Hello world! I'm Layne, I use any pronouns (mainly He/they), and I love writing!
On this blog I will be sharing all sorts of my writing, including but not limited to original poems, short stories and projects, fics from all my favorite fandoms and my OCs
If you want to request something, ask about any of my OCs or original projects my inbox is always open :)
My interests include: Dead Poets Society, The Outsiders, Top Gun Maverick, The Bear, Peaky Blinders, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, The Umbrella Academy, Marvel, Newsies, Les Mis, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Nice Guys, ect, ect
To hear other ramblings about these (and more) check out my main blog: @teddy06
Tags: Gn!reader, fluff, reader has depression and/or chronic fatigue (i tried to keep it a little vague), Nanami being the only man ever
{Authors note: I accidently got really jjk pilled and it's going to ruin my reputation}
Your phone has been sitting, half abandoned and playing some tv show you could care less about, on the nightstand for half an hour now. The weight that had settled over you some time between dinner last night and when your husbands alarm went off this morning has become nearly unbearable to fight back against.
If Nanami had been able to tell something was off in the morning, he hadn't said anything about, as you both went about your routines. Work had been fine. Not even memorable. Yet by the time you'd gotten through your lunch break, you were exhausted.
You'd barely made it home to slump on top of the covers. God, what is wrong with you? You can't even make it through a whole work day? The door of the apartment swings open in the distance, and you can hear him in the entryway, putting away his work things. No doubt, yours are still strewn about where you had dropped them, too tired and uncaring to even deal with them properly.
You hear him padding down the hall, calling your name hesitantly. Your position on the bed gives it all away the moment Nanami steps into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb you, "My love?"
You hum, reaching out to silence your phone.
"Is there anything I can do?" He brushes hair from your face, his touch just as soft as his voice in a way that makes you want to wail. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve this. You don't-
"Hey look at me," Kento tilts your head back in his direction, gentle but insistent, "is there anything I can do?"
"I don't know," Your voice is barely more than a whisper, betraying your inner turmoil over it all, "Nothing even happened."
His thumb brushes over your cheek, almost absently, "That's okay. We'll figure it out."
"What if I never get better? What if this is the rest of my life?"
His voice is calm, even in the face of your sudden panic, "You're allowed to struggle, my love. You're still learning what managing this looks like."
You reach for his hand before it can slide away, desperate for a life line, "What if I can't..."
"You will. And I'll be here to help you, every step of the way." Kento squeezes your hand and leans over to press a kiss to your temple before standing. He disappears, and after a moment you can hear water running in the other room.
With a monumental effort, you push yourself to sit up, leaning heavily against the headboard. When Kento reappears, he scoops you into his arms effortlessly, carrying you into the en suite.
In the bathroom, he helps you undress and climb into the bathtub with a tender reverence. The water is warm, and as you relax into it some of the heavy tension bleeds from your body.
You lean against the side of the tub as he washes your hair with a methodical kind of gentleness. A gentleness you could never dream of.
When tears begin to slip down your cheeks, Nanami notices immediately, his hands stilling, "What's wrong? Did I get soap in your eyes?"
"No. No," you sniff, rubbing the tears away hastily, pulling away from him, "You're just so nice to me... sometimes I don't know how to deal with it."
His hand moves to cup your jaw, turning your head back toward him, "Don't hide from me, my love."
Kento waits until your eyes meet his, his thumb racing the edge of your jaw with a kind of reverence, "You deserve all the kindness in the world. I'm so lucky that I'm the one who gets to give it to you."
Its like your mouth doesn't know how to form the right words to say back, but with him, there's no pressure to respond. You raise your hand to cover his, squeezing gently, and he smiles that rare, soft smile reserved for you and you alone.
Kento wipes away that last of your tears, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and goes back to rinsing shampoo out of your hair, like loving you is the easiest thing in the world.
Prompt: Literally nothing this fic is so self indulgent its not even funny
Trigger Warnings/Tags: Swearing, musical theater references, college AU
Summary: It's opening night of the show you've been helping to direct all semester. After one hell of a tech week, you're sure to be spending your day full of stress and anxiety. Lucky for you, Billy is there to lighten the load when you need him.
{I started cleaning my drafts and found this mostly written so uh- woah me interesting billy into my life last semester be upon ye}
9:18am
You trudged into the auditorium, tote bag slipping off of your shoulder for the thousandth time since you left the apartment. The space was completely empty, and still in the rough shape it had been in when you'd left the night before- wait no you hadn't made it out until 12:47. It was in the rough shape it had been in when you'd left that morning.
Glancing at your watch you sighed, moving to drop your stuff in your usual spot. 27 minutes until call time meant something like 15 until you could expect cast and crew to begin arriving. You squared your shoulders, hoping your co director would be there soon as you headed for the back to begin straightening up.
It wasn't until people began to trickle in that you made your way back to your things, quickly trying to take inventory and remember the schedule you had drafted in the shower that morning. It took you two times of search through your bag to realize you'd forgotten pages you'd printed late last night with ticket and etiquette info on them to post around the lobby, after finding out that they had never been taken care of.
When you dug your phone out of your pocket there was already a message waiting for you.
Billy <3:
*sent an image*
Did you leave this on purpose or do you still need them?
He had still been out on his morning run when you had left, his schedule pushed back -and nearly abandoned- when you had been so hesitant to pull yourself out of bed, paralyzed by anxiety. His schedule be damned, he'd held you close, whispering in his usual blunt way into your hair about how it would be alright, until you felt you could move again.
You sent him a quick message asking if he could bring them, before shoving your phone back into your pocket. The auditorium doors opened and your co director finally appeared, already rattling off new concerns about microphones.
10:02am
The run through was already off to a terrible start and you had barely made it to mic checks. Each minute that ticked by in the fight the sound system was putting up was another adjustment you made to your mental timeline. Absolute latest times for certain things to start by flashed through your mind as your co director called for various adjustments to be made, your suggestions falling to the wayside.
The fact that you were yet to make it through a full run of the show with no hiccups did not help ease the knot forming in your chest.
It was only the sound of one of the stage managers calling your name that pulled you from your thoughts.
"Yeah? What is it?" You turned frantically, already dreading whatever this new fire was.
"Someone's here for you." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and you followed to find Stebbins lingering awkwardly at the back of the auditorium.
He offered you a quiet smile when you met his gaze, holding up the pages he carried in one hand and your usual coffee order in the other.
Your feet were carrying you to the back of the auditorium before your mind could full catch up, taking the to go cup he pressed into your hand, "God, you're a lifesaver, Billy."
He looked around the theater, as if trying to make sense of the ongoing chaos, "You need help with anything?"
"Uh, no-" You glanced around, before nodding for him to follow you out into the lobby, "I should put these up while I have a second."
"I can take care of it if there's something else you need to be-" Billy caught the half wild look you sent him, his eyes narrowing as they landed on your co director for half a moment before he fully turned to follow you out.
Out in the lobby, you busied yourself with the roll of tape that had been left out on one of the tables over night, avoiding his gaze.
"She's still not listening?" His voice was soft, as if her were hesitant to push too hard while the situation was still unfolding.
You sighed, ripping off another piece of tape, "Not in a way that matters. I wish she'd delegate tasks more or- or maybe if I'd joined and started helping out sooner-"
"Hey," Billy caught your wrist when you reached for the papers he had deposited on the table, gently commanding your attention, "She should consider herself lucky for how much you've already done for this show. You coming on late shouldn't mean that you get treated with less respect."
