#injured reader

[kenmaspuddinghair]

the 141 finding out reader isn't a guy behind their mask (fem reader x Simon) Part 5 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You were currently hiding behind a fucking bush, and you're so screwed. Even with the very slippery and dangerous floor you made, they’re still faster than you, and now you’re realizing your spray bottle has stopped working, something you knew would happen when you didn't dilute the bleach, it was a risk you were willing to take, you just didn't think it would happen so soon. If even one person spots you, you’re fucked and they all know your injured and outside, you can only make it so far. So you have to make a dangerous decision. 

Every single nurse and doctor in that building is about to be coming out to find you, and chances are most of them aren't actually medical professionals rather trained soldiers, it's stupid, but you're probably safest inside the building. Not to mention it's probably the first place the guys will look for you. So very carefully you peer through the bush, right now they're still stumbling on the floor, but it won't be long until someone makes it through. You made a run towards the back of the hospital, you hid behind some trash bins and they started coming out of the building yelling for you. You tried to keep your breathing even, all of your injuries were hurting and your legs were killing you from the short run. 

You waited, not even daring to look out until all the noise had quieted down. When you finial did you could spot a bunch of people searching for you, even in the fucking distance you could see little figures in scrubs, some of the people were still searching near the hospital though, which meant you needed to get inside fast. You stood up slightly, both your legs and head immediately started hurting, you took a deep breath, watching the people closest to you before running to the back of the hospital, you kept running until you saw a door. You swung it open before closing it as quietly as possible. You were going to take a moment to breathe when you heard someone nearby.

So you fled into the nearest room and their voices quickly faded, you wasted no time, you needed to be in your room when the guys came looking for you, if you were late then you'd be screwed. You started just running through the halls, doing your best to keep your breaths and steps quiet, occasionally ducking into random rooms if it sounded like someone was too close. Thankfully it wasn't long before you saw a stair case, without thinking you ran up it, and all the running got to you, the stitches on your stomach started came out. You froze in a mixture of panic and pain, you dropped to the floor and practically had to crawl to the nearest room while holding in your tears. 

The first room was a small bathroom, which is great because as soon as you made it to the toilet you vomited straight into it. You found some towels and wrapped it around your torso as the stitches came more undone and the blood started spilling. You splashed some cold water on your face, trying your best to not throw up again. Before you left you tried retracing your steps when you first escaped. When you left the bathroom you opted to simply walk, you would pass out if you kept running, you couldn't risk that. Although all that left your head as soon as you started recognizing where you were. 

You ran into your original hospital room. You only took a second to breath before you were clearing the room. Then you moved the small dresser in front of the door, you locked it and turned off all the lights. Finally you allowed yourself to sit down, you took off your shirt to fully assess the damage, the towel was covered in blood by now. The stitches were half out and your blood was steadily coming out, which didn't help your nausea. You looked away, doing your best to not throw up again then you reached over to grab some more towels, wrapping them around your torso. You froze as you heard something near the window, who was crazy enough to scale the whole fucking building instead of just coming inside? You didn't even bother moving, if it was the enemy you would simply accept death. Your face softened when you saw those familiar brown eyes, of course Simon would be crazy enough to scale a building, only for you.

Part 6

Tags- @wolfiemagic @straight-n-arrow @channieslefttoehair @coolgardenerpolice @keylux-official @missj609 @stalking-soap @kittygonap  @herefor-tojis-tits @sleepyghost000 @dreambimy @luckyrblue @missj609 @rottngrl3 @werschitz @einganadragon  @dottedsugarkiss @z0mbiewhorez @mrtonystark @wtf-layla @ihavesomuchswag @jellyjammed @yearning-ka @emilymikado 

[fabulouspotatosister]

Stay

patrick jane/reader

gif credit: @misselesava

a/n: wow another written in an evening frenzy unedited patrick jane x reader fic has hit the me blog. inspired by that one whump post i reblogged a bit ago and also my unending love of hurt comfort. enjoy y'all ♥️

- - -

It's all gone to shit.

That's an understatment.

You peel your eyes open. Shift your weight every so slowly. Your joints scream in protest. Everything aches. You can feel the splinters of wood on your palms from your attempts at escaping. They're needles to your nerves, pinpricks of white hot pain under your skin; a reminder of pain. Of sensation. Of being alive.

There's that, at least.

Oh, and the gunshot wound in your shoulder that's still bleeding.

You try not to think about if you'll be alive for much longer.

Your head is pounding. Trying to remember the Before of when you were in this room is difficult. Every pathway to any kind of memory slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You have fragments. Laughter. Kind blue-grey eyes. Fiery orange hair. Some kind of mission. They blur, meld together like some kind of dream, of a life before this dark room and the cold air of the night. It's so hard to remember when all you have right now is the rustling of the leaves and the moon.

You shift your weight again. You have no restraints, but the weight of exhaustion are chains enough. The moon's light shines translucent through the curtains. If you could just move them and get your bearings...

You move to get up, face the window - big mistake - you put too much weight on your shoulder and barely manage to stop yourself from falling face-first into the floor. Your world explodes - it's a kaleidoscope of pain that lances up your shoulder and turns every thought in your mind into fog.

You're still reeling until a voice cuts through that haze.

"Hey. If you get in trouble, comm me."

"When am I ever in trouble, Jane?"

Jane. His face flashes behind your closed eyelids. Kind, downturned, blue-grey eyes. Curly blonde hair. Crumpled suit. Warm smile. A gentle touch on your shoulder before you pocketed your walkie-talkie.

You open your eyes - your walkie talkie. He doesn't know where I am.

That lights a small, flickering fire in your chest. You crawl, closer and closer to the window. You raise your hand and grip the bottom of a curtain, wrinkling the floral pattern. Just a bit of -

The curtains part, just slightly. The moon's silvery light - it almost blinds you - peeks through the gap in the curtains and slices through the dusty air. It clears a path, spilling onto cardboard boxes and plastic-covered furniture, leading you right to your walkie-talkie. Something releases in your chest, stokes the flames of hope.

Thrown across the room in a scuffle. You must have sent a message, some kind of cry for help, but you're so alone that you're not sure.

"Oh, never," Jane says. His smile flickers. Serious. "But unexpected occurrences, and all that. You're going in there on your own. Never hurts to be too prepared."

"If there is such a thing." You remember smiling back. "You worried about me, Jane?"

"Eh," he drawls, waves his hand. But stops to look at you - really look at you. "You know that already."

You didn't. You don't think you realized.

The walkie-talkie is so, so slippery in your hands. Fingers trembling, you manage to press down on the button to talk - but your mind is unravelling, the air so cold, only one name manages to tumble out of your shivering lips.

"P-Patrick."

Patrick. Not Jane. Patrick. Like calling him by his name will bring him to you like magic. You're desperate enough to believe it.

You let go of the button - nothing. The sound of the static blends into the faint sound of leaves rustling somewhere outside. The rushing, crackling, silence.

You try again. Fingers slick with blood, you try again. "Patrick," you croak, hoping and hoping that it's him on the other end, that he can hear you at all. Who knows where his walkie talkie even is. It might be tucked at the bottom of a drawer at the CBI, spouting pleas to an empty room as the rest of the team goes looking for you.

They must be looking for you. They have to be. Especially him.

Because the alternative is that they've given up and that can't be true because Patrick Jane would never abandon you.

"Please," you whisper into the reciever. You're not sure if it even picks up. "Patrick-"

There's a breath of your name. Soft, and then louder as it crackles through the speaker of the walkie-talkie.

"...there? Please tell me you're there."

Jane's doesn't often call you by your name, but that doesn't mean he hasn't tried. It doesn't make the way his voice wraps around the syllable of your name sound any less heavenly.

"Say something," he says, his voice low and more serious than you've ever heard before. This is rare, for Jane. "Say something so I know you're alive. I need-"

"I'm here," you groan. You slump onto the floor. There are still needles under your skin and blood pouring out of your shoulder and you feel so fucking cold but you can hear Jane; somehow it all fades into the background. It's just you and him. When you speak again, your voice is thin. "I don't know where I am."

"I know, and I'm coming to get you," Jane replies, without any hesitation. I'm coming to get you. Not we. "Just stay with me."

You lean your head against the wall. Try to breathe. Watch the dust dance in the one beam of moonlight you have. "Okay. I'll try."

"You called me Patrick," Jane says. He's trying to keep his voice light, you can tell. "I'm always trying to get you to call me Patrick. If you wanted to get my attention you didn't have to go and get kidnapped, you know."

