For the comfort ask game: TOM. He needs it!!! Would he enjoy a huggable plushie 🧸 or a tasty treat perhaps (can he even enjoy anything without calyx 😭)
ignore that im answering this after like. a month. im working on it ok...
set during arc 3 ! tom cannot enjoy anything without calyx ur right. sjkhfg. this is dubiously canon. its 1k i got a bit carried away. not proofread bc we live dangerously. i don't think there's any major spoilers either :)
cws for the general exhaustion and malaise of the cluster and implied injury to a "kid" for a minor unnamed character. otherwise this is just comfort yay
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Calyx had gone in for a CT scan, and they had to be sedated because they were too scared to stay still for it. Elene pulled him away from the scene, gently.
"Take a walk, Tom. Ten minutes. Get some air."
His brain felt full of fuzz. "I want to stay with them," he said, already moving - but Elene held his wrist. His eyes didn't leave Calyx till they were wheeled out of the room. He brushed away tears with his free wrist. His eyes had filled with them without his permission; he would not acknowledge them more than getting rid of the evidence.
"They're safe. I'll stay. You haven't moved in hours." Her voice settled over the cloud. Cleared it? No. He could hear his own heartbeat, steady and slow in his ears. Everything had slowed down. His legs ached. Everything ached.
Elene put a note in his hand, and he looked down at his closed fist after one, two heartbeats, then looked up at her, bewildered.
She was so kind. He was too tired to refuse it. She must be so tired too, but he was too tired to point it out.
"I'll stay," she repeated. "Go get something to eat."
"For Calyx?" His voice came out so quietly. He was genuinely asking.
Her answer came quickly. "Both of you, if you want. That - should be enough. If it's not, ring me. Okay?"
Tom stared at her for a moment. He wanted to hug her, but he didn't know where any of the lines were. He didn't really do hugs, but being held was nice when Calyx did it.
He turned away from her before she could see him cry again.
He used the bathroom first. Elene was right, he hadn't shifted from Calyx's side in hours. He didn't know what time it was because his phone had died a long time ago, but it was dark outside again. It being winter, that didn't mean much, but it was dark nonetheless, and the smell of cinnamon and pastry floated through the air. He was exhausted.
He'd found himself in possession of a croissant and chocolate chip cookie before he could stop himself. He should've bought more - for the rest of them, but he wasn't thinking.
He really wasn't thinking. How long had it been? He'd called his parents and they were on their way with clothes and - food. Why did he buy food? Calyx needed food. The doctors were talking about malnourishment and IV fluids, and they all looked a little green when their test results came back.
Tom's fist clenched around the remainder of the money. He was staring into a window. There were little shops built into a central area, and he was staring at a cow in one. A stuffed animal. Soft ears, a fluffy little tail.
He didn't have enough for it. He wasn't crying because he didn't have enough. He was crying because he was bone tired and terrified, and his partner almost died, and might still die, and so much had changed so quickly, and he wanted to go home.
Not the home he'd lived in for however months it'd been, but the home that didn't exist anymore. The one he'd grown up in. The farm. Where he loved real cows, and ran away from bees, and insisted on making Ethan cook the tiny potatoes he grew in the yard, and life was simpler and easier - but it wasn't, and that made everything worse. Everything was and had always been tainted and awful. Why couldn't he ever have a good thing that was just good?
"Hey, kid, you okay?"
He heard himself make a quiet, strangled noise, and nod before straightening up to face the stranger who'd spoken to him. An older man, Black, with worry plain on his face. Tom felt himself flush hot with embarrassment. Had he just broken down in the middle of this random hospital?
The paper bag crackled in his hand as he wiped his eyes again. Shit. Calyx would be -
With Elene. And Ada, Amy. The doctors, the nurses. Not alone. Not anymore. Still, his heart raced.
"Just - ah - y- yes. Fine. Fine. I need to go."
"Did you want something? From the - " the man gestured to the shop. Tom's eyes flicked to and fixed on the cow.
"No," he lied, tearing his eyes away. "It's fine. I have to go, my - they should be out of their scan now - "
The man fixed him with a gentle, knowing stare, and Tom felt the words die in his throat. "You want something," he said.
"I - I can'taffordit," Tom forced out, holding up the change. "Not after - it's fine."
"Let me. Please. The cow? That's a nice choice. Come on." He was starting to walk inside, and Tom couldn't quite understand what the fuck was going on.
