrong. It won’t, but whatever makes Ice feel better, Slider supposes.

And although his tailing had started as a protective compulsion, Ice quite likes the way you look wrapped around Slider — your hair a wind-tousled mess and jacket snapping in the wind.

It’s purely coincidence when you spot Charlie’s Porsche at a stoplight; its top down and a familiar head of cropped black-brown hair behind the wheel. At first, Pete offers Slider a cheeky grin, a friendly wave, and then — out of curiosity, you’re sure — his eyes slide to the back of his bike. You can’t bring yourself to hide your face, frozen when Pete’s eyes lock on you and almost bug out of his head, his smile dropping and face ashen with sudden realization. Slider’s laughter reverberates through your chest. The light chooses that moment to turn green, and Slider takes off.

Over your shoulder, Ice honks when Pete refuses to move, a smug smile on his lips as he zips after you.

When you return to Ice and Slider’s place, you rest your cheek in the space between Slider’s shoulder blades, your own shoulders shaking as your mirth bubbles over, and soon you’re shaking from the rush of it all.

Cat’s definitely out of the bag now.

Once the door is open, Slider gets to work. By the time Ice walks in, Slider already has your back against the wall, lips taking yours in a bruising kiss as adrenaline courses through your veins. His big hands slide beneath your shirt to cup you over your bra. Damn Mav, but he’s right. And, as your fingers catch in his shirt-back and pull him closer, Slider has zero intentions of letting you go anytime soon. Not when he’s got you exactly where he wants you. Definitely not when each slide of his tongue over yours teases cute noises from the back of your throat.

Ice must be thinking something similar because he’s quick to join you. His fingers find yours tangled in Slider’s shirt to help you lift it until the RIO has to break your kiss to take the offending garment off. It’s a mistake that Ice takes full advantage of, stealing your lips in a kiss of his own.

Hands resting on your hips, Ice guides you around until he’s the one leaning against the wall. He’d wrap an arm around your waist to tug you closer, but Slider is already plastering himself to your back, so Ice settles for a deep kiss and revels in the wanton noise it earns him.

Without the sweet distraction of a kiss, Slider works your jacket down your arms and into a heap on the floor. He takes your hands in his and leads one into his hair; the other he guides down until it’s slipping under the loose hem of Ice’s shirt. Ice jolts at the skin-to-skin contact and your answering moan gets lost between the slick slide of lips and tongues. Your teeth clack against Ice’s when Slider presses his hips into yours with a sinful grind that drags his cock against the swell of your ass as he finally sucks a mark into your neck — consequences be damned. But instead of pulling him away, the hand in Slider’s hair encourages him. You tilt your head to the side and re-slot your lips against Ice’s while giving Slider more room to work a deep bruise into smooth skin.

One of Ice’s hands cradles the back of your head, his lips working insistently against yours as your hand trails fire over his abs and up to his chest. Perfect teeth catch on your bottom lip and you break apart panting, but then Ice pulls you back for more greedy kisses. His other hand grabs one of your belt loops and uses it to pull your hips away from Slider’s so they’re flush with his own.

While Ice keeps your mouth occupied, Slider’s hands return to the thin material of your bra. He’s growing more impatient with each of your whimpers, the steady roll of Ice’s hips pushing your ass back against his erection which, to Slider’s exasperation, is still trapped uncomfortably beneath the rough denim of his pants. With a barely-there nip that erupts goosebumps across your shoulders, Slider rucks your shirt up until it’s bunched beneath your arm, but Ice refuses to stop kissing you — whether because he’s a greedy bastard or because he’s skeptical that Slider will steal your lips away the way Ice had was anyone’s guess.

The sharp rip of tearing fabric wrenches your lips from Ice faster than anything else Slider could’ve thought up, your nipples pebbling as cold air assaults your heated skin. “Hey!” you scold as the fabric falls limp to the floor.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Slider promises as he unhooks your bra with deft fingers and grabs your chin to pull you in, licking at your lips before taking them in another harsh kiss. You let yourself be turned from Ice to chase the feeling of Slider’s lips claiming yours. Behind you, Ice flings your bra to the side and hastily removes his own shirt.

Slider may be driving, what with the way he has both you and Ice trapped against the wall, but Ice is far from passive. The two join forces in an all-out assault on you from both sides. Hands bumping as they knead and tease and take you apart piece by delicious piece. Teeth scraping against your collarbone. Your nipples pebbling between calloused fingers. Chests heaving. Lips smacking. The sweet friction of denim dragging over denim as you all move together. Sighs, growls, and groans lost between teeth and tongues. The mixing taste of them on your tongue as they push and pull, give and take.

You shiver, moaning into Ice’s mouth as he plays with your tits. Not to be ignored, Slider shoves a hand down the front of your jeans, two fingers working deep into your dripping cunt. Then Slider’s fingers are gone, and before you can say something in protest, you squeal as he throws you over his shoulder. “Ron!” you giggle, another excited shout leaving you as one of Slider’s hands lands playfully on your ass and he turns to bite at your hip just above the line of your jeans as he moves the party to the bedroom.

Slider throws you onto the bed, and you bounce before settling tousled among the pillows. Your thighs fall open in a wanton display, and you crook a finger to reel Slider in until he’s licking a path from your open zipper and up to nibble at your jaw until he’s stretched over you. You moan at how he fits so snugly between your legs and his chest rubs against your own.

“How do you want to do this?” Ice asks, leaning against the doorframe, his arms flexing none-too-subtly when your eyes find him over Slider’s shoulder. He’s a sight to behold — cheeks a slight, breathless pink, arms crossed beneath his chest, belt buckle weighing down the open flap of his pants to reveal more smooth skin and the tented white of his briefs. You lose sight of him when Slider turns his head.

“You can take her mouth since you’ve been hogging it all night.” Slider kisses your cheek, his dark eyes on your as he crawls back down your body. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy for days.”

Ice crosses the room with unhurried steps, long fingers caressing your jaw. “Is that what you want?” he asks, thumb tracing your full bottom lip while Slider mouths at your hip bones. The RIO’s hands slowly pull your jeans and panties down to savor the moment. You bite your lip, briefly catching Ice’s thumb before he pulls it back. A flush of heat travels through you as Slider’s eyes meet your own and he presses a final kiss to your hip bones before he ventures lower.

When you nod, Ice pulls his cock free, eyes never leaving yours as he pumps himself lazily and kicks the rest of his clothes all the way off. Opposite him, Slider grips your leg behind the knee and raises it, revealing the diamond of your cunt. You keen, fingers threading through Slider’s hair and hips jerking as his tongue drags over your core. Lightly stubbled cheeks rub against your sensitive thighs and set them aflame as Slider’s eyes blow wide, his breath fanning over your clit before he gets to work.

Not to be forgotten, Ice’s fingers return to your jaw, light but with enough pressure to turn you back to him. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs as the bed dips to accommodate him. As he rubs the head across the seam of your lips, Slider pushes his tongue against your slick folds with a groan. You’re buzzing, jaw falling open with a sweet noise, and Ice gives into the temptation to tap his cock to your tongue before pulling back and smearing saliva and precum across your cheek.

Unprompted, you take the tip between your lips, tonguing at the slit to savor Ice’s taste before trying to work more of him into your mouth. Slider watches from between your thighs as Ice lets out a low groan, his hand falling into your hair as you work his cock in and out of your mouth. All the while, Slider’s tongue continues to fuck into you, a finger coming to rub spit and arousal into your clit until you’re trembling, hips seeking out the slick press. Slider slips a finger into you alongside his tongue, reveling in the way that Ice’s cock slips from between your lips as you unabashedly moan, thoroughly distracted from your current task.

Distantly, Slider thinks that the real surprise isn’t that Hollywood and Wolf had heard you; it’s that it took them so long.

Ice brings one of your hands up to fist around his cock, his eyes glued to Slider as he continues to wring more wanton cries from you.

Slider smacks his lips. “She tastes good.”

“Yeah?” Ice’s Adam’s apple bobs.

Slider takes another lick that’s purely for show, his chin covered in your juices. “Sweetest pussy there ever was.” Ice groans as he imagines it, cock twitching as he thrusts into your fist, and Slider ducks down to suck on your clit before he asks: “Want a taste?”

“Fuck yes.”

Slider stands back and practically rips his pants off while Ice takes his place between your thighs. Ice throws your legs over his shoulders before diving in and drinking his fill. He groans as the tang of your sex explodes across his tongue, your heels digging into his back. Slurps at your dripping cunt with a fervor that makes your back arch off the bed.

“Please,” you cry.

“What do you want, sweetheart,” Slider asks, suddenly at your side and taking one of your nipples into his hot mouth.

You whine, arching up into Slider and down against Ice’s face. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Well, when you ask so pretty.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ice soothes. He scrambles up, already running the leaking tip of his cock through your spit-slick folds. “I’ll fuck you real good.”

Slider raises a brow. “Why do you get to fuck her first?”

“Because I’m here.”

For a moment, you’re worried they’re going to break into rock, paper, scissors. Slider looks ready to get up and do something about Ice taking advantage of his generosity — he’d said Ice could have your mouth, dammit. But before he does, or you can whine for someone to hurry up and fuck you already, Ice’s hand settles on the curve of your waist, and he pushes in. You groan. Slider drops back against the bed and rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t be surprised; Ice always gets what he wants.

As the jut of Ice’s hips settle against you, Slider takes your lips in another kiss, his hands kneading at your tits. It isn’t his first choice, but Slider can be content with this — swallowing your needy moans, tracing the outline of your lips with his tongue. Making up for the time he’s lost with your mouth to Ice’s greed.

Each rock of Ice’s hips causes your tits to jump the slightest bit within Slider’s large palms and against his tongue as he sucks on a perky bud and applies gentle pressure with his teeth. Before his lips find yours again, his hand trails up your chest and applies gentle pressure to your neck. You shiver, arching into the touch. Slider loves the dazed expression, the slack ‘o’ of your spit-glazed lips when you wear his hand like a necklace, and your eyes brim with rampant desire. He dives in to leave a mark just below your jaw, reveling in the way that you dig your nails into his hair and the way your head is thrown back, and the way you must be clenching around Ice from the strained “fuck” he hears coming from the foot of the bed.

Slider lets out his own punched-out “fuck” when your hand wraps around his cock and strokes. It’s uncoordinated with the way Ice is trying to take you apart and awkward due to the angle, but that’s more than fine. Slider needs something to take the edge off, and your touch is just that. He doesn’t want to finish in your hand. Not tonight.

You bring your lips to Slider’s and let him take the lead while Ice turns his attention to your legs. He lifts one up to his shoulder, and you hum into your kiss at the stretch. Progressively sloppier kisses are pressed from your ankle up your calf. Ice’s new angle has him sinking deeper into you, but he keeps his thrusts slow, the cadence so different from the one you’d had on the beach, but one that — if kept up — he knows will have your legs shaking, back arching, nails scratching. Especially if he keeps hitting that spot.

As it is, your cunt is clenching around him with each forward shove of his hips into yours. Squeezing around him as if to keep him inside of you. Milking him.

With a curse, Ice pulls out, and you break from Slider to whine at the sudden empty feeling. Ice gropes at your hip and offers it a pat before he’s encouraging you to roll over. As you move to accommodate the change in position, Slider grabs you, and you yelp as he manhandles you onto your knees.

“Hey,” Ice says.

