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fangirl-writes · 3 months

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And It’s a Goddamn Tragedy

JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader; John B. Routledge x Sister!Reader

Warning(s): guns, gunshot wound, blood, hospital. Angst.

Notes: Could be in the same universe as my Nightmares imagine but can be read on its own as it makes no references to that fic. Also I have never been shot, but I did do a little research on the feeling, however most of the reaction is purely fictional.

Summary: JJ and John B. know their lives are a tragedy, but goddamnit, why do you have to pay the price?

The gun let out a loud bang as it fired, everything falling into slow motion. Engulfing your senses with nothing but a high pitched ringing and the slow movement of the gun in Rafe’s hand.

You saw a sharp look of regret pass over Rafe’s features before being swallowed by seriousness again. And then you could feel something wet start to blossom on your t-shirt.

Your face paled as you turned to the pogues, feeling the heat rushing from your face, mouth open but no sound coming out.

You could see the horror in their eyes, see John B. and JJ’s mouths moving, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was like there was cotton in your ears, and the ringing persisted, louder with every second.

You felt yourself start to become lightheaded, the world starting to become blurry.

Feeling sick, you dropped to your knees, everything still slow and disorienting until your body hit JJ’s.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, come on, stay awake," he said,

It was an overload on your head, everything rushing back to full speed quickly, and instead of pain, there was a burning, aggravating sensation in your stomach area, growing outward from where the bullet struck you. Intense and hot.

John B. was next to you in a second, holding your head with one hand and pressing his other against your wound. “Listen to JJ, Y/N, stay awake.”

You let out a loud cry, the burn overwhelming and tears swelling in your eyes.

Pope, Kiara, and Sarah stood above you, shouting incomprehensible things you couldn’t focus on.

“Hospital, John B, we’ve got to get her to a hospital!”

Hospital? Would you make it to a hospital?

Your brother peeled off his button up, wrapping it around your middle to try to stop the bleeding.

“Call 911!”

God, you couldn’t afford an ambulance. Just put you in the Twinkie and let you go. John B. would get over the blood stains. Like that thing had never been bled on before.

“Fuck it! JJ carry her to the van, I’ll drive.”

You felt your body move, being lifted into JJ’s arms. You looked up at his face, it was the only thing in focus. He looked worried, scared even.

“Hold on, Y/N, we’re gonna get you there. You’ll be okay," he said.

You smiled lightly. If you didn’t feel like passing out, you might’ve kissed him. That always calmed him down.

Pope threw open the door of the van, and JJ hopped in, sitting down and cradling you carefully in his arms.

Sarah was next to you then, pulling off her tank top and pressing it hard against your stomach.

You let out a cry and JJ looked like he was going to murder her.

“What are you doing!”

“Trying to put pressure on it! John B.’s shirt isn’t going to hold it enough.”

You groaned, not feeling up to arguing with anyone, just dropping your head into JJ’s shoulder and letting Sarah press against your wound.

Pope and Kiara jumped in last, barely getting the door shut before John B. was speeding down the road toward the hospital.

JJ kept whispering reassurances. You weren’t sure if they were for you or him. Maybe both.

You could hear the loud honking of horns as John B. tore through town.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

“No, no, no, Y/N, you have to stay awake. Open your eyes,” JJ urged.

You let out a soft whine. All you wanted was to sleep and let the pain go away.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “We’re almost there, okay? Almost there.”

Before long, the vans door was being thrown open again and you were jolted around as JJ ran into the hospital, John B. close on his heels.

“Help! Help, she’s been shot!”

Your body was laid down on a gurney and the staff started rolling you away.

Your hand slipped out of JJ’s as a nurse stopped him from coming along. The pain and sorrow in his eyes were the last of him you saw.

“Y/N?” One of the nurses above you said. “Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes…” you said before your eyes closed, relieving you from enduring the pain any longer.

JJ watched with tears rolling down his cheeks as you were carted away from him.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up. We’ll let you know what’s happening as it happens, okay?”

JJ nodded once, but didn’t take his eyes off of you until you passed through a set of doors and he couldn’t see you anymore.

He let himself look down at his body. His hands and shirt were covered in your blood and he felt sick to his stomach.

Pope gripped his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze and ushering him to a bathroom.

John B. and JJ entered the hospital restroom, walking to separate sinks and washing the blood off their hands.

JJ couldn’t quite fathom what happened yet. It started to settle in as he watched the water turn crimson.

He looked over at John B. who was doing the same as him, his stare harsh and unmoving as he washed his hands.

There was a swipe of blood on his cheek.

Suddenly, his best friend choked out a sob. He gripped the side of the sink and cried.

“I can’t lose her too.” John B. said through tears. “I can’t lose her too.”

JJ moved over to him, wrapping him in a hug that was quickly reciprocated.

“She’s gonna be okay, man,” he whispered into John B.’s shoulder. “She’s gotta be. She wouldn’t let punk ass Rafe be the one to do her in.”

John B. let out a watery laugh, squeezing him tighter.

Neither boy moved to break away from the hug, the both of them needing the comfort for a little longer.

“Why’s she always the one that gets hurt because we’re stupid?” John B. asked, quietly. “Why’s she gotta pay the price?”

“I don’t know...” JJ replied, just as quiet.

It was true that you always seemed to be the one getting hurt.

When JJ stole money from Barry, you were the one who got the shotgun pointed at your head. When John B. was spiraling from the loss of their dad, you were the one who picked up the pieces. When Topper almost drowned John B., you were the one who tackled Topper before JJ got the gun out.

You were the one left alone after John B. and Sarah got lost in the storm.

And now, you were the one that got shot with the bullet meant for John B.

Well, that’s what he assumed anyway. Why would Rafe want to shoot anyone but him?

“Hey, she’s out of surgery,” Pope said, opening the bathroom door where JJ and John B. were smoking a joint by the window.

“Fucking finally,” JJ said, putting the blunt out on the windowsill.

The doctor was talking with Kiara and Sarah when the boys approached.

“She’s stable. And lucky,” the doctor said. “We’ve got her on an IV and will prescribe her some pain medication once she’s discharged, but we’d like to keep her overnight.”

“I’ll stay with her,” John B. and JJ said at the same time.

The doctor chuckled. “I think there’s room for both of you, though you should think about shifts so you kids can leave to clean up and get some sleep.”

Both boys knew they wouldn’t be leaving her side all night.

“Someone will let you know when she’s awake.”

With that, the doctor left the group alone.

“You guys really should go shower and change,” Sarah said.

“Nah, no way I’m leaving,” JJ said. “What if she wakes up and I’m not here?”

“She probably won’t be up for a bit,” Pope said. “Most people wake up thirty minutes after the anesthesia.”

“Regardless, I’m not leaving.” John B. said. “This is my fault and I’m not leaving her again.”

“I never left her,” JJ said, crossing his arms.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” John B. replied, face contorting angrily.

"Hey!" Kiara said, getting in between the two. "Not the time nor the place. You can both stay if you're going to asses about it."

They let it go, backing off and biting their tongues.

"Keys." Kiara said, holding out her hand.

John B. reluctantly dropped them into her palm.

"We'll be back. Text us if she wakes up before then and don't fight."

Dropping into chairs on opposite sides of the waiting room, JJ and John B. watched as the others left and waited for any news.

John B. was doing anything he could to distract himself and was failing miserably.

Nothing on his phone could hold his thoughts and none of the magazines on the table were even worth looking at.

So, he looked at JJ.

JJ's knee was bouncing, nervous. He didn't even look at his phone to pass the time, just stared at a spot on the floor.

John B. thought back to when Sarah got shot and he thought he was going to lose her. That was pain like he'd never felt and he could see by JJ's seemingly emotionless expression that he was feeling that same feeling.

John B. loved his sister. Y/N was the only family he had left, and he'd be lost without her. But the pain of potentially losing someone you love so deeply and so romantically was different.

It was hard for him to wrap his head around at first. That his best friend and his sister were together.

But they were good for each other. They understood each other on a level he never could.

Sometimes, he thinks that makes him a bad friend, a bad brother. But when JJ looks at Y/N like she hangs the moon, he knows he’s just being silly. Because Y/N looks at JJ like she’s never looked at anyone.

Because they’re in love.

"Y/N Routledge?"

John B. and JJ jumped up immediately. "Yes?"

The nurse gestured for them to follow her, and they didn't hesitate.

JJ's heart pounded as they followed. He was almost impatient in his movements; like his feet weren't going fast enough.

