#mwhumptober

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 28: It's Just The Tip of the Iceberg

Whumptober masterlist

Steve Murphy x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 680

Warnings: Arguments, anger, unhappy ending

Summary: Steve did something stupid.

Anger born of worry | Punching the wall | Headache

“You are not invincible, Steve Murphy! I can’t believe you fucking did that, are you an idiot or just completely brainless!?” You get right in his face, mouth drawn in an angry line and eyes flashing like an oncoming thunderstorm. You might be shorter than he is, but one would never know with the way you command the room. And now that your entire being is focusing its irritation at him, Steve can feel every ounce of it.

He stands there, hands on his side, and lets you rant and rave. He takes all that you have to dish out, head hanging in submissiveness. He knows what he did was stupid, borderline suicidal, and he definitely shouldn’t have done it alone. But with Javi tied up with the Search Bloc and you working on another angle, Steve saw his opportunity and took it. He’s lucky he made it out with all his limbs intact and only bruising on his back to prove his foolishness.

You took one look at him when he returned to their temporary office and realized what had happened. So you sprang up to your feet and got in his face. Literally. 

“I’m okay, nothing happened,” He tries softly, but you only give him a look that would kill him if he didn’t shut up now. He shrinks down, shoulders hunching up as a defense mechanism. 

“You got lucky! Next time it might not be that. Steve, you fucking idiot! FUCKING IDIOTIC! Aargghh! I can’t believe you! Fucking moron!” You yell, your eyes and face more furious than he’s ever seen you. He can see your fists clench up into fists and for a moment Steve is not sure if you are going to strike him or not.

He deserves it, he knows. He deserves your anger.

“I was so fucking worried, Murphy! You can’t fucking do this to me, to us!” You throw your arms up in the air before twisting in your heels, breathing deeply. He can tell you are counting backward from 20 in your mind, the thing you always do to calm yourself. 

When you keep doing it over and over, eyes closed, Steve wonders if you need to do it in multiple languages too. He’s never seen you this wound up and frustrated at him or Javier. It dawns on him at that moment; he really fucked up.

When you turn back, you are still vibrating with fury. He flinches at the look on your face. You truly are angry beyond anything. “I’m so fucking mad at you, Murphy. Never, NEVER, go out alone like that! You hear me? You don’t get to play the lone cowboy, in search of redemption! FUCK! I don’t even have the words to tell you how angry I am!” 

“But I got some valuable intel,” Steve knows the second the words leave his mouth that is was a huge mistake. Your eyes narrow to slits and your voice goes quiet, calm and deathly. You pin him down with that gaze and his mouth snaps closed immediately. He knows there is regret in his eyes but you don’t register it at all. 

“What you got was the tip of a melting iceberg. You got nothing, Steve Murphy, and you risked it all. You risked it all for nothing. Fuck you, I don’t want to see your face again until you realize that.” 

Your shoulders drop, the anger having drained you of everything. Your eyes turn sad, mouth dropped in a downward angle and everything in you tells Steve you have reached the end of your rope. His own heart fills with dread and he tries to reach out to you, only to get ghosted when you move away from his reach. You look at him, tears pooling in your eyes and you speak the words that cut him in half, leaving him bleeding on the ground with his heart ripped out of his chest. He’s left gasping for air when you leave the room, plunging his world into darkness. 

“Do not come home tonight, I’m sleeping alone.”

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 17: Hanging By a Thread

Whumptober masterlist

King Arthur (King Arthur: The Legend of the Sword) x f!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 884

Warnings: Reluctant caretaker, wounds, magical healing, witches, imprisonment, prison cells

Summary: You tried to peer into the darkness to find the man you had been tasked with healing. 

Breaking Point | Stress Positions | Reluctant Caretaker

The cell was dank and smelled like death. Your nose wrinkled involuntarily as you took in your surroundings and shivered when the coldness struck your bones. While the cell wasn’t big, maybe the length of three men lying one after the other, something about the darkness within the cell made it seem larger than life. 

You tried to peer into the darkness to find the man you had been tasked with healing. 

“Tasked with” was a slight exaggeration over the way how the King’s guards had dragged you out of your bed in the middle of the night. The Born King needs to look his best for his execution, witch, the guards had laughed while pulling you through the dark halls and down the slippery steps until you had reached the dungeon. How they knew of your skills was shrouded in mystery, but as reluctant as you were, you wanted to do this and get away soon as possible. 

