got a bullet in the chamber

therapy talking || closed

siberianwreckage:

He knows that the strange relationship that they have is something that most REFUSE to understand. They refuse to understand that he’s not a HAIR PIN TRIGGER, that he’s more himself now than he has been in a long time. And all of that SUCCESS? It’s attributed to Brock and the careful caring and nurturing nature that was written into his bones. He has a feeling that one one else would have been as PATIENT with him as he was; it’s something special that they have together. They’ve seen the darkness that resides within an organization, have known what it feels like to be made into WEAPONS for their own gain. There was no HUMANIZING them for how long they were trapped inside of it all. Brock’s touches had always grounded him, have always felt SAFE even when they were stuck there. It went unnoticed – small touches to his arm or back, especially when his muzzle was FASTENED behind his neck. There was always something in the eye contact, in the CLIPPED words that were too low for others to hear. And that’s why Bucky had come back, even when he had been LOST and just needed a sense of SAFETY. Brock was the one who had lifted him out of his OWN mind and back into the world around him, no matter how IMPOSSIBLE the feat had seemed. As he’s tugged closer, his arms wrap more firmly around the older man’s neck, his head coming to REST at his shoulder as the familiar scent of soap and cologne hit his senses. There’s a CALM that washes over him; this is why he hadn’t chosen Steve, this is why he CONTINUES to not choose him. Nor does he think they’d UNDERSTAND them and how they feel in general, either.

A smile easily slips onto his lips as Brock works him into another kiss. It’s something that just feels RIGHT, and he won’t even TRY to deny the shiver that races down his spine. His fingers lightly tug at the back of his head, playing with stray hairs that always refuse to be tamed. There’s something about this MOMENT, this complete senseless making out that they always find themselves in that soothes any FEARS that he has brimming up in his stomach. They have their bad days – that isn’t a QUESTION. There are days when therapy doesn’t go right for either of them, and Bucky’s left silent and Brock’s out at the gym until late hours. There’s so many FACTORS that should be able to break them, but somehow they’ve wound up stronger. There is a bridge, a softness, a STRUCTURE that allows them to work so well. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll have to look into some things, hmm?” His fingers gingerly work through the mess of black hair, massaging lightly at his scalp for a moment in thought. If that was what Brock wanted, he would HAPPILY go on the adventure to obtain some. He can feel the MOOD shift though, can feel that same RESISTANCE that Bucky feels deep down as well. His fingers tenderly run along the back of Brock’s neck for a moment before he sighs softly, pressing his jaw down lightly on the top of the other’s head. “I’m trying to think of what’s BEST. I don’t want to share you though, and I don’t want them to take me AWAY.” He knows the second that Steve finds out, there’s going to be a WAR. There’s going to be claiming him like an object, not what’s in his best interest. The thought of living in the Avengers space or somewhere in Brooklyn isn’t appealing in the least; he KNOWS where he wants to be, and that’s right HERE. “I don’t…want to leave.” For a moment, there’s real FEAR building up in his tone, before Bucky swallows it back down. He ducks his head then, HIDING away in the safety of Brock’s neck.

With anyone else, this WOULDN'T be working. He knows that some people still think that Bucky has that hair trigger HYDRA had trained and PROGRAMMED into him. For a while, he might have had it, but it's GONE now. Worked away slowly and gently with as much time and patience that he could give him. Which was more some days and less others. He's only HUMAN himself. And a deeply flawed one at that. But, no one else has the EXPERIENCE that he has that makes him capable of giving Bucky what he really needs in order to recover. And that's what makes it the best. He's been able to recover, at his own PACE and to his own COMFORT level. He knows that the things that could have gotten him into SO MUCH trouble helped to bring them around to where they are now, the stolen TOUCHES and soft words that had gone unnoticed, giving him a basis to CLING to during recovery. Smiling softly when he feels Bucky's arms TIGHTEN around him, Brock's hands slide lightly along his sides. He can FEEL him breathing him in and it's strangely COMFORTING, fingers sliding into Bucky's hair, free arm slipping around his waist. He knows that at SOME point, he's going to have to give him up and he HATES the thought. But, sooner or later, it's going to happen. He doesn't get to KEEP the things he loves, the things that make him happy. And that is Bucky in so many ways.