He just wanted to see her. To know she was okay.

The nurse pushed open the door, entering the room first. "Y/N? You've got some visitors here."

And then there you are.

You look exhausted, eyes drooping, skin pale. There's an IV in your wrist, and a hospital gown had replaced your bloody clothes.

"Hey, guys," you said, voice scratchy.

"Oh, honey, let me get you some water," the nurse said, putting down her clipboard and leaving the room.

John B. got out his phone to text the other pogues while JJ went to your side immediately.

He sat on the bed next to you, taking your hand.

"Hey, baby," you said, softly, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

JJ relished in the contact, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Tired," you replied. "But I'm okay."

John B. pocketed his phone and went to your other side. "Hey, butterfly."

You smiled at him. "Hey, birdie."

And suddenly, the tears are back. "I'm so- so sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault," you said.

John B. didn't reply, just hugged you tightly.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," you whispered, hugging your brother with one hand, squeezing JJ's with the other.

The nurse came back in then and the boys seperate from you so she could give you the water.

"Just hit your call button if you need anything," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," you replied, nodding.

The door closed behind her and the tone in the room shifted slightly.

"I'm gonna make that asshole pay for this," JJ said, the sadness now replaced with anger.

"No, you're not," you say firmly. "If either of you land in jail again, don't think we're bailing you out."

JJ made a noise of protest, but you just glared at him and he shut up.

"We're moving past this, okay? It happened, it's over, I'm alive. We're not letting this lead to more trouble, alright?"

The boys just mumbled agreements, not entirely satisfied by your requirements, but understanding of them all the same.

You'd been through too much for them to break your heart again.

The other pogues came in not long after that, smuggling in your favorite chocolate bar and a change of clothes for both JJ and John B., who took turns showering in the hospital bathroom.

Kiara took the liberty of brushing your hair out and braiding it as much as its length would allow.

Sarah was the one who spoke with the doctor, getting insurance and payment figured out as well as what pain meds they were prescribing you.

Pope took to being a buffer between your boys, making sure they didn't spring into another argument or try anything stupid while you rested.

As if JJ would have moved from your bedside by anything except force.

John B., now knowing you were safe and alive, was more relaxed, speaking in low voices with Sarah about your condition.

The nurse was kind enough to allow them all to stay the rest of the day, but once visiting hours ended and the sun went down she had to ask them all to leave.

"Only relatives are allowed to stay overnight."

JJ deflated at this, squeezing your hand tightly.

"Can he stay?" You asked. "He's my husband."

A bold lie on your part, considering you were in a hospital.

"Fiance, she means," John B. chimed in.

The Routledge siblings in tandem as always.

The nurse seems skeptical but considering you'd just come out of surgery as a result of being shot, she cut you some slack.

"Sure. But just you two."

They thanked her repeatedly but she just waved a hand. "I'll be back in a moment to set you up for overnight."

You said a quick goodbye to the other pogues, getting a hug from each and a kiss on the cheek from Sarah.

"We'll be back in the morning with breakfast."

"Ooh, hashbrown patty?" you asked.

"I think we can swing that," Kiara replied with a smile. "See you tomorrow."

The nurse came back shortly after to change your IV and check your blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. She also brought you a warm blanket and helped you into a pair of pajamas after changing your bandages.

After that she left you a cup of water and the name of the nurse that would be taking over her shift.

And that was that.

JJ wasted no time climbing into bed with you after she was gone, allowing you to curl into him, careful not to brush your bandages.

John B. settled himself into a couple of chairs for the night and closed his eyes.

"You sure you're all right?" he heard JJ whisper.

"I'm good, J, I promise," you replied.

"JB and I kind of had a cry session about you, ya know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, cause we love you and shit."

You laughed quietly. "Well, I'm glad you weren't tearing each other apart again."

"We almost did, but Kie stopped us before we could get started."

"Good. I don't think either of you would've been allowed in here if you'd've brawled in the waiting room."

John B. smiled softly.

"You're probably right," JJ said.

John B. peaked an eye open. You and JJ were facing each other, lying down. You were playing with JJ's fingers, eyes fluttering as sleep threatened to overtake you once again.

"Sleep, pretty girl, it's okay," JJ said, adusting himself so that you could lean against his shoulder.

"Okay..."

John B. closed his eye again, allowing himself to find his own sleep.

Safety may not be their strong suit, but for what they lacked they made up for in love.

And nobody loved you more than JJ and John B.

#outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x routledge!reader

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tlou-reid · 1 year

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you found me ✰ spencer reid

warnings ✰ gunshot, violence, mentions of maeve, hospitals, mentions of death, mentions of religion and god, angst let me know if i missed any please

summary ✰ spencer is the one to reach you after being shot by an unsub

notes ✰ inspired by you found me by the fray. please send requests here. & this is not edited

spencer wasn't sure what dropped first: him or his gun. he could still hear hotch yelling after him, instructing him to not to go in. first not to go in the black suburban you always made jokes about. then, not to go in the yard of your home spencer had been begging you to move out of. then, not to go in the door of the house that he'd held open for you so many times. now, he could hear hotch's voice telling him not to go in the room, but he sounded like he was underwater. when spencer opened the door he could see morgan holding the unsub to the ground while he got him in cuffs, but, as soon as his knees hit the floor next to your body, everything in his peripherals went blurry.

he knew he should be doing the medical things he learned years ago, back during his training, but he couldn't. he was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the gunshot wound beneath your left rib. his eyes started to well up with tears as his hands reached out, applying pressure, as if he could stop the bleeding himself.

as soon as his shaky hands landed on your body, all he could think of was maeve. how could he do this again? another person he loved, bleeding to death, all because of him. he felt so selfish. for everything. for moving on from maeve. for falling in love with you. for putting you in this position. for thinking of another woman while you bled out under his hands.

"reid, move," hotch's voice cut through his thoughts. spencer wasn't sure how long he'd been kneeling over you, but it was long enough for medical first responders to get there, get inside, and be ready to take over the job he was failing to do. still, he couldn't bring himself to move from his position. hotch had to pull spencer away, letting the medical team move in and get to work.

despite the tears welling up in his eyes, spencer hadn't starting crying. until now. he was sitting in the floor, with hotch behind him with an arm still wrapped around him when the first sob wracked his body. his whole body jerked as he wailed. hotch didn't know what to do, so he just wrapped his arms around spencer, holding the crying boy to his chest as if spencer was his own son. spencer's bloodied hands reached up to hold hotch's forearms, looking for something to ground himself.

the rest of the day was blurry. time seemed to be moving with super speed, but also not moving at all. spencer felt like a bystander in his own life as he watched them load you into the ambulance. he couldn't move his legs when they asked who was riding with you, so it was prentiss who climbed in, giving him a sad look as they closed the doors.

he rode in that stupid suburban, and neither him nor hotch uttered a word. the ride was completely silent. it wasn't the comforting silence like when you and spencer would sit on the couch, each holding your own book and just enjoying being around each other. this silence was scary. he could feel his heart beat in his temples, his stomach was churning and he couldn't stop tapping his foot. hotch didn't complain about his fidgeting the whole ride to the hospital.

they met prentiss in the waiting room, where she explained that you were in surgery now. there was no update on your state, and the rest of the team was waiting on a phone call from one of you guys to explain what was going on. morgan had called to inform prentiss that the unsub was in custody, and his other victim had passed. spencer didn't say anything in reply. instead, he moved to sit in the chair farthest away from where hotch and prentiss were standing, not wanting to listen to the details of the case.

this case was not one that should have even been on the BAU's radar. the local police knew who the unsub was, they caught him on camera after his first attack. there was no need for a profile, and definitely no need for the BAU to be spending their time on something as simple as a manhunt. until you called. you thought someone had been following you on your walk around the neighborhood, and it was proven that you were right. there was no solid reason why you were the next victim. there was relatively no similarity between you and the other victim, you just happened to be in the wrong place. when his larger frame pressed himself into the door, there was no stopping him. he shot at you, knocking you down, and eventually unconscious, while he looked for anything valuable in the house. spencer didn't know what he was trying to take, and he didn't really care either. all he cared about was you getting better.

one hour turned into two, and then two turned into three. he had somehow convinced prentiss and hotch to leave. he just wanted to be alone, and after a long phone call with garcia, he was. he had started to pace and his thoughts started to wander. he wanted someone, something to blame. sure, this unsub was the one who shot you, but what about the police? the ones who didn't try hard enough to find this guy before he was in your house? what about your neighbors? who weren't keeping an eye on you while you walked, even though you did numerous favors for them? what about him? a law enforcement officer that you were in love with but who wasn't there to protect you?