The more time you spent hiding in plain sight and hanging by a proverbial thread, the more risk you were in. You would deal with the soldiers later, discreetly and hopefully keep your secret contained. 

“You’ve come to read me my final rights? Father, I believe you have no use for any soul of mine.”

The words echoed off the walls, the dark and strong baritone booming in the enclosed space. You twisted on your heels towards the sound and finally saw the figure of a man behind the shadows. Pulling off your hood, you brought the tiny lamp closer to him. The flame provided some light as it illuminated a man sitting on the floor, his back to the wet wall. 

“I’m no Father, but I have been brought here to help with your ailments. Wheter they are for your body or for your soul, you’ll need to tell me that.” 

“My apologies. An angel then.” His eyes, beautiful shade of blue sparkling even in the darkness, widened when they caught sight of your face. They roamed your features while you did the same, allowing time pass leisurely as both of you took in the other. 

The Born King as the guards had called him had a gorgeous face, even under all the blood and bruises. A strong nose over lush lips and strong jaw that made him look far more beautiful for his otherwise rugged features. He had a light beard and mustache, trimmed neatly, and a full head of hair a shade darker than the rest of his body. The hair was pulled back from what you could see in the dim light.

“What ails you, Born King?” You spoke, kneeling by his side. 

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Arthur, angel. Not a Born King, just Arthur.” His voice was deep, low and powerful. It vibrated pleasantly in your chest as you repeated his words and nodded, smiling softly. “Arthur then. Can you tell me, where it hurts?” 

You could tell by the way his lips twitched he had an automatic response to that, a dirty one perhaps, but the pain that pulled at his sides made his features twist uncomfortably. Your eyes honed on his ribs thoughtfully and you reached out your hand. “May I?” You murmured and he gave a jerky nod, breathing heavily through his nose. 

You pulled on the white fabric of his shirt, unable to hide your gasp when his black and blue midsection came into view. The muscles twitched and rippled underneath the welts and not all the movement was due to the coldness of the night air. He was seriously hurt and judging by the way the dark shapes kept evolving in front of your eyes, it was getting worse by the second. 

Not wasting any more precious time, you placed your fingertips on his flesh, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at the contact. The words your aunts had taught you came to you easily and you mumbled them fast, focusing all your energy on the broken vessels underneath his skin and muscle. You closed your eyes, knowing he must be shocked as your hand began to glow and tendrils of gold surrounded his body. 

You knew it was dangerous, pushing through your limits but as images of his body repairing itself made you keep your hand on his skin. Something ancient joined your efforts and whispered encouragements to you, telling you he was important and he had to be in fighting shape tomorrow. It wasn’t until dark spots began to swim in your vision and cutting off your air supply that you released your hold on him, gasping for air in tandem with him. 

“How…” Arthur looked at his body in bewilderment. “What was that?”

The same ancient voice boomed inside you, warning you to not tell him anything more yet. All will become clear soon and you two will be reunited once more, it told you. Now leave him quickly. The power in the voice held a command you didn’t dare to question it. You got to your feet quickly, shuffling closer to the door of the cell. Ignoring all his questions, you clamped up and banged at the cell bars to rouse the guards.  

You needed to get out of here and Londonium immediately and to the forests to find The Mage.

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Whumptober masterlist

King Arthur (King Arthur: The Legend of the Sword) x f!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Seeking shelter, huddling for warmth, wounds, sexual tension

Summary: It's going to be a long, noisy night and you can't sleep, too worried over his wounds.

Sleeping in Shifts | tossing and turning | Caught in a Storm

You huddled deeper into the furs on the floor and over your body, the dying embers of the flame from the fireplace barely keeping you warm. It was going to get even colder in the abandoned monastery you and your crew had sought shelter from the storm. 

The wind outside howled like a banshee and every once in a while, something heavy and powerful struck the earth, shooking it down to its core. Your only hope was that the torrential rain that accompanied the lightning strikes would make sure this forest wouldn’t burn. The same rain that had drowned you all like rats and made your crew locate in this place by the mountain. 