Letting out another sigh, you let your head tip forward against his shoulder, "I'm just tired of having to fight her on things that should be common place."
He let go of your wrist to put a hand on your back, steadying you, "It'll work out."
"Well if it doesn't we won't have a show tonight." You let out a tired laugh. He let out a huff you recognized as amusement, and you silently counted to ten before pulling away, reaching for the papers again, "I've got to get back to work. Thank you for bringing these."
"Of course," Billy half followed you as you pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, "Your lunch break is at 1 right?"
You glanced down at your watch, "If everything goes according to plan."
"I'll see you then." He offered you another half smile, and then let you disappear back into the auditorium.
10:49
You:
I'm going to lose my mind
Billy<3:
What happened?
You:
Nothing nothing has happened
Thats the whole problem
I'm going to start strangling people soon
Billy <3:
I'll get the body bags.
Do you want me to stop by the deli for lunch?
*You read a message*
Billy <3:
I'll take that as a yes.
1:13pm
By the time you stepped out of the auditorium, fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, Billy was waiting, a deli bag in hand. "How's it going?"
You shook your head, walking past him to lead the way through the lobby doors and out into the courtyard. His footsteps were steady behind you, "That bad?"
"My fucking tremors are back and we had to fight for lunch break." That was all you needed to say for him to understand, following you over to a bench and sitting beside you.
Billy made quick work of offering you the bag of food, packed with your usual deli orders, "Eating won't fix everything, but it'll help."
The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you ate. Watching the last few stragglers leaving the building to make their way towards the dining hall.
It took you until your sandwich was gone to finally raise your voice to speak again, "We only made it through act one. I didn't get to give notes. The mics are giving us problems, because of course they are, and I can't even bring up that we wouldn't have had those problems if we had just integrated tech sooner."
Billy nodded, listening intently as you continued to speak, pouring out all of your frustrations and all of the sticking points you'd encountered that morning alone.
"Is there anything you need from me? Anything I can help with at all?" He asked, once your ranting had come to a stop.
"At this point the only thing I can even do I just hope she listens to me when I need to take over for pre-show," You sighed, dragging a tired hand over your face, before scooting to lean against him, "Thank you though. You're already doing so much."
The half amused half disbelieving scoff he let out wasn't unfamiliar, "All I'm doing is being here."
"I know."
Eventually, you needed to go back inside, electing to end your lunch break before cast and crew was officially due to return so that you could finish cleaning up a few things, and help a few actors with running some of their solos. Billy walked with you back into the building.
"Call me if you need help with anything, okay?"
"We'll be alright," You squeezed his hand gently, as if that were enough to prove your anxiety didn't still have you in it's clutches, "Thank you for lunch. I'll see you after the show."
3:59pm
You had been successfully hiding in the bathroom for a full five minutes before you had steadied yourself enough to emerge again. Your sound tech had never returned from his lunch break. Your co director was attempting to cover for him, both literally by taking his place in the booth, and in making excuses for him. Everything was going to hell in a handbasket.
Between yourself, the stage managers and your co director, you had cobbled together a new plan for the show, before you had left the auditorium, desperate for a moment to yourself.
"Hey, are you alright?"
You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Stebbins voice, "Jesus christ! Billy! What the hell are you doing here you scared the shit out of me!"
He was standing awkwardly in the lobby, "Um. Mcvries was cutting through here on the way to meet the rest of us for food before the show- he saw you storm out."
You frowned, "I did not storm-"
"He saw you leave and saw that you looked upset," He amended quickly, his hands raising in a gesture that looked like a cross between offering surrender and reaching out as if to settle a horse, "What's going on?"
You drew in a shaky breath, still trying to fight down the rising pressure in your chest, "Well. Everything is wrong. At this point, if doors open on time it'll be a goddamn miracle. We've got 30 minutes, no sound tech, and she's actively running the climax to the finale because half of the cast said they felt unprepared. We need to be in pre-show within like ten minutes if we want to get through everything, twenty at the most but then we'll have to skip straight to pass the pulse."
As you spoke, Billy moved forward carefully, gathering you into his arms with a tenderness that made the knot in your chest loosen, just a little. He listened to you speak, running a hand up and down your back, waiting until you were finished to say, "Do you want another perspective or would that be unhelpful?"
"No- please talk to me." You had tucked your face against his chest, suddenly unconcerned with the fact that you were still standing in the middle of the lobby.
"Okay. I'm assuming you have a plan to deal with the sound tech issue?"
"Uh huh." You sniffed.
"And you've clearly already worked out a timeline for how to best make it to doors and get as much done as possible."
"Yeah."
"So at this point, all you can do is stick to that timeline and hope for the best. You know what you're doing. In an hour, it's going to be out of your control either way."
You forced a deep breath in and out of your lungs, "You're right. Why are you always right?"
"Cause that's my job." You could hear the smirk in his voice.
"What time is it?"
You felt his hand leave you back long enough to check his watch, "4:04."
With another deep, forceful breath, you pressed yourself further against him, letting him squeeze you for a long moment before you pulled away. You straightened, quickly pulling yourself back together, "Okay."
Billy nodded, "Okay. It'll be alright."
You forced yourself to nod back, grasping at false confidence, "It'll be alright."
4:31pm
When you pushed open the auditorium doors, with a stack of programs in your hands and a too bright smile plastered on your face, you were greeted with a surprisingly large crowd. Not enough to fill the auditorium by any means, but certainly more than you had been expecting.
People began filtering through the doors and into the audience, taking programs as they went. After a few minutes, McVries and the rest of your and Billy's friends appeared in a rowdy cluster, pausing outside your door, to give you well wishes for the show.
You swallowed back the sudden lump in your throat at seeing them all there, "Thank you guys for coming."
Ray grinned, "Of course! Why wouldn't we?"
They began to shuffle through into the auditorium, taking programs with final wishes of good luck. Barkovitch, despite his whining, even offered you a smile. Harkness hung near the back of the group with Billy, his notebook open in his hands, "Hey, do you think you could give me a quote about all this-"
"I don't think now's the time, Harkness," Billy said, after a glance at your semi panicked face, "Maybe after, yeah?"
The new bubble of anxiety of anxiety that had formed in your chest dissipated as you nodded, re adjusting your grip on your remaining programs, "Yeah."
Harkness nodded, and then after another glanced between you two, bounded off into the auditorium after the rest of the guys.
Billy reached for your hand, squeezing gently, "Everything work out then?"
"The show is certainly still on, one way or another," You sighed, "I just can't believe we made it to doors on time."
"The point is that you made it. The doors are open, there's people in the seats. It's all happening."
You glanced back into the almost full auditorium admitting, "It is a lot more people than I expected."
"You've done everything you can do. Now it's time to let this thing go and be the best it can." Billy squeezed your hand again before he dropped it, looking down at his watch.
You followed his lead, shuddering, "Yeah, I should go, we're almost at places. If you'll excuse me, I have to go sit backstage paralyzed with fear."
"Hang on," Billy looked around to ensure the lobby was empty before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, "Break a leg."
5:02pm
You:
Did my preshow announcement go okay
I felt so awkward
I didn't realize i was doing it til i got backstage
6:18pm
Billy <3:
Everything looks great so far.
I think your announcements sounded good. Not rushed or anything.
Harkness is writing notes about everyone's passion.
He says to tell you his angle is about the fun everyone is having on stage.
You:
Good to hear
Mics are kicking our ass
Is everyone audible even without?
Billy <3:
Some people are louder than others.
Nothing completely inaudible yet, but we are fairly near the front.
*You read a message*
Billy <3:
I'm sure act two will be even better.