and lastly, what about God? being a man of science usually kept him from turning to a higher being. but a desperate man will take any chance he can get, and the best word to describe spencer right now was desperate. desperate for you to be okay. desperate for you to make it out of surgery. desperate to be next to you. desperate for someone to blame. so how could God do this? how could he allow something to happen to you? how could he punish spencer after all the good he had been trying to be doing for this world?

his thoughts went wild for what felt like years, but was only a few more hours, before the doctor was coming to get him. "dr. reid?" her voice came into the empty waiting room. his head snapped right to her. "she is out of surgery, she'll be waking up soon. you might want to be in the room when she does."

spencer stomach dropped the way he did earlier. he picked up the sweater vest and tie he had discarded on a waiting room chair and hurried to follow the doctor. when he reached the room, he was shocked at how peaceful you looked. despite all of the noises from the machines, the hospital room was the calmest place he had been in in the last 24 hours. spencer made himself comfortable while he waited for your eyes to flutter open.

and when they did, his eyes were on yours. he couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. it took a few minutes for you to adjust to the room. the noises, the bright lights, the lack of understanding where you were. the last thing you remembered was hitting the ground after having a gun pointed at you. after a few minutes, you turned to face him, "you found me." you smiled, despite the dryness in your throat as you spoke.

"just a little late." spencer shrugged, trying to downplay the guilt that was burrowed in his stomach. he reached forward, rubbing a few fingers along your cheek. "what happened?" you asked, wanting the whole story. spencer explained, leaving out a few parts. you didn't need to know how he couldn't bring himself to help you, or how he cried in hotch's arms, or how many times he had to wash his hands in the hospital's bathroom sink to get your blood off of him.

"that's kinda crazy," you couldn't help but laugh. spencer was mildly uncomfortable at your reaction. "so, when do i get to go home?"

"you don't," spencer begun, "you're moving out, like i have been asking you to." he could see the confusion written across your face. "you're moving in with me, that way i know you'll be safe." he smiled at you, excited at the idea. he had been wanting this for a while. "now get some rest," he said with a gentle tone, "i'll find us something to eat." despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in almost a day, he waited for you to be asleep to leave the room.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x reader #spencer imagine #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds blurb #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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unreliablesnake · 1 month

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Pairing: David “Deacon” Kay x f!reader

Note: I only saw like one season but goddammit... I had a brainrot and wrote a little something.

Warnings: age gap.

••••

“Just wait until you hear the end of the story because it gets crazier, I swear,” you said with a laugh before taking a sip of your wine.

Deacon loved the idea of just sitting there in the small restaurant near the apartment complex you both lived in and listening to you telling him those funny stories from the hospital. During these moments you were full of life and it was obvious you loved your job more than anything, so he always encouraged you to talk to him about your day.

It would have been a lie if he said he wasn't catching feelings. Because he was. And boy, did he wish you were feeling the same. Every time he saw you smile at him he wanted to pull you into a kiss, just a quick nonchalant kiss that would make him forget every problem he had. But you never showed any romantic interest in him, which soon made him realize he was dumb to assume you would ever love a divorced man his age.

He had seen your boyfriends, the young and successful titans who were ready to give you whatever your heart desired. He remembered that surgeon you dated for a while around the time he moved away from his family, the man who always gave you a ride home in his fancy Aston Martin, and the man who once yelled at you in the hallway during a nasty fight. That was the day he checked his license plate to see who he was and if he got into trouble before.

“Okay, I'll shut up now,” you said with your hands held up.

“Please, don't.” But you shook your head and took a bite of your pizza. “What's wrong?”

“You always do this. You know, asking me about my day, then watching me with this weird smile on your face, as if you were listening to the village idiot telling some funny story.”

Deacon let out a laugh while he took the glass of wine from you. “Okay, no more alcohol for you. I watch you with a smile because I love to listen to your stories.”

It was strange how he couldn’t remember when he reached out to take your hand, but when he saw your gaze move down to your hand, he immediately pulled it back with an apologetic look on his face. He could have sworn you were disappointed by the lack of contact, but he dismissed this thought immediately. If anything, you must have been relieved that he decided not to force this.

“There’s something we might need to talk about,” you suddenly said, your voice serious all of a sudden.

He let out a questioning hum to assure you he was listening, but before you could say anything, a man near the entrance began to yell at the couple sitting by the window and even pointed a gun at them. Deacon’s immediate reaction was to pull you down on the floor so you would be out of sight, then he pulled out his own weapon and told the man to drop his gun. Instead of doing that, the man pulled the trigger with shaking hands and the bullet grazed the innocent man’s arm. The woman screamed and Deacon shot the attacker without hesitation.

While he made a call to report the incident and call an ambulance, you slowly stood up and looked over at the two injured men not far from you. Even though he wanted to stop you, you sprung into action and asked the staff if they had a medical kit in the restaurant. Being a doctor meant you were ready to save whoever you could, including the attacker who was slowly bleeding out on the hardwood floor.

“Let me help,” he tried when he stopped behind you.

You turned to him with an angry look on your face before returning your attention back to your patient. “You did enough damage, Deac,” you spat.

With a sigh, he moved over to the other man and helped to bandage the wound until the ambulance arrived. His eyes wandered to you every once in a while, seeing the way you did your best to save him with the help of a waiter. He knew what bothered you. He knew you swore to save people, while his job often came with taking the life of someone. Maybe for you there was no way to get past that, and seeing him actually hurt another human being opened your eyes and made you see this contrast.

The ambulance soon arrived and the paramedics took over, leaving you standing in front of the restaurant and watching the others do their jobs. Deacon bit on his lower lip nervously as he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his chest, his face buried in your hair as he kissed your head. “Are you okay?” he asked you quietly.

You didn’t turn to look at him, you didn’t even respond to his question, but within a matter of seconds you said, “I need to wash the blood off my hands.”

He took the hint and let you go, his eyes not leaving you while you went back to the restaurant. You never returned to his side, instead you stayed inside, sitting by a table to wait for the cops to arrive and take your statement. Since he didn’t want to push you now, he kept his distance, hoping you would change your mind and talk to him about what happened.

But then a week passed and he hadn’t seen you. He briefly considered visiting you at the hospital you worked in, but he was quick to dismiss the idea. So when Hondo told him someone was looking for him, and he found you standing in the hallway, he had no idea what to say. Should he apologize? Was this what you wanted?

To his luck, you knew exactly what you wanted to say. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away. It’s just… I know you wanted to protect the people there, I know that man shot another before you pulled the trigger, but you need to understand that I’m not comfortable with this. I knew what you do for a living, I heard the stories, but I guess you always tried to shelter me by keeping these parts to yourself,” you told him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” was all he said to you.

You took a step closer, your eyes fixed on him as you got ready to speak up again. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about before the shooting.” He nodded, encouraging you to go on. “Maybe I’m seeing more into things than I should and I need you to tell me whether I’m right or wrong. The way you’re looking at me and touching me makes me think that you might see me as more than a simple neighbor. Or friend.”

As he took a deep breath, Deacon carefully considered what to say. He didn’t want to risk losing you over feelings you might not even reciprocate, so he cleared his throat and decided to lie. “Look, I’m much older than you. I want to believe that you’re my friend and I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Sure?”

He nodded and heard a relieved sigh leave your lips. Or was it a sigh of relief? Because the next moment you muttered something under your breath, maybe an apology, then before he could ask you what you meant by that, you put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. Your lips were soft as they moved in perfect sync with his, and his hands were resting on your waist when he moved you a little closer to him. Anything to close that almost nonexistent gap between you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but duty calls,” Hondo said with a laugh when he passed by.

“We will have to talk about this,” he told you, unable to hide his smile. This was exactly what he’d been dying to do ever since that day he had his first proper conversation with you. When you nodded with a shy smile, he gave you a last quick kiss and said, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david kay #david deacon kay #swat #s.w.a.t.#deacon kay #deacon kay x reader #swat cbs

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demonicbaby666 · 1 year

Note

Hiya may I request

Reader is the one to find JJ bleeding out instead of Spencer. (In season 14. Pretty sure it was.) And waits by JJs bed for her to wake up.