Slider just turns you so you’re facing Ice and enters you with a harsh snap of his hips. “My turn.” You want to chastise them, tell them to play nice, but all that comes out is a pathetic mewl. Slider’s smile is haughty. “Still so tight even after Ice fucked you,” he groans as your walls suck him in. Your jaw falls slack, and a pleasured noise tumbles free into the night. When Slider has you screaming, one of his hands fists in your hair. “Come on,” he growls. “Open that pretty little mouth for Ice.” And you do, tongue lolling out over your bottom lip as you look up from beneath thick lashes.

Every time Slider’s hips crash into yours, you’re pushed further down Ice’s cock. Your taste is heavy on his skin, an intoxicating mixture of tang and his musk. Sweet. Salty. You suck more vigorously, hollowing your cheeks as your head swims. When Ice’s hips jerk forward and his cock tickles the back of your throat, you moan long and low. The vibration pulls a shiver from Ice, his fingers whispering across your flushed cheeks and attempting to card through your hair where Slider has it pulled tight.

When Slider nails your sweet spot, you pull off of Ice. “Ah, fuck!”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Slider preens, releasing your hair to smack your ass. “Want you to let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.” He holds your hips still and grinds torturously into you when you don’t comply.

“God, Ron,” you gasp. “Don’t stop!”

“That’s it, baby,” Slider says. You bite your lip self-consciously, wanting to keep your pleasure from the ears of any passersby.

Ice thumbs your lip free of your teeth. Rubs over the indents left behind until you let out another pathetic whine. “Don’t hold back,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We want to hear you. Everyone already knows.”

Slider’s hips slam forward. “Now let them all know how good you feel.”

Ice catches you as your arms give out and lifts you up until you’re clutching his shoulders. You kiss him desperately as Slider picks up the pace, the clap of skin on skin filling the bedroom. Slider buries himself in your neck to leave another bruise as you cling to Ice. Your kisses are less lips and more teeth and tongues now, but you couldn’t care less. Ice’s palms caress your sides while Slider’s hands anchor themselves on your hips to pull you back against him with each increasingly desperate thrust. The kisses Ice gives you do little to shut you up at this point, to neither man’s disappointment. You’re stuck between them. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere you’d rather be when Ice’s hand leaves your side to play with your clit, delicately circles it as Slider continues to hammer into you.

In the end, that’s what does you in, your head thrown back against Slider’s shoulder as both men work together to take you apart.

Distantly, you’re aware of Slider’s grip tightening enough to bruise, the stutter of his hips, and the garbled curses as he presses tight between your quivering thighs and cums.

Gentle fingers turn your head to the side, and Slider captures your lips in a kiss. Simple. Passionate. His tongue rolls over yours as his hands smooth over your hip bones and down your thighs. He shakes as he soaks in the closeness, your highs still crashing through you.

He pulls you with him as he half lays back against the headboard, cum dribbling from your cunt as his spent cock slips free. You melt back against his broad chest and hum as you settle against him. Slider feels warm, and you still tingle everywhere he touches you.

The bed dips as Ice crawls forward until he’s knelt between your knees, his hands planted against the duvet on either side of Slider’s thighs. “You still up for round two?” Your pussy pulses at the thought, more of Slider’s cum trailing down the crack of your ass. Ice gathers the cum on his middle and ring finger and pushes it back into you with a wet squelch. You can’t help but clench around his long fingers, back arching when one of Slider’s hands presses flat against your lower abdomen and encourages more of his pearly essence to leak out around Ice’s fingers, both of them entranced by the sight.

“Words, baby,” Slider whispers breathless and sated against your ear. “You need him to fuck you?” Ice closes his eyes and groans, his cock twitching red and heavy where it leaks against your thigh. “Need Ice to fill up that pretty pussy?”

“She’s already so full.”

“I can take it.” Your legs circle Ice’s trim waist and drag him closer still. You feel hot as you imagine him spilling within you. Being so full of Ice and Slider both that you can’t possibly keep it all inside. “I want it.”

That’s all that Ice needs to hear. He wastes no time sinking into you right up to the hilt with a sinful groan. Trembles when you cry out, soft and exquisite, your eyes already blissed out but your cunt still so wet and needy, gripping him tight as if you were the one who hadn’t cum mere minutes ago.

Each rock drives you into Slider’s chest. Not to be left out, the RIO’s arms lazily snake around to cup your breasts and tweak your nipples, his lips subdued but no less sizzling as they skim over the marks he left on you earlier.

Ice leans close, his glacial eyes dark and blown wide, lids at half-mast. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and worries at it until you gasp, releasing it with a slick pop. “Tom.” It’s not a scream like earlier, more a frantic, heady pant, your voice rough as it washes over Ice in all the right ways. It tingles low in his spine and raises goosebumps along his arms until his shoulders bunch with the feeling.

You arch up, away from Slider’s chest but into fingers clamped over your nipples as Ice’s rhythm falters. The wet clapping of your sex is loud between your ears compared to the heavy sighs and the continuous squeak of old bed springs.

Ice gulps. “You’re so sensitive.” It’s true. Every touch feels like fire. Like straight electricity. Like pleasedon’tletgodon’tstop! and Ice’s dentist won’t be pleased with how he’s clenching his jaw. Drawing in ragged breaths and grinding his teeth to make this last even the slightest bit longer. But you’re right there with him.

Slider’s calloused fingers tap against your clit, and you’re gone. A silent scream passes your lips as you pull tight like a bow and release, and Ice snaps with you.

The three of you lie together in a pile of sweaty limbs. Cum and arousal leak thickly down your thigh and onto the bed. Despite the mess, none of you are willing to move. This is the most comfortable you’ve been in weeks. Floating somewhere high above the bed. Ice is your blanket, and Slider your pillow. At least for a couple blissful minutes.

“Alright,” Slider says, nudging none too gently at Ice’s shoulder, “get off. You’re heavy.”

Instead of telling Slider to go fuck himself, Ice rolls his shoulders and peels himself off of you. He marvels at the mess they’ve made between your legs, then moves to get off the bed and start the shower.

The shower, it turns out, is a waste.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

* * *

After breakfast, Ice helps you into his car and drives you to the hospital while Slider wheels Pete’s bike to his housing assignment just a couple doors down. Ice pulls the car to a smooth stop right in front of the visitor’s entrance. He gives you a sweet kiss on the lips, then leans up to place one on your forehead. You breathe him in — spearmint, sunscreen, aftershave.

“Will we see you tonight?” You shrug, resting your forehead against Ice’s shoulder as his hand gently massages the back of your neck. “I’m just a call away if you need me to pick you up.”

“I know,” you say, giving Ice a quick peck before opening the car door and stepping out.

As you get closer to your destination, you become increasingly aware that you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes and one of Slider’s definitely-too-big-for-you shirts. But that doesn’t stop you from slipping into Goose’s room with a knock.

“Look who decided to show up.” Pete’s arms are crossed over his chest, brows furrowed in his patent big brother scowl, but Carole is smiling where she sits at her husband’s bedside, Bradley sitting on his lap. When you don’t say anything, Pete continues: “You didn’t come home last night.”

Goose turns to you, wide-eyed and head bobbing, before falling back against his stacked pillows. They must have already given him his post-PT drugs. “Wait, where were you, then?” Pete glares at his best friend; it takes a minute for Goose's drug-addled mind to catch up. “Oh.” Goose covers Bradley’s ears, then loudly whispers to his wife, “She was having sex with The Iceman.”

“Thank you, Goose,” Pete bites in frustrated exasperation while Carole giggles.

“He wouldn’t have found out if she wore the scarf I bought her,” Goose insists before turning back to you. “Did you show Carole the scarf?” Back to his wife. “It’s a great scarf, hun.” Great was a relative term. He’d bought it from a 7-Eleven.

Carole nods, Goose dopily nodding along with her. “I bet it is.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Pete asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Eventually, you’ll have to accept that this is a thing, Pete,” you say. It comes out strong, but internally you’re a quivering mess. You love your brother, but you can’t live your life for him; you have to live it for yourself.

Pete sighs. “I know, it’s just… a lot.” And... yeah.

“I know,” you say. Because it is a lot, and that’s okay. It can be a lot. You just need him to be okay with it. Okay with you.

“It’s just…” Pete shakes his head. “Kerner? Really? Ice, I get, but Slider?” Your cheeks heat, but you refuse to look away even if you’re sure the floor looks incredibly interesting right about now.

“Oh my god,” Goose gasps. “Carole?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Did you know she was sleeping with Slider, too?”

Carole grins, shaking her head. “No.”

“Mav.”

Pete sighs. “What, Goose?”

“Did you know—”

“I’m the one who just told you.” You can’t help but smile at your brother’s displeasure.

“So when we were keeping her away from Ice… was she just off with Slider?”

Pete’s head whips from Goose to you, and this time you give into temptation and study the floor. “Well, we Mitchells aren’t exactly known for our good decisions, are we?” you mumble. Pete can’t help but laugh at that.

“No, we’re not.” And with that, some of the tension bleeds out of the room.

Until Goose bolts upright, almost knocking Bradley from his lap. “We’re at a hospital.” Everyone gives Goose a confused look. He’s known he’s been at the hospital since he woke up — had the doctors switched up his meds? But Goose is staring intently at you now. “Do you need to take a pregnancy test? The nurses gave me this button that I can push to bring them in and– Mav, you okay?”

Pete does not look okay. His face is ashen, eyes wide but unseeing as he slowly slides down the hospital wall.

“Goose, dear,” Carole says with a hand on her husband’s arm as she watches Pete with a careful eye, “you can press the button now.”

“Ahh yisss,” Goose slurs, hugging Bradley close and spamming the nurse-call button.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #top gun 1986 #tom iceman kazansky x reader #ron slider kerner x reader #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #f!reader #iceman x reader #slider x reader #tom kazansky x reader #ron kerner x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader smut #ron slider kerner x reader smut #iceman smut #slider smut #mitchell!reader #the one where mav finally figures it out #ron slider kerner x reader x tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader x slider smut #slider x reader x iceman smut #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #fic: stuck in the middle

[promptful]

can you do some injury/hurt/hospital/etc prompts?

80 Injury Dialogue Prompts

you got it :) warnings: hospital, injuries, violence, blood, all that kinds of stuff.

1) “That doesn’t look good.” 

2) “Oh God, are you okay?” 

3) “Breathe with me.” 

4) “Deep breaths.” 

5) “Don’t look down.” 

6) “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

7) “Does your head hurt?” 

8) “Don’t fall asleep.” 

9) “What happened?” 

10) “I’m calling an ambulance.” 

11) “Keep pressure on that.” 

12) “Talk to me, and don’t stop.” 

13) “Where does it hurt?” 

14) “Can you tell me where we are?” 

15) “What can I do for you?” 

16) “Here—painkillers, take them.” 

17) “Prop your feet up.” 

18) “Let me get you an ice pack.” 

19) “Lean on me.” 

20) “I’m going to pick you up, okay?” 

21) “This may hurt.” 

22) “Die on me, and I’ll kill you.” 

23) “Were you [shot]?!” 

24) “That’s… a lot of blood.” 

25) “How are you still conscious?” 

26) “You’ve been out for a few days.” 

27) “God, you scared me.” 

28) “Don’t do that again.” 

29) “Call for backup next time, okay?” 

30) “You can fall asleep, it’s okay.” 

31) “We’re in the hospital.” 

32) “Everything is going to be all right.” 

33) “Hey, just got a call. They’re in the hospital.” 

34) “How fast can you make it down here?” 

35) “I’m going to wrap this.” 

36) “This may sting.” 

37) “Bite down.” 