7:49pm
By the time bows had been finished, and thank yous from the cast had been said, you were exhausted. The lobby, predictably, was full of family and friends congratulating various members of the cast and crew, but none of them mattered.
Your eyes cut straight through the crowd to where Billy stood with the rest of the guys, laughing at something Hank was saying, a small but thoughtful bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.
It took longer than anticipated to make it to them through the crowd, with various people stopping to congratulate you, but soon enough you had made it close enough for Billy to spot you, his eyes lighting up as he moved to meet you in the middle.
"That was incredible," He swept you up into his arms, uncaring of the crowd around you, or his friends behind him, "You had nothing to be worried about."
When he let you go again, Pete was clapping you on the shoulder, "You definitely undersold, man."
Gently, Billy pressed the bouquet into your hands, "Here."
"Now that's from all of us, or at least a little from me," Art grinned, "I had to smuggle 'em in so you wouldn't see before it was time."
"Well thank you. And thank you all for coming. Seriously, it means a lot." You let yourself lean into the arm that Billy had wrapped around your shoulder.
"Wouldn't have missed it." Collie said.
"Not that Harkness would've let us." Barkovitch grumbled.
Ray elbowed him, quickly covering, "It was a lot of fun to watch."
Billy squeezed your shoulder, looking down to catch your eye with a smile. You smiled back, breathing freely for what felt like the first time all day.
Trigger Warnings: Referenced death/violence, reader was blipped
Summary: Everyone always talks about how hard life was for the people who were left behind during the blip. No one ever seems to realize how difficult it is to try and fit yourself back into a life that moved on without you.
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It had been two months since the Avengers had beaten Thanos. Two months since you'd woken to find that you had been missing for five years. Two months since you'd been trying to come to grips with the fact that in those five years, the world had changed.
Steve had greeted you with open arms and wide eyes, and had brought you readily back into his life; but it was clear that five years had passed. You might have been the same person who was snapped those years ago, but he had changed.
The righteous fire that had burned behind his eyes had dimmed, and even now, after two months, he still tripped over himself every time you appeared, a new cog in a routine that had been going strong for five years.
Even now, you found yourself bracing to enter a room, self conscious and insecure. Some days it seemed like he didn't need you in his life at all anymore. But if that were true, why welcome you back at all?
"How was you day?" You were halfway through making dinner when he appeared.
You shrugged, "I talked to my sister. You would think that suddenly being three and a half years older than me was some sort of special skill the way she cares on."
"We're all five years older than we were when it happened," Steve sighed, reaching to pull plates from the cabinet, "Well-"
You cut him off, not willing to hear him point out, yet again, how it was you that had missed that time, "I know what you mean. I'm just saying that it's not like you lord it over me by any means."
"How are the girls?" He asked, carefully changing the subject as you began to plate the food.
"Well, Ava is about to start middle school, and Madison is excited for first grade. I tried to wish her good luck but she has no idea who I am." You sighed, turning to add the finishing touches to the plates.
"Well she was barely a year old when you-"
"I know that," You snapped, setting down your serving spoon roughly, "That doesn't make it suck any less."
Steve frowned, holding up his hands as if in surrender, "Woah- hey what's going on?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." You picked up the plates, moving around him and towards the dining room table.
He followed, his voice tense, "Don't tell me it's nothing- sweetheart you've been acting strange ever since-"
"I've been acting strange? I've been acting strange?" You whirled around, "If anything, you're the one who's been acting strange- I came back and it's like you're a whole different person!"
"It's been five years! You were gone! What do you want from me?"
"It may have been five years for you but it certainly wasn't for me! I'm not acting any different- I'm still who I was! You're just comparing the real me to whatever version of me you kept imagining!"
"That is ridiculous!"
You threw your hands up, turning and storming across the apartment even as his yells followed you. Quickly, you packed up a few of your things, stuffing them into the nearest tote you could fine.
"Where the hell are you going?"
As you dragged on your jacket your movement finally slowed, "I don't know, Steve. Just not somewhere where I'm going to get compared to some version of myself that never existed."
You were out the door before he could even think to call after you.
Summary: Jake can never admit that he's sick. Luckily for him, you've made it your business to take care of him.
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Something was wrong with Jake. He'd been nursing the same beer for hours now, hadn't put up as much of a fit when Phoenix beat him at darts, and he'd been avoiding you like the plague. You'd spent the better part of two hours watching him from across the Hard Deck, trying to work out just what it was.
Your relationship was still new, with promises of taking it slow, and working things out as they progressed. Unfortunately, whatever it was that was making him take more interest in the label on his bottle than you, didn't seem to be working out.
You watched from your seat next to Halo and Fritz as he stifled a cough, turning away from Fanboy enough to catch your eye. This morning you'd only seen him briefly during preflight. He hadn't said much, and his signature cocky grin hadn't quite reached his eyes.
Now, as he met your gaze, he looked almost apologetic, and even in the dimly lit bar you could make out the dark bruises under his eyes. Jake turned again, excusing himself and making his way down the hall that led to the bathrooms, coughing into his sleeve the whole way.
Without a second thought, you slid out of your seat, following him. A few minutes later, when he immerged, looking pale and a little worse for ware, you were waiting for him, pointed questions hot on your tongue.
Jake looked up, almost shocked to see you, and all the sharp words died on your lips.
"Holy shit, Jake are you okay?"
He tried to perk up, giving you a strained smile, "Oh, I'm peachy keen, darlin'."
"Don't give me that," You frowned, "You look like shit."
"I'm fine." He started to move past you, only to freeze when you grabbed at his wrist.
"You're really warm," When you pulled him to face you once more, he moved compliantly, despite the grimace on his face as you reached up to feel his forehead, "Too warm. Why the hell did you come out tonight if you're not feeling well?"
"Because I'm fine." He said pointedly, starting to move away again.
Your frown deepened, unimpressed, "You've had one beer. You didn't even bitch when Phoenix beat your ass at darts."
Jake stood there under your pointed gaze, looking more and more uncomfortable, "She's good at what she does- and like I said I'm fine. A little cold can't keep me down."
"How long have you been sick, Jake?"
"I'm not-"
"How long?"
"I don't know, two days maybe? I can take care of myself, thanks." Even as he spoke, he seemed to grow paler, one arm unconsciously curling around his stomach.
"Jake-"
He cut you off, ducking back into the bathroom. You followed quickly, watching as he heaved the final contents of his stomach into the nearest toilet. You knelt beside him carefully, rubbing his back in slow, steady circles.
"You're alright. I've got you."
When he was finished, you pushed sweaty hair out of his face, "Let me go get you some water, baby."
"I've got it-" He started to stand, only for you to push him back down.
"Nope. You stay there. Take a breather. I'll work on an exit strategy."
By the time you returned, water bottle in hand, Jake was standing over the sink, splashing his face with cold water.
"You feel any better?"
"Hell of a lot less nauseous." Jake muttered, taking the offered bottle gratefully.
"Hey- don't drink that so quickly," You scolded, reaching to feel his forehead again, "Let's get you home, cowboy."
He opened his mouth to protest as you took his arm, but after another pointed look from you, his mouth snapped shut. You led him out of the bathroom and out through the side door.
It took a lot of coaxing to get him into your car, but once he was bundled into the passenger seat, you headed back inside to give the others a heads up about your leaving.
Getting Jake back to your apartment had been difficult, but once he had collapsed onto your couch, you were confident he wouldn't try to run out on you.
"Here," You offered him a plate of toast, "Lets see if you can keep that down, and then we'll see about some fever reducers."