Bedside Confessions

one shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: JJ x fem!Reader

Genre: Angst

Words: 1.6+

Warnings: Blood, resuscitation, Will LaMontagne

A/n: Thanks for the request and I'm so sorry it took me so long, I was just dreading watching these scenes cause poor JJ. But tadahhh here it is in all its sad glory 💔

After hearing shots fired you sprinted into the parking lot to the sight that forever altered your life. It had taken mere moments to register what you were seeing, and it wasn’t until you were next to JJ did the reality of what was happening dawn on you, the severity of it. There she lay in a pool of crimson, choking up blood as she struggled to breathe, her life force slowly leaving her body.

“JJ! Stay with me, come on.” You pleaded trying to simultaneously put pressure on her wound and call an ambulance. “JJ look at me, keep your eyes on me. I've got you okay?”

Another set of coughs echoed through the empty car park. Her gaze focussed on you, the spark was slowly draining from her ocean eyes, and her eyelids were beginning to close whilst you screamed the address down the phone and explained what was happening.

“Don’t you dare give up on me Jennifer! Help is coming, I need you to stay with me.”

Tears stung your eyes watching the woman you loved fade away right before your very eyes. Her breathing slowed until it almost came to a halt. Sirens blazed in the background, but your main focus was on JJ and the limp hand you were holding, squeezing lightly in hopes it would keep her conscious.

Tears were free flowing and streaming down your face, the image before you engraving itself deep into your psyche. Hands came to move you out of the way, your brain was fighting and refusing to let go of the blonde’s hand, but logic finally won over knowing you had to let the medics get to work if she was to have a fighting chance.

Everything happened so quickly after that, you rode in the back of the ambulance with them as they worked to stop the bleeding, meanwhile you never stopped letting JJ hear your voice, hoping it would keep her anchored and soothe her.

By the time you’d reached the hospital everyone sprang into action whilst you tried to keep up, they wheeled JJ in and were all running around spouting information from one person to the other. “Gunshot wound to the upper torso, bullet entered under left arm no exit wound, pulse is steady, breathing is shallow.”

They brought the bed to a halt and hooked her up to machine after machine. “Stats are dropping,” Then the monitor stopped. “she’s crashing.”

Eyes widened and the world stopped, you looked at JJ’s lifeless body whilst yours mimicked hers, freezing up, paling, heart stopping in your chest. Doctors clambered around her, and paddles were charged, electrical currents worked to shock her heart back into a steady rhythm.

“Clear.”

Everything was moving so fast there was barely time to be relieved before JJ was wheeled away to an operating room and a doctor was in your face asking question after question.

“What?” You asked, eyes trying to follow JJ.

“I said are you her partner? I saw a ring.”

“No, he’s not here.”

“Well, you’d better tell him to get here.” She said walking away, not quite realising the weight of her statement and the paralysing fright she’d inflicted on you. Fighting against every bone in your body you pulled out your phone and called Will.

Your knee bounced up and down, you’d given up on trying to calm yourself after the first hour of waiting. When Will had come it was near impossible to reel in your feelings, so you had just conceded and let your mind spiral and body act out.

“Agent Jareau’s out of surgery.” The exhausted doctor stood above you, half scaring you and half snapping back into reality. Her eyes searched around the room, “Is her husband here?”

“Yes, he stepped out to call their kids. How is she?”

“She’s lost a lot of blood but she’s stable.”

“Will she be okay? Can I go see her?” You asked scrambling to your feet.

“Physically she’ll recover but until she regains consciousness, we won’t be able to tell whether she’s sustained any neurological damage. And yes.”

“Will she be able to hear me if I talk to her?”

“It’s unlikely Agent y/l/n.” sorrow laced every word, and it was as though the doctor had read you like an open book, saw the pain in your eyes, the gush of anguish held within your broken heart. “I’ll take you to her room and talk to her husband to give you some time.” She said with a small sorrowful smile.

Being stood over her motionless body tugged at your heartstrings, the monitor beeped, mocking you, JJ may have been alive, but she wasn’t there with you. The only consciousness in that room was yours and it was both suffocating and empty. None of the warmth she naturally radiated was there, her face neutral, still so beautiful, but dull and stoic. Seeing her like this was enough to break you, your shoulders slumped and shook as you finally allowed yourself to emote for the first time in hours.

“I’m so sorry JJ, it should have been me. I can’t stop seeing you laying there, it me broke. I know things have been different between us ever since that night, but I need you to know-” you wanted to finish, you wanted to tell her everything, how that one single night months prior had made you feel the most alive you’d felt in years. You wanted her to know that all you could think about for the last few months was how soft her lips had been on yours, how perfect her naked clad body melded together with yours, how her ethereal moans echoed in your mind every time your head touched your pillow at night, how badly you wanted it all again. You wanted her to know you’d heard the three she muttered when she thought you were asleep.

“I need you to know that you have changed my life in so many ways. I know I pushed you away, I couldn’t handle knowing you loved me, so I ran. But I can’t lose you and I know I already have; I know I can never have you, but I can’t lose you JJ. I would rather feel all this pain of seeing you happy with Will and settle for just getting to see you smile again than have you gone. Please don’t leave me here without you.”

Your face was now tearstained and puffy, and your mouth was moving faster than your brain could keep up with, words were free flowing like never before and there was no time in between to think. Even though she couldn’t hear you, she needed to know. You had to get it out, “I love you; I think I’ve always loved you JJ.” You finally breathed out as you sank next to her on the bed, head falling into your hands as quiet sobs left your lips.

“Y/n.”

Her eyes fluttered open and held within them you saw the pain and sorrow. She’d heard. She’d heard it all. Her hand reached for yours and squeezed, she frantically began searching your eyes then looking over your face, finally her gaze settled on your lips. JJ tried to sit up, but you gently placed a hand over her chest, stopping her from making any unnecessary movements.

You kept your hand placed where it was when she settled back down, feeling her chest rise and fall, you could feel her heart pounding against her chest. It was strong against the palm of your hand, it was beating, that’s all that mattered. Memories replayed in your mind of bare flesh against your hand, feeling her fierce heartbeat in the clutches of passion, the images of that night played over and over as you stared down into artic blue eyes.

Her eyes found yours again, studying the emotions held within them, yours did the same before trailing a path to her lips. You brought a hand to her face and felt the soft warm skin, almost immediately JJ’s eyes flickered shut and a timid smile graced her lips. The room was suddenly transformed, minutes before it was cold and eerie and now it was only JJ’s homely presence that filled it, trapping you with in this very moment and encapsulating you in a blanket of mellow, balmy, temperate adoration.

Finally gathering the courage, you leant down, bringing your lips to JJ’s. They were just as you remembered, soft and welcoming. Your lips moved slowly against each other for mere seconds before hurried footsteps came from outside and you pulled yourself away. Will emerged from outside the door, practically running to JJ’s side. You quickly made yourself scarce, backing off the bed and trying not to watch as the couple embraced each other.

“I’m going to give you guys some space.” You whispered, turning towards the door.

What did you think would happen? That this would be your happy ending. You had said it, admitted the truth, you would never have her. She was with Will. Knowing the truth and accepting it were two different things, you knew that one night you had with JJ and the fleeting kiss you had just shared were all you would have but that didn’t stop you from wanting more.

As your feet carried you to the door you tried to focus on the one thing that mattered, she was alive.

With your back turned away you failed to notice that blue eyes never tore themselves from you, watching as you exited the room that was now filled with confessions of what you believed to be unrequited love.

“I love you.” JJ breathed out, and though her arms were around Will, her tear filled eyes remained on you.

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angelsanarchy · 5 months

Text

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 24 -> CH 25

Tagging:@roryculkinluvr@thatsthewrongwallcraig@icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06@shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver@ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999 @x-prettyboy-x @rorylover71 @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27

TW: Self Harm, Blood

Y/n hadn't heard from Jack in a few days. She figured he had gotten caught up with the house renovations or his writing but when he wasn't even answering text messages, she became kind of nervous. The lights in the house were on so he was obviously home. The thought that maybe he was just busy and didn't have time to shot her a text was kind of annoying to her but she didn't want to seem clingy.

It wasn't until she was leaving the clinic and got a call from an unknown number that she panicked.

"Hello?" She answered unsure if it was spam or perhaps one of her mother's doctors.

"Hi my name is Dr. Brian Carty, I'm trying to reach Y/n." Y/n got in her car.

"This is she. Are you calling for my mother-" He cut her off.