"I can't pay you back," he blurted.
The man turned around, and Tom didn't know what he expected. The cow in his hands made his heart ache.
"That's not why I'm doing this," he said quietly, moving to the self-checkout.
"Why are you doing this?" Tom was still trying to figure out how to stop this.
"You're just a kid. My - " but his voice broke and Tom took a half step back out of respect, a need to give him privacy. He cleared his throat. He wasn't looking at Tom, and Tom didn't think that he could meet the man's eyes either. "My kid…" He trailed off. The receipt printed itself out, and the man folded it up with shaking hands.
As he put the cow in Tom's hands, and refused the change that Tom tried to exchange for it, he said, "let's just say I'm trying to collect all the good karma I can. Is that selfish?"
Tom couldn't speak, but he shook his head no. He understood. He choked on a thank you, then forced it out again, properly. "I hope it goes well," he said quietly, thinking of Calyx, scared and alone.
The man hummed, and patted then squeezed Tom's shoulder. "Hang in there."
Then he was gone - turned around and weaved through people and turned a corner and then he was gone. Tom didn't stay to watch him leave, because the world crashed down on him the second that he was alone, and he practically ran back to Calyx's room.
Elene was the only one awake when he got back. She seemed pleased to see him, tired eyes lighting up, and happier still to see what he came back with. He left the things from the bakery on the cabinet next to the bed, but held the cow tightly. He was too tired to be self conscious, and as he moved to his spot next to Calyx, he put it down next to them but kept holding it anyway. It really was soft.
"Was it enough?" she whispered.
Tom opened his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn't explain a thing. He didn't even know the man's name. He just put his head down on the bed, a pseudo-nod, and reached into his pocket for the change to give back to Elene.
"Keep it," she said quietly.
It was dim in the room. His excursion had tired him out more than he was already. Tom didn't know whether he gave any verbal acknowledgement to her before his hand dropped and he slipped away to sleep.
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taglist bc fuck it. @whump-is-love-whump-is-life @morning-star-whump @cepheusgalaxy @inhurtandincomfort @days-on-the-road @whumpologyy @weibun-art @faultsandfractures @whump-until-wretched @00blackbirdwrites00
tell me if u do not want to be tagged for stuff like this !! i have a few more in the inbox so i will remember this for next time :)
“You’re doing good,” Dante says flatly, semi-awkward in the way he rubs circles on Leo’s back. Leo, on his hands and knees, presses his forehead into the linoleum and closes his eyes. The directive to ‘keep him alive for ten fucking minutes,’ had been spat at Dante as they were both shoved into one of the smaller rooms in the basement, which, Dante thought, was a little bit ironic considering he was the one who had pulverized Leo just five minutes earlier.
Leo gags again, and Dante closes his eyes. The red that covers the floor makes him a little queasy himself, in spite of how many times he's been in this exact position. He leans back on his heels next to Leo and pats his head once before running his fingers through his matted hair. He sees why Petrov likes him. There's an innocence to him that runs in direct opposition to his absolute refusal to do as Petrov tells him.
“There you go,” Dante says again as Leo retches. “I think it’s best if you let it out.”
Leo nods and collapses onto his side. He seems to be breathing okay, which is nothing short of a miracle, but Dante felt the distinct crunch of ribs earlier in the evening following a particularly poorly-aimed blow. To his credit, he thought Leo would move, even if only slightly, to dodge his fist.
He didn’t, though. And now they’ll both be in trouble for it.
Dante finds a spot of clean tile and sits, resting his arms on his knees as he regards Leo. The newest worker on Petrov's preferred roster is two months in, and to his knowledge, Leo has not landed a single hit in a fight. Petrov has his odds now at 33/1, which is as bad as they can be, and still, every night, he bets on him.
Petrov thinks he’ll break him eventually, and is ready to recoup his losses when it happens. Looking at Leo now, ghost pale and, minimally, out of the fights for at least a week, Dante isn’t so sure.
“You gotta try harder,” Dante whispers to him. Leo’s eyes are closed, but he’s breathing. He swallows, and even that looks painful. He feels an inkling of regret toward how hard he fought that evening when Leo opens his eyes, unfocused and devoid of all any recognition at all. But he swallows that back, because regret is useless in a place like this. There is only survival, and in spite of how little Leo appears to value it, Dante intends to make it out of this contract, and one day, out of this fucking country. It's the only thing that matters to him, but, he thinks, that doesn't mean he needs to leave a line of casualties in his wake. "Try harder next time," Dante whispers. "It'll be so much easier if you do."