"Desperate times... desperate measures," you mumble. The pain really has taken a backseat, the fog rolling in instead. "You called me by my name."

"Desperate times," Jane - no, Patrick - mirrors. His voice is shaking. You want so badly to reach out, to hold him, but he's so far away. Everything is. "Talk to me. Whatever you remember."

It isn't much. "Got shot," you say dully, dimly nothing how the trickle of blood from your shoulder has stopped feeling warm. "Threw me. Hit my head maybe. Hurts. You helped me with that one time."

You can hear the smile in Patrick's voice. "I did. You put your head in my lap."

Impossibly, you manage a chuckle. "Made me do it. Coercion."

"Coercion with good results," he hums.

It's easy to pretend you're back there, on his couch at the CBI, your head in his lap, one of his hands in your hair and the other in yours. Falling asleep looking up at him with his sad, searching blue eyes, that seem to go as deep as the ocean does. Currents carrying you away into deeper and deeper waters. Away from here, and into the deep of his arms instead.

Another call of your name. Sharper this time. Like a plea.

"Talk to me," you hear Jane say. Already so distant, still at the shore. "Don't leave. I'm almost there, don't let go - listen to me, okay? Listen to me."

You're miles away. But Patrick's voice still carries, somehow, over the waves, over the swell of the water that threatens to pull you under.

"I want you to stay with me," he says, his breath quick, voice trembling like you've never heard it before. "Not just awake, but here. With me."

Always, you want to tell him, before you drown under the weight of all your pain.

The distant sound of a car pulling into a driveway. Raised voices. You're sinking.

Until someone drags you out of the water and into the cold night air. Dark hair and green eyes and a soft voice fill your vision, press two fingers to your neck. Lisbon. Her eyes are blown wide, mouth murmuring apologies as she holds you and props you up against the wall.

"In here!" she calls, and you're glad it's her, but where -

Patrick appears from behind her. Falls to his knees beside you. He's shaking and you want to hold him and he's right there - but you can't move. You're still bouyant, floating just on the surface. All you can do is breathe. Ignore the chill creeping onto your skin and seeping into your bones.

"Paramedics are minutes away," Lisbon says, putting a hand on Patrick's shoulder. He's frozen staring at you. "She's going to be okay if you can keep her awake until they get here."

That's when he blinks, as if he's waking up. He creeps closer to you, and suddenly scoops you into his arms. You're getting blood onto his suit. He doesn't seem to care as he wraps his arms around you, letting you lay against his shoulder.

"Hi," Patrick says cooly. Smiles down at you, radiant. As if nothing is wrong. Just like that night in the station. "I missed you."

"Since when?" you croak, and he chuckles, hangs his head low. When he lifts it to look at you, his eyes are brimming with tears.

Patrick doesn't answer the question. Instead he brushes his lips against your forehead as the sirens get closer and closer. "I told you to stay, right?" he whispers, rests his head against your forehead. "I - care about you. I want to keep caring about you. Those good enough reasons to stay?"

It's as good a reason as any, you think, because you care about him too.

(Patrick doesn't let you go until the paramedics arrive, and even when you're allowed to finally sink under and rest, he refuses to let go of your hand. And when you wake, the world blurry still, the first thing you see clearly is his smile.)

[raelikestowrite]

Everything that could have went wrong; Went wrong.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X reader

Summary: what happens when you and Aaron are in a secret relationship but you're also working a case with him and his team that’s taken a lot longer than expected. You get beat near to death by the unsubs. Does your relationship come to light or are you able to keep it a secret.

Warnings: Violence, punching, kicking, choking, suggestive themes, reader gets beat up super bad, Aaron has to refrain from killing a man, very very slight fluff, if I missed anything else let me know!

Notes: Feeling a bit bold and posting twice in one day. 😜This is a bit all over the place so just go with it. The end is based loosely off season 9 episode 24 when Spencer gets shot and ends up in the hospital and the guy comes back to finish the job, so uhm yeah. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3779

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog to help with visibility! I’d also be thrilled if you followed the account or left a request! All the support helps encourage me to write more!

You had been working on this case for a long time now, you don’t work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, but you had been assigned to help out with this particular case. Little did your boss know your boyfriend was the Unit Chief of this unit, you refrained from mentioning it though because you and Aaron hadn’t told nobody you two were together. It was easier that way, no one questioning you, no one doubting your position, being able to go home together and not have to worry about the prying eyes of coworkers.

Currently, you were walking back to yours and Aaron's shared apartment, Aaron would be with you but he was staying back to work on paperwork with a promise of being home for a late dinner, so you decided you would make dinner. It had been a while since  you had the time, especially now since you and Aaron were working pretty much the same hours temporarily.

About midway to your apartment you noticed two guys following you. You changed your route to the longer one just to make sure you weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You turned a sharp corner to give yourself time to call Aaron, but there was another guy there waiting for you. He grabbed your wrists forcing you into an alleyway, where the other two thugs followed him in. You recognized their tattoos. They were part of the cult you and Aaron's team were investigating. It seemed like you had gotten too close for their comfort, and they thought sending some guys to deal with you would stop the others. 

The guy that had your wrist pushed you up against the wall, his hand on your throat.

“Listen lady, we want you and your team to let this case go, yeah? Tell us what you know, and we’ll let you go, then you’ll tell your team to drop it. Got it?” His breath was hot and smelt like cigarettes and whiskey.

“Yeah… that won’t be happening…” Your words came out breathless because of the hand around your throat.

The man tightened his grip on your throat. “Tell us what you know.”

You stayed silent, you weren’t gonna tell them anything, in fact you were gonna keep your lips sealed tight.

That made the man angry, with the grip on your throat he threw you to the ground. You winced, but you held in any other sign of pain not wanting to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Listen here you little bitch.” The man grabbed a handful of your hair making you look up at him. “If you don’t talk we’re gonna beat the hell out of you then we’re gonna find another way to get what we want.”

You glare up at the man. “You can rot in hell.”

He threw your head down, your chin hitting the rough ground of the alleyway, busting your chin open.

He signals to the two other guys, a real buff guy and a taller guy. “Make her talk.”

You went to push yourself up off the ground, if you could get up and run you could find somewhere with a phone and call Aaron. You never got the chance though when you got a rough kick to the ribs knocking you back down. You tried your hardest to keep your reactions minimal but you were only human.

You reach down remembering you were armed but the taller guy ripped you off the ground by your hair so the buff guy could punch you in the stomach. Your first reaction was to reach up and try and loosen his grip on your hair but you forced your hands down to your gun. The buff guy realized what you were doing and got there before you could ripping your gun from its holster.

“Reaching for something sweetie?” The buff guy mocked holding up your gun for you to see.

“You three will be spending the rest of your lives in a jail cell. Adding the murder of a federal agent to your list of charges isn’t a very good idea-” You tried to reason, get them to let you go, but the taller guy just pulled your hair harder, making you reach up again.

“No one said you could speak. Unless you’re gonna tell us what your team knows.” The taller man said, his breath hot against your ear. 

“Fuck yourselves.” You managed to get out and the buff guy hit you with your gun across the face, and the taller guy let you go at the same time making you hit the wall and fall on the ground. 

The assault continued for what felt like forever. Your face was all beat up, you were sure you had at least two broken ribs… finally the main guy held his hand up to stop the other two, and he walked over to where you were laid on the ground clutching your abdomen.

“I can make this stop… If you’ll just cooperate with us… Come on, you're too pretty to be beat up like this…” His voice sounded almost sincere, he caressed the side of your face, wiping away one of your tears.

“You're gonna have to kill me… I’m not saying shit.” Your voice was quiet, your ears were ringing, your head was pounding.

“Well now that would just be too easy for you… we're not going to just kill you…” He stood up reaching his hand out and the buff guy handed him the gun

“Well, we are, but not instantly. You're going to lie here and bleed out. Because what fun is an instant kill?” The man shot you in the side, not an instant kill shot, but you would eventually bleed out.

The last thing you remembered was them searching your body for any ID. They took everything: your wallet, your badge, your phone and they dumped them in the dumpsters, then they used your blood to draw their symbol on the ground beside you… so your team would know.

Aaron Hotchner was on his way out of the bullpen, passing the rest of his team who were also packing their stuff up when Penelope Garcia came rushing in. 

“I’m sorry my lovelies but there's been another victim. No one's going home tonight.”

They all move to the conference room, Aaron taking his phone out to send a quick message to you, letting you know he wouldn’t make it home tonight.

 “Jane Doe, late twenties - early thirties found in the alleyway by a teenager who called the cops. They haven’t got the photos in yet, it just happened. Jane Doe is alive and is being taken to the hospital as we speak. They couldn’t find any identification on her” Garcia informed the team of the latest victim.