"I'm breaking so many laws right now but I'm afraid one of my patients is in danger. I am Jack Thurlow's doctor and I'm afraid he's in the beginning stages of a manic episode." Y/n froze.

"W-what do you mean? I just saw him like a few days ago. He was fine." Y/n explained.

"His ex-fiance reached out and it made him spiral a bit. He's missed two sessions and I fear he may have harmed himself. His emergency contact is a few states away and I won't be able to get to him until the morning." The doctor was in fact breaking all kinds of HIPPA laws right now but she knew that he was serious if he was willing to lose his license.

"I'm on my way there now." Y/n hung the phone up and sped towards home. She knew she had a few first aid things with her in the trunk but she wasn't sure what kind of condition Jack would be in. All she could do was pray that it wasn't too late. Once she skidded to a halt in the gravel, she popped the trunk and grabbed her med bag before practically barreling through the front door.

"JACK?! JACK WHERE ARE YOU!?" Y/n yelled sprinting through the kitchen, up the stairs, in his bedroom, the spare room. The bathroom door was closed and the light was on. She knocked before opening the door and instant panic set in. He was curled up, naked in a the bottom of the tub, shaking and bleeding.

"Oh Jack." She slide across the floor and reached into the tub to touch his face making him jump. He startled, surprised to see her.

"What did you do to yourself?" Y/n looked for wounds and found gashes on his thighs. He pushed Y/n's hands away and she fought back.

"Jack stop it. Let me help you." Y/n said sternly.

"I-I did what I had to do. I deserve this. I don't need help." His words came out in a daze as she used gauze to press on the gashes. They were going to require stitches but the marks on his arms weren't as deep as the ones on his legs.

"Hey, get that shit out of your head okay? No one deserves this. Stay with me Jack." Y/n turned the water on, hoping it would pull him from his trance but now he didn't speak at all as she cleaned him up and pulled him from the tub. She wrapped a towel around him and put another over his shoulders as she rooted through the med kit.

"Why didn't you call me? I told you to call if you ever got this low." She found a stitch stapler in the bag and started to clean his thighs up. He didn't even flinch when she used alcohol swabs to sterilize the area. Her phone started going off and recognized the doctors number.

"He's alive." Y/n said out of breath.

"Thank God...is he lucid?" Dr. Carty asked.

"He's in and out but mostly out." Y/n explained.

"Any damage? Should I call you an ambulance?" Dr. Carty asked frantically. Y/n looked at Jack who held a disgusted sneer on his face as he ran his thumb over his wrist wound.

"No...I'm going to stitch him up-" Dr. Carty interrupted her.

"If he's self harming, he needs to be put in a hold Y/n." He pressed.

"Then you can get him to agree to that when you get here. For now, I'm going to stitch him up and wait for you." Y/n raised her voice and heard the sigh on the other end of the phone.

"Alright. I will make some calls so he'll be ready to go when I get there. Please don't hesitate to call me back if he gets worse." Dr. Carty insisted. Y/n washed her hands again and started to staple across the wounds. He still hadn't reacted to the pain at all. She ran to his room and retrieved a set of clothes for him and started to get help him get dressed.

"I noticed your pill case was full. Did we stop taking those too?" Jack was still spaced out and merely allowing her to puppet his body about the bathroom as she dressed him like a child.

"Jack, how did this happen? You look like you haven't slept, you're as thin as ever. We haven't seen each other in a week. If you were going through something, why didn't you text me? Or at least answer me when I texted you?" She pulled the shirt carefully over his head and slid his arms through, being careful of the bandages.

Surprisingly, after he was fully dressed, he stood on his own and started shuffling across the floor in his bare feet.

"You should go now..." Jack spoke as he slowly took the stairs down to the living room. Y/n checked her watch and could only hope that Dr. Carty would get there as soon as possible or she might have to restrain Jack.

"Mother thinks you've overstayed your welcome. You should go before you get hurt." Jack paused at the door.

"Jack...your mother is dead. She's been gone for over a year. None of what she said was real. She's not real." Jack kept his head down as she spoke and approached him slowly.

"I am real. You are real but your mom is gone." Y/n reached out to touch him and he jerked forward, grabbing the handle and yanking the front door open.

"I don't want you here...go." Jack held the door open wide waiting for her to exit. Y/n instead used both hands to slam the door shut snapping Jack's eyes up from the floor to look at her.

"I'm not going anywhere." Y/n looked at his normally crystal blue eyes but all she saw was darkness wash over his face. She knew things were only going to get worse.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Thurlow x Y/n #Jack Goes Home #Glass Houses #Glass Houses Series #One Shot Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #24/38

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ladameecrit · 5 months

Text

Miracle (Javier Peña x F!DEA Agent Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 17

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow @ladameecrit for my writing updates.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!DEA Agent Reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: References to violence, blood, injury, angst, alcohol, smoking, strong language

Rating: Mature

A/N: I imagined this as an extension of the Snowflakes world but it can be read as a standalone.

Steve had taken the call. He tried to avoid telling Javier, tried to get out of the office and to the scene without him noticing.

Steve didn’t even know about the events of Christmas Eve, just a few weeks before. He’d been home on leave when the two of you hooked up, and Javi hadn’t said anything. Why would he? Just another hookup. No big deal.

Steve Murphy was more intuitive than his partner gave him credit for. He had picked up on something between you. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but a small voice whispered to him that day that he shouldn’t tell Javier you’d been shot.

At least, not until he had a chance to work out how bad the news was going to be.

***

Steve steps out of the ambulance and watches as the EMTs take you out of the vehicle on a gurney, your pale blue shirt soaked in blood. Still there, but only barely. He’s about to follow you into the emergency room when he hears a ragged voice behind him.

“Murphy? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Javi’s hand reaches under the collar of his shirt and scratches an itch on his collarbone that, Steve suspects, is not really there. It’s one of his nervous tells, like the jangly hand thing. The veins and tendons in his neck are taut and strained as he looks at his partner. Steve doesn’t know if he’s going to yell at him or break down.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I had a sense of how bad she was hurt, Javi.”

Javi’s fingers still against his skin and he stares at the ground. “Is it bad?”

Steve pouts and sucks his teeth. “It’s…pretty bad. Lost a lot of blood.”

Javi nods silently. “I’ll wait for news. You go home to Connie.”

***

He tries to ration his cigarette breaks, fearful he’ll miss an update. He stretches awkwardly on the plastic hospital chair in the waiting room and takes a swig from the soda he’d bought from the vending machine.

He’s never wanted a drink more in his life.

Javi observes the way the medical staff move at speed, casting hasty, concerned glances in his direction. He doesn’t like this one bit. Doesn’t bode well.

But there’s no way he’s asking them about your status, not yet. He doesn’t want to prompt bad news. As long as he doesn’t ask, you’re still there.

***

“Agente Peña?”

He blinks awake, eyes struggling to focus until he realises it’s one of the doctors standing in front of him. Javi sits up with a jolt.

It’s morning. His back hurts like fuck. And the doctor is updating him.

You made it, just about, after efforts to stem the bleeding and surgery to repair the blood vessels ripped apart in the wake of the bullet.

He doesn’t hear everything after the doctor says you’re alive, just tunes in and out, picking up on the fact they considered your survival a miracle, that they had expected to lose you multiple times over.

The doctor asks Javi if he would like to see you, even at a distance, even sedated, now that you are recovering.

Javier Peña just shakes his head, pops a cigarette into his mouth, and lights it before he’s even out the door of the hospital.

***

He drives as normal for the first ten minutes of the journey back to his place, having stopped to call the office and update them. It’s like nothing happened. Just another day in Medellín. Another person bleeding out from a bullet wound, but this one got lucky.

Just another day.

So why has he had to pull over all of a sudden? Why is he feeling like he’s going to die?

He winds down his window and takes a few deep breaths. You’re alive. You made it. Why panic now?

Because you care about her. He tries to push away the little voice deep inside.

Because you were terrified she was going to die.

Because you’d regret never telling her how you felt.

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction

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oh-surprise-its-me · 9 months

Note

Roy/Jamie prompt: Just Roy and Jamie running to each other, crashing into each other hard enough their bones almost bend as they kiss each other senseless because both thought the other had been killed in some horrific disaster. Tears are shed and I love yous said over and over again as they desperately cling to each other.

Woo! Ow! Yes!

The car had been slammed into by a truck. It was bad. Everyone was alive as far as people could tell.

Suddenly Roy started yelling for Jamie. The blond went missing. No one could find him.