The fingers in his hair draw something that he'd DENY is a groan, but definitely is. There's not much he loves more than Bucky getting handsy while they make out like a couple of teenagers. It USUALLY leads to both of them getting handsy and things getting even more HEATED up, but he knows that's not going to be the case today. Not with the other things they've got to discuss. Not even the thought of Bucky going out and getting ADVENTUROUS with things to wear in the bedroom really distracts him for long with the other things they need to talk about. The mood has SHIFTED and he's got the feeling that it will stay that way for a while. But, he still keeps the younger man CLOSE, needing to feel Bucky against himself, reminding him that FOR NOW, he's still got his boy. Biting back a sigh as he feels Bucky's chin on the top of his head, he leans in and KISSES his throat softly as if he can just kiss away all the CRAP they've got facing them. "I know... and you're not WRONG... because it's all going to come out sooner or later. Maybe getting AHEAD of it is for the best... I just..." He sighs quietly, mouthing along his throat SLOWLY, eyes closing. He's going to have to fight for what they have, which feels too much like reducing Bucky to an OBJECT or a PRIZE to be won. And that makes him feel even worse about things than anything else because Bucky deserves BETTER. He deserves to just have his choice, but he's got the feeling that will be taken away from him again. The little catch of FEAR in Bucky's voice makes Brock's arms tighten around him, growling POSSESSIVELY against his throat as he nips his soft skin gently. He then lets him tuck into his neck, holding him TIGHTLY and cradling the back of his head in one calloused hand. "You know I WON'T let them take you without a fight. You deserve to CHOOSE where you stay, where you live, who you're with and I will FIGHT to make sure that you get that choice."

in recovery || closed

scvietassassin:

She’s so close, SO CLOSE to leaving, to dropping this subject and telling Steve he’d have to either move on or take care of it himself. Except Rumlow’s still talking and every word is grating on the last of her nerves. It’s the messenger boy comment that makes her finally snap, not that she’d actually show that.

She’s silent for a long moment, paused in the doorway before turning back to look at him with a soft smile. It’s one of those that she reserves specifically for people she hates and right now he’s at the top of that list. Taking the few strides back over to him, she let the door shut behind her, waiting for the click before swiping everything off of his desk and onto the floor. She’s gracefully perched on top of the desk in seconds, her legs crossed neatly as she toys with a knife from her boot, watching him for a moment. “Is CRAZY BITCH a better look?”

He can SEE the way that she pauses in the doorway and can’t help but grin. He’s being a dick. And he doesn’t care. He wouldn’t be APOLOGISING for it, but he would make it up to her at some point. Probably by making something very easy for her later on. Like sending her some RECRUITS who would cry as soon as she even looked at them. That was always FUN.

He RECOGNISES the smile on her face. The kind that makes the newest recruits want to run crying home to their mothers. He watches her cross back over to his desk, expression barely more than BORED. Her sending everything to the floor just makes one brow TWITCH up the tiniest bit as if he’s amused. “Is that what this look is? Because it kind of strikes me... trying too HARD...” he admits, pursing his lips and looking her over judgmentally.

#scvietassassin

runninbarefoot

rp partner: I have an idea for a plot

me:

#WHERE IS THE LIE?

walled in --closed

esotericsoldier:

‘Oh. Well I’m glad you managed to rest.’

{ What must it be like to find slumber without NARCOTICS? The yawn made him smile; his grip appreciated as he chose to not only accept the touch but lean into it. ( Craving physical contact now more than ever. ) Oh and when the ex-commander relaxed he knew he was forgiven. }

‘I-Am I allowed chicken?’

{ His REWARD for good behaviour; but Brock had taught him that relapses were involuntary and that coming out of them by himself was what mattered. ( The road to recovery was a tedious difficult process. ) It was not a failure to fall occasionally; so long as he got back up for him. }

‘And can I uhm, have a hug? I just - is that okay?’