"I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself." But all the bite in his voice was gone. He took the plate anyway, setting the bottle of gatorade you'd stopped at the convenience store for on the way back.
"I know that," You sat down on the other end of the couch, "That doesn't mean I shouldn't get to help sometimes. I wished you'd told me you were sick instead of avoiding me all night."
He stared down at the toast for a long moment, "I didn't want to bother you. Or worry you. Or ruin whatever this is cause I can't handle a stomach flu."
"If I had said I was worried about ruining this when I got that migraine while we were out two weeks ago what would you have said?" You asked gently.
Jake looked up at you, bewildered for a moment, "That it was out of your control..."
"Exactly, baby. Now eat that, so I can get some meds in you and get you to bed," You stood up once more, heading towards the bathroom only to pause and drop a kiss on the top of his head, "I love you."
Jake froze for a moment, before looking up at you with a grateful smile, "I love you too, darlin'."
Trigger Warnings: Implied chronic illness/conditions, I tried to keep what exactly it is nondescript that way as many people as possible can see themselves in this, swearing
Summary: Somewhere deep down, you've known this day was coming, before you had even gotten an official diagnosis. That doesn't make it any easier to hear.
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Somehow, the sight of Natasha standing outside the office, waiting for you seemed to break your heart all over again. When you caught sight of her standing there, you straightened, steeling yourself.
"So?" She asked gently.
Two months ago, when the whole evaluation process had begun, you'd told her not to worry. That the doctors would get to the bottom of it and fix you up without a problem. Even two weeks ago you'd kept the idea of losing your wings as a near impossibility. You'd told her everything would be fine.
You gave her a tight lipped smile, "Can't fight doctor's orders."
Natasha's face fell, the last shreds of hope drifting away, "Oh- babe..."
Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to make eye contact, "I have to clean out my locker, and meet with Cyclone again on monday to finish out the paperwork."
"I'm so sorry..."
You shook your head, trying to remember all the things that you had been repeating to yourself since the reality had sunk in, "It was bound to happen eventually. I'm lucky my career lasted as long as it did."
"(y/n)-"
You shook your head again. If you had to talk about it now- if you even had to think about it- It was better to just focus on the task at hand. To focus on getting your locker cleared out.
"You need to get back to preflight, Tasha. Your hop starts soon."
She fixed you with a hard look, before nodding, "Okay. I'll see you at home. You still want to go to the Hard Deck tonight or...?"
"Yeah, yeah," You sniffed, rubbing at the side of your nose, "I'll tell everyone then."
"Okay." Natasha nodded again, putting a strong, warm hand on your arm for a long moment before disappearing back down the hall towards the rec room where she was supposed to be waiting for her hop to begin.
The locker room was empty, and you'd never been more grateful to see the cavernous space devoid of its usual activity. The others were all either in preflight or still up in the air, even as you crossed the tile and began to gather your things.
Breaking the news was going to be hell. Maverick and Hondo, upon hearing about your pending diagnosis had done their best to phase you out of the hop schedule as tactfully as possible. Still, the others were bound to know something was up by now.
Once you'd finished packing up your things, you trudged out to where your car waited, parked in its usual space between Bradley's bronco and Bob's dusty wrangler. Tossing your box into the passenger seat, you leaned back against your headrest, fumbling around in front of you blindly until you'd managed to turn the radio on full blast.
"FUCK"
You took the long way back the house, sailing down back roads, and winding your way up the coast. Pushing faster and faster until you could almost pretend you were still in the air.
By the time you got back to the house, Natasha was already back on the tarmac, texting you about something stupid Hangman had said, and Bob driving her home, and all of the usual things she normally might; as if pretending everything was still normal might make it so.
Hours later, at the Hard Deck, you found yourself in your usual place, Natasha tucked against your side in the daggers usual booth, as you broke the news.
"So, no more flying for me." You started down at the beer bottle in your hands, the peeling edge of its label suddenly infinitely more interesting than your friends looks of pity and dismay.
"So what'll you do instead? Take a desk job with Cyclone?" Rooster asked.
You cleared your throat, eyes down, "No- I'm uh. I'm being completely medically discharged. Navy doesn't want me anywhere near it's operating space so- that's the end of that."
Natasha reaches for your hand, and you give it to her willingly, letting her tangle your fingers together as you finally look up and around the table.
"Shit, man." Fanboy is the first one to break the silence, and then suddenly other voices spill over like a flood, condolences and apologies and outrage and everything you didn't want to hear.
It's not until later that night, when you've crawled into bed, that you finally admit the worst part out loud. Not until you've fallen into Natasha arms, strength failing, tears falling.
"They won't even let me go up one last time." You breathe into her neck.
And what can she say to that? What could anyone? It's all Natasha can do to hold you a little tighter, and try to hold what's left of the world together.
Prompt: Flashbacks -- "How is it you always know what I need, huh?"
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of ww1/the trenches, smoking
Summary: After a meeting with a few less than reputable clients goes awry, you find Tommy distracted by the remnants the war left in his head.
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Tommy's footsteps echoed across the floor as he made his way through the house. From where you sat in the parlor you watched him drift aimlessly down the hall. Even from the strange pace of his gait, you could tell that something was wrong.
"Tommy-love." You called carefully, setting the book that had been in your lap to the side.
After a long moment, you sighed, standing up, and venturing after him, down the long halls of Arrow House. It took you a few minutes to finally catch up to him, your voice carefully calm and gentle, "There you are, love."
"Hello, darling," His tone was far away as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth, "Nice day?"
"Yeah love. How did your meeting go?" You look over Tommy's blank expression, trying to get a read on how dire the situation truly was.
He cleared his throat, almost forcing himself to meet your gaze for a moment, "It was... fine. It was fine."
You hummed, reaching to carefully smooth back his hair, "Arthur called to say you caught some heat on your way out."
Tommy's voice was low, and dark, and something very near a whisper, "Nothing we couldn't handle."
"Well, I was going to go and get started on dinner." You, gave him a knowing smiling, reaching to take his hand in yours.
Tommy, to his credit, made no complaint as your fingers tangled with his, and you led him off down the hall toward the kitchen. You motioned him into the chair you'd already set beside the low table by the window.
Within a few minutes, you'd set out a knife, a pan, and a sack of potatoes. He looked at them for a long minute until you let out an overly dramatic sigh, "Well get to work, won't you, soldier?"
He had let out a huff, but dutifully picked up the knife, and began peeling. You busied yourself with preparing the rest of the meal, giving him simple easy tasks now and again.
Between the potatoes and the other veggies you had him chop, his eyes became more focused, the easy motions of the knife grounding him back into reality.
By the time you had put the finishing touches on the meal, Tommy seemed to have come back to himself, and was watching you with soft, fond eyes.
"What is it?" You asked, offering him a plate.
"How is it you always know what I need, eh?" He asked with an easy smile, taking the plates from your hands to set to the side and pulling you into his arms.
You let yourself be moved easily, chuckling, "Because I know you Tommy-love."
Tommy hummed contentedly into your hair, "I love you too, darling."
Summary: When you first wake up disoriented and confused after emergency surgery, you put up enough of a fight to need restraints. The second time you wake up, Bob is there to put your mind at ease.
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The first thing that you were greeted with as you came to was the full body ache that had seized you, followed shortly by the steady beeping of your surviving equipment.
That, at least was a good sign. If your jet wasn't too busted up to still tell you what was wrong then you must've done a pretty good job during emergency landing.