You didn’t know whether to curse or bless the lads for electing you to take the first shift while the rest of them piled close to the fireplace and began to sleep. Well, all but one it seemed. Your eyes shifted from the open doorway to look at Arthur, who had chosen a spot not with the rest of the lads but a little closer to you. 

“Is your arm bothering you?” You whispered, nodding towards arm draped over his stomach on a makeshift sling. The blond man grinned, seemingly unbothered by the stinging pain he must be in. 

“It’s but a love bite,” Arthur quipped, jovial smile on his lips. 

You knew better though. The boar had nearly taken out his entire arm and it had been sheer luck Arthur had been able to twist in a way that made the tusks only clip his arm, not pierce it completely. The animal had met its demise soon after and was strapped to the back of the wagon. The blood that had spilled from his wounds would haunt your nightmares though. 

“Will you let me look at it once I wake up Wet Stick for his shift?” You were the designated healer in the group after all. The need to make sure he was well on the mend coursed in your veins, calling for confirmation of that. The man had the audacity to wink, offering you another grin. 

“Sweet One, if you want me naked, all you have to do is ask.”

“Arthur…” You warned him quietly, both to keep him quiet as not to wake the lads and not show him just how much he meant to you. How much he’d always meant to you and how much it had scared you to see him hurt like that. 

Sure, you knew the man was capable to look after himself but just like he kept an eye out for the girls at the brothel you had both grown up in, you kept your eye on him. You cared for him and felt fear in your heart every time he went out of his way to get himself in trouble. Arthur seemed to sense something shift in the air between you because his eyes grew warmer, more gentle. 

“Of course, Sweet One. I’m all yours.”

If only he was truly yours, you sighed and smiled weakly in his direction. It must’ve been too weak and too visible, because suddenly Arthur straightened himself and slipped out from under his own furs. He crossed the room in a swagger, despite his injury before lowering himself beside you. Soundlessly, he picked up some of the furs and slid underneath. You were now closer than ever and his proximity made you shiver for an entire different reason than the bitter cold wind howling outside. 

“What’s the matter, love? Tell me.” He demanded softly, his uninjured hand coming up to cradle your cheek. “What has you all worried?” 

“You. That boar,” You whispered, unable to hide from him now that he was this close. His blue eyes were piercing and focused on you, making you feel like you were the center of his world at the moment. You were sure he saw all of you now, nothing remained hidden under the furs. Not your body, not your heart, not your soul. “I am fine, sweetheart, I promise. You did an excellent job with the poultice, I hardly feel a thing.” 

His hand cupped your cheek, cradled it in its large paw. There was something intimate about the gesture and you found yourself wishing you could kiss him. Arthur leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours as he searched for something in your eyes. You tried to keep them open, no matter how vulnerable the moment made you feel. How raw, since you knew you were shit at hiding emotions. 

“Sweet One…” He breathed out, awe in his tone but before you could answer, a shuffling coming from the pile of bodies behind him made both you and Arthur tense. A final flicker of light in his deep blue eyes as they dipped down to your lips and back up again longingly, he moved further away, making you feel colder than the night air around you. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” Wet Stick yawned. His head twisted from side to side, the horrible crack and pop of his bones making you wince. You hadn’t even begun to move, when an arm shot out to rest at your hip. Surprised, you looked at it before turning your wide eyes to look at the gorgeous man who came with the muscled arm.   

“Go back to sleep, Wet Stick.” Arthur’s voice spoke, cutting the air like a whip. His eyes, now darkened with passion, pinned you down. “I’ve got the next shift.”

“Boss,” Wet Stick groaned happily, before flopping back down and falling asleep instantly. Neither of you heard it though, too focused on one another. “I believe you had a wound to inspect,” Arthur grinned, cutting through the tension gathering up like the storm outside your sanctuary. “Will you allow me to conduct my own investigation after that? You’ve kept me up half the night already with impure thoughts and I feel the need to find out if your lips are as sweet as your name.” 

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Whumptober masterlist

Frankie Morales

Rating: Mature

Word count: 740

Warnings: Panic attacks

Summary: Frankie is no stranger to panic attacks, but having one in a bar is... unfortunate.

Shaking hands | Seizers | Silent Panic Attack

Frankie knows the signs on incoming panic attack before it hits full force. The buzzing in his ears growing louder. The bright colors fading into dull grey. The imaginary walls closing in, cutting off his air supply. The shaking hands that make everything hard to touch or grip. 