A paramedic grabbed Roy and forced him to sit back on the edge of the bumper. “Yelling for him won’t make him magically appear, stop, sit. Let me stitch this. You’ll need a cast at the hospital, come on. Hop in.”

Roy can only nod. She’s gentle with it. He sees the flash of a paparazzi camera. He ducks his head, the only thing on his mind right now is Jamie. Or Jamie not breathing or Jamie bleeding out or Jamie being so hurt.

The paramedic taps his arm, “stop that your heart just jumped.”

He nods in apology he sits still until they get to the hospital.

Jamie had seen the girl get tagged by the cars. He took off after her, she was bleeding pretty badly. Couldn’t be more then 15, he’s carrying her back to where he knows the paramedics showed up.

He can’t see Roy.

There’s one less ambulance then there was a few minutes ago. Christ is Roy in that ambulance?

What if Roy is dead.

Jamie shakes that thought from his head, he sets the girl on the ground so she can get help.

They tug him down a moment later when they see his head bleeding. His wrist is fucked but he’s mostly worried about Roy’s arm from where it shot out to stop Jamie from slamming forward.

“Come on Mr Tartt, you’ll need a soft cast for that sprain. To the hospital with you.”

Jamie nods, he figures it will take him closer to Roy one way or the other.

—

Roy is released from the room to sign papers, he’s got a green cast. Jamie would smile at that. He still hasn’t been able to find anything out about Jamie.

He’s starting to really freak out. He goes over and collapses into a chair. He puts his head in his hand. Quietly he thinks to himself what if that was it. Those were the final moments.

Jamie talking about wanting to go to a country side manor in Italy and Roy agreeing. Roy supposes all things considered it was a good conversation. He was just thinking about how it would be the perfect place to propose when the truck slammed into them head on.

Thank god it was a 25mph road.

Roy hears a voice that he swears is Jamie, but that’s impossible, he’s not found Jamie.

“No goddamn it where is he. Roy Kent. What room. Or-” there’s a choked sob that makes Roy look up, “what body bag number.”

It’s Jamie. He’s got blood in his hair and a soft cast on a wrist but looks better and more alive then Roy could ever imagine.

“Jamie.” Roy stands as he says it, Jamie’s head whips around. He gasps and flies over to Roy. They slam into each other.

If neither of them had broken ribs before they might now. Roy can’t stop pressing a kiss to Jamie’s head.

Jamie pulls back and kisses Roy with so much force he thinks he feels his lip bleed.

Roy kisses back just as hard. “Love you, god I love you, thought you were gone baby I love you.”

Jamie squeezed Roy, he kisses across Roy’s face, “love you too, thought you were dead, never allowed to do that again I love you.”

They collapse onto the couch that’s shoved into the corner of the waiting room. Jamie craws as close as he can get into Roy’s lap. Roy wraps his arms as tightly as he can around Jamie’s waist.

They kiss fairly often, a nurse comes by to tell them they’re allowed to leave, they call an Uber.

At their house they strip off the clothing, don’t even bother with the washer, it goes straight into the trash. Too much blood.

They end up in bed, Jamie is laying on top of Roy, his fingers are buried in Roy’s hair. Roy has his hand on Jamie’s back tracing all the patterns he can think of.

They’ve both been crying lightly at points. Said I love you more times then either of them can count.

They drift off asleep like that. They get a week off from playing and coaching to readjust, everyone understands. They all threatened to drive them home if they showed up at all.

The rest of the week is spend in bed and on the couch, it might’ve started out horrible but by the end the time they spent together almost (not really) made up for it. Roy gets pissed he can’t chop things like normal so they eat a bunch of meal plan approved take out.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #jamie x roy #royjamie #jamie tartt x roy kent #thanks for the ask !!

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

Note

Annalise Keating and Female reader "I Didnt know where to go, so I came here." Annalise's gf, shows up in the middle of a case after facing a tragedy. Please make it as fluffy as a blow dried sheep

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of a car crash and blood/bleeding wounds. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Tires squealed, people screamed and shortly afterwards, you could hear cars colliding. Your Audi skidded over the side of the road, hit another car and both were eventually stopped by a tree. The car on the opposite side of the road could not brake in time and grazed the rear or yours, shortly afterwards fire broke out.

Then everything was quiet, dead quiet for a few minutes.

Only the constant ringing in your ears and the pounding of your heart, which tried to chase twice the amount of blood through your body, remained in your auditory canal and did not leave you alone.

Less than fifty meter away from your car was a white Mercedes, the front of which was completely dented and wrecked. The man sitting in the drivers seat was in shock. In a flash, he jumped out of the car and ran towards you, but he got dizzy and fell to the ground, losing consciousness while falling.

A young man, barely reaching adulthood, was behind the wheel of the Hyundai in front of you, which was pinned against the tree by your car. Slowly, he regained consciousness and tried to understand the situation he was in. Panic shot through his body and he tried to free himself through the passenger side, but all efforts were unsuccessfully. He did not get out of his seat, realizing he was trapped.

And then there was you, your head on the steering wheel, wrapped in the airbag that erupted right after the first impact. Due to the force of it, you flew forward quite a bit, so that you were violently pressed into the seat belt. This caused you to gasp painfully for air in a daze. Your blood spread on the white sheet, the laceration on your head bleeding profusely.

"Ma´am, are you all right?" the boy in front of you asked, trying to get to his cell phone. He carefully tried to stretch forward, but the pain in his chest prevented him from doing so. No matter what he tried to do, he could not reach his phone. "Please answer me"

As you agonizingly tried to pull yourself out of the junk that used to be a car, slamming open the door with a thud and pushing yourself out of the seat to painfully fall onto the wet street, you heard a car pull up behind you. "I am fine, help is on the way"

---

When the rescue team arrived, two paramedics helped you into an ambulance and took your vital signs while an police officer questioned you about what happened. As detailed as you could in this situation, you described the accident and explained that the driver of the Mercedes was to blame for it and asked about the other people who had been hit much worse.

After half an hour, during which the doctors tried in vain to persuade you to take you to the hospital for a check-up to be on the safe side, you left the place with a few bandages and plasters on your hands and face, limping and with bloody clothes.

You only had one goal in mind; Annalise.

You walked the streets of the settlement only slowly, due to to the effect of the adrenaline you did not noticed the pain, which went far beyond the usual hematoma caused by seat belts in such accidents, until now.

Warm blood dripped down your forearm and fingers and you heard a whimper escape your mouth. Your breath quickened, tears stinging in your eyes as you pressed your palm to the open wound on your upper arm. The paramedics had not checked you out further, had not looked under your leather jacket, which, despite the profusely bleeding wound, had not gotten a single scratch.

You had almost arrived, had almost reached your destination when a sharp pain in your left side made you groan briefly and you fell down onto the steps of Annalise´s office. Even a brief twitch in your muscles suddenly sent a chilling throb from your hips up your spine to your head.

-Control yourself, Y/n. Put the pain aside and stand up!- you mumbled to yourself, but your body did not respond to your commands. Instead, your skull pressed against the pillar of the terrace and you closed your eyes for a moment.

The loud bang of your body weight on the old wooden floorboards had caused a stir; the door jumped open with violence. Your head stretched up as far it could, your eyes scanning the human standing in the open door. His expression was a mixture of shock and fear, concern and agitation.

"Y/n, what the hell happened? You look like someone straight out of a horror movie!" Frank shouted a little louder than expected, making you wince and cry out in agony. He pushed forward from his stand and ran down the stairs to perch on the first of these to survey you. "Annalise, you need to come quickly!"

He examined every limb of your body, roughly skimming the outward appearance of the uninjured areas and keeping his eyes glued to the blood pooling on your palm while he nervously listened to the bleating from his boss, who was obviously deeply involved in a case, talking to her client. "Frank, I don´t have- my Y/n.."

---

You felt your girlfriend´s strong arms nestle under your body, pulling you up and letting your head sink into your carrier´s shoulder as you tried to hold back the tears of pain and shock. But all you could manage was a pitiful whimper. "Shh, it´s okay. It will get better soon, honey."

Annalise soothing voice calmed your insides and you forgot the pain for a short while. "Y/n, what happened?" your girlfriend asked worried as she entered her office with you. You looked more than worn out, judging by your pale complexion you had been roaming the streets like that for a long time.