As you fought the ironclad weights that seemed to be keeping your eyelids shut, you fumbled for your harness. The pins and needles that buzzed in your fingers kept you from getting a good grip at any of the buckles.
When you managed to crack your eyes open, you were greeted with the blinding white light of the sun, magnified by what was left of your canopy. You let out a groan, letting your eyes fall shut again and resuming your struggle with your harness.
At the sound of footsteps, you stopped, the beeping of your broken plane suddenly increasing tenfold as muddled voices reached your ears.
This couldn't be happening. Not again.
Your body tensed as the voices came nearer, and as the first hand landed on your arm it was all you could do to-
The first thing you were greeted with as you came to was a dull, full body ache, followed shortly by the gentle beeping of a heart monitor.
That, at least, was a good sign. If they'd found what was left of your jet in time to cart you off to the nearest naval hospital, then you must have done a pretty good job at not letting the mission get any further out of hand.
It took a few tries before you were finally able to pry your eyes open, squinting up at the blank hospital ceiling. You reached to rub the grit of sleep from your eyes, only to find your hand stopped, halfway, by something firm anchoring it to your bedside.
Sluggishly you sat up enough to catch sight of the restraint cuffs holding you to the bed by your feet and ankles. Turning to look around the room, you found Bob, sitting in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair, looking worse for wear, but watching you intently.
"Bobby...?" Your voice came out hoarse and dry.
Quickly, he was on his feet, pulling the chair closer and reaching to press the call light, "How are you feeling, darlin'?"
"Like shit," You admitted, leaning into his touch as he carefully brushed hair from your face, "Did I-"
He followed your gaze down to your bound limbs, nodding slowly, "You almost busted the doctors hard work soon as you woke up after surgery... caused quite a fuss. I told them this was a bit extreme but..."
"They were right to do it. I could've hurt someone."
"You almost hurt yourself," He said gently.
You sighed, letting your eyes fall close as his hand moved to cup your cheek, "I thought I was still in the cockpit... I thought it was happening again-"
Bob hummed, his thumb brushing back and forth across the rise of your cheek, catching the tears that had slipped out, "It's alright. You made it back home. You're safe, darlin'."
Trigger Warnings: Description of an anxiety attack, a little swearing
Summary: When it feels like the walls are closing in on you, Darry is always there to help prop you up.
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You weren't sure what it was that had brought it on. Something at work maybe, or the way that when you'd arrived at the Curtis house, Two-Bit and Dallas had been up in arms about some kid they'd jumped, who was now calling for a rumble. Maybe it was just because rent was near due, and you'd been scraping to meet it once again.
Whatever it was that had set you off, it didn't matter now. Not when finding the source couldn't stop the way your heart pounded against your chest. Not when you'd had to excuse yourself to the bathroom, in the hopes of splashing some water on your face to calm down, only to find yourself sinking to the cold tile, your back pressed firmly against the cold porcelain of the bathtub.
Your breathing came in shallow gasps as tears of anxiety and frustration pricked in your eyes. Nothing had even happened, damn it. Why was this always happening?
The knock on the door was so soft you almost didn't hear it until Darry called, "Sweetheart? You alright?"
You let out another choked breath, your voice catching on the sound of his name.
"I'm coming in, alright?" The door opened, and quickly, he was kneeling before you on the title, "Oh, honey."
You blinked up at him, eyes wide with concern, but as steady and calm as ever, "Dar..."
"What's going on, sweetheart? What happened?" He asked gently.
"I don't know-" You hiccuped, rubbing at your eyes with a clenched fist as if it might hide the way you were crying.
"That's alright, honey. Here, give me your hand now." Darry held out his hand, waiting patiently until you were able to put your trembling hand in his. He gently raised your hand to his chest, pushing you palm against the place where his heart thumped steadily.
He slowed his breathing to a deliberate, even pace, "Just try to breathe with me now, sweetheart."
A few long minutes elapsed as you matched his careful breathing, until finally, your heart rate had steadied. The tight, feeling had left your chest, leaving only exhaustion in its place.
"You gonna be alright?" Darry asked, his hand still pressing yours to his chest.
You nodded, "Thank you, Dar..."
He smiled, raising your hand to press a kiss against your palm, "Of course, sweetheart."
Prompt: Kidnapping -- "Oh, honey, you're safe now. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, violence/fighting, one use of the word 'Supershit'
Summary: In a desperate ploy to lure Superman into a trap, Lex Luthor kidnaps one of the few people Superman is regularly spotted with. Little did he know he had taken the one person Clark would go to absolutely any length to save.
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You knew the risks that came with dating Clark Kent. He'd made sure of it, made sure that you were certain that you still wanted him in your life in spite of those risks. That didn't make it any less terrifying when those risks came knocking at your door.
You had been midway through getting ready for date night with Clark, when you heard something moving around in the kitchen. On going to investigate you found Lex Luthor, lounging against the counter, casual as could be.
Before you could react, he was snapping his fingers, and Ultraman had placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, almost daring you to try and escape.
"Well if it isn't just the person I was looking for," Luthor said smugly, "Big Blues most devoted fan."
"I don't know what you talking about- you have the wrong person." You said desperately.
He sighed, irritated, "It's really no use lying, (y/n). I know everything."
"Wh-"
Before the words could get out of your mouth, he was motioning again, and you felt the prick of a syringe entering your arm. As the world went fuzzy and black, you found Luthor looking down at you, "Well let's hope Supershit cares enough to come find you."
It was hard to tell how much time had passed since you had woken up in the cold, dark cell. You huddled in one corner, your once neatly pressed date night clothes rumpled, your hair a mess.
The minutes passed silently, or maybe they didn't pass at all. The only thing you were sure of was the press of the cold concrete against you back, and the slowly drying tear tracts that ran down your cheeks.
The darkness seemed to press in around you, and suddenly it seemed to you like there was no hope. Your tears started anew at the possibility that Clark really wasn't coming.
Time kept up its steady movement. The tears kept crawling down your cheeks. At first, the chill of the room had set your skin alight with goosebumps, but now after so long, your shivering was practically forgotten.
Eventually, footsteps sounded from down the dimly lit hallway, and Luthor appeared, a scowl on his face. He marched up to your cell with a vicious intensity, "Looks like I was wrong about you, (y/n). I guess you really aren't good enough to tempt big blue here after all."
"What-"
He dragged the cell door open, crossing the floor in two quick strides and grabbing your arm to ahul you up to his level, "But since I have you here, I might as well ask you a few questions."
"I haven't done anything-"
"Who is Superman working with?" Luthor demanded.
"I don't know!" You cried, trying to pull away from his bruising grip.
"Not good enough," He declared, seething, "My sources put you with Superman more often than anyone- more often than that damned Clark Kent! What do you know?!?"
You let out a sob, "I don't know anything- please- I've met him a few times that's it-"
Luthor let out a noise of disgust, shoving you harshly to the ground, "Enough with the lies, (y/n)!"
You landed hard, crying out in pain, "Please."
"Let me see if I can't find another way to motivate you." He reached into his jacket.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to take up as little space as possible as the tell tale sound of the gun being cocked met your ears.
"What do you know about Superman?!"
"I don't know..." You whimpered.
A gust of air hit your skin, and you heard Luthor let out a strangled noise of surprise before a soft but anger filled voice was filling your ears, "You better make your next moves very carefully, Luthor."
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the man we've been dying to see," Luthor spat, "And here I was thinking (y/n) wasn't special enough-"
He cut off with a groan, and you peeled your eyes open to find him lying on the opposite side of the cell, hands on his abdomen, groaning in pain.