Knowing them beforehand usually affords him the chance to get into a sitting position into a quiet place or at the very least, away from people. But a full bar with bunch of sports enthusiasts is not a place like that. 

He can feel his throat close up and he closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. Hands go under the table so nobody sees how much they shake but he can feel the move and twitch. 

“Hi,” A beautiful voice whispers in his ear, low and light like the touch of a feather. He jerks nonetheless, too focused on his symptoms. “I’m sorry I frightened you but I couldn’t help but notice you were not feeling too good, soldier. Can I help you?” 

Almost like the voice knows he can’t answer, it continues speaking, still keeping up the whisper. “Can you identify four different things you can hear? It’s okay if you can’t tell me yet, but try to find those and focus on them one by one. It hopefully should help with your hearing. Find the sounds, go from one to the other until the buzzing stops or lessens. Take all the time you need, we are in no rush.” 

Frankie strains his ears, listening on the glasses clinking against the bartop. Then he moves over to the darts hitting the board, the thunk thunk sound of metal piercing the cardboard a familiar, soothing sound. He hears the sound of cars outside the bar and finally boots clacking on the hardwood floor. 

It takes him a few rounds but eventually the buzzing turns into a lower hum in his ears and his shoulder unclench from their position. “Good, good. You are doing so well, soldier. Just hang on for me a little longer. Next, taste. I saw you drinking bourbon earlier, can you find three different notes on that drink for me? Don’t say them, just find them, okay?” 

Frankie has always been good with following orders, so he does just that. His tongue lifts to the top of his mouth before swiping at his cheeks, gathering the final hints of the smoky goodness he was sipping earlier. There is a touch of sweetness coating his taste buds, like caramel or some type of sugar. It gets easier after that and he can pick the oak and rye pretty easily. Smacking his mouth pulls a soft laughter from the voice by his side. 

“Perfect, you are amazing. Next, touch. I want you to feel for two things on your body, identify the fabric and the differences between them. I know you know you have on jeans and a flannel but looks for things in their textures. Which one is smoother, which has a rip or a hole, stuff like that. Having something to do with your hands help with the shaking.” 

He smooths his hands across his legs even if its hard with how much they are shaking. It’s definitely the hardest task so far and he feels himself sweat at the extersion. But the voice doesn’t waver, it just keeps encouraging him softly, gently. The calmness starts from his pinky finger eventually and he lets out a freeing breath when his throat opens up. His hands are now steady.

“Amazing,” The voice breaths out. “Okay, soldier. One final thing. When you open your eyes, pick an object to look at. Don’t waver, just look at it for a moment and let your heart settle. You are alright, you are safe and you are okay. Count to three and open your eyes. You got this, soldier.” Frankie gives a jerky nod before focusing his mind on the numbers. 

One.

Two.

Three.   

He opens his eyes, fully expecting to see the person that coaxed him through the panic attack. He wants to thank them for doing this to them, a total stranger. For seeing he was struggling silently. For taking their time with him and never rushing him when it was hard. His head turns to the side where he heard the voice and his mouth drops open in surprise. 

The booth where he sits is empty. 

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 26: No One Left Behind

Whumptober masterlist

Frankie Morales x Benny Miller

Rating: Mature

Word count: 815

Warnings: Rope burns, the aftermath of violence, love confessions

Summary: They had found Benny and brought him to safety. Will that safe space give way to more than what Benny thinks Frankie is to him now?

Separated | Rope burns | “Why did you save me?”

“It’s just some rope burn, Catfish! No need to go all mother hen on me!” Benny erupts, wrenching his arm away from the other man holding it gently. The MMA fighter tucks his forearms close to his body in a cross, cringing slightly when the movement pulls on the burned skin. His eyes narrow to slits as he waits for the rebuttal. It always comes with Frankie, the man will not back down. 

“Ben! They fucking dragged you through the woods by that hemp rope! I know it fucking hurts and I can help!” The pilot yells back as expected, running his agitated hand through his hair and messing it up even more. The curls falling down his forehead look fluffed up at his actions as they fall down haphazardly. He stops his motions slowly when Ben glares at him harder, before lowering his voice and speaking softly. “Let me help.” 