38) “How about I get you a change of clothing?” 

39) “Close your eyes.” 

40) “They’re hurt over here!” 

41) “I need help!” 

42) “Please, help them.” 

43) “Squeeze my hand.” 

44) “I won’t leave you, I promise.” 

45) “I don’t feel good.” 

46) “Where are we?” 47) “Why are you stained with blood?” 

48) “I need to get out of here.” 

49) “I’m trapped.” 

50) “Help me up, please.” 

51) “I can’t walk.” 

52) “My leg…” 

53) “I don’t think… bones are supposed to bend like that.” 

54) “I can’t sleep. Haven’t been able to sleep since what happened.” 

55) “I feel twitchy. Can’t stand being on bed rest.” 

56) “You’re not working until you feel better, do you understand?” 

57) “Little steps. You’re doing great.” 

58) “Follow my finger.” 

59) “I hate the hospital.” 

60) “Stay tonight.” “I don’t think they’ll let me.” “I’ll make them.” 

61) “I’m a mess.” “You’re beautiful, actually.” 

62) “...” “People slip all the time, you know.” 

63) “I told you to wear a helmet.” 

64) “Don’t get yourself killed out there.” 

65) “What happens if you don’t make it back?” 

66) “Stay still, I’m coming down!” 

67) “How do you want me to carry you? Bridal style?” “Whatever hurts the least.” 

68) “I’ll turn off the lights, why don’t you just lay down?” 

69) “Can I run you a hot bath?” 

70) “Everything is just… pain.” 

71) “I’m going to sleep for a year.” “I don’t blame you.” 

72) “All these machines, how does anybody catch a wink of shuteye?” 

73) “Ready to go home?” 

74) “Step up. Gentle, now.” 

75) “It’s going to take a while, but you’re going to be okay, you know?” 

76) “Do you know CPR?” 

77) “They haven’t come up for air, yet.” “Shit.” 

78) “What the hell can I do but pray?” 

79) “Come back to me.” 

80) “Where are they?!” 

#dialogue #dialogue prompt #writing dialogue #dialogue prompts #dialogue starters #whump #whump prompts #whump dialogue #tw: blood #tw: hospital #tw: violence #otp prompts #starters #sentence starters

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

Weary of the Surfaces

Summary: Sanji never quite understood piracy. He thinks he never will. Happy birthday Sanji!

Pirates, his mother whispers to him in the dark, go on adventures!

Sanji presses closer to her, face buried in her shoulder. “What kind of adventures?” He whispers back into her clothing.

“Sanji,” His mother says, and her tone makes him snap his head back up. He meets her gaze, her face broken into a large grin. “That is exactly the right question. Do you know what time it is?”

Sanji feels a smile spread across his own face. “Yes!” He cheers, wiggling excitedly. “It’s story time!”

“It’s story time!” And his mother lifts her sheets, gesturing at him to crawl under them. “To the story cave!”

Sanji leaps in, burrows himself to his mother’s side. If he presses his face deep enough, he can smell her under the scent of hospital rooms.

His mother cuddles back, throwing the sheets over them both. “Today’s story,” She whispers. “Is about pirates! And the greatest pirate who ever lived. Are you ready to hear about it?”

“Yes!” Sanji whisper-cheers into her side. He doesn’t know how she always hears him, but she does.

“Great!” She moves her mouth closer to his ear so he can hear every detail. “A long time ago, in a land far far away from here, there lived a young man. That young man was, hm, quite small, blond, with cute little curly eyebrows and a great talent for cooking…”

“Mo-om,” Sanji whines. “That’s me! You’re describing me again!”

He feels her shake in laughter. “Oops! You’re right! Okay, okay, fine. The young man had dark hair and dark eyes and a funny hat. And he wanted more than anything to go on adventures! And so, he set out to the sea, which was open in front of him, in order to find them.”

Sanji waits, practically vibrating with excitement. “Where did he go?” He asks, unable to take the suspense anymore. “What did he do?”

“Well,” His mother says. “He went everywhere, and did everything. There are a million stories that I could tell you, but we don’t have time for that. So you pick. Where do you think he went?”

Sanji’s face furrows in concentration. He feels her breathe in and out. “Okay,” He says. “How about…”

He’s interrupted by an abrupt movement below him. He shoots up, throwing the covers off him, scared at the sounds of deep coughing. “Mom! Are you okay?”

She coughs some more, hand over her mouth. She takes the other one and drops it on his head. It shakes.

“Yes, Sanji,” She rasps after a few minutes. “I’m fine, just some coughing is all. Maybe we’ll get back to storytime later, okay?”

Sanji nods hard. “Okay,” He says. “It’s okay Mom. After you get better we’ll tell more stories. And then we can go on adventures too, okay? You and me. Maybe Reiju too. We can be the pirates next.”

The hand on his head grips him harder. “Okay,” His mother coughs out weakly. “Okay, Sanji.”

-

Pirates, the ship’s cook tells him gravely, will kill you, if you give them a chance.

“Let them try!” Sanji says, slamming his knife onto the cucumber with more force than was strictly necessary. “They won’t be able to get past me in here!”

He’s rewarded for his show of strength with a smack to the head. “Idiot,” The man mutters. “Listen, okay? I’m serious! If we’re caught out here by pirates, they won’t hesitate to hurt even a little pipsqueak like you. You run or you hide, got it?”

Sanji sticks his tongue out at the man. “I won’t!” He says. “We have knives in here don’t we? We can fight back here!”

“Tch,” the man clicks his tongue in disgust. “You do that, you’re liable to become fillet yourself sonny boy. It’s a dangerous life out here at sea. A big reason for that is the pirates that roam here. They’ll attack anyone, no matter how small, to get what they want. They’re criminals of the highest order.”

Sanji aggressively chops the cucumber again. “Fine,” He grumbles. “They’re bad, whatever. They haven’t faced me before though.”

“How many times do I-HEY! Is that dill I see?” The man yells.

“Yeah, well, you wanted the salad to taste good, didn’t you?” Sanji says, reaching for the vinaigrette. “Just give me a few-”

The container is yanked out of his hands. “Follow the recipe,” The man hisses. “Or we’ll find us a new assistant!”

Sanji grits his teeth. He stays silent.

-

Pirates, Zeff says, wooden leg slamming to the floor as he takes a step, are inherently selfish

Sanji peers up at him through his bowl of soup. “Weren’t you a pirate?”

“‘Weren’t’ is the operative word there,” Zeff responds. “And yes. I don’t see how that’s relevant, though.”

“Yeah,” Sanji says. “But you aren’t-I mean. You calling yourself selfish, old man?”

Zeff throws his head back into laughter. “You bet,” He says. “I most definitely was selfish back in my pirating days. Still am, but I was more so back then.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow. “Is this a test or something?” He asks. “Didn’t your pirate self give me food when we, well, you know? How is that selfish?”

“Easy,” Zeff says, plopping down on the seat in front of Sanji. He groans, stretching his arms back. “I did that because I wanted to, and for no other reason. See? Selfish.”

Sanji’s suspicions grow. “That makes no sense,” He says. “Selfish means doing things for yourself without thinking about others. That’s why pirates raid and take stuff. They don’t care about hurting others. That’s not what you did though.”

Zeff leans onto the table, chuckling lowly. “Yep,” He says, popping the p. “That’s exactly what I did. I took action not thinking or caring about any long term consequences. I didn’t think about others, I just thought about what I wanted to do and I did it. Simple.”

“You’re definitely messing with me,” Sanji says, putting down his bowl in frustration. “You’re saying things that don’t make sense.”

“It makes sense if you think about it, which you aren’t,” Zeff tells him, crossing his arms. “You’re assumin’ here that selfishness is a bad thing that only hurts other people. It can be, but it doesn’t have to be. Selfishness is a wide field, you know. And what did I tell you about assuming?”

“I’m not saying it,” Sanji grumbles, spooning up some more soup.

“Your choice. Anyway, it’s all moot now. Selfishness isn’t want I do anymore,” Zeff tells him. “Do you get it now?”

No. Sanji thinks, but he just shrugs.

“You will, one day,” Zeff says, eyes far away. “You’ll know.”

-

Pirates, Luffy yells, arms aloft, are free

It’s a familiar scene, played out during the entirety of the time Sanji has been here. Now is no exception, and as they sail away from their adventure in the skies, Sanji feels particularly invested in the notion.

Duties done for now, he leans back on the Merry, railing. He lights a new cigarette and watches Luffy give his speech to an equally excited Usopp and Chopper, who hang onto his every word. “Pirates!” They all cheer as one, dancing together. “Are free!”

He can see Robin-Chan to the side, pinning the dancing trio with a puzzled glance.

Sanji lifts a cigarette to his mouth. “Not if they’re caught for piracy, they’re not,” He mutters into his next breath.

“What was that?”

Sanji nearly pitches over the ship in surprise. He hadn’t heard her approach. “Nami-San!” Flustered, he taps out his cigarette. “Did you need anything? Are you hungry?”

“No,” Nami-San says, stopping a few paces away from him. She leans onto the railing too. “I’m fine, Sanji. I just wanted to know…what did you mean by that?”

“By what?” Sanji asks. “I can explain whatever it is you like!”

Nami-San gives a defeated sigh. “You don’t have to-never mind. I meant by what Luffy was saying over there. You don’t think pirates are free?”

Sanji’s hands start to sweat. Should he unburden himself and show Nami-San his true vulnerable opinions, or should he not bother her with his thoughts? “Well,” He hedges, hand going up behind his head. “I didn’t mean much, really. Just…freedom as a pirate is great. But it’s a little limited if we’re always running and hiding from the Marines, right?”

It had been the right move. Nami-San graces him with a smile, and Sanji is so overjoyed he could explode. “I guess,” She says. “I don’t think Luffy sees it that way, though. I used to think the same, you know? But it took me a while with Luffy to realize what he means when he says that.”

Sanji doesn’t want to bother her. And yet…“What does he mean?” He asks, curiosity and the need to keep talking to Nami-San getting the better of him. “What kind of freedom is he talking about?”

“Hm,” Nami says, hand going up to her chin. “You know, I don’t think any of us will ever know for sure. But. I think he’s talking about freedom of movement, you know? Freedom to do what you like without the expectation of what you should be doing instead. And whatever that could mean for any of us.”

Sanji nods thoughtfully. “Yes,” He says. “I suppose that’s true. But, we still live in a world that pushes back against that kind of freedom, right? Just being a pirate in itself pushes back against absolute freedom as a result of who you are? Doesn’t it?”

Nami gives him another smile, and Sanji feels his heart go into overdrive. Before she can respond, they’re interrupted by a gruff voice. “Don’t overthink it, cook.”

Sanji immediately sees red. He whirls to his right, where a certain marimo swordsman had presumably been taking his nap. “What did you say, mosshead?”

“Calm down,” the mosshead says, unmoved. “You’re overthinking this. Freedom is freedom. Pirates are pirates. And that means whatever you think it means, because you’re a pirate. There aren’t any rules, because, again, you’re a pirate.”

“Tch,” Sanji growls, leaning back to his original spot on the railing. The words echo in his head, you’re a pirate. “Go back to sleep.”

Nami-San shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “How can you be so smart sometimes and so stupid other times, Zoro?” She asks.

They’re met with the sound of snoring, but that’s not what Sanji is hearing. Something else entirely is echoing in his head, like multiple voices shouting at him all at once.

“Pirates,” Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper, scream in unison, one more time. “Are free!”

Pirates, Sanji thinks, are free.