Arching one brow at the question, Brock just nodded. “Yeah, if CHICKEN is what you want, then you can definitely have it,” he assured him, letting Val lean into him slightly. He led them out towards the kitchen, pausing at the second question. He knew that when the other came BACK to himself, he was often like a touch-starved puppy. Tugging him closer, he hugged the younger man into his chest. “Yeah... you’re OKAY, kiddo...”

#esotericsoldier

protective instinct;; closed

ironiati:

Tony couldn’t help but laugh at his bodyguard’s words, “oh don’t you worry, I’ve been doing this since I was born” He winked and as the limo pulled to a stop his expression harden and he pulled his sunglasses out from his suit pocket before slipping them on, like a mask it seemed as if Tony Stark became that billionaire playboy without a care in the world. He pulled his known press smile, fake and calculating as Brock stepped out of the limo first, the sea of flashes and screams seemed to deafen the man as he stepped out when he motioned too.

Leaning closer he mumbled, “I don’t shake hands, you don’t know where they’ve been” he smirked at the man next to him before letting himself be lead into the sea of vultures. He gave a few reporters a cocky response that made most people hate him come morning.

He hated all of this, the faceless demons with their cameras and invasive questions, the screams and proclamation of love and ‘have my babies’ he heard constantly was not as fun as someone would think and oddly enough the hand on the small of his back gave him the stability to move forward without punching anyone in the face. Some would say it was the perks of being famous and rich but for him it was more of a nightmare.

He stopped for a couple seconds to sign an autograph from a child who was looking at him with pure awe when a recording device was shoved into his face and he heard a question that made his blood boil, “Mr.Stark! How does it feel to know your weapons were the reason hundreds were found dead? weren’t you suppose to be protecting those people but instead you killed them?” He swallowed and glanced at the child who looked at him in confusion and before he could say anything he was ushered inside.

Ah yes, the dark days when he was too busy partying and being the typical rich kid to see the under the table dealings. When he found out about the deaths that were on his hands he immediately shut down his weapons manufacture division and shifted his companies focus on other technology. Renewable energy, advance prosthetics, medical advancements. But no matter how much good he tries to do, he would always be the Merchant of Death.

Once inside his anger was evident and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to compose himself, “vultures, all of them…” he muttered before placing his ‘mask’ back on and showing everything inside as he picked up a class of champagne from a passing servers tray.

Brock BARELY fought back the urge to roll his eyes at Tony’s comment about shaking hands. “You know what I MEAN,” he muttered in a low growl. There were a few hands that got TOO close for comfort and Brock easily stepped between Tony and those reaching for him, blocking the other man easily so he could keep moving.

It was hard to keep a straight face and not cringe or make his DISGUST clear at the questions and strange things screamed out at his charge. How anyone dealt with this on a regular basis was BEYOND him. Why some people WANTED this sort of thing was even further beyond him. What a mess. But, Tony handled it with practiced grace and didn’t seem to let it get to him. He kept a hand hovering just over the small of his back, giving a GENTLE and guiding touch every so often to remind him to keep moving.

When Tony stopped suddenly, Brock TENSED, until he saw him crouching to sign something for a small child. He stayed close beside him, making sure no one bothered him while he did his little good deed. His head SNAPPED around at the question shouted, stepping over, one hand closing around the recording device. “No comment,” he snarled quietly, shoving the offending device back towards the man holding it, FORCING him back a couple steps. The look on the child’s face was enough to make him want to BREAK the reporter’s face. Who the hell does that? “Mr. Stark, you’re NEEDED inside,” he commented quietly, touching Tony’s shoulder to encourage him to move on.

He led Tony inside, letting him DIVERT away from the main crowd. “I know, but you handled that well,” he murmured, turned slightly so no one else could pick up on their conversation. “Just take a BREATH. We’re inside, so you can take a moment before joining the rest of the crowd. Just take a moment.”

#ironiati #v; tbd au

protective instinct;; closed

ironiati:

Tony had agreed to a new bodyguard ever since his previous, Happy Hogan was reassigned to protect Pepper. Honestly he knew there was more between them but hey who was he to keep them apart so he easily rearranged to transfer Happy to California where Pepper ran the west branch of S.I while he managed the East side. Of course with his reputation he couldn’t be left without someone to watch him and agreed on having Pepper contact people.