Hi! Can you do ⛑ + ✋ with soft!potective!Steve Rogers please?! Ty:)
Thank you marigoldreamer! I feel this goes really good with the verse from Nomads Mission.
Chris Evans Masterlist
Injured
Warnings- Mentions of blood and injury
"Hey, hey, I got you." You heard Steve mutter gently as his hands swept around you, picking you up bridal style from the rubble you were among.
The pain, it made you hiss as he lifted you, his worried blue eyes shining brightly among his dirt streaked face, worried lines deep in between his eyes. "I know Doll, you can't move though."
"Steve, what happened?" You asked as you sank into the pain, he tried not to jostle you to much as he worked his way out, the air all around you still shrouded in dust and smoke. His nomad suit was torn in places and he limped slightly. "Let me walk, I can walk."
"Baby you can't." He said softly and you frowned as you looked down to see that your thigh was ripped open, deeply. No wonder why he was rushing you out. "We were hit, they targeted us the second we went in the building."
Your memory was hazy, but you recalled Sam yelling in the comms to get out. Steve tried getting to you to shield you with his own body best he could, but it was all happening in seconds. The explosion hit and then the world came tumbling all around on top of you. "Natasha? Sam?" You reached down to put pressure on your thigh, Steve darting out of sight as groups of people started to rush towards the chaos.
"Safe, Natasha never came in and Sam was overhead." Sirens sounded in the distance, you guessed the law or medical, but Steve managed to get you two far enough away and out of sight that they shouldn't follow you. Unless you left a trail of blood behind.
Steve took another sharp turn, into an abandoned building just as you started to get dizzy. "Steve I'm gonna-"
"Just a few more seconds and we will get you patched up." He said in a rush, Sam and Natasha hiding out rushed over while you slumped into Steve's chest.
"We gotta get this to stop bleeding, now."
*********************************************
You woke to a dark room, surrounded by warmth and comfort. You felt the steady fall and rise of a chest beneath you and an all too familiar hand carding through your hair, fingertips lightly grazing against your scalp as they untangled through your hair.
Beneath your cheek was a soft shirt, worn but again familiar as you let your face press against him and listen to the steadiness of his heart and breathing beneath you. Whoosh whoosh whoosh
Your fingers curled into the fabric, curling into him for a second before you relaxed again, your thigh throbbing now that everything was over and the shock wore off.
A soft hum signified that Steve knew you were awake again, his fingers faltering before resuming the gentle strokes through your hair. "You with me Doll?"
"Yeah, I'm here." You muttered before sliding your hand against his firm belly and hugging loosely around him. "How long was I out?"
"A while, Natasha gave you some painkillers and those always make you sleep good." He said gently, not making a move to get up, but content to let you just wake up in your own time. "How is it?"
"Sore, but I will live." You pushed up a bit, Steve helping maneuver you so you could talk to him easier. "Thank you, for pulling me out. Are you okay Steve? did you get hurt?"
"Doll I saw that roof fall around you and I have never been more scared in my life." Steve cupped your face to have you look at him. "I will go straight into hell to pull you out."
You gave a soft smile, turning your face into his hand and kissing his palm. "I'm okay now that I have you back Y/N."
See this Josh? He’d be able to tell right away you were off, a sweet sweep of his hand against your hip as you flitted past him quickly into the bathroom. A sigh slipping past his lips as he stands and makes his way to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles lightly against it.
“Kay?” He’d ask, a soft question you’d grown to love. Pulling the door open you’d shake your head a soft frown tugging at your lips as an idea popped into his head. He’d wrap his arms around you and pull you close to him, wanting nothing more than to hug the bad thoughts from you as he whispered something about a blanket and a walk, knowing a quiet walk in the park as you babbled on about your day would help you clear your head.
(I’m so mad bc I typed out a whole ass response and it didn’t post and then disappeared UGH! Anywho…)
Yes omg could you imagine coming home and feeling Joshs head pop over your shoulder asking you to go in a walk? Feeling his fingers graze under your shirt a little bit bc skin to skin contact means so much to him and it’s how he expresses his deepest admiration and love. Imagine holding each others pinky’s while walking through the woods and him randomly picking wildflowers along the trail to give to you when he finally completed a bouquet.