 “Alright. Morgan, you Prentiss and JJ head to the crime scene, see what you can find. Reid you’re with me, we’ll head to the hospital and see what our victim can tell us.”

They all nod and start doing as they are told. Hotch and Reid make it to the hospital when they walk into your hospital room they both freeze. Jane Doe wasn’t Jane Doe. You were Jane Doe.

You laid in the hospital bed and you looked horrible. Your face was beaten so badly it was almost unrecognizable, your arm was in a cast, you had a nasal cannula in your nose for oxygen, you were covered in bandages. 

The Nurse came in right after Aaron and Reid who were just sort of staring at you, unsure what to do.

“She’s stable, lucky to be alive. Whoever did this wanted her dead, that's for sure. Severe trauma to the head, ribs, abdomen, her arm is broken, we are thinking from hitting up against something, a wall maybe. And a gsw to the abdomen, but she got extremely lucky it missed any vital organs but we did have to go in to surgically remove the bullet. She had already lost a lot of blood by the time she got to us but we were able to replace most of what she lost. She’s strong that's for sure.” The nurse said checking your vitals and writing them down on the chart.

“When will she be awake…” Aaron asked quietly, walking to your bedside. 

“Few hours? A couple days? We just aren’t very sure. We’re trying to ID her to find her family now.” The Nurse said returning your chart to its place at the end of your bed.

“Agent Y/N, Y/L/N” Aaron turned to look at the Nurse. “She’s a Federal Agent.”

Spencer was unsure what to do. He watched the Nurse nod and leave the room.

“Call the team. Let them know it’s y/n and tell them to look for her stuff. If they can’t find it, that means our killer is running around with a government issued weapon. 

Spencer steps out calling the others.

“Yeah what do you got Reid?” Morgan answers his phone, he was squatted down looking at the symbol drawn in blood

“It’s Y/L/N” Spencer said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Morgan stood up motioning to Emily and JJ to come over, putting his phone on speaker.

“Say that again Reid”

“Jane Doe is Y/L/N and she doesn’t look too good guys…”

The other line went quiet.

“These sons of bitches…” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch wants you guys to try and locate her stuff, if you can’t find it, that probably means our killer is running around with a government issued gun.”

“Yeah… we’ll get right on it… and Reid?” Morgan replied.

“Yeah?”

“Keep us updated on her condition. We’ll be there as soon as we get done here.”

“Yeah, I will… It doesn’t look like Hotch is gonna leave her side anytime soon though.”

It was true, hours went by. They ended up finding your stuff, got prints off your gun that they’re processing. The rest of the team had been in and out, but Aaron never left your side. Over the past couple of months of working on this case together you had gotten close to Aaron’s team, they cared for you like you were one of their own, nobody ever noticed that you and Aaron had already been close though. Maybe they just assumed the two of you had worked together before.

It was about 5am when you finally started to stir. Aaron had stayed up, using paperwork to keep him awake. As soon as he noticed your fingers twitch he knew that you were slowly waking up. He sets the paperwork to the side and gently takes your hand.

“Y/n? You in there darling?” His voice was very gentle, soft, quiet. He didn’t want to disrupt the peacefulness of the early morning.

It took another minute for you to actually start coming to your senses, your lip twitched before your eyes started to slowly open. With two black eyes Aaron knew that it probably hurt or was at least uncomfortable to be opening your eyes too wide.

“There you are… My beautiful girl… you had me worried honey.” Aaron kept his voice soft, reaching up to push some of your hair away from your face.

“Aaron…?” your voice was barely audible, a bit raspy from the strain that was put on your windpipe. Your eyes weren’t even barely open, probably because of the lingering drowsiness from just waking up.

“Yeah it’s me Y/n. It’s me, you're okay. You're in the hospital” Aaron just watched you as you were slowly waking up more and more.

“Three guys…” You open your eyes a bit more looking over at Aaron

“What? Three guys?” Aaron questioned. Were you referring to your attack?

“It was three guys… They had tattoos…” You were so tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep but you knew you needed to get this information to Aaron so they were aware of what they were dealing with. Initially the profile said it was one guy that belonged to this cult, but now you were thinking the whole cult was involved.

Aaron pulls out his phone to find the crime scene photos he had been sent and he pulls up the symbol that was drawn out in blood. Your blood. “Did the tattoos look like this?” He asked, turning the phone towards you.

You nod. “On their wrists.”

“Good… very good Y/n… get some rest honey. The teams handling it.” Aaron says gently rubbing your head…

“I can describe them Aaron…” you blink some trying to wake yourself up more “please… let me help Aaron”

“You did enough by surviving, now you need to stay alive and rest y/n. I’m serious. Rest.” Aaron tried but he knew how stubborn you were.

“No… Let me describe them. While it’s still fresh on my mind…” You looked up at him, you looked so pitiful. Aaron didn’t like seeing you like this. All beat up and Vulnerable 

“Fine… Describe them for me.” He pulls his phone out and uses the recording app so he can share it to the team as the exact description.

You take a breath and nod. “The first one was probably around 5’7…” You close your eyes picturing him in your head “buzzcut.. Neck tattoo, I couldn’t exactly make out the design but it looked like some type of  tree maybe…?” you thought for a little longer then moved on to the next guys “The second one was shorter… maybe 5’5 but he was supper buff” the more you spoke, your throat hurt more, you were probably straining it but you didn’t care. You would deal with the consequences later. But Aaron could tell because your voice was getting more raspy.

“If you need a break we can take one Y/n. Don’t hurt yourself for the sake of the case.” Aaron reassured, reaching down with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone to squeeze your good hand.

“I can do this…” Your brows furrowed, you were getting a little frustrated.

“Buff… he had dark brown hair, and a beard… the last guy was really tall… he had an… ugly mohawk, he was a ginger. His nails were painted black.” Aaron has to stifle a laugh about your comment about the guy having an ugly mohawk

“Anything else?” Aaron asked, making sure you were done.

You thought for a minute then shook your head. “Wait-” You wince at your action, you had spoken too loudly and that really hurt your throat.

“Okay that's enough y/n” Aaron stood up reaching for the water that was at your bedside

“The first guy had a necklace, it said something in Russian… I couldn’t get a close enough look to translate…” you could feel yourself getting lightheaded from forcing yourself to stay awake.

Aaron nodded, acknowledging you and leaned down with the glass of water and straw. “Drink a little bit… it’ll probably help your throat some.”

You take the straw in your mouth and take a sip of water, when you’re done Aaron puts the cup back down, and sits back in the chair beside you, and takes your hand. “Get some rest honey, you need it.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept watching him, it was comforting, knowing he was there with you. You felt your eyes getting heavier until eventually sleep overtook you.

When you woke up again it was to the sound of people’s voices, several people. 

“There she is.” You heard a voice say, but it wasn’t Aaron’s voice. Derek’s maybe?

You open your eyes seeing everyone there. Derek, Spencer, JJ, Emily, of course Aaron and even Penelope.

“Take your time honey, we're here for you” Penelope said, she had made herself at home in the chair next to your bed. She had her laptop, and a couple other things with her. You assumed she would be staying with you for your duration of this hospital stay, as much as you wanted Aaron to stay, you knew he needed to work to find the unsubs who are probably out killing more girls.

“Did you find them…?” Your voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Your throat was killing you.

“We have a lead. Thanks to your descriptions we were able to ID the man with the neck tattoo. His name is Emiliano Perez. We have a last known location on him, and we're hoping that he’ll lead us to where this cult meets. You did very well. We wouldn’t have gotten this close to them this soon if it weren’t for you.” Emily answers your question. They hadn’t found them yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they did. You just nodded and looked around the room.

“What’s up with the conference meeting in my hospital room?” You ask quietly as your eyes land on Aaron who gives you a soft expression.

“We stopped by to check in on you. As soon as we get the address we’re raiding the place. I promise we’re gonna get the guys who did this.” Aaron tilted his head slightly as he spoke. It was a little habit of his when talking to you, usually because he had to look down some.

You all talked for a while, then they got the location, and it was go time. They all were on their feet and out the door the second it came in, leaving just you and Garcia in the room.

Garcia walked out to head down to the cafeteria to get you some pudding or something for you to eat on.

You lay in your room by yourself, you had noticed a shadow passing by your door, you looked and the next time it passed you recognized the owner of the shadow it was one of the guys that had nearly killed you. The more buff one, the one who had done the most harm to you. He was currently right outside your hospital room, in scrubs?