He slipped his sunglasses into his front pocket before smoothing his suit jacket down and checking his cuffs. He heard the knock and he glanced towards the door with a raised brow. His new guard, Brock Rumlow was an interesting man and no matter how hard he tried to annoy the man he stood his ground and didn’t let Tony’s bullshit get to him, yet.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time before finally heading for the door, the gala they were heading for wasn’t organized by S.I and therefore he was wary, it was the perfect place for something to happen and he instantly waved those thoughts away they were late enough. Opening the door he gave his bodyguard an easy smile, “Well then let’s go or we’ll be late” He grinned, knowing full well they were already late as it is and headed towards the car.

The ride to the venue was smooth and Tony hardly said anything until they pulled but behind a line of limos, he could see the sea of reporters,photographers, and fans surrounding the entrance and his posture tensed, “Tell me sailor, you ready to face that kind of battlefield?”

Brock had a GOOD idea why he had been assigned this particular account. He'd met briefly with Mr. Hogan before taking it on, getting a good idea of behaviours to EXPECT. Including acting out for the sake of acting out to get a reaction from him. Not exactly what he was looking for in a job, but someone had to do it and Brock knew that he was probably one of the VERY few who could actually put up with Tony Stark's antics and still get the job done.

While others might assume that Tony's running late might be to make a SCENE on his arrival, but Brock had paid close attention when they were discussing the details of the gala. He had noted the SHREWD questions from the other, clearly recognising it as a calculated risk to go. Most things were a calculated risk when you were someone as HIGH PROFILE as Tony Stark, but Brock had full faith in himself and the small team he'd been allowed to bring on. Not for tonight, but in general. And they had all worked with gala and venue SECURITY to ensure that things were going to smoothly for everyone there.

Brock was silent in the car on the ride over, sitting across from Tony in the back of the limo. When they pulled up behind the rest of the line, he looked AROUND, taking note of specific points as potential vantage points and exits. "Worry less about ME, Mr. Stark, and more about keeping your image in tact for the evening," he replied blandly, glancing at his charge. He stepped out of the limo first, adjusting his SUIT jacket casually as he blocked the door to the limo until he was sure he had the place MAPPED. Then he stepped aside to let Tony exit the limo.

"Five minutes on the carpet. NO interviews. Shake a couple hands, take a few quick photos, but keep moving," he instructed quietly, hand hovering JUST over Tony's lower back to guide him ahead.

#ironiati #v; tbd au

protective instinct;; closed

@ironiati

After spending MORE than his fair share of time in the Navy, Brock had finally retired. He was far from done with his life, but he was SLOWING a little and the other SEALs he worked with were getting younger and younger every year. He could have stayed on, gone into a training position, made sure the new generations of SEALs were as good as his was. But, a friend had offered him a part of his private security business. It PAID well and depending on the charge, you still got a chance to see a good portion of the world. The few jobs he worked to start were simple and easy. And BORING. He craved a bit more of a challenge, which his friend responded to with that he had “just the thing.”

Which is why he had spent one morning cleaning and loading his two conceal carry pistols and his standard issue Sig P250 before putting on a freshly cleaned suit. He grabbed the email with directions from his phone, doing a solid DOUBLE TAKE when he read where it was he was going. Stark Industries. His new charge? Tony Stark himself. Some people had all the luck. And Brock’s was all BAD.

He’d done a sweep of the gala location earlier in the day and touched point with ALL of the on site security. This was his first outing guarding Mr. Stark and he wasn’t about to let it go sour. Seeing the car pull around, Brock sighed and glanced at his watch. They were already running LATE. Knocking lightly at the door, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grumbling in annoyance. “Mr. Stark? The car is here.”