The blonde man shakes his head vigorously, he is not going to let Catfish any near his wounds. He’s too keyed up, too hopped up on leftover adrenaline to let the man of his dreams come too close. There’s no telling what Benny will do if Frankie touches him intimately now. He’s not about to lose his best friend, his cornerman, over something trivial like his unrequited crush and some rope burns. 

His skin pulls again when he moves, but Benny grits his teeth together tighter, unwilling to let the huff of pain escape. Frankie is quicker though, catching on to the tiny flash of pain he was unable to hide and steps closer. He is so close that Benny can see the flecks of gold swimming in Frankie’s eyes. He looks concerned, their breaths mingling together in the charged air. The younger man gulps but doesn’t dare to say anything. 

Catfish takes the silence of the other man as permission to get even closer and he slowly peels Ben’s crossed arms away from his body, holding his wrists up gently, reverently. He picks the one that is more hurt, placing the other hand down slowly. Frankie focuses all his attention on the one he’s holding like it’s the most fragile thing he has ever encountered. 

There are deep, red welts running crisscross over the delicate skin on the inside of Benny’s wrist. Some of the hemp fragments had broken off from the rope and dug their way to his wounds and both of the men can see just how broken and raw his flesh is when Frankie turns the wrist left and right. A touch so gentle it barely feels like a feather over Benny’s hand, making him shiver. 

“I’m sorry,” Frankie mumbles, eyes transfixed on the wound. He keeps tracing the lines, seeing where the hemp overlapped itself and pressed a little deeper mark onto Benny. A growl of frustration escapes his chest before the pilot catches it and hides the sound behind his closed lips. He glances mournfully at the blonde. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be there sooner.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. I’m okay,” Benny whispers, feeling a delicate bubble forming around them. It almost feels like the world around them falls away and tucks them into something safe, something feeling a lot like a sanctuary. “I’m glad you found me.” 

“I will always find you, Benny. Always. I’ll never leave you behind.” 

The dark-haired man holds their gazes locked into one another after his confession. It takes a moment, but suddenly every single wall inside him drops Benny can see all the emotions warring inside him, begging to be let loose. Worry, fear, panic, devastation, and sorrow fight to gain the upper hand. All the feelings Frankie must’ve felt during their recovery mission are there and its almost like Benny can feel them himself. 

Then something new joins the emotions already swimming in his brown pools of infinity, pushing its way to the surface and the intensity in his sad gaze steals the breath right out of Benny’s lungs. 

Love. 

There is no other explanation to the rawness in Frankie’s gaze and the way he cradles Benny’s hand in his. It’s clear as day now, how the pilot feels about him. How deeply he loves him.

In return, Benny finally lets his own walls crash down simultaniously. He finally allows himself show his emotions too, pushing all the negatives to the side and gives Frankie the same love reflected back to him. 

The same intensity, the same depth, the same power. The way it burns just as bright and covers them completely. 

The two men stand there, Benny’s hand still cradled in Frankie’s, and they watch each other be truly honest about their feelings for the first time. There’s no telling which one of them moves first but as their lips melt into one - two final pieces of the puzzle falling into place - there is no need to find it out.

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 21: Famous Last Words

Whumptober masterlist

Javier Peña x f!reader (she/her), Steve Murphy

Rating: Mature

Word count: 648

Warnings: Kidnapping, gunshots, hospital. Pregnant minor character.

Summary: Transcript of recording taken from Agent Peña’s microphone in Central Bank of Colombia.  

Coughing up blood | “You’re safe now.”  | “Take me instead.”

For DEA agents only

Transcript of recording taken from Agent Peña’s microphone in Central Bank of Colombia 

Dated - redacted 

Voice 1, male, identified as El Padre, sicario 

Voice2, male, identified as Javier Peña, DEA agent

Voice 3, female, identified as Carla, last name redacted

Voice 4, female, unidentified

Transcript begins

El Padre : “Agente Peña, we meet again.”

Peña : “This is between you and me, Padre. Leave the innocents out of this.”

Shuffling, a gunshot, a woman screams. 

Peña: “Get down!” 

A gunshot, more screaming. A male voice grunting. More shuffling in the background, sounds of a struggle. Another scream, muffled. 

El Padre: “Put the gun down, Agente! I have the upper ground!” 

Peña: “Okay, okay! Just don’t harm her. She’s innocent in this!” 