You slowly reach up to press the call button to get a nurse or something in here, so you weren’t by yourself, but he was coming in already.

“You're stronger than you look agent Y/L/N. You should’ve died the first time it would have been much less painful” The man said closing and locking the door behind him.

“My team is already on the way… It doesn’t matter if I'm dead, you and your stupid ass cult are going to rot in prison for the rest of your lives. You won’t even get the chair. You’ll be put in the worst facility we have to offer… especially if you kill a federal agent.” Your voice was still raspy, and your vision swam every time you moved but it wasn’t like you to stand down.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that Agent. You see, we knew this would cause them to find us. Or at least think they did. They’re walking into a trap right now. They’re going to be blown to bits.” He smirked as he walked closer to you.

You said nothing as he got closer and closer. “It’s a shame I have to kill such a pretty woman…” you lift your casted arm and swing hitting his head, you cried out in pain but you weren’t gonna just let him kill you. Not without a fight at least.

“Ow! You son of a bitch, now I'm really gonna kill your stupid ass.” He looked up at you holding his head. You push yourself up out of bed.

“Green!” You yell out, momentarily confusing your attacker. Giving you enough time to shakily pick up a vase and throw it at him. It wasn’t a very hard throw in fact you weren’t even sure if you hit him because you were so dizzy.

You used the wall and the bed to keep you upright trying to head to the door, but you fell and he was on you in seconds. His hands close around your neck, squeezing hard. You claw at his arms but it was no use. 

The sound of splintering wood and the loud bang of a door being kicked in got his attention. 

“FBI, PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.” Derek Morgan. The plan had worked, so far. Now it was just a matter of if the man was gonna give in or not. He didn’t. 

“Leave or I’ll shoot this bitch in the head!” The man pulled out a gun pointing it at your head. 

Your vision was swimming, your head was pounding, and your ears were ringing, so you didn’t even notice the gun being pointed at your face, nor did you process the words being said.

Aaron and Prentiss slowly entered on either side of Derek. The man recognized Aaron.

“Awe how sweet. You're the boyfriend? I saw the picture in her wallet. So cute, the two of you.” He said looking at Aaron as he walked in. Aaron's heart dropped, the team hadn’t known you two were together and now it was out in the open without your permission. Aaron didn’t react though not even when the unsub– without moving the gun from your head pulled out the picture from his pocket. He had taken it when he saw it, a souvenir. 

“Get away from Agent y/l/n right now.” Aaron’s voice was steady, he was prepared to shoot this man to save you. 

You felt yourself wanting to drift off, pass out and end this hell of a nightmare. But you tried your best to keep yourself awake even if you weren’t very responsive.

“Why would I do that!? I have her right where I want her! UNDER ME! AND I WON’T LET YOU TAKE HER FROM ME!!” The man raised his gun to Aaron, Derek took the shot, hitting the man’s shoulder making him drop the gun. Aaron and Derek were on him in seconds, Prentiss was at your side on the ground.

They took him into custody and got you into a new room. Where they gave you some pain medication that knocked you out.

“When were you gonna tell us?” Derek turns to Aaron who was sitting at your bedside, you hand in his hand. 

“Probably not for a while. We’ve been keeping this a secret for good reason.” Aaron responded, not bothering to pull his gaze away from your face.

“I mean it explains everything, the lingering gazes, always being partnered together-” Reid started but got cut off by Prentiss.

“I knew the whole time. I thought everyone did honestly.” Emily looked around at everyone. “Seriously you guys didn’t know?” 

[deepspacedispatch]

I'd like to request angst scenarios of boys reacting to Mc going on a dangerous mission. She ends up hospitalized from serious injuries but turns out okay? Thank you!

I am so so so sorry this took me literally forever long to write, but here we go! Thank you for the request!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Xavier:

Xavier was waiting for you at the Hunters Association building. Your mission was supposed to have ended thirty minutes ago. Dinner reservations sat untouched on his phone, the screen lighting up again as he checked the time for what felt like the tenth time.

This time, it rang.

Tara’s name flashed across the screen. He froze. She was your partner on this mission, his mind immediately spiraled through every worst-case scenario he’d tried not to imagine. After a moment he exhaled slowly and answered.

“Hello—”

“Get to the hospital. Now,” Tara cut in, her voice rushed, pitched with fear. “The mission got out of handing. They’re going into emergency surgery. Please, hurry. She needs you.”

“I’ll be there,” Xavier said. His voice sounded wrong even to himself, too flat, too calm. He didn’t waste another second before using his Evol to get to the hospital as fast as possible.

The waiting room was cold. Too bright. Xavier paced the length of it over and over, finger nails digging into his palms. Tara watched from a chair nearby. She’d never seen him like this, usually calm, composed, and unshakable. Now his breathing was uneven, his movements sharp and restless, like he was barely holding himself together.

When the surgeon finally emerged, Xavier stopped short, heart hammering. The word stable barely registered before he was moving again.

You looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, but alive. Breathing.

“You probably panicked,” you murmured weakly when he sat beside you, a teasing lilt in your voice.

He scoffed softly. “I was fine. Cool as a cucumber.”

From the doorway, Tara caught your eye and shook her head.

You smiled at her before turning back to Xavier. "Of course you were."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

The ambulance arrives sirens cutting into the relative quirt of Akso Hospital, and Zayne barely glances up at first, just another emergency, another set of injuries to repair. The report is clipped, urgent. Severe trauma. Internal bleeding. Possible cardiac complications.

He’s already scrubbing in when Greyson grabs his arm.

“No,” Greyson says quietly. “You can’t take this one.”

Zayne frowns, irritation flashing sharp and immediate. “I’m the most qualified surgeon on shift.”

Greyson hesitates. “Zayne…you're too close to the patient.”

The world seems to tilt before Greyson's words click and he understands. “Then that’s exactly why I should do it. I know the medical history. I know their heart, every risk, every anomaly. I’ve planned contingencies for this.”

“And that’s the problem,” Greyson says evenly. “You care too much. One wrong hesitation,”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You already are.”

The words land harder than any argument. After a long, suffocating silence, Zayne steps back. His hands shake once before he stills them. “Fine.”

He watches from the observation gallery, mouth drawn into a thin line. Every monitor beep feels personal. Every minute is agony.

When the surgery finally ends, relief is sharp enough to hurt.

You’re awake later, groggy but alive. Zayne sits beside your bed, professional calm settling back into place like armor. He explains your injuries carefully, outlines medications, physical therapy, cardiac monitoring, your recovery mapped down to the smallest detail.

“But it's okay, you’re going to be fine,” he says softly, holding your hand tightly.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

Rafayel was already pacing the length of the hospital room by the time you were wheeled in.

“Look at me, showing up on time,” he muttered, voice light, teasing, but every word was filled with worry. “Unlike you, who was so late when I was hurt.” He stopped for a beat, hands on his hips, eyes narrowing at your still form. “How are you supposed to be my bodyguard when you can't even keep yourself safe?”

He resumed pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible, cutie. Seriously. I don’t know how you think you can do this job if you’re always ending up in a hospital bed.”

His pacing slowed only when he leaned closer, examining monitors, checking vitals, murmuring reassurances as if you could hear him.

Hours pass. The sterile lights hum overhead, but Rafayel doesn’t leave. He keeps talking, as much to himself as to you, his voice dropping softer, gentler, his teasing coming to an end.

Finally, your eyelids flutter open. Rafayel jumps slightly, relief washing over him, though concern sharpens his expression immediately.

“Did, did you hear any of that?” he asks, voice tight.

You manage a small, groggy smile. “Yeah…but I think I got the point. I’ll be better in no time.”

Rafayel exhales, tension easing just slightly. “You’d better be,” he mutters, settling into a chair by your bed, still a little terrified, but more than happy to have you back.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

Sylus is still at the Onychinus base when Mephisto bursts into the room, movements uncharacteristically frantic.

He let Sylus know you were hurt.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. He’s already moving.

By the time he reaches you, the sight steals the air from his lungs. Tubes. Bandages. Blood he knows shouldn’t be there. He stands at your bedside, hands curling slowly into fists, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“Sweetie,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “Anyone who did this to you is already dead. If they’re not yet, they will be.” He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “I won’t tolerate this. I can’t lose you again.”

His jaw tightens. “Not after everything. You can't forget me, not again.” The words were laced with a fear he didn't even know he was capable of.

He straightens, pacing once, twice, before returning to your side. “You know,” he adds quietly, “if you finally joined Onychinus, none of this would’ve happened. You’d be protected. Watched. Mine.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “I’d make sure nothing ever touches you again.”