#ironiati #v; tbd

MUTUALS;

hit the heart if you are interested in plotting an extensive, plot-intensive thread or even a whole verse (canon divergence or au)

#;;plotting call

therapy talking || closed

siberianwreckage:

There’s something absolutely COMFORTING about the way that Brock’s hands run along his back, about the way that his face is buried in his neck. It’s something that most wouldn’t expect from the former Hydra member and he KNOWS it; you were trained to not show emotions. Emotions got in the way of MISSIONS, and that wasn’t something that was meant to happen in the least. But this is different – this is both of them FREE from the programming that has haunted them for so long, that has chosen their PATHS for them. Now they’re somewhere else, in a better place both mentally and physically; there was a time that he can remember when Brock couldn’t take his weight like this. It was a time when he wished that he had gotten Brock out of that building instead of SHIELD – even if they HAD saved him. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and Bucky was SURPRISED that he had even made it. Still, it was easy to forget sometimes that Brock had been through just as much hell as he had; maybe that was why he didn’t feel a need to push him. They were two halves of the same coin, and often times Bucky wondered just how FATE had known that they needed one another. They were an unlikely match; a handler and his pet? That wasn’t something that ANYONE would approve of. That was part of the reason why Bucky was so afraid of Steve knowing – he had a feeling that he would turn around and think that BROCK forced him into this whole thing when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Without thinking, Bucky’s hand comes up to PLAY with the brunette strands that are tickling up against his jaw. It’s soothing, quiet in the moment as it’s just him and Brock, existing and taking one another in. He doesn’t call the other out on what he’s doing – if he does that, then he’s bound to stop and push him away. There’s just something about the AFFECTION that makes him feel normal, makes him feel like this ISN’T some shit show where they’ve managed to make all of this work. When the scruff scrapes against his neck, he can’t help the slight moan that escapes his lips, but it’s quickly covered up by a groan as Bucky rolls his eyes. “I am NOT into costumes. They’re just weird – especially when people want to dress up as like, soldiers and shit. Don’t know about you, but it’s not sexy or kinky to feel this fucked up after everything.” There’s a SCRUNCH to his nose before he lightly brushes Brock’s fringe away from his eyes, blue searching coffee brown for a moment. “I think we should tell them soon, you know. I don’t want to, but it’s going to COME OUT eventually, and maybe we can soften that blow.”

Even when they had been HYDRA assets –in one way or ANOTHER –Brock had WANTED things like this. He’d wanted to be able to hold the other, more BROKEN man and reassure himself that they were both there and would somehow be okay. And to try and reassure Bucky of the SAME. It couldn’t happen. It could NEVER happen. They’d both be punished, and chances are Bucky would have been tortured for him to WATCH as a reminder that he was nothing more than a disposable tool for HYDRA and he was disposable too. Now, though, he can have it and takes FULL advantage of that. And even when he COULD have it, he'd had to spend so long without it, recovering and rebuilding his body from the broken MESS that had been pulled out of the rubble. Now, most days, it's all that he wants, to just sit or lay with Bucky and feel him close and slowly memorise the feel of him under his fingertips. He knew people QUESTIONED him and the fact that he was so close to his former asset, a former weaponised human and he knew they didn't understand the need and comfort they held for each other. And he knew that people like Steve may not WANT to understand, may want to just assume the worst of him and take this away, even if it meant hurting Bucky too. He doesn't want to think about it. CAN'T. It makes his chest ache in a way no amount of painkillers will help and his hold on Bucky TIGHTENS unconsciously, pressing him harder into his chest.

The fingers that find their way into his hair are silently welcomed with a quiet rumbling in Brock's chest, lips latching briefly onto warm skin. He knows that part of it comes from having been close and needing to know Bucky when he was the Soldier, but Bucky hadn't been able to know him the same way, so what made this WORK was the work they had put into getting here, into getting to know one another to the point that nothing even needed to be said for them to know what the other needed, be it quiet affection or something STRONGER. Chuckling, Brock shakes his head slightly. "Costumes... maybe not... but there's absolutely nothing wrong with wearing something a little sexy," he points out, kissing up over Bucky's chin to claim his mouth in a slower, more heated kiss. He wouldn't deny the thought of seeing his boy in lingerie had crossed his mind before, but he wouldn't ever insist on it. "Nah... we can leave that stupid shit for idiots. I don't need you lookin' like anything other than yourself." He closes his eyes briefly as Bucky brushes his hair back, leaning into the light touch with a little smile on his face. It fades as he meets the other man's gaze as he speaks, frown lines creasing his forehead as his lips purse in an attempt not to SCOWL. "You know I think it's none of their business how we live our life. We're both in therapy which is currently all they require of us..." he points out with a sigh, but he knows that Bucky is RIGHT. It will come out eventually. He's just not sure if dropping the bomb early will make things better or worse. "But... if you think we should..."