-

“You…” The Marine’s knees shake before him. He’s seconds away from dropping to his knees, the fear apparent in his eyes. “What are you?”

The flames fan around Sanji’s hair. He can feel them pulse through his leg, whip through his clothes, but the heat doesn’t bother him.

He doesn’t have time to waste for this. His crew needs him, and he’ll fight through whatever it takes to get back to them.

This should be easy, though. No skin off the back of the crew of the future pirate king.

“Heh,” Sanji says. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, tapping it to ashes below. “I’m a pirate.”

#happy birthday Sanji! #one piece #op #speaks #Sanji #monkey d luffy #Zeff #should I post this to ao3. idk. #op fics #roronoa zoro #Nami

[meetmyothersouls]

Back To You

Jonah Hauer-King x Reader

Literally writing this because I want to 🥰 this will be a multi-part series on how love always manages to find its way back to where it’s supposed to be. Some trigger warnings: car accident, memory loss, unborn child loss (mentioned), hospital.

Chapter 1

I wake up in to the sounds of repetitive beeping and distant accented voices. I can’t make out who any of them are or what they’re saying other than a few words here and there. I squint my eyes, as if the motion will help me hear what they’re saying. I’m able focus on two voices that sound particularly worried. One is a male. British. The other is familiar. My sister?

As quick as I’m able to pick them up I lose them to the overwhelming pain that hits me well…everywhere. My head, my back, my stomach. It must make my heart rate accelerate because the machine next to me starts beeping rapidly and uncontrollably, the noise mixed with the pain makes me feel nauseous.

A doctor and a few nurses rush in.

“She’s awake!” A nurse calls out to the male voice and my sister (I think) in the hall.

“Oh thank god,” the man says. I see a glimpse of him before the curtain to my room is shut. From what I see I do not know him. And that confuses me even more than the soft accent he speaks with.

“Hello, y/n, it’s so nice to see you awake,” a man that I assume is a doctor says. He’s British also. What’s with that? “We thought you’d sleep another few days, but this is great news. Great progress. Tell me now, what’s hurting you?”

“Everything,” I groan, as a female nurse with a kind smile wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm. Even lifting it hurts.

“Pressures within range,” she says a few moments after with, of course, a British accent.

The doctor, who had stepped out after assessing my pain level, reappears with a syringe. “This is for your pain, but it won’t knock you out. Now that you’re up we’d like to keep you awake, make some assessments.”

The doctor injects me and within minutes I feel my pain ebbing away. “I’m sorry, but what the hell happened?”

The doctor, who’s name is Vincent, which I can now make out by the embroidery on his white coat, gives me a tight smile. “You were in a car accident, y/n, you suffered many injuries including a grade four concussion, among others which I won’t overwhelm you with now.”

Dr. Vincent steps out and this time I can hear his whispers. “She’s stable and alert and that’s what’s important. We worry about memory loss with the type of head injury she sustained, so don’t be alarmed if she doesn’t seem like her self or seems to have lapses in memory. They’ll come back as her head and brain heal.”

The British man says words I can’t hear even when I strain to do so.

“Just be patient with her,” Dr. Vincent replies. “I only want one of you in to see her at a time as to not overwhelm her. Which ever one of you would like to see her first is welcome to.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by more whispering until I finally see a familiar face. My sister pushes open the curtain and runs to my side. She’s on her knees in an instant, taking my hand into hers. I catch a peek of the man in the hall before the curtain flutters closed. This time he’s not peering into my room. He’s pacing and I see him run a hand over his face.

“Y/n, thank god. We thought we were going to lose you too,” Haven says.

Who else did we lose?

“I came as soon as Jonah called. He’s a mess, y/n.”

Who the fuck is Jonah?

“Are you okay? How’s your head? How’s your stomach?” Her hands goes to my belly and then she pulls it away, awkwardly.

“Haven, I have no idea what happened. What’s going on? Where am I? Everyone’s fucking British but us.”

I can see the worry in her eyes. The type that she thinks I can’t see, but I know is there when she’s not trying to panic. She’s not good at hiding it.

“The doctor said not overwhelm you.”

“Well then tell me something!”

“You were in a car accident and got really hurt, y/n. They had to pull you out of the car and revive you on the side of the road.”

Holy shit. I fucking died. But I’m here and I’m in one piece. The severity of the situation sinks in and it must be evident on my face since Haven is nodding in agreement. “You’re lucky to be alive, y/n,” Haven adds her eyes moving down to my stomach again. “And I guess since you asked, everyone’s British because you’re in England.”

The room begins to spin as I digest her words. “Wait. What? When the fuck? Why am I in England!?”

“You don’t-”

The curtain swipes open in a fast motion and the man from the other side storms in. His face is full of emotion, none of which I can place. Now that I see him in his entirety, he’s very attractive, even through the flurry of emotions he’s wearing and the obvious lack of sleep, his eyes are kind. He’s at least six foot tall. He has to duck under the curtain rod closing off my room to keep from hitting his head. His dark hair is messy, which matches the sleepy eyes. If I wasn’t totally numb from the pain medication, I’d definitely try to get his attention.

Except, I don’t have to try at all. He’s focused on me and relief floods his face. His whole body relaxes when he sees me, like a thousand pound weight has just been plucked off of his shoulders and he can finally breath again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his accent as soft and kind as his eyes. “I know he said only one person at a time, but I couldn’t wait.”

Haven moves to the corner of the room. I glance over at her but she won’t make eye contact with me. She knows I don’t know this man. She’s biting her bottom lip like she does when she’s nervous, waiting for something to happen. The man takes her seat and slides his hand into mine. His hands are big, totally engulfing mine in his grasp, and his skin is soft.

“I was so scared, y/n,” he says softly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

I’m about to open my mouth, to say what? I’m not sure but I’m stopped when he brings his face to mine. He’s trying to kiss me and as kissable as he looks this is all just too much. I have no idea what’s going on or who he is or what he’s talking about.

“Jonah,” Haven starts.

My hand goes his chest just as his lips graze mine. I can smell the coffee on his breath that has probably been keeping him awake for the last few hours. I put a gentle pressure on his chest and his breath hitches in a gentle gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Jonah asks, that same mixture of emotions flood his face again. I immediately feel guilty and I don’t know why.

“I…I don’t.”

“Jonah,” my sister steps in. Jonah turns his head, looking at her and I see her shake her head, a seeing a silent question. He turns back to me and I can see the tears in his eyes as he blinks them away.

“You don’t remember me?” Jonah asks. There’s almost a hint of a smile on his face. As if I’m telling a bad joke and he’s waiting to hear the punchline. But I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t even answer his question. I don’t know why but I wish I could lie. I don’t even know this man and I want to please him. I want to tell him that I remember him and kiss him back…but I can’t. Nothing about him is familiar. “I’m your husband, y/n,” Jonah says, his voice shaking as each word comes out. “Please tell me you remember that.”

“I…I’m sorry,” is all I can manage to say.

Jonah let’s go of my hand and runs it down his face. He gets up and walks quickly out of the room. I see and hear his footsteps as he walks down the hall. Moments later he’s walking back with what I assume is Dr. Vincent.

“There has to be something we can do. I already lost our baby in the accident I can’t lose her too,” Jonah whispers.

Haven sits back down where Jonah was.

“Baby?” I ask.

“You were pregnant, y/n. They were able to save you but they weren’t able to save the baby. I’m so sorry.”

The pain in my stomach makes sense to me now. What doesn’t is that I don’t feel an immense amount of loss. I should. But I don’t. And it feels so wrong. The room spins again and my breathing is coming out rapidly. My chest rises and falls so quickly, I’m barely able to get a full breath in before exhaling again. My heart rate monitor beeps uncontrollably again as the Dr. Vincent comes in.

The last thing I see before my eyes close again is Jonah.

This is my first non Timothee chalamet related fic so be nice to me 😂 if you want to be added to my Jonah tag list let me know!

#Jonah hauer king #Jonah hauer-king #Jonah hauer king imagine #Jonah hauer king fan fiction #Jonah hauer king x reader #writing #fan fic

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — forty-eight hours #37

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: whumpee referred to as “kid” but they’re an adult, conditioned whumpee, interrogations, stockholm syndrome, mentioned past character death

Sharpe was expecting Summers to lay into him the moment the door was closed, and he was already preparing a cigerette for him to drag between her harsh words.

He hadn’t been expecting her hand to slap them from his fingers harshly, causing them to clatter to the ground. His brows furrowed instantly, arms coming up in mock surrender.

“Jesus, Summers,” he grunted, but the woman’s fiery eyes were burning too brightly for her to even care about his visible discontent.

“This whole thing is a fucking mess,” she snarled, face twisted in anger. “He should be in a hospital. He shouldn’t be locked in some interogation room while you grill the poor kid until he’s in tears.”

“I’m not grilling him,” Sharpe argued, but he was promptly cut off.

“No, Steven,” she snapped. “Be quiet for two seconds. You arrested Roy under ridiculous assumptions and for what? Because you think it was his uncle that killed Mikhail Wilson?”

“I know it was his uncle that killed Mikhail Wilson,” the detective corrected with a scoff, his brows furrowing in discontent. “Kidnapping Leo was sloppy. So naturally his uncle is going to be the one to clean up loose ends.”

“On what grounds, Steven?” Summers snapped, throwing her arms up in disbelief. There was a fiery, but exasperated tone to her sharp voice. “On what grounds would any of this hold up as viable evidence? It doesn’t. It’s all speculation, and speculation isn’t going to get Roy convicted.”

“You really believe the bullshit about stumbling onto his house is true? That there happened to conveniently be someplace else that kidnapping victims are kept?”

“Those forests are fucking huge,” Summers frowned, shaking her head. The anger was slowly leaving her voice, finding it was useless to argue against Sharpe. “People go missing in them and never found all the time, and you know this. If his kidnappers wanted to keep him someplace concealed, we might never find it, even if we had hundreds of officers searching every square acre.”

Sharpe shook his head, running a desperate hand through his hair. His eyes snapped towards the door where Leo was, and all it took was the reminder of him in the car to get him fired up once again. There were too many little discrepancies popping up that couldn’t be sheerly down to coincidence.

“The kid is confused,” Summers spoke once more, drawing him out of his boiling rage. “He’s scared. He’s likely traumatised, and you think he’d be able to retell some fake, elaborate story in the state he’s in right now?”

“Summers—”

“Forensics are doing a sweep of Roy’s house,” she interrupted coldly. “If anything detrimental comes up, we’ll know. They’ll have Roy’s trip to Morocco checked, as well as his phone and laptop.”

The detective decided to keep mouth shut for now. There was no use arguing against her when the evidence was stacked up against him so highly, which he saw and understood completely. Although his words were being seen as sheer speculation, which in reality, it was, it was speculation that Sharpe believed to be the truth, and he was going to fight tooth and nail to save Leo from the man’s clutches. 

“Summers, you know I’m a good detective,” he started, and the woman turned away from him with a sharp groan. 

“Don’t start this, Steven,” she snapped. “I know you’re a good detective. But this is a mess and you know it, even if you are right.” 

“We’d hit a dead end. His case had been closed. The captain was even willing to bet his career on this case, and look what happened. We found him.” 

“And haven’t they given a valid enough reason to explain that?” 

Sharpe grit his teeth, a sharp scoff rising in his throat. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What, so you believe Roy’s bullshit about not wanting to call the police?” 