Hours later, when your eyes finally open, an overwhelming feeling of relief floods his mind.

“Kitten,” he breathes, relief breaking through his control. “Don’t scare me like that.”

You manage a weak smile. “Don't tell me what to do.”

His lips curve faintly. “Only because I care.”

You're in the hospital for the next 6 days. He never leaves your side.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Caleb drives in tense silence, the hum of the car filling the space between you. The hospital stay had lasted two long days, and every minute had been an exercise in patience, his patience, which was fraying fast.

“You never let me protect you, do you?” he snaps suddenly, voice tight. He glances at you, violet eyes stormy behind the windshield. “Always running into danger like it’s nothing. Reckless. That’s who you’ve always been, isn’t it?”

You stay quiet, groggy from pain medication, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. His hands grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “This…this was the last straw, pips,” he mutters, his tone softer, but still fierce. “I can’t, won’t watch you end up in that hospital again. Not after this. Not after risking everything on your own.”

He swerves slightly to avoid a pothole, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “I’ll keep you safe. By any means necessary, pipsqueak. I don’t care who I have to fight, what rules I have to break. I’m not letting you do this to yourself again.”

You finally manage a small, weak smile. “I…I’ll try to be better,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Caleb exhales sharply, and his body relaxes ever so slightly, grip on the steering wheel loosening. “Good. Because you’re mine, pips, and I’m not letting anyone, anything, ever hurt you again.”

You could feel, deep in your bones, that this was a promise he was going to keep.

[heldbybarnes]

im starving as I type this… can I request fic in which reader gets injured on a mission and is slightly traumatized so she doesn’t come out of her apartment on the compound for like a day and a half. Bucky remembers that she loves Olive Garden so he shows up at her door with a million takeout boxes because he wasn’t sure what she wanted and wanted to make sure she eats. she invites him in because of the amount of food lol and tries to act normal, laugh things off as she never lets anyone see her cry. but then she breaks down … cue emotional comfort

It’s been thirty-six hours.

Bucky knows because he’s counted them twice—once out of habit, once out of worry. Thirty-six hours since the mission went sideways. Thirty-six hours since you came back to the compound pale and shaking, blood not all yours, eyes too wide like something had crawled under your skin and stayed there.

And thirty-six hours since anyone’s seen you.

The others have tried. Natasha knocked once, soft but firm, then again harder. Sam hovered outside your door long enough to get on everyone’s nerves before finally backing off with a sigh. Even Steve lingered in the hallway like he could will you to open the door just by being there.

You didn’t.

You never do when it’s like this.

Bucky stands outside your apartment now, arms full of paper bags that are slowly cutting into his fingers. The smell alone is enough to give him away—garlic, butter, something warm and familiar. He shifts his weight, exhales once through his nose, then knocks.

No answer.

He waits.

Knocks again, gentler this time.

“Hey,” he calls, voice low, careful. “It’s me.”

Silence stretches. He almost turns away—almost tells himself you need space, that you’ll come out when you’re ready.

Then there’s the faint shuffle of movement inside.

The lock clicks.

The door opens just enough for your face to appear, eyes rimmed red like you haven’t slept—or maybe you have, too much of it, the kind that doesn’t rest you at all.

You blink at him. Then at the mountain of takeout bags.

“…Bucky?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, like this isn’t a big deal, like he didn’t drive all the way into the city and order half the menu because he couldn’t remember what your favorite was.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says simply. “Figured I’d bring dinner.”

Your gaze drifts back to the bags. Your lips part, just a little.

“That’s not dinner,” you murmur. “That’s… a catering order.”

“Didn’t know what you’d want,” he admits. “So I got… options.”

For a second, you just stare at him.

Then, against all odds, you let out a quiet, breathy laugh.

It’s small. Fragile. But it’s there.

And something in his chest loosens.

“God,” you say, shaking your head, stepping back to open the door wider. “You’re ridiculous. Come in before you drop all of that.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

---

Your apartment is dim. Curtains drawn. The air feels still, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a while.

Bucky sets the bags down on your kitchen counter, one by one, lining them up like he’s cataloging something important. Breadsticks. Pasta. Salad. Soup. More pasta. Probably too much pasta.

You hover nearby, arms folded loosely across your stomach, watching him unpack it all.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say.

He doesn’t look at you when he answers. “Yeah, I did.”

There’s no room to argue with that, so you don’t.

Instead, you move closer, picking at one of the containers, peeling back the lid just enough to let the smell escape.

Your stomach betrays you with a quiet growl.

Bucky pretends not to hear it.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the couch. “I’ll bring it over.”

You hesitate—just for a second—then nod, like the decision costs you something.

You settle onto the couch, tucking your legs under you, posture just a little too tight to be comfortable.

He brings over a plate piled with food, sets it on the coffee table in front of you, then lowers himself onto the opposite end of the couch.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

You pick up a fork. Take a bite.

Chew.

Swallow.

“Okay,” you say after a second, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “This is actually really good.”

“Would hope so,” Bucky mutters. “Cost me a small fortune.”

That earns him another soft laugh.

You keep eating, slower this time, like you’re remembering how.

And for a few minutes, it almost feels normal.

You make a joke about how you’re going to have leftovers for a week. He tells you he’ll help you eat them. You roll your eyes, tell him he just wants an excuse to come back.

“Maybe,” he says.

Your smile flickers.

Then fades.

It happens so fast he almost misses it—the way your shoulders tense, the way your gaze drops to your hands like you suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

You set the fork down.

“I’m fine, you know,” you say, too quickly. “Everyone’s acting like I—like something’s wrong, but it was just a bad mission. It happens. I’m not—”

Your voice wavers.

You clear your throat, force a small laugh.

“I’m not, like, traumatized or anything.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt you.

Doesn’t call you out.

He just watches you, quiet and steady, like he’s giving you all the space in the world to keep going.

You don’t.

Because the words catch in your throat.

Because your hands start to shake.

Because the image—whatever it is, whatever you saw out there—comes back all at once, sharp and suffocating.

You suck in a breath.

It stutters on the way out.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly.

That’s all it takes.

The dam breaks.

Your face crumples, and suddenly you’re crying—silent at first, then not at all, shoulders curling inward like you’re trying to make yourself smaller, like you can hide from it if you just fold in tight enough.

“I thought I was gonna die,” you choke out, the words tumbling over each other. “I—I couldn’t move, and there was so much blood, and I just—”

Your voice fractures.

You press a hand to your mouth like you can shove the rest of it back down.

Bucky’s across the couch in an instant.

Not rushing. Not overwhelming. Just there.

He sits close enough that your knees brush, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him forcing it.

“Hey,” he murmurs again, softer this time. “You’re okay.”

You shake your head, tears spilling faster. “It didn’t feel okay.”

“I know.”

It’s not dismissive. Not hollow.

It’s understanding.

That’s what gets you.

You turn toward him, eyes glassy, searching his face like you need him to confirm it—that he gets it, that you’re not being dramatic, that you’re not weak.

He does.

Of course he does.

Carefully, like he’s handling something breakable, he reaches for you. His metal hand hovers for a second—just long enough for you to see the hesitation—before he switches, using his other hand instead, warm and steady as it comes to rest against your arm.

You don’t pull away.

So he moves closer.

Pulls you in.

You go without a fight, collapsing against him like the strength’s been drained out of you all at once.

His arm wraps around your shoulders, solid and grounding. His chin rests lightly against the top of your head.

“You’re safe,” he says quietly. “You made it back. That’s what matters.”

You grip his shirt in your fists, knuckles white.

“I hate that it still gets to me,” you whisper.

Bucky exhales slowly.

“It always will,” he says. “Doesn’t mean you’re not strong.”

You let that sink in.

Let yourself breathe.

The crying doesn’t stop right away, but it softens—less frantic, more like something that needs to work its way out.

He stays with you through all of it.

Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t try to fix it.

Just holds you.

After a while, your grip on him loosens. Your breathing evens out.

You pull back slightly, swiping at your face, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t gotta hide that stuff from me.”

You look at him, really look this time.

“Yeah?” you ask, voice small.

He nods.

“Yeah.”

Something in your chest eases.

You glance at the mountain of food still waiting on the table, then back at him.

“…You’re staying,” you say.

It’s not a question.

Bucky’s mouth curves, just a little.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

And for the first time in thirty-six hours, you don’t feel quite so alone.