Clark crouched before you, reaching towards you, hesitantly, "Are you alright?"
You nodded, not quite trusting yourself to say anything.
He offered you a hand, "Let's get you out of here."
Outside the cell, none of Luthor's men made move to stop him as he guided you away.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Clark asked again gently.
You let out a hiccuping breath, "No..."
"Oh honey," Gently, he scooped you into his arms, letting you tuck your face against his chest, and cradling the back of your head carefully, "It's okay. I'm here. You're safe now. You're safe now."
"I thought you weren't coming." You admitted in a low whisper.
"No, no, sweetheart, I will always come for you. I'm never going to let anything like this happen again." He held you tighter.
You pulled away to look up at him, eyes wide, "Promise?"
"I promise," Clark nodded, before tucking you back against his chest, "Let's get you home."
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of violence, fatal injuries, swearing
Summary: After a particularly brutal mission, you skip going to medical over dealing with your bruises yourself. This makes John worry, particularly when it begins to become clear that you've suffered more than just a few scrapes.
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To say that the mission had gone well would be a gross over exaggeration. Had the team completed their objective? Yes. Had you all gotten tossed around quite a bit for your efforts? Very much so, yes.
Out of everyone, it seemed that you had made out best, with only a few bruises already blooming on your skin. John had taken a few hard falls, Ava and Alexei sported matching gashes after having a massive wave of debris come there way. Even as he directed the jet back towards the watchtower, Bucky was griping about what a misaimed widows bite from Yelena had done to his metal arm.
"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry," She groaned from behind the wad of tissues she had bundled around her bloody nose, "I'd like to see you aim well immediately after your nose is broken."
You started to laugh, only to choke halfway, breaking off coughing.
"You alright?" John asked, his hand gentle on your shoulder to steady you.
You nodded, forcing another thick breath in and out of your lungs, "All that dust and debris- I must've inhaled too much of it."
"This is exactly why I'm saying you all need to invest in masks," Ava said smugly, "You could have a built in rebreather, and yet you just choose to run around breathing in toxins all the time."
"I swear to god if my nose wasn't bleeding I would go over there and-" Yelena cut herself off, muttering something in Russian.
"Come on Val can't bitch about suit design costs if their functional, right?"
You sighed, leaning over a little to let your shoulder rest against Johns, content to listen to the girls bicker the rest of the way home.
By the time you reached the tower, they had gone from bickering between each other, to ganging up on John for something you couldn't quite keep track of.
You blinked heavily, trying to force the world back into focus as you trooped off the jet behind the others, watching as Yelena, Ava and Alexei peeled off to head to medical. Bucky disappeared almost as soon as the elevator returned to the common floor, already, pulling the metal arm from his shoulder and scowling at it.
You followed John towards the kitchen, waving to Bob, who sat in his usual place in the living room, as you went. You coughed again as an uncomfortable weight grew in your chest, your mouth suddenly overwhelmed with the sharp taste of metal.
"-or anything?" John was saying, already fiddling with the coffee maker.
"What?" You asked, struggling to focus on his words.
"Do you want coffee or anything?" He repeated, and then, turning to look at you once more his face tightened with concern, "Are you alright?"
You nodded, reaching to brace yourself on the counter as the world seemed to sway around you, "I'm fine..."
"You don't look too good- maybe we should head down to medical." John reached toward you, his arms out as if to catch you.
"I said I'm fine." You coughed again, frowning at the strange red stain that appeared on your sleeve.
"-ing to medical. It'll be okay."
You blinked heavily. When had he grabbed your shoulder?
Your vision seemed to darken around the edges, and as John's panic increased, you felt the floor rising up to meet you.
You looked up at John sluggishly, watching as he turned to yell something toward the living room. Bob skittered into your view and then out again as the world shrank to the singular point of John's face.
Something in the darkness reached up to grab hold of you, and as it pulled you under the last thing you could make out was John's horrified expression.
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, references to previous injuries, swearing, reader has anxiety
Summary: You have a habit of keeping yourself alert and keeping watch, even after a job is over.
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The semi darkness of the safe house bedroom was pressing in around you. The too quiet night playing up the ringing in your ears. Beside you, Tangerine slept peacefully. Somewhere across the hall, Lemon was probably snoring away.
You lay flat on your back on the lumpy mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The job hadn't even gone poorly. In fact, on just about every account, it had even gone well.
So why did it still feel like you were out in the field, moments away from blowing your cover? Why was your body stuck in an adrenaline fueled state listening for every minute sound? Why did it still feel as if someone might come crashing through the door at any minute?
Slowly, you let yourself slip out of bed, careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend. There was no harm in checking things over one more time, you told yourself.
After double checking the locks on the door and the windows, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, debating whether or not making a pot of coffee at this time of night was appropriate or not. The plan didn't involve leaving the house until 9am, but it was already getting close to 4. There almost didn't seem to be a reason to go back to bed, and it didn't seem like you'd be getting a wink of sleep either way.
You had just started reaching for the cabinet with the coffee grounds when you heard measured foot steps making their way down the hall. You tensed, staring at the doorway, heart thundering in your ears.
"The fuck are you doin' up love?" Tangerine grumbled.
You let out a breath, turning back to the coffee, "Christ, Tan you scared me."
"I scared you? Picture me wakin' up all alone," He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to wrap his arms around your waist, "You didn't answer my question."
"I was just- checking on something."
He hooked his chin over your shoulder, "Sure, love. That's why you're makin' coffee at 3:47 in the bloody mornin after quite a long day."
After a long moment, you sighed, admitting the truth, "I couldn't sleep. I don't know what the hell it is that set me off but-"
"But now you're stuck awake cause you think you need to keep watch," He spoke softly, in the tone reserved only for you, "'specially after that twat with the big knife."
"Thought for sure it was going to turn out like Madrid- and now I can't-" You broke off with a lump in throat, suddenly understanding exactly what it was from your bloody past that was keeping you awake.
"That's alright darling. 's alright. We're all here and accounted for, you made sure of that. Me an' you, an' Lem, we're all okay, yeah?" Carefully, he turned you in his arms, tucking you against his chest with all the tenderness no one would expect from a hired gun.
Your breath hitched, and suddenly your found yourself gripping his sleep shirt tightly, "i just-"
"i know, love, I know." Tangerine's hand stroked up and down the length of your back gently.
Eventually, when your trembling stopped, and your breath evened, Tangerine pulled away enough to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, "Let's get you back to bed, love, yeah?"
You nodded slowly, and let yourself be led back to the bedroom. This time, as the two of you climbed into bed, Tangerine refused to let you settle until you were tucked safely against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.
Trigger Warnings: Canon typical violence, minor character death, swearing
Summary: On the battlefield, you find yourself stranded with broken coms and no signs of the others. Assuming the worst, you find yourself in a panic, abandoned by your team.
{Admittedly not everyone is equally represented here}
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You had never seen a mission fall apart so fast. The worst part was that it should have been routine. Hijackers, hostages, the whole deal. This was practically the New Avengerz bread and butter.
And yet almost as soon as Yelena had given the signal to move in on the hijackers, the world had exploded into a mess of gunfire and explosions. Instantly, any plans that had been in place went out the window, as you scrambled to move from your position on the south side of the building.
Your com crackled to life as Ava started listing off damages, "Hostages appear to be safe, though."
"If they wanted our attention they certainly got it," Yelena groaned, "Structural integrity of the building may be compromised. We need to get the people out fast."
You jogged down the lower hall, raising your finger to your ear piece, "Basement looks like it might be secure. The loading docks might be the best course of evacuation."