#📣 can't you hear me calling? | starter call #like for a starter #mutuals only

➟ smol to medium starter call

therapy talking || closed

siberianwreckage:

If there’s ONE thing that Bucky refuses to do, it’s push Brock into TELLING him anything that he isn’t ready to physically and mentally talk about. There’s certain PRIVILEGES that come with their weird sense of relationship that they have, but there are also BOUNDARIES that they both do in a respectful manner. It’s what keeps them going SMOOTHLY, and he wonders sometimes what it would be like if they didn’t bother with them. It’s an unsteady feeling in his stomach and it makes him pull in a CAREFUL breath. “I know you will. I know it takes TIME.” There’s a soft admittance there – Bucky hadn’t opened up over night, either. As much as he wants to be there for Brock, he also knows that the other is more PRIVATE than even HE is. It’s another LINE that’s drawn and he doesn’t even TRY to cross it because he wouldn’t want it done to him, either.

When he’s yanked into his lap, he settles EASILY. It feels like a familiar rhythm that they always seem to fall into, and his arms effortlessly wrap around his shoulders to keep his BALANCE. He likes these moments more than he’ll ever tell him; there’s a calmness that sweeps through him, that reminds him that this was always the right decision. Coming here hadn’t been EASY; it had been what he had to do, but there was that part of him that always felt guilty for keeping Steve out of the know. It was just EASIER this way – there was no EXPECTATIONS despite what SHIELD thought of Rumlow harboring him. Honestly, he’s just glad that they haven’t ripped him from his grip yet; maybe this is just where he needs to be in order to thrive. “If you EVER think that my fantasies involve MARIO, then I think we need to have a SERIOUS talk.” A scoff leaves his lips that is followed with a dramatic shudder; the thought of that alone was enough to make him want to retreat and take back the need to eat. “I would have much BETTER ones than that.” Settling back a little more until he’s pressed against his thighs, Bucky takes in the appearance of the other man for a moment, just observing. They’ve both come such a long way – sometimes he thinks he’d be lost without him. “And if that’s your kink then I know where the door is.”

It would take some TIME, but Brock is grateful that Bucky doesn't seem ready to start pushing him to open up more. It's a LEARNED habit. Things are easier and safer if kept to yourself. Not something easily let go. But, Brock does know that if ANYONE will ever see him open up and see the TRUTH of him... it will be Bucky. He already trusts the other more than anyone else he's ever trusted in his LIFE, and he'd spent a lot of time with people he's had to trust or else everyone was going to die. It just feels different with Bucky, safer, NATURAL. Smiling softly at the quiet admission from the other man, Brock leans into him and kisses him slowly. "Thank you..." he murmurs quietly, knowing it's nowhere NEAR enough to truly express his appreciation for the other man's patience with him and his inability to open up properly. He's opened up a LITTLE from time to time, but it's not really enough, which he does feel bad about, but it's all that he can do for now.

Grinning as Bucky settles EASILY into his lap, Brock slips his arms around his waist and holds him securely. It always feels calmer and nice when they're together and he's got Bucky's COMFORTING weight against himself. It's like a weighted blanket or service dog trained for pressure therapy... only BETTER. Burying his face into Bucky's neck, Brock breathes him in slowly, hands running lightly along his muscled back and over his sides as if trying to commit every line of his body to MEMORY. It's lame and sappy and he'd NEVER admit to it, but he just enjoys being close and reminding himself that this is all real by letting his hands feel how warm and SOLID Bucky is under them. "Never said it HAD to be Mario, you're the one who wanted me to dress up like him," Brock points out with a snort, rubbing his scruff against the side of Bucky's neck before leaning back to SMIRK up at him. "You're STILL the one who brought up the Mario costume. And costumes at all. So, I'm pretty sure that it's YOUR kink."