[capricorneybaby]

Hello, I love your work! I was wondering if I could  get a Rise of the Guardians (romantic) headcanons where like the reader is hurt and how the guardians would react to that and comfort the reader? You can choose how serious the injury is or how they got hurt

Sorry this took so long, I've been really busy with work! Enjoy, though! 😊

Guardians (Jack Frost, Bunny, North, Tooth & Sandy) x Hurt!Reader | Headcanons

Jack Frost x Reader Headcanons

How you got hurt: You slipped on an icy patch — ironically, one that Jack created. He’d been playing around, showing off with his staff and creating little snow trails for kids to slide on. You came to check on him and didn’t realize one patch was slicker than it looked. You fell hard, spraining your wrist.

His reaction: Jack’s entire face goes pale the instant you fall. He’s at your side in a blur, his hands trembling as he props you up. He keeps saying, “Oh no, no, no, no — this is my fault, I’m so sorry — please be okay…” He’s never felt colder, and not in a good way. The thought of his frost hurting you makes him sick with guilt.

How he comforts you: He uses his ice to numb your pain carefully — just enough to keep the swelling in your wrist down — and flies you to North’s workshop for proper care. Afterward, he refuses to leave your side, constantly wrapping you in his hoodie and his arms. When you wake, he’s sitting there tracing gentle frost patterns on your bandaged wrist, whispering, “You know I’d never let anything happen to you on purpose, right?” He promises to teach you how to walk safely on ice…with hand-holding lessons, of course.

Bunny x Reader Headcanons

How you got hurt: You followed Bunny into one of his tunnels during a fight with a stray Nightmare that refused to vanish after Pitch’s defeat. You tried to help — you grabbed a thrown boomerang — but one of the tunnels caved slightly, and a rock hit your shoulder and ribs, knocking you out.

His reaction: Utter panic. His ears flatten, his breathing quickens, and he digs you out with frantic, dirt-streaked paws. You’re not unconscious for long, but the sight of you still and hurt nearly undoes him. He mutters angrily under his breath, “Bloody fool, why’d I let you come with me?”— but it’s really aimed at himself.

How he comforts you: Once he gets you to safety, he uses his soft fur to warm you up, pressing his forehead against yours to check your temperature. He gently wraps your ribs in bandages, hands surprisingly tender for such a big warrior. When you wince, he whispers, “Easy now, sheila…just breathe. You scared the life outta me, you know that?” That night, he refuses to sleep — he just sits near you, holding your hand, thumb brushing over your pulse to reassure himself you’re still there.

North x Reader Headcanons

How you got hurt: While helping North in his workshop — trying to wrangle a batch of overly enthusiastic yetis — you accidentally got caught in the middle of a malfunctioning toy explosion. It knocked you backward, leaving you bruised, dazed, and with a mild burn on your arm.

His reaction: North’s booming laughter dies instantly the moment he sees you go down. “Out of way! Move!” he bellows at the yetis, scooping you up in his massive arms like you’re made of glass. His jolly face hardens, and he curses himself for letting you near his “chaotic genius zone.”

How he comforts you: He insists on personally tending to you, wrapping your arm in soft cloth and rubbing a cool balm made from Arctic herbs. He stays uncharacteristically quiet until you’re patched up. Then, in a low rumble, he says, “You are strong, but even strongest must be careful. Next time, you wear armor — da?” You laugh through the pain, and his eyes finally crinkle again. He gives you hot cocoa and sits beside you while you rest, his presence large and protective. Every now and then, he brushes your hair from your face, murmuring, “You gave me quite the scare, my snowflake.”

Tooth x Reader Headcanons

How you got hurt: You’d joined Tooth on a collection run when a flock of her mini-fairies were ambushed by a gusty storm. You dove after one that was about to get swept away — but got clipped by debris midair and sprained your ankle badly upon landing.

Her reaction: Tooth shrieks your name, darting down faster than a hummingbird in freefall. Her wings are trembling as she scoops you up, tears welling in her bright eyes. She fusses immediately — checking your limbs, brushing dirt from your hair, apologizing between every word: “Oh, you sweet thing, I shouldn’t have brought you up here — it’s all my fault!”

How she comforts you: Once she’s sure nothing’s broken, she brings you to her palace, surrounding you with hundreds of gentle mini fairies. They hum soothingly as Tooth wraps your ankle in silk-like bandages infused with mint and honey essence. She strokes your hair while you rest on a bed of feathers, whispering soft words of love to you, then she presses a kiss to your forehead and tells you, “You’re my favorite reason to slow down.”

Sandy x Reader Headcanons

How you got hurt: You were in Burgess, keeping Sandy company as he spread his dream sand, when you saw a child’s nightmare starting to manifest. You tried to help by distracting the child, but a dark tendril lashed out and hit you before Sandy could fully dispel it. The attack left you with a painful bruise and exhaustion, like you’d been drained.

His reaction: Sandy’s usual golden glow flares with a dark flicker of panic. His eyes widen, and the sand shapes around him turn frantic — exclamation points, tears, frantic question marks. He banishes the last remnants of the nightmare in a storm of golden dust before gently catching you as you sway on your feet. He’s silent, but his expression says everything: fear, guilt, protectiveness.

How he comforts you: He carries you through the air on a swirl of dream sand, laying you down on a floating bed of golden light. His sand forms soothing visions — your happiest memories, glowing above you like lanterns. When you drift in and out of rest, he stays near, brushing a thumb over your cheek with infinite gentleness. Before you fall asleep, he conjures a small dream image: a golden heart wrapping around the two of you. The meaning is simple and wordless — You’re safe now. I won’t let anything hurt you again.

[figtreesandmoonlight]

He'll Always Come Part 2

Bucky x reader

Summary: You were back. You were safe. Bucky knew that. But healing isn't linear, and to be honest, Bucky was scared.

Read part 1 here

CWs: description of injuries, so much angst

You were floating. Some part of your brain was trying to claw its way back into consciousness. But you weren’t quite ready yet. Your body was trying to tell your brain that it could feel hands on you, gently lifting you up, placing you onto something soft, something that was moving. That words were being said above your head. You didn’t care. The only thing your brain was willing to acknowledge was the cool comfort of a metal hand clamped tight around your own right hand. The pain was gone now. Bucky was here. 

The second time consciousness reared its head, the world came into focus much quicker. In fact, it tore a deep gasp out of your chest. It came in the form of a deep, dull ache in your body, matched by a biting stinging sensation and the feeling of hands on your ankle. 

The sharp intake of breath, the involuntary contraction of your abs, forced your back off of the mountain of clinically white, clean pillows behind it. You forced your eyes open, blurred shapes filling your vision as you tensed the muscles in your arms. A guttural moan of pain ripped itself out from deep within you. 

The part of your brain that had woken up hadn’t registered that you were safe. That you were home. All it knew was that you were in pain, and that people in white coats were flurrying around you. That hands were on you, and where they touched, you hurt. 

‘No, god, no, please no,’ you started begging. You were back. The Red Room. They’d found you somehow. They had you. What were they doing to you? What tests had they run, what experiments had they done? Why did you hurt already? You couldn’t breathe. There was something in your throat. Some kind of tube. You couldn’t do this. No, no no no no. Not again. They weren’t getting you again. Not without a fight. 

Your arm screamed in protest as you lifted it, forcing your numb fingers into a fist while a litany of pleading still fell from your lips, getting ready to swing. Someone was at your side. 

‘Doll, it’s me! Jesus Christ, someone help her!’ A warm, gentle hand encased your fist as a cold second hand came to rest on your shoulder. Softly, you were pushed back into the pillow beneath you, tears falling across your cheekbones and running freely into your hair.

A face swam in your vision, blurry and undefinable, but clearly concerned. Huh. Something about him made you want to stop fighting. The voice above you softened, whispering low enough that only you could hear: ‘It’s okay, you’re safe. You're safe now. I’ve got you. I promise.’ The warm hand has let your own go now, moving to stroke your hair.

You didn’t have the time to think about why that voice made you want to cry in a different kind of way. Instead, you felt something cold rushing through you, a kind of cold coming from the inside, instead of the out. You were being pulled back into nothingness before you knew it, but the stroking your hair, soothing you, stayed. 

There was something on top of you. Not like before, not like the weight of waking up from being knocked unconscious. No, it was literally a physical weight. You shifted, grunting a little as you tried to move underneath it, loosely registering the brush of material on you against something else. For some reason, it was heavier on one side than the other.

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open, wincing a little as you took in the world around you, your skull pounding in protest at being awake. You were lying in a bed, propped up on some pillows, and from where your head rested you could see the faint glow of the room in front of you. Shifting your eyes to the side, you noticed a twinkling trail of fairylights, lighting the ceiling just enough for you to realise where you were. The med bay of the tower. 