You did not answer and she dragged you over to one of her couches where she carefully sat down with you and you took a seat on her lap. Your tired upper body was still pressed tightly against her, the pain overcoming you with an ice-cold shiver down your spine.

"Honey?" the lawyer asked again, leaning over and looking at you worried with her enchanted eyes. You grimaced in pain as you braced your arm against her thigh to position yourself slightly differently and comfortable. "I.." you started, searching for the right words in the fog that surrounded your thoughts. "had a car accident. Someone hit me, crashed into another car and ended up curled up against a tree."

Annalise´s eyes widened and she had to swallow hard. With her mouth wide open, for the first time ever, she had no words to vouch for. "Why the hell are not you in the hospital right now? You need to get checked out!"

"I did not know where to go, so I came here. No need for hospitals, only you."

Tentatively but quickly, she began to strip of the blazer and then your top, exposing the bleeding skin under the blue colored fabric of your sleeve. You sucked in the air sharply while an unintentional whistle escaped your lips as the filthy and dried blood spattered top brushed the left part of your shoulder.

The brown-haired woman instantly saw why.

A cut ran from the outer edge of your left shoulder down to about midway on your upper arm. She immediately motioned for you to let yourself fall into her arms and to close your eyes; she knew how much you hated blood and could not stand seeing it. "Frank, I need clean and fresh clothes- a shirt that has wide, short sleeves. A bowl of warm water, a cloth and bandages. Now."

The man, who stood nervously in front of you and observed the situation, disappeared from the room with a nod and returned shortly afterwards with the medically necessary items, which he placed on the small table beside his boss before letting you both alone.

She took the washcloth in her hand, soaked it in the bowl of water and began cleaning the wound. "This is going to hurt, I am sorry baby."

You tried not to let it show, but your arm spasmed several times and your fingers clawed at her thigh as the burning in your upper arm intensified. After each swab, she looked up at you and concern crept onto her tired face.

"Ahh!" you gasped in tears and clenched your teeth. Annalise was working as neatly as she could, not wanting to continue to watch your suffering. When she was done with that, she bandages your wound and tended to the small cuts on your face, which would heal just as well.

She quickly threw the used things on the floor and picked you up to lay you flat on the couch, which she lined with some pillows from the other sofa and an comfortable blanket. The brunette carefully lifted your wounded arm over the blanket and placed it high on another pillow before dabbing your forehead, which was clearly covered with sweat, with the washcloth.

Gently pressing the damp cloth against your cheek, wiping away some tears that were running down your neck, she watched you. "You should get some rest, my love." she said, tossing the damp cloth back into the bowl and stroking your wounded arm soothingly.

Instead of the expected pain, you thought would be rushing through your system, a sense of security flowed through you.

Your hand reached up to her, placing itself on her neck, gently pulling her towards you. Annalise closed her eyes as she felt your lips on hers, kissing her passionately, unconsciously leaning in a bit. Her forehead rested against yours and you let your eyes fall close.

"Will you lie down with me? I could use a good cuddle session. For the healing process if you understand" you whispered to her and she grinned into another kiss before pushing herself away from your face. The brunette gently ran her fingers over your hair and helped you push yourself a little to the side.

Annalise took off her high heels and carefully crawled under the covers. Her arms gently wrapped around your midsection, careful not to bump into your wound. "For the healing process, huh?"

You nodded and snuggled closer to her. Annalise kissed the bare skin of your collarbone, earning a tired moan while running her fingers in circles over your chest as she watched you enjoying the closeness and slowly drifting into a deep, well-deserved sleep.

#annalise keating imagine #annalise keating x reader #annalise keating x you #annalisekeating #annalise keating #how to get away with murder fanfiction #how to get away with murder fanfic #how to get away with murder imagines #how to get away with murder imagine #how to get away with murder #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #imagines

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annemiek19 · 2 years

Text

Getting shot at - Jay Halstead

Little spoiler if you haven't seen 6x22 yet.

You were sitting in the van with Jay. You finally had a location on the suspect, and you were going to get him today.

"I've got a solid eye in the n," Jay tells the team as the two of you look at the computer screen.t

Another vehicle pulls up to the building.

"Headed your way, Ruz," Kevin says over the radio.

"Alright, got him."

"Alright, heads on a swivel. Wait for my...." Voight got caught off by shots being fired. "Move, go!" he yells.

You grab your gun from the desk. Before you can even register what is going on, bullets fly through the van. Jay pulls you down to the ground. You hit the ground hard. Your ears are buzzing. Jay grabs a vest from the wall and puts it over the two of you. He pulls you as close to him as he possibly can. He slightly hovers over you as he pulls the vest closer to your heads.

You hear Voight over the radio, but it all sounds very far away. Bullets are flying through the van for what feels like forever. Your heart is racing in your chest, and you bury your face even more in Jay his chest.

Suddenly the gunshots stop, and all you hear is buzzing in your ears.

"Jay, Y/N, you good?"

"I think so!" Jay yells back.

"Do not exit the van until we get the all-clear," Voight says.

"You okay?" Jay asks as he lets you go. He sits up and looks at you.

You're still lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "Give me a minute to answer that," you breathe out. With your hands, you go through your hair. When you look at them, there is blood.

"You're bleeding," Jay says as he sees your hands.

You sit up against the wall. Jay moves closer and carefully tilts your head a little to the right.

"It doesn't look that bad." Jay pulls his jacket off and puts it against the side of your head.

You stare at him. It's definitely not nothing. "My ears... they are buzzing," you mumble.

Jay looks at you, worried. "Y/N is hurt," he says into the radio.

"An ambulance is on its way. Sit tight," Voight replies.

"I don't need an ambulance."

"Yeah, you do. Don't be stubborn."

"You would've been to."

Jay's face softens. "Hate hospitals?"

"People only die there." You look up at Jay, who is now a little out of focus.

"What is it?"

You reach for Jay his face, but you're not touching anything. This is bad. "There are two of you."

"Sarge, how long till that ambulance gets here?"

"5 minutes."

Jay puts the radio down and looks at you. Your eyelids are hanging lower than normal. "You have to stay with me, Y/N."

"I'm just tired."

Jay feels more weight against his hand. "Sarge, we don't have 5 minutes."

You slightly smile at him. "I'm going to be alright. It's just a little blood. Nothing to worry about."

The door of the van flies open. "Get her out!" Voight demands.

Adam helps you and Jay get out of the van. The ambulance pulls up. You stand up, Jay standing up with you because his jacket is still pressed against the side of your face.

"Woah, cowboy, sit down," Adam says.

You're wobbling on your feet.

"She is going to pass out," Adam says to Jay, who helps you sit down again. You're now fully leaning into Jay.

"You know you got a pretty face," you say to Jay as you turn around.

"Alright, sit still. We're going to get you to the hospital soon," he says.

"I'll die there."

"I won't let that happen."

"Okay."

Paramedics rush over to you. "Did she get shot?" one of them asks.

"I don't think so," Jay answers. "We had to duck for the bullets...." That's when Jay realizes it's his fault.

"What is it, Jay?" Voight asks.

"It's my fault. I pulled her to the ground, and she must have hit her head too hard." Paramedics put you on a gurney.

"You saved her life by pulling her down. We'll see you at the hospital," Voight says as Jay gets into the ambulance.

When you wake up, the light is hurting your eyes. There is an annoying beeping sound. You turn your head to see Jay sitting next to your bed.

"Hey," he slightly smiles.

"Hey."

"How do you feel?" He moves the chair a little closer and grabs your hand.

"Like I got hit by a bus."

"Which is kind of true," Jay mumbles.

"I don't even know what happened. I didn't get shot, right?"

Jay shakes his head. "No, I... I did that. I pulled you down with too much force, and you hit your head pretty hard on the ground. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

"It's okay. A bullet would've probably killed me if you didn't do that. You saved my life."

"No, I almost killed you. You're here because of me." Jay stands up from the chair and steps away from you.

"Jay, listen to me. It was an accident. You tried to save my life, which you did. I'll be fine as soon as I am out of here. I'm okay."

There is a knock on the door, and Will walks in.

"Can you tell your brother that I am going to be fine and that it's not his fault?" You ask Will.

"But it is my fault, Y/N! I slammed your head against the floor."

"By accident. By trying to save my life."

Will looked at the two of you. "I can come back later?"

"No, just get me out of here."

"Can't do that yet. We want you to stay here for 24 hours to ensure it's nothing more than a concussion."

"Want? So I can leave?"

Will sighs. "You're just as stubborn as my brother. Is there anyone at home who can wake you up every hour?"