‘ sometimes, you have to do bad things to survive. ’

meme || accepting

@siberianwreckage

“Don’t need to tell ME that, kiddo. But, we did survive. We’re here. And we’re gonna be OKAY.”

#📨 leave paperwork in my inbox and it will be ignored in the order received | meme

* soft angst starters

‘ stay with me tonight? ’

‘ don’t talk. save your strength. ’

‘ hey, i’ve got you. it’s okay. ’

‘ i’ll be right here. don’t worry. ’

‘ i think we’re done. ’

‘ hold my hand. ’

‘ it’s all been a lie, hasn’t it? ’

‘ we’re out of time. ’

‘ you’ll always be a friend. ’

‘ just hold me. ’

‘ i have to leave you behind. i’m sorry. ’

‘ don’t do that. it’ll only hurt. ’

‘ go on, cry. ’

‘ keep your eyes open. ’

‘ can i hug you? ’

‘ i trusted you. ’

‘ do you remember? ’

‘ i loved you. ’

#📨 leave paperwork in my inbox and it will be ignored in the order received | meme

* hurt prompts

‘ are you bleeding? ’

‘ take it easy. you hit your head. ’

‘ where does it hurt? ’

‘ sit still and let me take a look! ’

‘ how did you get that black eye? ’

‘ you should see the other guy. ’

‘ did i say you could get out of bed? ’

‘ that’s going to leave a bruise. ’

‘ i’ll get some ice. ’

‘ that’s what you get for picking fights. ’

‘ are you trying to give me a heart attack? ’

‘ what’s wrong with you? ’

‘ you can barely stand. ’

‘ did you throw the first punch? ’

‘ that’s a nasty bump. ’

‘ get in the car. you’re going to the hospital. ’

‘ at least bandage it. ’

‘ no, you’ll get an infection. ’

‘ wet floor signs are there for a reason, you know. ’

‘ you’re lucky. that icicle could’ve killed you. ’

‘ where’s your gratitude? i rescued you! ’

‘ i’m calling the nurse. ’

‘ was that stupid dare worth it? ’

‘ what happened to you? ’

‘ sit down. i’ll make some hot chocolate and fix you right up. ’

‘ are those bandages? ’

‘ you need stitches. ’

‘ look out for that tree branch. ’

‘ i’ve got you. just stay awake. can you do that for me? ’

‘ lean on me. ’

‘ you got two choices: let me carry you, or die out here. take your pick. ’

‘ shit, you’re burning up. ’

‘ you’re not dying. it’s only a sprained ankle. ’

‘ lie down. ’

‘ i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand. ’

‘ you’re in no condition to be walking around. ’

‘ wake up! wake up! ’

‘ i don’t feel sorry for you. ’

‘ look at your face! ’

#📨 leave paperwork in my inbox and it will be ignored in the order received | meme

* pick-a-fight meme

‘ could you shut up for five minutes? ’

‘ i have a better idea. why don’t you walk home? ’

‘ so what? ’

‘ i don’t give a shit. ’

‘ aw, did i hurt your wittle feelings? ’

‘ are you serious! ’

‘ how could you let this happen! ’

‘ kiss. my. ass. ’

‘ oh, did i do that? silly me. ’

‘ one more word and i’ll burn your breakfast. don’t test me. ’

‘ admit it. i was right. ’

‘ get out. ’

‘ you’re wrong and you know it. ’

‘ yeah? make me. ’

‘ better let an expert handle this one. ’

‘ i hope you get sunburn! ’

‘ i hope you get frostbite! ’

‘ have fun getting home. ’

‘ hope you’re happy, asshole. ’

‘ get your hands out of my face. ’

‘ sorry, what was that? i couldn’t hear you over the bullshit. ’

‘ un-fucking-believable. ’

‘ forget it. i’ll do it myself. ’

‘ hey, fuck you! ’

‘ jesus, it was a joke. get over yourself. ’

‘ i hope you step on a lego. ’

‘ you’re leaving. right now. ’

‘ eat my shorts. ’

‘ this blows! ’

‘ don’t tempt me. ’