Slowly, testing your movements to see which would let pain blare through the gentle haze of painkillers you could feel running through your body, you lifted your head. And your heart crumbled. So that was the odd weight. 

At the foot of your bed, curled over himself on the space in your mattress, was James Barnes. A smile tugged at your lips, pulling slightly on what you could only assume was a healing split lip. All you wanted in the world was to run your fingers through his hair. Throw caution to the wind and all that. 

Except the second you tried to sit up, white hot pain seared through your body, causing you to cry out in both shock and pain. Bucky was at your side before you blinked, one hand on your back, the other on your shoulder, helping lower you back into the bed. He spoke softly above you ‘Easy, baby, easy,’ as he helped move you like you were something breakable, worth all the money in the world. 

Now, laid back against the pillows behind you, you drew in a stuttering breath. ‘Hey Buck-‘ you broke off into a coughing fit, suddenly realising how dry your throat was, aftershocks of pain rolling over you. Bucky had moved again, quicker than light, to hold a plastic straw to your lips. ‘Just drink baby, don’t try and talk yet.’ You nodded, sipping the water and relishing the feel of the cold slipping down your throat. 

When you had drunk enough, Bucky moved the straw from your lips, placing it on the table next to your bed and pulling his chair up beside your bed. He was barely sat in it, hovering, anxious to jump the second it looked like you needed something. When he finally settled down, you got the chance to take a good look at him.

A sad smile fell over your face, as you raised your hand to rest on his cheek, thumb slowly stroking along his cheekbone. There were dark circles under his eyes, deep enough to tell you he hadn’t slept for days, and a cut running just below his eye down his cheek. His hair was clumped together and greasy. Oh, you realise, he hasn’t left me. 

The two of you sit like that for a moment, the flicker of fairylights and a candle in the far corner of the room the only movement in the space. Slowly, as though you might crack just from the contact, Bucky’s hand comes up to meet your own, pulling it to his lips as he presses the gentlest of kisses into your palm, before whispering out practically into your hand, ‘never do that to me again, doll.’

It was only as he moved your hand into his line of vision that you noticed the white bandage wrapped around it, the IV line pressing into your elbow, and the bruises covering the unbandaged parts of skin. You look into Bucky’s blue eyes, realising not only how shattered he looks, but how scared, how guilty. Through cracked lips, you ask ‘How bad is it?’ 

Bucky’s eyes broke away from yours. ‘I-‘ he broke off, not knowing where to start. You felt the silence heavy on your chest. ’You’ve been out for a while. You were in a bad way when we found you. The wounds on your ankles and wrists from where they’d had you,’ he chokes slightly, voice breaking, ‘where they had you chained were infected. All the ribs on your right side were broken or cracked, and one had punctured a lung. Add on top of that the concussion, the wound on your arm, the other cuts and bruises and the fact that they’d electrocuted you…’ Bucky’s voice shrunk down into a whisper and his eyes looked far away, trapped somewhere in the memory of your rescue. He swallowed uncomfortably, ‘It was touch and go for a while there.’ 

You nodded, numbly. You didn’t know what to think. So you didn’t, not yet. Instead, you looked at your boyfriend, the man you would burn the world down to save, placing your hand back on his cheek and directing his gaze to you. ‘Look at me, James,’ you asked, voice hoarse from disuse, but your heart fluttering slightly as his eyes met yours, ‘you came for me. You found me. You saved me. I’m okay.’

‘But if I’d been slower. If we hadn’t-‘

‘But you did,’ you cut him off, ‘and I knew you would.’

Bucky’s eyes broke away from you again. ‘The only reason they came for you was because of me. This is my fault, I never should’ve-‘

‘Never should have what? Loved me? Let me love you?’ Bucky looked like all the air had been knocked out of him, devastated. Your voice was gaining strength now.  You shifted in your bed slightly, Bucky’s head immediately whipping round at the sound, concern filling his eyes, which had tears flowing freely from them now. You reached out, taking Bucky’s wrist in your hand and pulling him softly towards you. He stopped at the rail of your bed, but you kept pulling, not stopping until he gingerly climbed into the bed next to you. Slowly, with Bucky taking most of your weight, helping you move, you rested your upper body against Bucky’s chest.

You couldn't do much right now, but by god, you were going to be there for him. You would hold him while he held you. He didn't get to pull away from you, not now. You would heal, together.

‘They took so much from us, James. So much. They don’t get to take you too. I love you. I love you in spite of the fear that every day we step onto a battlefield where you could be taken away from me. I love you so much my chest hurts and my heart sings. I love you, and if that means every once in a while I have to watch my boyfriend rage out against some assholes who underestimated how hard it would be to break me to get to you, then so be it. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes, and nothing on this world is going to change that.’ 

‘I just love you so much,’ Bucky croaked out above you, vibrations in his chest rumbling in your head slightly and tears falling into your hair. ‘I can’t lose you.’

‘I love you too. I’m not going anywhere.’ 

You lay there, wrapped in each other's arms for a while. Bucky brought your bandaged wrists to his lips, softly kissing them, one at a time, as you looked around the room again. You suddenly realised how odd it was that a hospital room had fairy lights and candles. On your bedside table was a photo of you and the team, and next to it, three books, all making up a trilogy you’d been talking about wanting to read. On the other side was a jar with a skull on top of it, filled to the brim with gummy snakes and next to it, a bag of Darkmilk chocolate buttons…your favourite. At the foot of your bed was a red guardian teddy bear. 

Above you, Bucky saw you take in the room. ‘They’ve all been asking about you.’ You look up at him. ‘The team. The photo’s John’s, the fairylight and candle are from Yelena, something about the Red Room and waking up in soft light. Bob snuck those sweets past five doctors to make sure you could have them, and Ava dropped the books off, said she’d been meaning to lend them.’ Bucky huffed out a grumble of laughter, ‘I reckon you can guess who the bear is from.’

Warmth overflowed in your heart. John knew you’d need to be reminded of your found family, happy and strong. Yelena knew the trauma of waking up after a Red Room surgery, the bright lights and loud noises. So she’d brought soft lights and homey scents. You’d told Bob about your secret sweet tooth, the one that only came out when you were sad or on your period, months ago. He’d remembered. And those books on your bedside stand? They were brand new. Your family had seen you. Really seen you, and done everything in their power to let you know.

Eventually you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the man who loved you, knowing your family were near by, that they loved you, and that they would keep you safe. 

You didn’t know that the rest of the team had set up a guard outside your room, taking shifts, swapping in and out, making sure you were safe, that if you needed anything, they were there. You quickly figured it out, however, as you heard Bob’s giddy voice fail to quietly whisper to someone ‘They just look so cute.’ It was the telltale sign of Alexi’s phone camera going off that woke you up - he insisted on keeping his ringer on at all times. 

Your eyes drifted open to see the whole team crowded around your bed. You didn’t say anything, just smiled up at them. No one left your room that night. None of the doctors commented. They simply brought more chairs in. You needed your family, and they needed to see that you were okay, and who was going to deny any of you that. 

AN: Here's part two! I hope it doesn't disappoint! Honestly, I'm shocked by the love part one has gotten, so thank you all so, so much! This writer is feeling loved and appreciated x

taglist for this part: @atwingeofenvy @buckyinmyuniverse @resting-confused-face @saucysasha2035 @wandanatissuperior @crazypuppynight

[jackr-abbott]

Recovery

[jack abbot x fem reader] [reader recovering from surgery] [jack doting on reader] [lots of pet names for reader] [maybe a little sexual tension] [mentions of pain meds] [falling asleep together] 

Summary: you're recovering from surgery and jack is taking care of you. you've never had someone to tend to you like this. it would normally make you feel guilty but right now you're in too much pain to care. you need help and the only person you want there is Jack.  

Word count: 2k 

Authors note: hey chat in all honesty this one is totally selfish. i myself am recovering from surgery and this is how i'm coping. hope this scratches that mushy, protective, adoring Jack itch I know so many of us have.  much love <3

"Ow! Fuck! God-" 

"Easy, easy." He chides. 

You're trying to get comfortable in bed but every movement of your torso sends pain shooting down your spine. Laying on your stomach helps. A bit. You wiggle and squirm, punching pillows, and gathering blankets to try and prop yourself up. 

"Let me get that darling." Jack reaches for the blanket you're craning behind you to reach.  

He pulls it up to your shoulders and smooths it over your back. 

"Thank you." You mumble. 

You're exhausted. The pain meds make you more tired than actually helping with the pain. You're grumpy, and hurting, and you'd really like this to go away now please. You feel Jack's hand on your back, warm enough to penetrate through the blanket. He rubs back and forth between and across your shoulder blades.  