Then coming him him throwing your favorite blanket in the dryer while you’re in the shower, wrapping you up in it on the couch, covering your head and your arms as he places a soft kiss on your forehead telling you he’s making your favorite comfort meal and to not move a muscle. He didn’t tell you but he sprayed his cologne on it and you noticed it immediately. You live the comforting scent of the patchouli and vanilla and you put on your favorite comfort movie/tv show that you know josh secretly might hate but whatever.
And when he brings you the bowl of your favorite food you can’t help but look at him like he holds the stars in the sky. He makes sure he’s touching you of course while you’re sat on the couch together eating in peace. And then when you are finished, he pulls you onto him so you’re lying on top. His fingers grazing down your back from your neck to the top of your butt in slow movements. You begin to fall asleep to the feeling of his fingers on your skin, his chest rising and falling, and the soft hims of your favorite songs coming from his lips …
au joe, my beloved! here he is, right after he comes home. masterlist available here.
recovery drabble, mama
"Where is he?"
Mama. Joe shifts in the bed, letting his eyes flutter open. It's strange, to wake up in his own bed. After so long with Ivan, it doesn't really feel like his bed at all.
"In the bedroom," Jack says. "I'm sorry that--"
"Is he alright?"
Is he? Joe stretches his legs, kicking them back and forth between the soft cotton sheets. Flannel pants. No silk. No chain. He should be alright, shouldn't he?
"He--" Jack hesitates. "He isn't--he can't--I--"
"What? What is it?"
Joe's never heard his mother so worked up before. He upset her. This is his fault. He closes his eyes again.
"He isn't talking yet," Jack says, his voice low. But Joe still hears. His ears work just fine.
"About--"
"No, at all."
"What?"
"He can. They ran all the tests. He just--isn't."
Marilyn doesn't respond right away. Then, Joe hears her shaky breath. "What did that monster do to my Joey?"
"I don't know," Jack says.
But Jack knows some things. He experienced his own version of hell, after all. And there were some things the doctors didn't need Joe to tell them, and they told Jack. They had to. But Joe doesn't want Jack to know the rest. Joe doesn't want anyone to know. He won't tell. He can't.
"Can I see him?" Marilyn asks.
"You don't have to ask, Mama."
No one has to ask when it comes to Joe. Or maybe they do. But Ivan didn't have to ask, and for a while, it was only Ivan that mattered. Jack tells him that the only thing matters now is that he gets better, but Joe doesn't know what better looks like. Not from this side of things. He doesn't know how to fix himself.
Marilyn's soft powdery scent fills the room, but Joe doesn't turn to look at her. He isn't supposed to. He's supposed to wait. Ivan liked the anticipation.
"Joey-Bear?"
Tears well in Joe's eyes, and he lets them fall. That, he is allowed to do.
"Honey, are you asleep?" Marilyn asks.
She must know he can't answer. That Joe's words are for himself. They're all he has left.
But that isn't true, is it? He's home. He is. Ivan can't take anything else from him. Jack says so.
Joe just has a hard time believing it.
Marilyn sinks to her knees next to the bed, her face coming into a kind of focus on the other side of Joe's tears.
"Oh, Bear," Marilyn murmurs. She starts to reach for him, and then stops, letting her hand hover in midair.
Joe blinks at her. He nods.
Marilyn's thumb finds his cheek, and she wipes his tears away with the same tenderness she used to when he was little and woke from a nightmare. What happened with Ivan--it was its own nightmare, and Joe still isn't sure that he's awake.
"We missed you so much," Marilyn breathes.
Her hand slips over his temple and into his hair, brushing it away from his face. Joe lets his eyes close again.
"My brave boy. My Joey," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry, baby. And I'm so glad you're home."
Joe nods again, tears seeping out from under his eyelids. Marilyn's fingers card through his hair so gently that it almost makes him ache. No one has touched him this way in so long. Jack's been very careful so far, and Joe understands. He shouldn't want to be touched. It doesn't make any sense. He shouldn't. He should flinch and quiver, but he doesn't. Jack is not Ivan. Mama is not Ivan. They love him, really love him. Their touch is a balm, not a weapon.
I love you, Joe thinks. I love you, and I'm sorry. He sighs and leans into his mother's touch.
"I love you too, Bear," Marilyn whispers.
Of course she knows what his heart is saying. Mama always does.