"Negative, there's hijackers fleeing down the eastern stairwell to the basement now." John warned.
You turned wearily to look at the heavy stairwell door on your left, "Fuck. You'll have to find them another way out. What are the odds of getting some help down here?"
Already the sounds of boots hurrying down the stairs were approaching. You sighed, almost waiting for your com to crackle back to life as someone offered you back up, but of course, no offer came.
By the time the footsteps reached you, you were ready.
Four men clad in black came bursting out of the stairwell, only to be met with the flash of one of your throwing knives, arcing through the air and burying itself in the shoulder of the fist man.
He looked down at it as if offended before turning and shouting at the others, "Go!"
Before he had time to turn back, you were grabbing at his gun arm to disarm him. He put up a strong fight, and by the time you had finally incapacitated him with a few well placed slashes of your knife, the other men were disappearing down the corridor.
Grabbing another knife, you gave chase, your heart thudding in your ears as adrenaline coursed through your body. Distantly, you heard your coms crackle to life once more, but no voices filled your ears.
As much as you had been ready for them, the men had also been ready for you in the mouth of the loading bay, and two of them fell upon you almost as soon as you entered raining blows down on you.
Distantly, you caught sight of the final man on the far side of the bay, frantically pulling things from the bag he carried. You didn't have long to dwell on it, as a moment to gain the upper hand presented itself, and you had no other choices but to take it, yanking the larger man down in an attempt to pull yourself back upright.
By the time the bodies lay at your feet, the final man stood across the bay watching you anxiously. He looked unassuming and plain, and when you raised your throwing knife, his hands launched into the air, "Wait! Wait! It's not worth it- this whole-" He motion behind him at whatever device he had finished attaching to the bay door operating system, "It's already rigged- 30 seconds and poof- You can't stop it."
"What the hell are you talking about?" You demanded, stalking closer.
"You, me, our friends upstairs- it's too late for all of us."
You didn't wait for another word, instead turning and legging it back towards the corridor. Your hand was already reaching up to your ear, suddenly aware of how silent your coms had become, "Yelena do you read me? Walker? Anyone? The building is rigged to blow again- does anyone read me?"
Nothing. Not even the faintest sign of life. You hit the stairwell at a run, only to be met with a familiar sinking feeling as you spotted the small black device wedged under one step.
"God fucking damn it," You wheeled around, heading for the other stairwell, "Does anybody read me?"
You'd barely made it to the other set of stairs when for the second time that day, the world tore itself apart. You were knocked back by the blast, and as debris began to rain down around you, you felt the additional shocks of the charges left in the eastern stairwell work their way up the building.
Once the world stopped shaking, and the ringing in your ears had receded to a minimum, you tried your coms again, kicking your way out from the rubble.
"John? Ava? Does anybody read me? Can anyone hear me?!"
You grew more frantic as you picked your way along the corridor. The ceiling had collapsed in some places, and thick metal beams had fallen, blocking both stairwell doors.
Over the course of what felt like hours, you made your way back down the seemingly infinite, half damaged corridor towards the loading bay. You shouted yourself hoarse to no response over the coms.
The ache in your legs grew, and after clawing your way through so many small openings in the rubble, your hands began to sting. Finally, when you arrived in the once wide, open space of the bay, you were greeted with a mountain of debris where the doors had once stood.
Just looking at it, you wanted to cry. You were exhausted. You could feel your injuries weighing on you. Your team was gone.
For a long moment, you let your head bow. If tears rolled down your cheeks then there was no one there to see it.
Slowly, you began to pull at the extra fabric of your uniform, slicing away two strips of fabric to wrap around your cracked and bleeding hands.
It was slow going. Even slower than it had been out in the hall, as rubble shifted beneath you, and you scrambled for purchase. You lost your footing many times and you desperately made your way to the top, scrambling for the opening where daylight tantalizingly sat.
You had no sooner hauled yourself through the opening when you heard a yell of your name. You squinted in the sudden, harsh sunlight as the voices drew nearer.
Before you could quite tell what was happening, John was hauling you to your feet, "They're over here! Holy shit what the hell happened-"
Something angry flared in your chest and you shoved away from him demanding, "Where were you? Where the hell were any of you?"
"What-"
"I needed backup! You left me!"
The others kept careful distance from you, watching unsure as you, their stoic, resolute teammate, broke down in exhausted, frustrated tears.
"Hey- hey," It was Yelena who approached you slowly, as if trying to settle a wild animal, "It's okay. They hacked our coms- we didn't mean to leave you."
As her arms wrapped around your frame, you found yourself leaning into her helplessly, breathing, "I thought you all were dead..."
"It's okay- we're okay. We're here." Ava crowded in beside her, followed by a reluctant Bucky, boxing you between them.
"You know for the record you scared us too-" John's voice was cut off with a groan as someone elbowed him, before he too was reluctantly joining the embrace.
You relaxed into their hold, and eventually let them lead you back towards the waiting jet, and the promise of home.
Prompt: Concussion -- "Nah, it's not that bad. I've had worse."
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of vomiting, swearing, my deeply underbaked attempt at having baseball opinions
Summary: After a training mishap, Bradley finds himself stuck on concussion protocol. Of course, after so many years around Mav, he seems to think this is optional. Not if you have anything to say about it.
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The thing is, the accident really hadn't been that bad. If you didn't count the broken harness, Rooster hadn't even damaged the jet. And really, the broken harness hadn't even been his fault, that had all been physics. And really, how were they going to blame him for his equipment not being up to safety regs? He was fine, really he was.
He had tried to tell Mav all of this as he trudged across the tarmac trying to ignore the desperate ache in his eyes, and the nausea pulling at his stomach.
Phoenix had been by his side the moment she climbed down from her own plane, "Don't listen to a word he's saying, Mav, you need to get him to medical. I don't know what the fuck happened, but I could seem him bouncing around the cockpit like a pinball."
Mav had fixed him with a hard look, "Rooster..."
Bradley had managed to meet his gaze for all of three seconds before he was turning and spilling the last of his lunch all over the tarmac.
That had been hours ago. Now Bradley sat in the infirmary, squinting down at his medical discharge papers. The corpsman on duty had determined that his concussion wasn't severe enough to hold him for observation, but that he certainly wouldn't be back in the air for a few weeks at least.
"Bradley, the fuck are you doing?" You voice startled him out of his muddled thoughts, and he blinked away from the paper to find you standing beside his cot.
"I'm... filling out my paperwork."
"Sure you are, baby." You nodded as if you almost believed him, glancing down at his barely legible chicken scratch with a sigh, "How are you feeling? I heard you bounced your head off the canopy."
Bradley shrugged, trying to play it off, "Nah, it wasn't that bad. I've had worse."
You crossed your arms, resolute, "Nix says you threw up all over Maverick."
He blanched, backtracking so quickly he almost didn't notice as you pulled the paper and pen from his hands, "Well- not- it was pretty bad but- I'm- I'm fine."
"Uh huh," You nodded, unimpressed as you began filling out the last of the information needed, "Concussed enough to get grounded for two weeks... sounds fine to me."
"Hey- what are you doing?" He started to grab at the pen, only to retract his hand when you swatted at it.
"Getting you signed out -stop that- so you can come home and get some rest."
"I can do that." Bradley protested.
You looked up and fixed him with a gentle look, "But you don't have to. And you probably shouldn't anyway. Come on."
You signed the bottom of the form, and stood, offering Bradley your hand. He took it easily, standing up from the cot and following you out.