You let out a soft groan of gratitude. 

"What can I do for you sweetheart?" Jack implores. "I'll do anything I can."  

"This is really nice." You mumble back, face muffled by your tangle of pillows and blankets.  

He brings his other hand to your shoulder and starts massaging both your shoulders, up your neck and the base of your skull. You let out another soft, muffled groan of pleasure as his fingers glide up behind your ears and back down your neck. The pressure and the pace are just right; long, firm motions gently stretching your muscles and working out knots that had formed over weeks.  

You squirm slightly under his touch, writhing in the feeling of his strong, calloused hands on the tender skin of your neck. You stop quickly. Moving hurts too much. You force yourself to be still and let yourself absorb the full weight of his fingers kneading and stretching your muscles. Another little contented groan escapes your mouth. You feel it's getting excessive at this point but you can't help yourself.  

"My sweet girl. That feel good baby?" Jack coos. It's so loving it's almost patronizing. You feel mushy and warm and his words hit you right in your gooey center. You nod your head as much as the mound of pillows will let you.  

"Use your words for me darling." Now he's patronizing. And you love it. You feel safe and adored, like his world revolves around making you feel good. As he waits for your answer he deepens the pressure coming from his fingers. 

You've never had this before. Someone so utterly devoted to caring for you. Someone who got satisfaction from your pleasure. Who seemingly, at times, lived to worship you. Usually it made you feel a little guilty, but right now you were in too much pain to feel guilty. Much to your chagrin, you needed someone to take care of you right now. And the only one you wanted to be there was Jack.  

"Talk to me baby." He pressed. "I know you can use your words."  

"Yes." You exhale. "It feels good."  

"How good angel?"  

"So good." You're practically moaning.  

He leans down to place a kiss right below your hairline.  

Then one below that.  

Then another.  

"Can this come off?" He asks gently, pulling at your shirt.  

You nod and he helps you squirm out of your shirt. When you wince in pain at a wrong movement his hands freeze immediately.  

"I'm okay." You reassure him.  

"Are you sure? You don't have to; it can stay on." 

"No. I want the feeling of your hands on my skin." You reply and continue to wiggle out of your t-shirt.  

Jack helps pull it over your head and arms and places it gently on the bed next to you, like he's afraid that if he moves to fast or carelessly he'll hurt you. His hands return to your shoulders, rough and calloused in most places, but soft in the center of his palms. He rubs in circles up and down your back. He gets that spot right where you can never reach or stretch properly. His thumbs knead the space right under your shoulder blades. His touch is firm and grounding.  

You were simply putty for him to play with.  

Dough to knead.  

Clay to wedge.  

And you're soaking in every second of it. Basking in it; reveling. A sense of peace and calmness washes over you like you've never felt before. You're safe. You're loved. And you know it through and through.  

"How are you doing my love? Can I get you anything else?" Jacks words are soft and sincere. He truly wants to grant your every wish and that desire pours out of every word he speaks.  

"Some water would be nice." You say timidly. You're still getting used to asking for things. You know it makes him so happy when you let him do things for you. You only let him because you both recognize that you're fully capable, he just lets you choose not to. Well, most of the time that it. Right now you need his help. Getting up is too painful and the floor feels like it's miles away, much less the kitchen.  

"Of course my love. And maybe something to eat? It's been a few hours."  

"Oh yeah, I guess so. I have no idea what I want. My stomach's all wonky from the meds."  

"How about some toast and fruit? I'll make you a little plate; sweet and salty."  

"My favourite." You smile into the pillow.  

"I'll be right back my love." He brings the phone up to your hand resting above your head. "Text me, call me, or holler if you need anything while I'm gone."  

"Thank you Dr. Abbot." Your grin widens. 

"Anything for you princess." And with that he plants one last kiss on the back of your neck and stands up to make his way towards the kitchen.  

You hear the sounds of his devotion coming from rooms away. The thunk of the toaster starting, the faucet running to wash the fruit, the knife hitting the cutting board to slice it. All you could think about was how grateful you are to have someone you love adore you like this. To know that someone would be there for you through every step of the process. Someone to dress your wounds and help you shower, to keep track of your meds and help with meals. Being vulnerable like this wasn't your go to, but there was something freeing about just letting go and letting someone take care of you.  

Within a few minutes you hear Jack's footsteps approaching the bedroom. You prop yourself up into a position appropriate for eating. In the process you let out a cacophony of grunts, gasps, and very creative combinations of curse words.  

He sets the plate down in front of you and you immediately dive into the toast while it's still hot and buttery. The fruit can wait its turn. 

"Oh sweetheart, is it that bad?" Concern pours out of Jack's voice. 

"It sounds worse than it is." You don't want him to worry. In reality it feels like someone is punching you in the worst bruise of your life. 

"Are you sure about that? I think it's almost time for more pain meds, why don't I go get your next dose?" He knows you're in more pain than you're willing to admit.  

"They just make me sleepy." 

"Maybe after you eat some rest isn't a bad idea." He's trying to toe the line between telling you what to do, and taking care of you. You respect his efforts and consider his idea more than you originally wanted to.  

"Maybe you're right," You huff. "but I want to spend time with you. I miss you. I know you're right here but I miss your touch. I just want to be with you." You sound more desperate than you meant. Not proud, but reasonable to admit that it was true. You were desperate for him. For his presence, his touch. You didn't want him to leave.  

"We can still be together while we rest." He placed his hand on your thigh while you popped a berry into your mouth. "You finish up that fruit, and I'll put something on the tv. We'll get you comfortable and tucked in, then I'll curl up next to you an hold you, and rub your back. If you fall asleep, you fall asleep, and if not we can just cuddle for a bit. Does that sound okay?" 

You sulkily plop another piece of fruit into your mouth. 

"Mmhmm" You say with a mouthful before swallowing. "I guess that sounds really nice."  

"I'll go get your meds. I'll be right back baby." As he goes to stand up you catch his wrist gently, but enough to make him stop and turn towards you.  

"You promise you won't leave even if I fall asleep?" Your head is tilted up towards him, doe eyes as big as saucers.  

He reaches a hand to cup your cheek. "Of course my love. I'll lay with you as long as you'd like." 

Your hand lets go of his wrist and your face rests gently in Jack's palm.  

"Thank you." The words come out just above a whisper.  

"Anything for my angel." His thumb brushes over your cheek one more time before he pulls his hand away. "Now give me two minutes, then, I promise, I'm all yours."  

You smile and work to finish your plate while he gets your pain meds. You don't mind the idea of falling asleep nearly as much when you know you get to wake up in Jack's arms. Jack returns with a bottle in one hand and a tall glass of ice water in the other. He sits on the edge of the bed and hands you the glass of water. 

"Hand." He motions for you to put out your other palm face up. With one word he can get you to do exactly what he wants. You give him your palm and he shakes two pills out of the container. 

"Swallow." And you do.  

"That's my girl. Now let's get you tucked in." He moves the empty plate off the bed. 

You start to lay down, grunting and gasping and cursing again.  

"Oh baby." His voice breaks just for a second seeing you in pain.  

"I'll be okay. I just need to get comfortable." It takes a minute of shifting your weight from side to side and stuffing pillows in exactly the right spot before you found a comfortable position on your side. Jack pulled the blanket up over your shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.  

"What would you like to watch?" He asked grabbing the remote off the bedside table. 

"Something funny." You reply.  

"What about new girl? Or Psych?"  

"Psych please."  

"Psych it is." He clicks the remote a few times and the sound of your ultimate comfort show filled the room.  

Jack turned the volume down just low enough that you would be able to fall asleep, but not so low that couldn't hear clearly. He put the remote down and moved to fill the space next to you. His chest gently supporting your back, his knees on the back of yours. His had reaching around to hold your waist, thumb brushing slowly back and forth across your bare skin.  

"You feel okay my love? Is there anything you need? You find it so incredibly sweet how much he's checking in on you. 

"Just you." You reply with a yawn. 

Your hand reaches for his and you squeeze It gently.  

"I think I might take a little nap." You say, this time through an active yawn. 

"I'll be right here when you get up sweetheart."  

And with that you let your eyes shut, and your body relax. You let your weight press into Jack's chest and stomach, and the half of you that was still awake felt him squeeze you ever so tightly. That was enough to let you let go completely. You gave into the warm feeling making your eyelids heavy and your breath deepen. You drifted off to sleep in the arms of the man you loved, who loved you back more than words could describe. 

And when you  woke up a few hours later he was still there. As promised.