E Padre, laughing: “Don’t think so. I’d fancy if I should just take her with me as collateral. What do you say, mmm, cariño? Protect El Padre from the evil men of the DEA?”

Peña: “Let. Her. Go.”

El Padre: ”Don't you point that thing in my face, Peña. I know you don’t have the guts to shoot me through a pregnant lady. Tell him, cariño, how far along are you?” 

A woman: “37… 37 weeks.” 

El Padre, laughing louder: “See, I knew I liked you. Peña won’t shoot, he hasn’t got what it takes to harm a woman, much less someone pregnant. Tell him your name, cariño, tell him who I’ll be walking out with.” 

Peña: “Let her go, Padre. She is innocent in this. It’s between you and me.” 

Carla, in a whisper: “C-C-Carla.”

El Padre: “That’s a good girl. Now Carla, tell Agente Peña goodbye. We are leaving.”

Voices shout over each other. 

Voice 2: “Stop! Take me instead.”

El Padre laughing, Agent Peña can be heard cursing.

Voice 2: “Carla will go into labor soon and will only slow you down. I’m the better choice. Take me instead.” 

Peña: “No! Que…” rest of the words were not transcribed as the mic didn’t pick them up in chaos. 

Carla screaming, sounds of someone being pushed to the ground. 

El Padre: “As you wish.”

A gunshot.

End transcript. 

*

Steve lets the paper fall to his lap and looks at the hospital bed in the middle of the white room and the man lying motionless under the thin blue blanket. It’s an eerie sight and having the transcript doesn’t help. It only provides the gruesome evidence of what went down before that final gunshot that took Peña out and left a woman missing.

Javier has been unconscious for two days now and they are no closer to finding El Padre and the mystery lady he took with him. It’s like they have vanished from the face of the Earth completely. Poof, completely gone. And the team is no closer to identifying her, the poor quality CCTV videos only showing her pixelated form. 

The only thing they have is that she arrived at the bank moments before El Padre did. And that she arrived with Javier. 

Steve rubs his temple, annoyed and worried at equal measures. ”I… Javi, you need to wake up. I need you here, my friend. We need to find her.”

The dark-haired man doesn’t move from his position on the bed, the machines around him whirring softly as they pump oxygen into his lungs and medicine into his body. Steve looks at the numbers on the machine closest to him, his only consolation that the man he calls his partner is stable. 

“Come on, Javi,” he whispers again for good measure. 

Sighting, the blonde man picks up the portable Walkman he has placed in his bag. He might as well listen to the tape again while he waits for the other man to wake up, in hopes of getting back the woman he knows means a lot to Javi. 

He can hear it on the tape even if the words are not fully transcribed. 

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 13: Can't Make an Omelette Without Breaking a Few Legs

Whumptober masterlist

Santiago Garcia x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 576

Warnings: Dislocated joint, pain, resetting a limb

Summary: Santiago's knee has been dislocated and this time he can't sort it out himself.

Fracture | Dislocation | “Are you here to break me out?”

“Look at me, please.” 

Santi squeezes his eyes tight, the pain radiating from his knee almost too much the bear. It throbs like someone has taken so many hot pokers to his abused flesh simultaneously and at this point, he’d rather pull his entire leg out than endure the pain any longer. Maybe he could actually break both his legs, that would certainly be less painful than the torment he’s being dragged through now. 

“Santiago, please. Look at me. I can get you through this, just look at me, okay?” He hears your voice and while it might be a balm to his burns, the pain is just too much. He shakes his head, his breathing erratic.

He might never admit it to any of his old teammates - Benny would tease him mercilessly - but he lets out a small whimper when your cold hands touch his skin that is on fire. The coolness of you stings him and Santiago is unsure why your hands don’t burst into flames when they touch him. How can you keep touching him when he is ablaze? 

“Okay, okay. Just listen to my voice then. When I say breathe in, I want you to take a long breath and hold it. Nod if you understand. This will hurt, but hold in the breath, okay? I will pop the joint back and the pain should lessen soon afterwards.” 

He really should listen to you, Pope reminds himself, you are a nurse after all. Even in the crude surroundings you two are in now, you are his best shot at fixing this. He nods jerkily, finally able to peel his eyes open after that. 