“You saw the kid in there,” she fired back swiftly, without missing a beat. “He genuinely believes that he was responsible for Michael’s death. You’re a detective, Steven. Like you said, a good one. Can’t you tell that he’s scared out of his mind?” 

“He’s scared enough to do what he’s told,” he grumbled dryly under his breath, stifling a grunt when Summers elbowed him a little too hard in the rib. He could tell she was angry and frustrated, and so was he. They’d found the kid safe and sound, but they both knew that he wouldn’t ever be the same. Just looking at all of the horrible scars on his body from the photos, and the sickening guilt in their stomachs for not saving him quicker. It was enough to shake the both of them, including Sharpe, despite his tough exterior. 

“What kind of twenty-four year old lives in the middle of nowhere anyway?” Sharpe grumbled under his breath, ignoring Summers’ eyes when she turned to glance at him. She leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair and gathering it up into a ponytail. She pressed the bobble between her teeth as she did, before scraping it all back successfully. 

“I had a word with him while you were talking with Leo,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “I already asked him. His explanation was reasonable enough.” 

The detective scoffed. “And what was that?” 

“His uncle,” she shrugged wearily. “It’s safer for him than if he was in the city. Wouldn’t be hard for that man to find him if he decided he didn’t want his dear old nephew running around by himself anymore.” 

Sharpe had a lot to say about that, but for the sake of not having his cigerate and lighter slapped out of his hands for a second time, he decided to keep it to himself. He bent down and scooped the two objects up, tossing the cigerette in the bin, and pulling out another from the depths of his trouser pockets. He leaned against the opposite side of the wall, beside the water dispenser. He wasn’t allowed to smoke at the station, but he didn’t care. 

“How is the Commissioner taking this?” 

His words lingered in the foul air for a while, tainting it even further. Summers’ eyes remained glued to part of the ground, her eyebrows raising with a deep sigh. 

“As you can imagine, not very well,” she muttered. “He’s absolutely livid. You’ve probably cost the Captain his badge.” 

Sharpe sucked in a breath, tasting the familiar tobacco on his tongue. “Yeah, well, we’ve still got over twenty-four hours for Leo to tell us the truth.” 

Summers gave another pathetic shrug. The detective didn’t want to believe that she’d given up just yet, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult as the time whirled on by. They’d have to move Roy into a cell for the night, as well as find someplace for the kid to recuperate. By then, their time would be rapidly diminishing. 

“And what if Roy walks free, huh, Steven?” She asked softly. “There’ll probably be hefty compensation for the Commissoner to deal with once this is all over. And, Jesus, if his uncle is willing to tie up loose ends for his nephew like you said, what’s the chance he won’t do the same here?” 

Something icey made its way into Sharpes chest. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her from above his cigarette. 

“What exactly are you implying?” 

Summers tapped a finger on her forearm. “The Commissioner isn’t going to let this slide.”

“Doesn’t this just prove my claim if he does?” He grumbled. “That he currently has connections with his uncle?” 

“He’s his legal guardian,” Summers reminded him gently. “So, no. Not really.” 

“Fuck,” Sharpe sighed, rubbing the aching crease in his forehead. He took another deep drag, letting the sting fill up his lungs. All he could hope for was that once the house was sweeped and searched, something of value would come up. Something incriminating, while they thoroughly did a search on Bran, Sean and Rafi in the meantime. Sharpe didn’t feel as though Leo would take well to his encouragement to tell him it was Roy, so he found his gaze settling on Summers’ remorseful face again. 

“Can you talk to the kid again?” He asked softly. “He might open up to you. Much prettier than me, after all.” 

That brought a small smirk to her lips. “Was that a compliment, Steven?” 

He tapped the end of the cigerette with a chuckle, watching the dark ash flutter to the ground. 

“Never.” 

She shook her head, pushing off the wall. “I’ll do my best. They should transfer Roy into a cell for the night.” 

“Already on it,” Sharpe called out as his feet carried him swiftly through the corridors of the station, his smile fading as soon as her back was turned. 

. . . 

Leo must have drifted off for a while, because when he blinked his eyes open, they were crusted and sore against the dry air. His stuffy nose struggled to take a deep breath in, uncurling his head from his arms. His neck felt horribly stiff as he shifted back into the chair, weary hands rubbing at it gently. 

He was still in the same, boring room as before, alone as ever. 

He wondered where Roy was. 

God, he would do anything to see him right now. Was he somewhere in the building? Were they treating him badly? Was he doing a good job? Without Roy here to tell him if he was doing okay with the story, he could feel himself becoming agitated and nervous. If he was here, he would probably be holding him gently, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and Leo would lap it up like it was the last time he’d ever hear anything nice. It might have been now. What if he got into trouble for killing Michael? What if he slipped up and disappointed Roy? 

Even when the door popped open again, Leo didn’t look over. He was chewing on his finger again, staring intently at the surface of the table. 

“Leo?” 

He jerkily nodded his head, letting the woman know that he was listening. It passed over him in a blur, however. He briefly listened to her soft words, much kinder than the bearded detective from before. He learned that her name was Summers. Heard her repeat the same mantra’s of “you’re safe now” and “no one can hurt you anymore”. He had to endure the difficult, probing questions that Roy had told him about, words flying from her mouth like “do you understand the concept of Stockholm Syndrome?” or “did he coerce you into sexual intercourse?”, and Leo forced himself to keep his head on straight through it all. 

Still, like Roy wanted, he didn’t crumble. 

He felt like he would. Each question was chipping away at his exhausted resolve, the sinking darkness under his eyes an indication enough about what the stress was doing to him. He was guided carefully to an unlocked cell, where they encouraged him to get some rest. A bunch of pillows, blankets, water, pills, and even a bar of chocolate was handed to him by uniformed police officers.

Their kindness was almost strange.

Respectfully keeping their distance, making sure he was comfortable and ensuring him they would do their best to stay quiet for him. Even when he’d become anxious over the cell door being locked and caging him in like some criminal, a pudgy officer had placed a chair against the door to keep it propped open for him. 

Leo barely slept a wink. 

He pulled the blankets right up to his nose, but none of them reminded him of home. His stomach ached as sickening thoughts plagued his mind. I need to tell them. I need to tell them the truth. Then another side of them, cruel and hissing in his ear. What about Roy? He’ll be so disappointed in you. 

By the time he’d been retrieved by those two detectives again and placed in the same little room, he was more of a coward than he had always been. He sobbed as he told them the same story, over and over again. Even as the timer ticked down, closing in on the forty-eight hours with only minutes left, he gave Sharpe and Summers the same answer to their demands. 

“We can only do this with your help,” the man pressed, a slight edge of desperation in his tone. “Tell us it was Roy.” 

He didn’t. 

And by then, it was too late anyway.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy @seaweed-is-cool @theelvishcowgirl @atomicsandwichprince @sunshiline-writes @peasandpotatos @pirefyrelight @enigmawritesstuff @reverie1234 @obsessedsplicer505 @mithras-energy @morning-star-whump

#guns for hire #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump series #whump fic #whump tropes #whump scenario #whumper #whumpee #leo and roy #writing #my writing #avvail whumps #okay so close to the end now i promise this 48 hours took a little longer than intended oops #i'm gonna assume the next one will be the last #maybe #probably #not unless i write too much by accident #:)

[augustvandyne]

Can i request a Shauna shipman x reader where the reader was injured during the crash and Shauna takes care of the reader???

yes yes yes. i love. please request more of shauna.

a disaster

You were starting to think joining the Wiskayok High School girls soccer team was a bad idea.

You weren’t even sure why you agreed to joining in the first place—you sucked, to say the least. But somehow you ended up on the varsity team.

The only reason you agreed to the stupid tryouts in the first place was because of a certain doe eyed girl. Shauna Shipman was intriguing to say the least.

She was kind, and was always looking out for you in your best interests. She was good at pulling people in.

At tryouts she talked you up. At the time you’d only been friends for a few months, but everyone immediately liked you. And if the returning girls liked you, you were in.

You met the brunette in your math class. You were the only juniors in the advanced class. The teacher was an older man, and he would assign the work and promptly pass out at the desk.

Almost all of the class except you and Shauna were seniors. Which meant a lot of goofing around.

You and Shauna sat in a table near the back, whereas the seniors spread themselves around. The first time you spoke to her it was a disaster.

Kind of like your current state. A disaster.

On the way to nationals, Jackie, Shauna’s best friend, pulled her close to her and named Shauna as her seat partner. You opted for Lottie instead, whom was just as quiet as you, so it worked out.

You brought your walkman along to settle your nerves, and as soon as the plane took off you were asleep.

But now you were wide awake, staring wide-eyed at the flames that surrounded the plane. You could hear shouting, but you were pretty sure you blew an eardrum.

You realize you’re laying on your side on the ground.

The pressure on your legs moves your gaze away from the fire, and you realize they are stuck under a set of airplane seats. The pain was starting to set in, and it didn’t feel good.

You could see the teams star goalie was in just as much of a pickle right now as you were. But at least she was screaming for help. You were just sitting there, wide-eyed, in shock. And it was a disaster.

Meanwhile outside, Shauna is freaking out because she doesn’t see you anywhere. Jackie just shrugs, because she did see you laying on the floor, but she doesn’t think they’ll be able to get you out from where you are, and then Shauna will be crushed. More crushed than she will already be.

“You do know,” Shauna reads right through Jackie.

“Shauna-“ Laura Lee pleads.

But she doesn’t listen, she runs back in with Misty on her tail in case you need any immediate medical attention.

Misty and Shauna relieve your legs from the seats as fast as possible, as the flames were beginning to engulf the entirety of the private plane.

The two carry you out of the plane to assess your injuries. When Misty announces you have a sprained ankle and that your knee is most likely broken, she leaves Shauna with you to check on everyone else.

“How are you doing?” Shauna asks for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes

“Fine,” You flashed a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? Because I can get Misty and she can get-“ The girl goes to stand, but you grab her arm and pull her back down beside you.

“Shauna,” You said, “I promise I’m okay. I’m just a little shook.”

The brown eyed girl lets out a breath. “Okay. But I’m not leaving your side.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

After spending a few weeks in the wilderness, it was evident that Shauna really was going to stay by your side. By now, your ankle has healed up well, but your knee.. not so much.

It still hurts like a bitch, and you are pretty sure it’s going to heal wrong.

Because you’re in the wilderness, and don’t exactly have everything you would at a hospital, you don’t have any way to stretch it or try to help it heal correctly.

And even if you did, Shauna wouldn’t let you try to stretch it. She barely even lets you walk on your own.

You appreciate the help. You’ve never been coddled like this at home, and it feels nice. If you had to be honest, it was a bit of a relief to be away from home for awhile. But this wasn’t your idea of a good time.

Shaunas been great about the whole thing. You were starting to get closer to the girl, which made you happy. You think you were starting to catch feelings.

Right now she was holding your hands so she could help you down the hill. She thought it was best to use the cold lake to your advantage since you didn’t have any ice to ice your injury.

And while the two of you are down here she thought it would be a good chance to rinse yourselves off.

You wished someone would tell the rest of the girls they need to bathe as well.. the cabin was beginning to smell. Or maybe it was something else. You’re not sure. These woods were creepy and you wanted to get out as soon as possible.

As you arrive at the lake you put all your weight on your non injured leg so you can take your shirt and shorts off.

The both of you—still dressed in your undergarments—get into the lake. Shauna still helps you.

It was nice to get away with Shauna. She was really the only one who understood you. Everyone else just saw right through you. But maybe it was just because they were stranded with no sign of any help.