After turning in the paperwork, you led him out to where you had parked in front of the building, ignoring his protests about being driven home and having to leave his beloved bronco on base overnight.
You had gotten him situated in the passenger seat, and rounded the car to get in yourself only to find him fumbling his phone out of his pocket.
"What are you doing? What the hell happened to 'yes doc, I know the drill, no screens and lots of rest'?" You chided, pulling his phone from his hand and putting it in the cupholder.
He groaned melodramatically, "I just wanted to check the score of the Padres game. They were supposed to start after I got out of the air."
You sighed, reaching to fiddle with the radio, "Yep, you're definitely Maverick's son. Terrible taste in baseball, and questionable ability to listen to medical professionals."
"Hey!" He started to protest, but you had already found the channel broadcasting the tail end of the game, and he fell silent as the announcers voices filled the car.
You drove slowly, careful not to jostle the injured pilot at any turn or intersection. By the time you had finally pulled in the driveway, Bradley's head was leaning against the window, tiredly.
"You still with me, baby?" You asked, unbuckling your seat belt before reaching across to unbuckle his.
He hummed, sitting up a little, "I'm awake."
You chuckled, and climbed out of the car to begin the process of corralling him into the house. It was easy enough to get him settled on the couch but harder to dissuade him from putting the game on the TV.
"You can watch the replays later, I swear," You reasoned, carding your hands through his hair gently, "Just get some sleep for now, okay?"
"Fine." He half huffed, burrowing back into the pillows further as if he weren't halfway to sleep already.
"Now I'm starting to wonder how Ice put up with both of you at once," You whispered fondly, watching the smile that pulled at Bradley's lips, you leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, "Get some sleep. I'll check on you in a couple hours."
I am once again attempting whumptober!!! Prompts come from multiple prompt lists and will not be completed in order due to me trying to give myself and my executive dysfunction the best possible chance. I plan on posting one fic every week day of the month!
Day One: Alfie Solomons -- Dissociation -- Alfie finds you in a dissociative state, triggered by seemingly nothing. Luckily for you, your husband never needs a reason to come to your rescue
Day Two: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw -- Concussion -- "Nah, it's not that bad. I've had worse." -- After a training mishap, Bradley finds himself stuck on concussion protocol. Of course, after so many years around Mav, he seems to think this is optional. Not if you have anything to say about it.
Day Three: Thunderbolts* -- Isolation --On the battlefield, you find yourself stranded with broken coms and no signs of the others. Assuming the worst, you find yourself in a panic, abandoned by your team.
Day Four: Tangerine -- On Patrol -- You have a habit of keeping yourself alert and keeping watch, even after a job is over.
Day Five: John Walker -- Internal Bleeding -- After a particularly brutal mission, you skip going to medical over dealing with your bruises yourself. This makes John worry, particularly when it begins to become clear that you've suffered more than just a few scrapes.
Day Six: Clark Kent -- Kidnaping -- In a desperate ploy to lure Superman into a trap, Lex Luthor kidnaps one of the few people Superman is regularly spotted with. Little did he know he had taken the one person Clark would go to absolutely any length to save.
Day Seven: Darry Curtis -- Anxiety Attack -- When it feels like the walls are closing in on you, Darry is always there to help prop you up.
Day Eight: Robert 'Bob' Floyd -- Medical restraints -- When you first wake up disoriented and confused after emergency surgery, you put up enough of a fight to need restraints. The second time you wake up, Bob is there to put your mind at ease.
Day Nine: Tommy Shelby -- Flashbacks -- "How is it you always know what I need?" -- After a meeting with a few less than reputable clients goes awry, you find Tommy distracted by the remnants the war left in his head.
Day Ten: Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace -- Forced Retirement -- Somewhere deep down, you've known this day was coming, before you had even gotten an official diagnosis. That doesn't make it any easier to hear.
Day Eleven: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin -- Ignoring an Illness -- Jake can never admit that he's sick. Luckily for him, you've made it your business to take care of him.
Day Twelve: Steve Rogers -- Came Back Wrong --- Everyone always talks about how hard life was for the people who were left behind during the blip. No one ever seems to realize how difficult it is to try and fit yourself back into a life that moved on without you.
Prompt: Dissociation -- "Give me your hand. You're safe with me, okay? I've got you."
Trigger Warnings: Dissociation, swearing, mentions of past trauma with no description given
Summary: Alfie finds you in a dissociative state, triggered by seemingly nothing. Luckily for you, your husband never needs a reason to come to your rescue
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Alfie knew something was off the moment he stepped foot back in the house. The life you had built together was quiet, yes, especially in comparison to his less than legal profession, but it was never silent. Most days when he arrived home he was greeted with the sound of one of your records spinning on the phonograph, accompanied by your absent humming as you worked on whatever project had taken your interest for the day.
Now, he was met with only silence. Quietly, he stepped through the entry, the soft call of your name long dead on his lips as he scanned the entryway and front room. Everything seemed to be in order. No signs of a break in.
Alfie moved through the hall quietly, letting out a sigh of relief when his glance into the den found you, tucked into the bay window that faced the back garden.
"Hello, treacle," He let out a chuckle, "You gave me quite a fuckin scare there, love."
You hummed absently, but didn't move, still staring down at whatever book was balanced in your lap.
This made Alfie frown, and he made his way closer to where you sat, taking in your drooping posture and glassy, unfocused eyes. He leaned down, trying to meet your gaze, "What's going on, dove? Are you alright?"
You looked up at him, and suddenly he could see the tremor in your frame, the tight, pinched look on your face as you whispered from somewhere far away, "Alf?"
"That's it treacle, it's me. It's your Alfie. Where've you gone, love?" He moved slowly as he spoke, first shucking off his over coat, and then carefully pulling the forgotten book from you lap and setting it gently to the side.
"Alfie... I don't- i don't know..."
"That's alright love," He slid easily onto the bench seat next to you, "You just give me your hands, eh? You're safe we me, petal. Alfie's got ya."
With the utmost care, he grasped your hands in his, squeezing gently. Patiently, Alfie waited, squeezing again every so often, and raising your hands to his lips to press gentle kisses against each knuckle.
All the while he spoke in a low rumbling voice, "That's it, treacle. Nice and easy. I'm here. Alfie's here."
Eventually, once you seemed like you were coming back to yourself, Alfie shifted, tucking you safely against his side.
"What happened, treacle? 's there some fuckin wanker out there I need to go teach a lesson for looking at my dove the wrong way?" His voice is light, and nearly joking, but there's a weight to his words. There is absolutely no limit to what he'd do if someone ever hurt you again.
"I don't know- nothing happened," You whispered, turning to bury your face in his chest, "There's just something wrong with me, Alf. Ever since-"
Alfie silenced you with a gentle but firm squeeze to your arm, "Now you listen to me, lovey. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you."
"Alf-" You tried to protest.
"No, no, no, no matter how you see it, this is survival, yeah? You were in a bad fuckin spot, right, somethin hard to forget, and this is just what your big old brain does to try to keep you safe, misguided as it may be. But I swear to god, treacle, should any arsehole ever so much as fuckin breath in your direction and trigger one of these little spells, I will shoot 'im between the eyes before he can so much as fuckin blink."
A small smile tugged at your lips, but still you sighed, "You don't understand, Alfie. Nothing like that happened. I just- woke up wrong."
"Well then dove, next time you tell me and I will stay right here with you all day, and keep you from floatin off."
Alfie tugged you impossibly closer to his side, his lips brushing against your hair as he spoke, "I'm always going to be here to protect you, treacle. Your Alfie's always here."