You kneel beside his chair, your eyes open and honest as you look back at him. There are silvery scissors next to you on the floor, his pant leg in shredded fabric by its side. He can’t even remember when you cut it off him. “If you…” He tries to whisper but fails miserable. “Wanted my pants off…” Fuck him, he can’t even speak through the pain! 

“You can flirt with me later Santiago Garcia, but now I need you to match my breathing.” Your voice holds a command and Santi falls back to it easily, old habits and all. He’s good at taking commands, it’s ingrained in his spine. He keeps his eyes on you, matching your breathing with some difficulty. Your chest rises and falls steadily and he follows the movements to the best of his ability. 

In and out, in and … 

“FUCK!” Santi howls when the sudden agony pierces through him. If his knee was on fire, it’s now being doused in the hellfire all on its own. He can’t feel or see anything else, the knee is only thing that is left. 

It feels doubled in size, the painful throbbing of his flesh felt down even in his toes. The torture he is experiencing feels so severe he’s gripping to his consciousness with his fingertips. His vision swims in murky waters and there is a sense in him that he is actually swaying on the old creaky chair. 

Your cool hand on his cheek gives him an anchor in the storm. “It’s okay, the pain will go away soon. Just stay with me, Pope,” your voice cuts through the buzzing in his ears, but only faintly. He has no energy to answer, Santiago just sags in his chair and lets the pain claim him. 

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 4: Dead on Your Feet

Whumptober masterlist

Merlin (Kingsman) x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 579

Warnings: Wounds, explosion, arguments, sexual tension

Summary: You and Merlin make a good team and your communication is good. Except when it comes to wounds.

Hidden Injury | Waking up disoriented | Can’t pass out

“Is that blood?” 

You eye at his formerly crisp white shirt with anger brewing in your voice. You might be dead on your feet, but it doesn’t lessen the sharpness of your mind.

Merlin looks down on his shirt and grimaces when he sees the blooming red circle. “Oh,” he breathes out, his hand coming up to touch the crimson. It comes off sticky and the image of his red-stained hand is forever etched into your brain. It’s not an image you want to see. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Your voice grows higher, the fear and annoyance battling for dominance. Maybe it’s even a bit hysterical as a result, but you don’t draw any attention on it, instead plowing on and demanding an answer. 

“There wasn’t time,” Merlin replies almost nonchalantly as that’s just that. Like he got hurt and it’s no big deal. Just something that happens on the daily. 

Your eyes narrow and you step forward, trying to intimidate the tall man in front of you. “There. Wasn’t. Time.” You pause between each word, emphasizing the point, eyebrow raised. He looks at you pointedly and then back at the smoking building behind you before returning to you, his eyes flashing challengingly behind the dark rimmed glasses. Almost as if he’s daring you to contradict that. 

“When?” You huff, teeth pressed tight together. You will not grind them together, but it’s a close call. You eye the bald man, the sole occupant of your dreams and now the biggest annoyance out there. You are a team! Teams are supposed to lean into one another! Team members are supposed to tell the others when they are hurt! 

It’s a miracle you can keep all that inside and not shout them in his face. You feel like you want to go all mother hen on him, strip off the shirt and press your fingers to the wound and stop the bleeding. You want to scold him for not telling you before kissing him so that you know he’s alive and well. You want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and protect him from the world. You want to take care of him in all ways possible. 

“Tristan…” His voice warns you, but you plow ahead. 

“Merlin! For fucks sake, you tell me when you got hurt!” Your faces are now closer than ever, sharing the same air and it crackles with the energy shifting from you to him and back. The urge to kiss him intensifies, a need to make sure he truly is alive and well taking over every sense you have. Your arm twitches violently, reminding yourself that you are hiding a wound of your own, and it pulls you back to reality. With one final breath shared, you back away slowly. 

“Nevermind. Let’s get moving, we need to get to the safe house,” You mumble, eyes pointed downward. You refuse to rub the spot that aches, even if the feeling is driving you mad because that would just defeat the purpose of your rant. You will the pain to lessen, futile as that may be. 

There is another shift in the air, like he senses you are hiding something too but Merlin can’t get any words out before something explodes in the background and the sound of shattering glass can be heard in the air. You share a brief look and a nod in agreement; you can continue this argument later. 

The two of you begin your painstaking trek towards safety in silence, both with more unspoken questions and answers in your mind.