You could tell Jackie was trying to keep Shauna away from you; but it didn’t work.

“Thank you for helping me,” The two of you float in the water. “Because you really don’t have to. I know how much everyone sees me as more of a problem than anything.”

“Hey, y/n, don’t say that,” Shauna shakes her head, her caring brown eyes staring into yours. “Who put that in your head?”

“Well, Jackie-“

“Well Jackie what? She’s just jealous that I have other friends that aren’t her,” Shauna rubs her hand up and down your arm.

Friends.

That hurt.

But it shouldn’t. It’s not like you had anything going on before the crash. Although there were looks from across the soccer field, it didn’t mean anything. At the time.

Now, it could.

“Yeah,” You nod, the light leaving your eyes.

“How is your knee?” Shauna looks at you with a caring expression like she could listen to you talk about anything and never get bored.

“Hurts,” You keep the responses simple.

“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head.

“It’s nothing,” You chuckle.

“You sure?” Shauna moves a piece of wet hair off your forehead.

You suddenly feel very close to the girl. You realize she’s basically holding you up. You take a deep breath and go for it.

It may end a disaster, but you don’t care.

You connect your lips with Shauna’s. She doesn’t kiss back at first. But then her hands cup your cheeks and you’re making out in the middle of the lake.

Shauna pulls back to get a look at you, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

You laugh and go back for a second kiss.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #shauna yellowjackets #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader

[ladykyriaa]

A KPOP (CPOP?JPOP?) Idol Jinshi X Doctor's assistant Maomao

Now on Ao3!!

how he fell (hard?)

The sound of cheers could be heard even outside the stadium. Hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the arena, all waiting for the performance of a lifetime. At least, that’s what they’ll tell their families and friends. In truth, it was probably to get a once in a lifetime chance to spectate the three dazzling shamelessly beautiful men about to perform. Celestial, just as the name suggests, is a group of three with looks that could rival even the Greek gods themselves.

Rihaku with his incredible upper body mass muscles like those of wrestlers, and yet possessed the gentle gaze and a nature that was less intimidating than that of a golden retriever. Rikuson, who had managed to captivate the girls for his “gentleman behavior” whenever he got out and about. To give an example, he once went trending over the internet for several weeks because he held open a door for a mother and child that had their hands full, and then proceeded to help them to their car. Lastly, Jinshi who had managed to not only catch the eyes of both men and women, but also those from the older generations. “He reminds me back to my younger days” is what they would say when asked while giggling and blushing like maidens in love. It was truly a sight.

the men had been together for about 4 years. Jinshi, of course has had the longest career out of all of them being that he started as a child actor. And now at 24 years old, he’s become one of, if not, the most sought-after celebrity by young men and women, their parents and even their grandparents. But of course, just because you’ve been trained from a very young age and have become basically the epitome of grace and elegance, doesn’t mean you’re not prone to accidents yourself.

How did this even happen? Jinshi questioned himself as he sat waiting in the ER. In all his 18 years of career, this was probably the biggest blunder he’d ever made. Even when he was found drunk and passed out in the park that one time couldn’t have been worse than this. No, maybe that was worse. The big boss certainly gave me enough grievances to last a lifetime. He looked at his presumably, no definitely sprained ankle and thought if he could ask for the rest of his schedules to be canceled. He deserved the break, did he not?

“Sorry for the wait.” A gentle, wispy voice called out as they entered the room. The man that entered look to be about 50-60 years old and had wrinkles all over his face, despite that he looked to be a gentle soul. “We’ll run over some tests just to make sure none of the bones are shattered. But at the very least, this is sure to be sprained. I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel all your activities for the next month or so.” Well, Jinshi didn’t have any problems with that. He was actually quite glad with the chance of a proper break. His manager, Gaoshun, however…

“Maomao, dear. Please run some blood test for me.” It was only at that moment that he realized someone else was in the room with them. A thinly, pale freckled girl was holding a tray with what he presumed to be medical tools on it. Wait, blood test? Isn’t that-

“After you’re done you can change into the hospital gown that is provided. Someone will come and get you soon.” The Doctor said and promptly left the room. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the word blood test. Was it truly necessary though? Jinshi didn’t quite think so. In fact, “You know I can just tell you what my blood type is, we don’t have to run a blood test.” he gave his best smile that usually was able to get people, no matter who, the things he wanted. He was expecting some swooning, maybe a bit of giggling and blush. Disgust, however.

That was the farthest thing from his mind.

Huh? Why isn’t it working.

The girl, Maomao, looked at him like he was the lowest of low, worse than a caterpillar itself. In fact, Jinshi thought, she might look at a caterpillar with more fondness than she did at him because why isn’t it working?? She managed to school her expression into a flat one before he could voice out his indignancies, however.

“You know that’s not how it works” she said, unimpressed. “Now, your arm please.”

“Can’t we just skip this whole part? I think this is quite unnecessary, don’t you?” Jinshi was not one to give up, and so he’ll keep trying however many times he could. No one could ever resist his inhuman beauty. No one. And so, he smiled. The brightest and sweetest one he could.

The girl did not budge. Not an inch. Nada. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, “sir, are you terrified of needles by chance?”

He can feel his smile stuck in place. “Whatever made you think that?” keep smiling, keep smiling, just keep smiling. “Surely you don’t think, I, a 24-year-old man, am scared of a mere silver, do you?” just. keep. Smiling.

She shrugged, “You may be surprised, but it’s actually quite common. Depending on the severance of those fears, one might even try and ­­jump out the window.” She said with such nonchalance you would think she’s talking about the weather. Jinshi was honestly tempted to try. “Hm. How peculiar.” He kept his eyes on the window. He thought she may have noticed because she walked towards it and closed it.

“You know, you look quite familiar. And that’s saying something because I don’t even remember the faces of my colleagues two months into the job.” Mouth agape, He nearly scoffed.

 familiar? does being 18 years on tv only got him to the point of familiarity??

This is outrageous. Did their marketing team have not done enough?

He was sure if he were to ask the girl’s grandma wherever-she-may-be about who he was, then he was sure even she would’ve given a better answer than “you look familiar.”

It would’ve been better if the girl hadn’t known of him at all because hey, maybe she grew up without the internet because there is no way in hell he could’ve looked just familiar. That would imply that she didn’t even bother to pay attention.

“You’re all done.” What?

 “What?” he blinked out of his musings, only to realize she was already packing her tools except the hospital gown that was left for him.

“You’re done. I’ve gotten the sample.” Done? He looked down at his arm and sure enough there was a small bandage covering the part where he supposedly got injected. “Make sure to change into the hospital gown. Or do you perhaps need help?” She can not be serious. He could feel his face burning and judging by the disgust look that appeared on her face, seriously what is up with that. Maybe she took notice. “I can bring your bodyguard in.”

“No, no. I uh, I can do it myself” seemingly satisfied, she began to leave the room.

“Wait!” The girl stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Did uh, was your question only to distract me? From the injection that is. Was it a genuine question?” she seemed to ponder for a minute, thinking of the best way to answer him.

“Well, yes and no, I suppose. But it did work on you, didn’t it Mr. Jinshi?” and then without further ado, she left.

And maybe she took something else with her along the way, Jinshi mused to himself.

.

.

I AM CACKLING. THIS HUNK OF A MF. started because i cant stop imagining modern au jinshi as a kpop idol wtf.

Guys you dont understand i have AN EXAM ASSIGNMENT DUE TOMORROW. I've nEVER EVEN WRITTEN A FIC BEFORE. ALL MY LIFE. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME

oh my god this obsession has got to stop im being so serious rn

whoever came across this sorry excuse of a story i am so sorry but i wrote this in one sitting, literally no draft no thing. nada. I just wanted to get this out of my chest

finally i can continue my assignments. i think. hopefully.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #hnggghh if you came across this no you didnt #and even if you do you dont know who i am god idk why this is so embarassing #IM NOT A WRITER IM NOT MEANT FOR WRITING #but alas #if you want it you gotta make it #jinmao #jinshi #maomao #kyriarting

[bullet-prooflove]

Affair!Terry - Officer Down: Terry Bruno x Reader - Drabble

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @legit9thlunaticwarrior @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life @witches-unruly-heart @spaghettificationandpretzels @chavez-ashley @kiwiithecrazybird @gia999

Terry doesn’t realise it’s you that’s been shot until five hours after the call goes out over the radio. That’s the problem with what the two of you are doing, nobody knows that he’s your significant other. As far as your unit are concerned, he’s the guy you worked a case with a few months ago. There’s no reason for him to be at your bedside.

He white knuckles his way through the rest of his shift, counting down the hours. He tries calling the hospital but they’ll only release information to your next of kin. He that knows your dad is on the opposite side of the world right now, honeymooning with his new wife.

When he gets to the hospital, he’d frantic. The hours of not knowing bleeds into his temperament and he finds himself snapping at a nurse who refuses to give him the information he needs. At this point he doesn’t care who the fuck knows about the two of you, he just wants to know if you’re alright.  

It’s your partner that stops him from losing his shit completely, your partner who reassures him that you’ve made it through the surgery, that you’ll be able to return to work in a couple of months.

Months…

The word runs around his head because he knows you’re going to need care, someone to look after you and he wants to be that someone.

“You’re a married man.” Your partner reminds him when he sees the expression on Terry’s features. “Whatever this was it’s over.”

Terry thinks about that as he sits in his car in the hospital parking garage, his hands running through his hair. He knows that he should end it, that he should let you heal up, move on but he just can’t bring himself to because deep down he knows he loves you. That night after you’d closed off that case, he realised he’d found his soulmate and it wasn’t the woman that he was married to. His hands are trembling when he picks up his phone and dials Rose’s number.

He pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the well of emotion that’s building up deep down inside of him.

“I need to see you.” He says, his voice rough as he speaks. “The two of us, we need to talk.”

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#terry bruno x you #terry bruno fic #detective terry bruno #terry bruno #terry bruno x reader

[britcision]

So let me tell you what they do when you’re human and your RBC (red blood cell count) reaches 4 g/dL

1) you are required to report to the hospital for emergency blood transfusion. They did not call me; they called my emergency contacts, because apparently I should not have been driving

Drove myself to the blood test 15 hours before but shhh don’t think about that

Cuz yeah, 2) the lab calls directly

It doesn’t go to your doctor first

You get the call from the lab tech, the second the test has been run. Literally, my doctor was told after we were, because Time Is Of The Essence

I, bad at being up at 8am, kept trying to go back to bed. This was not permitted

3) you get your ass put through the ER at lightning speed, I have never gone through faster including for the chest cramps that I could not stop screaming through

Still haven’t been rushed in with an injury as opposed to chronic illness fucking me up though, so ymmv

I felt significantly better with the extreme anaemia, I was just tired and bad at stairs

I did not even believe I needed to be at the hospital that urgently (literally my dad didn’t wait for me to get dressed he got me out of bed and in the car)

4) they don’t wait for a bed they stick your ass in a chair in the hall it’s fine lying down is optional but blood is not

This may be due to it being the day after New Years, when a lot of people have made the poor hospital very busy from both Christmas and the new year

This is why it is Extra Bad when the local hospital is so underfunded they close their ER doors for the entire month of December and reopen January 3, Doug Ford

5) you get at least 600mL of new blood, sharpish. That’s two bags, and the Standard Blood In Speed is 4 hours per bag and the fastest they’ll go if you haven’t had a transfusion before.

Do not let them put the fucking needle in your hand because those veins are small and require slower speeds but lying bastards will tell you it won’t

They are lying

If you have had a transfusion before and were Good At Blood, you can get it at double speed so each bag only takes 2 hours and you aren’t in the hospital all day on your birthday

Unless aforementioned lying bastards put the needle in your hand, in which case double speed is the same 4 hours as Standard because they are dicks

You can listen to most of 20, 000 Leagues Under The Sea in 8 hours. Receiving blood transfusions does not enhance the experience

It may in fact be detrimental

6) the nurses will not believe you when you come back in 2 weeks after your first transfusion because you have noticed you’re having the same symptoms as the time you were RUSHED WITH ALL HASTE

The hospital will then do their own blood test to decide if they take you seriously, realise your RBC is now 6 g/dL as opposed to a healthy 12-16 g/dL, and suddenly move much faster

Pointing out you were there two weeks ago and they should already be seeing the old test results in your medical history does not help

7) noticeable symptoms of such severe anaemia include hot flashes, for which you should acquire ice cream sandwiches

Ice cream sandwiches are great for short hot flashes 10/10 recommend

Mint flavoured even better menthol tastes like cold

Tl;dr: blood is apparently underrated and you do in fact need a lot of it super urgently

Also red blood cells on their own live about 2 weeks and if your RBC goes right back down after that your bone marrow is no longer making red blood cells

You will not be able to tell where any of the buggers have gone because your RBC can get down to 4g/dL without any blood actually exiting your body so they’re probably re metabolised

#medical shit #red blood cell count: apparently very important #medical #doctors #hospitals #seriously never take a transfusion through your hand if you have a choice #also bring a friend #letting the patient escape to acquire own snacks is in fact frowned on #anaemia #they fixed my bone marrow it’s fine now #i’m just not allowed on imuran #nor are 14-35% of other people #cuz i get all the weird or reverse side effecta #woooooo me

[zephyrspace]

Wanna know what I like about Medic!Yuu? They're scary, but not in the "AAAHHH RUN AWAY" kind of way. They're scary in the ".....someone keep an eye on them-" kind of way.

Imagine the angst that can written for them.

I LOVE ANGST SO MUCH

there’s so many possibilities for angst since being in the medical field is high risk = high reward.

our doc is still a teenager so they’re still bound to make mistakes and being in this field means that there’s gonna be many experiences that involve unfortunate ends.

the reason why doc is so determined to experiment various kinds of remedies and treatments is so that there’s more possibilities for cures; so that there’s more options available for the less fortunate that aren’t able to afford modern medicine.

doc is highly aware of how blessed they are, being able to access medicinal knowledge and equipment and people that are able to support them financially to have it, that’s why they’ll use these blessings to help those who aren’t given the same chance.

turning on your tape recorder, you let go of the tension in your shoulders, “use of ‘midnight dew’ as irritation ointment, test number eighty nine, unsuccessful.”

rubbing your temples, you sigh, “although morning dew has a healing and soothing quality, alkaline levels vary depending on precipitation levels the day before as mentioned in tests fifteen and thirty two. unfit treatment as the alkaline may cause more irritation and unreliable if distributed in batches. find ways to keep constant results, i.e controlled environment.” shutting off the recorder, you lean back as far as you could on your roller chair.

holding up a vile of morning dew, it shimmers along with the moonlight that seeped through your curtains. you whisper as if talking to it, “i’m not going to give up on you, i know we’ll make it work.”

doc’s family hospitals are of the private sector, meaning that they own them completely without government help and that makes treatment more expensive.

doc’s grandmother, the current head, is highly against the use of their magic on those who are visibly of lower classes. she is very proud of your family’s magic so she cares deeply on how the media sees it.

“child, i’m sure you only have good intentions, but think of the family.”

“but, grandmother-” you attempt to argue.

“-the public will think of us as cheap healing potions. our magic has been passed down for generations, improving through modernisation, new knowledge and techniques. our magic has been cultivating for centuries so of course it should be reserved for those who can afford it. we can not start handing out free consultations and help just because you felt like it. it’s selfish.” she shuts her book, finally looking at you in the eyes.

“grandmother, they were dying. i couldn’t just-” you try to reason with her again, but she raises her hand in command for you to stop talking.

“i have had enough, child. i don’t want to speak of this again.”

although it sounds easy, doc can not go against their grandmother’s words. before their first year at nrc, doc’s grandmother had put a curse around doc’s wrists that shocks them if they had used their magic in areas outside of nrc.

“please, grandmother. please, don’t do this to me. i beg of you.” you can’t rip your arms away from her iron grip, her nails digging into your skin.

“plead and beg all you want, child. this is only for your own good. trust me, this hurts me just as much as it does for you. i’ll rid of the curse when you’re ready.” starry coloured symbols start snaking around your wrists, like bracelets from the galaxy.

but, as beautiful as they look, they represent shackles that tie you down to familial piety and helplessness.

doc has volunteered in charity work with people living in poor housing conditions (which was allowed since it ‘kept up reputation and appearances’ but the curse was still on them). they help around with simple chores like laundry or maybe volunteering to teach the local kids basic education. doc can’t help but watch as these kids look so innocent and unaware of the world around them. despite what little they had, they had each other, and for now, that was enough.

when doc arrives home, sometimes, when the night grows colder, and there is no one in the world outside of doc’s room, they cry. tears for the unsuccessful tests, for those who aren’t alive because they couldn’t afford treatment, for the children, and for themselves, for not being able to do anything, being forced to stay powerless, useless and quiet.

#medic!au #twst x reader

[starwalker42]

febuwhump day 9: voice loss

episode: Brand X | tw: medical procedures | general audiences

He wakes up at 3:12pm, while she’s sat by his side.

“Scully.” It’s the most broken, pained sounding way she has ever heard him say her name, quiet and raw in his throat, but it makes her heart swell with relief.

“Hey.” She takes his hand and leans into his field of view. “Don’t try and talk, it’ll hurt too much.”

Mulder nods, agreeing for once without argument. The last time he was awake, he’d been in high spirits, or at least high enough spirits to make jokes to calm her nerves. Now, though, he’s exhausted, despite being unconscious for the best part of the last week. Slowly, his body has been recovering from hypoxia, the tobacco infusions, and the two further rounds of deep suction to rid his lungs of the remaining tobacco beetle larvae.

He’s been asleep for all of it, and this time she hadn’t been able to give him any warning. Before any surgery, she’s his source of information, the only one he trusts to tell him the truth. In the pre-op room, before the first suction procedure, he’d asked her if he’d feel any of it, and how long it would take before he’d wake up. She’d resisted the thoracic surgery partly because she knew he wouldn’t survive it, yes, but also because she knew he’d want to know beforehand. He’d want the chance to say goodbye.

Right now, his eyes find hers, asking questions and seeking answers. Four days ago, he flatlined on the operating table when the doctors first injected him with nicotine, and Scully had wondered what she’d do if she never got to see his eyes again.

“It’s been a rough few days.” Her voice cracks, and she swallows past the lump in her throat. “But you’re okay now.”

He flicks his eyes to the machines around him; she knows what he’s asking. This is their routine, whenever he wakes up in hospital: he asks what everything is, and she gives him a summary of each machine, what they’re all doing to keep him alive.

“You’ve got BP being taken every few hours. Heart rate, temperature and blood oxygen are being monitored round the clock, and you’re being given fluids and nutrients through a feeding tube into your stomach.”

She points to the thick tube running from his neck. “You’re still hooked up to the ECMO, as a precaution, but it’s not been oxygenating you since last night – since your O2 levels are good, they think your lungs are doing okay, so they���ll be disconnecting it in the next few hours.”

Mulder’s forehead creases in concern.

“They’ll put you under sedation for that, but it’s a relatively minor procedure. No risks.” That’s a lie – there’s always risks, no matter how minor the surgery – but she doesn’t want to scare him. He’s pulled through the last few days – she’ll be damned if he doesn’t make it through a simple cannula removal.

“Your throat and lungs are still recovering. They’re damaged, but they’ll heal, you just need to rest your voice for now.”

He nods again. She isn’t used to him being this acquiescent – it unnerves her.

“Mulder?”

The hand that’s not in hers moves into an okay signal, and he moves his wrist in an up-and-down motion. He wants to write.

“I’ll get you a pen.”

A few minutes later, she holds a notebook as he moves his hand slowly along the page. He hums to tell her he’s finished, and she glances down.

There, black ink spells out I love you. He looks up at her, still exhausted, but eyes shining with life and love, and Scully presses a kiss to his lips as she finally lets herself cry.

@today-in-fic

#xf fanfic #txf fic #msr #my writing #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday9 #medical tw

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: amnesia, injury and angst

word count: 3212

summary: for her, you’d give everything, even if she no longer remembered you

a/n: requested, part two of this series

Remember Me

For you, I’d bleed myself dry

You don’t remember stumbling out of the hospital room but later on Ella tells you she’d never seen anything like it. She’d told you how you seemed like you were in a daze at first, numb with shock.

You had barely been in the room for five minutes. You’d gone in full of relief after the doctors had told you Ona had woken up after surgery but come out the entire opposite.

Jackie had asked you what had happened but it was like you couldn’t hear her, couldn’t process anything new.

Then you’d started crying, crying so hard that Jackie had had to catch you, worried that you might pass out with how devastated you seemed. It was a good thing she had because you nearly collapsed a few seconds later.

The doctors started running into Ona’s room not long after and as the older woman held you, asking what had happened, what was wrong, the only response you’d managed to choke out was ‘She doesn’t remember.’

Every other question Jackie had asked after didn’t matter because you’d retreated so far into yourself, nothing could get through.

******

It was hours later that you’d shakily walked back into Ona’s hospital room.

And she looked so lost, so terrified that you hated yourself for leaving immediately. You had to be brave, had to be strong for her.

‘Hi.’ You kept your voice cautious and soft, not wanting to scare her anymore.

‘Hi.’ She mumbles. Ona’s eyes dart around the room and she anxiously bites her lip.

Her injured leg was in a cast and the initial worry you had about if she would ever be able to play again was now far outweighed by her amnesia. What did it matter if she could never play again if she didn’t even remember who she was?

‘I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have done that Ona.’

She shrugs, ‘It’s okay. It must have been terrifying for you too.’

‘I still could have reacted better.’

Ona gives you a little smile, ‘It’s fine really. I think I would have reacted the same way. I imagine most people would.’

You smile back at her.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘About my shattered knee, or my memories?’ She quietly says, picking at a loose thread in the blanket.

You hesitate, unsure of how to continue but Ona laughs softly and puts you out of your misery.

‘Both? My knee’s not hurting. They gave me so much painkillers I doubt I’ll feel anything for a while. About my memories, I can’t mourn what I don’t remember….’

Ignoring the feeling of your heart breaking a little further at the thought that it wasn’t all a joke and she really didn’t remember anything, you sit down in a chair by her bed.

‘The doctors said my knee will heal in about six months. My head injury will heal in a couple of weeks but my memories? They don’t know if they’ll ever come back.’

Ona shrugs again, a defeated edge to her words.

Exhaling slowly, you carefully reach out to touch her hand and she blinks.

‘I know you want me to remember, I want to remember too but right now I really don’t.’

You squeeze her hand and with a voice full of cautious hope you ask, ‘Do you want to try?’

Your heart soars when she gives you a light squeeze in return.

‘I’d like that.’

******

She’d asked about her name first, asking what her full name was and then testing out how it sounded.

Jackie and the others had come in for a bit, just to say hello. They hadn’t stayed long, not wanting to overwhelm Ona.

Ona who had not made any progress with her memories yet somehow knew you were important to her from the way the other girls had glanced at you with sympathy and worry.

It only made her want to remember more.

******

She spent a month in the hospital. Her parents and brother had come to visit but they had not been able to stay long in Manchester.

Her knee was slowly healing but her memories hadn’t had any sign of returning.

Now, returning to your shared apartment, she stood still as she took it in. You had taken some photos down, the ones more revealing of your relationship. She didn’t need to know about that part though.

She didn’t need to know about how seeing the new blank spaces on the walls felt like your heart was breaking all over again.

Ona didn’t remember who you were to her and the last thing you wanted was to pressure her into a relationship she didn’t want.

That didn’t mean you stopped loving her. The ring she’d given you? You kept it on a necklace and you had never once taken it off.

It pained you to not wear it on your finger but you were afraid that might make it too obvious to Ona. She had enough on her mind already.

Before you left the hospital, you had explained that all of her United teammates were willing to have her stay with them if she didn’t want to stay with you.

She’d shaken her head and refused, insisting that she wanted to go back to her normal life, the life she had before the car accident. If she had lived with you before, she wanted to do so again.

And maybe a little part of her wanted to find out why she felt so drawn to you.

******

There were so many awards in the house and as she takes a closer look at them, she realises it’s her name on most of them.

Touching them carefully, she looks up at you.

‘I was a good player?’

You had told her you were a footballer and that she too had played football professionally. She had met all her teammates but somehow she hadn’t quite believed it. Not until she saw all the awards and the many many jerseys in the closet.

‘You’re one of the best players.’ You told her and Ona grins, leaning on her crutches.

‘Do you have any photos?’

You smile brightly.

‘You bet I do.’

******

‘I played in the world cup?’ Ona murmurs in awe, touching the photo you hold out to her.

‘You played in three world cups, U17s, U20s and at the senior level in Australia last year.’ You explain with a little smile on your face.

The Spaniard had been so happy when she’d made the roster, jumping into your arms and kissing you passionately. It had been followed by other activities that you would never forget, especially now when you weren’t sure if you would ever experience anything like that again.

Ona watches you carefully, noting the way you seemed a little sad before you shook it off, handing her more photos of her playing other games.

There were so many photos, she’d played in so many countries, so many tournaments and for quite a few big clubs. Barcelona, Madrid CFF, Levante and apparently Manchester United in recent years.

Looking through the photos, she finds one from when she was a child, dressed in an oversized Dani Alves Barca jersey.

She looked really happy, a bright smile on her face. In almost every photo, even as she grew up, that smile stayed. It was obvious how much she loved playing and Ona wonders if she’ll ever feel that joy again.

She bites her lip.

‘Do you think I’ll ever play again? I don’t remember how or even what it feels like but I looked so happy…’

Ona trails off, glancing at her knee. The doctors hadn’t been optimistic.

‘I don’t think. I know you will.’ You squeeze her hand gently.

She looks uncertain but you continue, ‘You may not have your memories Ona but you are extraordinary. Every limit, every wall you’ve ever encountered, you’ve pushed past and broken them all. Just because you don’t remember doesn���t mean you’re not still capable of that. If playing is what you want to do, I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be able to do it.’

‘Thank you.’ Ona breathes. She hadn’t known how much she’d needed to hear those words until you had said them.

******

It’s screaming that you wake up to. Throwing the blankets off, you rush into Ona’s room. She’s crying, tears running down her cheeks as she tosses and turns.

‘Ona. Ona. Wake up love. You’re having a nightmare.’ You frantically say, trying to pin her down so she didn’t hurt herself.

The Spanish girl gasps, eyes flying open.

‘My knee! It hurts!’ She whimpers, clutching it tightly.

You curse, holding her as she pants, tears still falling down her face as she tries to breathe through the pain. The sharp stabbing pain was making her head spin.

Her thrashing around must have antagonised her still healing knee. The fracture had required surgery and she still had several pins inside to help the bone heal.

‘Shhh. I got you.’ 

She leans against your chest, sobbing as you smooth her sweaty hair out of her face.

Her heart was still racing from her bad dream, not that she could remember what it was exactly. It was just flashes but the terror that she’d felt, that she remembered.

‘I’ve got you.’ You repeat and Ona tiredly nods. Her crying had stopped but she just couldn’t be alone right now. She didn’t want to be alone. Her knee throbbed dully and she groans.

You hold her close for another twenty minutes until she yawns, shifting so that she could hug you. The pain had subsided but she was left even more exhausted.

‘Ready to go back to sleep?’

‘Only if you stay.’ She pleads, hoping she wasn't crossing a line. She still wasn’t sure what you were to her before but desperately hopes you wouldn’t leave.

‘Of course Ona.’

Tucking her back under the covers, you let her curl into your side as she sighs in relief.

‘Sleep, I’ll be here…’

Running your fingers through her hair soothingly, you watch as she closes her eyes, drifting back off to sleep.

You were here with her and she felt safe with you.

******

Most nights you started out sleeping restlessly in your bed, only to be awoken by Ona’s terrified screams a few hours into the night. Then you’d hold her as she cried and trembled until she eventually fell asleep.

Then and only then would you dare to really sleep. Ona never had nightmares when you were with her and though it seemed like an obvious solution for you to simply share the same bed, you didn’t dare suggest it, in fear that it would cross a line.

Likewise, Ona never dared to ask you to, afraid it would be the moment you finally decided she was too much.

Neither of you were brave enough to say what you really wanted to say.

Please spend the night with me, I want you to spend all of your nights with me. I want to fall asleep and wake up beside you every day, not just when I have nightmares.

Ask me to stay and I'll stay. I want to spend all of my nights with you. I'll keep you safe, I promise. All you have to do is ask. Ask me to stay and I will.

All one of you had to do was ask but neither of you said a word.

******

Things don’t get easier after that, Ona keeps having nightmares and it takes its toll.

Her physio tells her that she’s hit a wall with her recovery and that sends her into an even deeper spiral.

She’s been trying to remember but it wasn’t easy. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many tests the doctors ran she still couldn’t remember. Her memories were gone and it terrified her that she would never get them back. It scared you too and she could tell even though you tried to hide it.

The only thing she had been able to remember vaguely was her car crash and that only happened in flashes. Flashes from her nightmares.

You haven’t played since Ona’s accident, Marc immediately giving you as much leave as you needed.

You still trained occasionally with the team, to keep up your fitness levels and it was after one of these trainings that you make your way home.

If only you knew what you were walking into.

******

Ona had been having a bad day. It had started off okay, you’d made her promise to call if she needed anything before giving her a tight hug and leaving for training. The simple action had given her butterflies inside and Ona had happily gone to get lunch with Vicky.

From you, she had learned that Vicky had been one of her Spanish teammates and she had found the older Spanish woman easy to get along with.

Lunch had gone well and then Vicky had casually mentioned that she had national camp coming up. She’d asked if you were going to your camp, saying that Holland hadn’t been playing as well without you these past few months.

Ona had blinked. She hadn’t known you were skipping camps because of her. That you were sacrificing your career for her…

It gave her an awful feeling inside, the guilt making her feel physically sick.

The former Barcelona captain had not been aware of her racing mind as she dropped the younger girl back off at your shared apartment with a cheery goodbye.

Left alone, Ona had been unable to forget the particularly revealing piece of information.

******

‘Ona?’

The apartment was unusually quiet when you entered and you instantly started to worry.

‘Ona?’

The guest bedroom’s door was open and Ona was frantically trying to stuff as many clothes as she could into a bag. You resist the urge to run to her and instead stand a few steps away, giving her space.

‘Ona what’s wrong?’

She sniffles, shaking her head.

You drop to your knees beside her, reaching for her hand but she pulls away.

‘Ona please talk to me.’ You plead desperately.

She was fine a few hours ago, what had happened in the time you weren’t with her for her to suddenly become so obviously distressed?

‘I can’t. You don’t need this. You don’t need me. All I’ve been since my accident is a bother.’ The Spanish girl says, struggling to stand without her crutches.

She stumbles a little and you catch her, refusing to let go.

‘Ona stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.’

Your heart is racing but as always, you put her first.

‘Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can sort it out alright?’

Ona’s eyes narrow. There it was again, you putting her first. Why did you always put her first? What was she to you before?

‘Please talk to me…’ You beg and Ona searches your expression.

For the first time she notices the way you carefully hid your pain, your brokenness behind a smile. There’s something else too and her gaze drops down to your neck where your necklace had come untucked.

On it were two rings.

Ona’s stomach drops and she starts to cry, fighting to get out of your grip once again.

Her knee gives out and as gently as you can, you quickly push her onto the bed so she wouldn’t fall and risk injuring it further.

‘I can’t walk. I can’t sleep without having nightmares and I can’t remember who I am!’ She bursts out, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

‘I can’t even remember you.’ Ona’s voice cracks and you blink back the tears stinging your eyes.

All of her previously emotional state seems to have suddenly left her and she feels drained as she looks up at you.

You quietly sit down beside her, leaving a tiny gap between your bodies and she wipes her tears away.

‘One of those rings is mine isn’t it?’

Surprise is evident in your face as you glance at her.

You don’t deny it though, giving her a small nod of confirmation.

Ona sucks in a shaky breath. Somehow she had suspected it all along, the way you seemed to know her better than anyone else, even her own family being a big giveaway.

If she took into consideration the fact that you so resolutely stayed by her side even though it was clear how much pain it caused you to look at her and see that it wasn’t really her, the Ona that you knew…it was obvious.

She even understood why she would have fallen for you the first time because here she was, falling for you a second time.

You were kind, amazing even and your laugh gave her butterflies inside. You were gentle and patient with her, things were so easy with you that sometimes she forgot that she didn’t have her memories because you made her feel like she was home.

‘Is that why you’re skipping national camps? Because you loved me?’

You’re surprised by her again.

‘No. I love you. I still do, that’s why I’m not leaving. Not until you look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave.’ Your words are firm, even as salty tears fall down your face.

For Ona, you would willingly put yourself through the worst imaginable pain. If it meant that you could be in her life, that you could still see her, you would happily suffer through it.

Ona opens her mouth but she can’t bring herself to say those words.

Instead, a quiet whimper escapes her.

‘But I’m not her anymore. I may never be her again, the Ona you fell in love with. You’re sacrificing your career for a stranger.’ She mumbles sadly, wishing for the millionth time that she was her old self again.

‘Ona…I love you. It doesn’t matter if you never regain your memories because you’re still the person I fell in love with. It’s you that I fell in love with, not your memories. I love you, I always will.’

‘I always have.’ Ona murmurs unthinkingly. It just sounded right to her.

Your heart stops and you stare at her with wide eyes.

Shakily you unclasp your necklace, letting the two rings slide out onto your palm.

‘Ona…’

You hand her one and she looks up at you, eyes equally wide as she sees the inscription.

Always have

‘You used to say that all the time. It was our special words. Always have, always will.’

‘I remembered.’ She breathes and you nod eagerly, a bright grin on your face.

A matching one spreads across her face as she laughs, sliding the ring onto her finger like it had never left.

‘I remembered!’ Ona repeats in disbelief as you let out a watery laugh.

‘I remembered!’ She pulls you into her arms and you laugh again, the happiest laugh you’ve had since Ona’s accident.

‘You remembered.’

The Spanish girl tucks her face into your neck, relief flooding through her. She was beginning to think she never would.

Neither of you let go of the other for a long time, holding onto each other for dear life, hope lightening your hearts.

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