"Nope."

"I can do it if you want?" Jay asks.

"Yes, just get me home." You look at Will. "Can I go?"

"Alright. Jay has to wake you up every hour. And I'll come to see you in the morning, okay?"

"Fine with me." You look at Jay.

"Let's get you off here," he smiles.

"You know you didn't have to do this," you say to Jay as you lay down in your own bed.

"Yes, I did. You're in this situation because of me. It's a small thing I can do. At least you're out of the hospital."

"Thank god for that. Just know that you don't have to sleep on the couch tonight. This bed is big enough for the both of us, and I don't think you'll be getting much sleep anyway."

"Alright." Jay sat down on the bed.

You rolled on your side to get comfortable. "I meant what I said, though," you mumble.

"What?"

"That you have a pretty face."

"Is that so?" Jay lays down so he can look you in the eye.

"Yes."

"Just get some sleep, alright. We'll talk about this later."

#imagine #one shot #one chicago #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead one shot #jay halstead #Jesse lee soffer #Jesse lee soffer imagine #Jesse lee soffer one shot #Chicago PD

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peninkwrites · 1 year

Text

A Patchwork Powder Keg - Ch 12 of 14

Tubbo learns to drive. A car gets blown up.

[CW: injuries]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 11

Ch 13

Mafia AU Masterpost

~ Another Collective ~

Quackity stumbles back from the impact, heart no longer pressed to his lips. He hits the ground hard as a second shot rings out, Quackity vaguely seeing the wood of the coffin splintered as the shot embeds itself there instead of in his chest. Quackity also focuses on Jack Manifold pinning him to the ground with grim, irritated determination.

The room has devolved into utter chaos, more screams, more gunshots. The moment Quackity was hit Tubbo’s gaze had instead turned to the crowd, where he saw one man standing with his pistol raised, pale and eyes wide with horrified fury. He knew that face. He’s one of Schlatt’s. Tubbo wants to follow him, watching him struggle to flee the scene among a crowd of hysterics.

“Tubbo!” Jack shouts.

Tubbo turns back to Jack, to Quackity still bleeding on the floor despite Jack’s current attempts to slow it. There is blood on Quackity’s mouth and for a moment Tubbo is panicked by the thought of how deep an injury must be for blood to fill his lungs that fast, until he realizes, the bloody thing which remains clasped in his hand. Oh.

From the crowd, a few of the party are not running away from the stage and instead to it. Ponk wants to help, but all the knowledge in the world doesn’t change the fact that their arm is in a sling, they had started running, grabbing Foolish’s sleeve, pulling him along with them, Foolish following meant Puffy followed, Eret and HBomb behind Ponk, Bad and Ant following suit, Fundy is also there, from his panicked expression largely because he doesn’t know what else to do and doesn’t want to be alone right now.

“Foolish, help carry him into the back, someone call an ambulance, we’ve got to get pressure on it,” Ponk says quickly.

Foolish, who Tubbo does not remember being this big, scoops Quackity off the ground like he weighs nothing, uncaring as his pale clothes are rapidly stained with blood. Quackity’s weak groan at least tells them that he’s conscious. The group crowds into the back room, Tubbo frantically clearing off a table so Foolish can lay him down, Puffy grabbing the phone off the wall to call for an ambulance, Ant and Bad currently watching the doors, but there has been no more fire from the crowd, the chaos now largely in the civilians attempting to flee. Fundy now holds onto Eret’s arm, largely to reassure himself rather than help her.

“Okay, Puffy is calling, we’ll get an ambulance, and he’ll be alright. Beacon Hospital isn’t far. And they’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds, he’ll be– He’ll be better in no time,” Ponk tries to offer reassurances as everyone continues to remain at least slightly panicked. Other than that, no one is acting. “I said put some goddamn pressure on it!” Ponk says again more sharply now, frustrated that they can’t do it on their own with their arm in a sling. Jack reaches forward.

“No,” Tubbo stammers, others gathered give him a bewildered look. “I– I can do it,” he clasps his hands with almost practiced precision, clamping down on Quackity’s shoulder, wincing when Quackity cries out. “Jack, I need you to reach into my jacket pocket.”

“You what?!” Jack says panickedly.

“I’m a bit fucking busy, so yes, Jack, get into my jacket pocket, there’s a list, there’s a list with mug shots, get it out, please!” Tubbo says frantically, still pressing down onto Quackity’s bloodied shoulder. The bullet wound is higher than he initially had feared, cutting through his chest a few inches below his collarbone.

HBomb leaves Eret’s side now that they’ve stopped running, Eret piecing together what’s happened the best she can, knowing there isn’t time for someone to explain properly. HBomb tears off his jacket. “Here, use this,” he passes it to Tubbo, who accepts gratefully and uses it to soak up the blood.

“Okay! Okay, I have the bloody list, Tubbo, what’re you on about?!” Jack says with a hint of hysteria, the paper crackling in his fist as he shakes it.

“Go through it!” Tubbo says frantically. “Faster, please! No, stop!” Tubbo nods to the mug shot of the man he had just seen flee the church, smoking pistol in hand. “Jack, I need you to go outside and follow that man. If you can’t find his face, he drives an ugly as shit brown Pontiac. Do not engage, but don’t fucking lose him. If he stops moving you find a payphone, you call the house, got it?”

Jack nods, shoving the papers into his pocket, half falling over himself to do as he asked, scrambling out the door. Tubbo feels like the past minutes have been hours, and he knows even this time is enough for that man to have disappeared. His only hope is he got stuck in the crowd trying to cram through the front doors and Jack will be able to catch up running out the side door.

“Quackity? Big Q, you still with me?” Tubbo says frantically.

Quackity’s eyes are shut tightly jaw tense, he manages something like a nod and a weak hum in the affirmative.

“Ambulance is on its way,” Puffy calls.

“Good, good, you’re gonna be fine, Bossman. You’re good,” Tubbo says.

“I know…” Quackity says raggedly. “I know I’m good…”

For a moment, Tubbo almost expects Quackity to continue with something sentimental about knowing he’s in good hands.

“...didn’t get me in the face, so… so I’m still hot… don’t even worry about it…”

Tubbo laughs a bit too loudly, his arms starting to burn from how hard he’s pressing down on the blood still seeping slowly through his fingertips. “Y-Yeah, you’re good.” Tubbo has known Quackity for a long time, but he’s getting a bit tired of panicking over his injuries while waiting for an ambulance to arrive.

“You… you wanna swap out?” Foolish’s voice is more like what Tubbo remembers, not at all gruff, almost sweet. “Look, man, I bet you can do it, just, your arms are starting to shake. A little bit.”

Tubbo feels like Quackity is his responsibility. He doesn’t want to let go.

“Fucking hell, Tubbo, let him…” Quackity rasps.

Tubbo reluctantly lets go, allowing Foolish to take over. Not long after, they hear sirens. Most present are surprised. This is an East Side church. It usually takes longer for ambulances to get over here. Tubbo connects some dots, realizing that former Police Captain Puffy had been the one to call.

“I-I’m gonna go outside. Show them where to go,” Fundy flees the bloodied scene. The man has never done well with blood.

“I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t just panic and run,” HBomb follows.

“Hey!” Fundy says indignantly.

Ant and Bad seem to be having a silent conversation, exchanging looks by the door. Some conclusion must be met, as Bad speaks up.

“We’re going to disappear before they get here. You know the drill, we aren’t much use to you anyway, and we’re not sticking around to talk to the police,” Bad at least sounds apologetic. “Badlands policy, I’m afraid.”

“Thanks,” Tubbo nods shakily, far more focused on Quackity as the pair of Badlanders make their leave out the same side door as the others. Puffy and Foolish remain, Foolish particularly occupied, Ponk and Eret stay as well, and not just because their driver just ran out with Fundy. Tubbo remains beside the table, tense and ill, he goes to hold Quackity’s hand before stopping himself, pulling back as if he’d been burned by the sight of the messier gore still clutched in Quackity’s fist.

“Anyone got, like, a baggie?” Puffy says dryly.

“Why would… why would you need a baggie?” Eret frowns.

“I don’t know if you want to know,” Foolish says, voice just a bit higher, still focused on his bloody task, just as his father replies instead.

“Quackity has… something he took out of Schlatt,” Puffy explains.

“Uh… what?”

“It’s his heart,” Quackity isn’t looking at any of them. He stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain in his left shoulder. His right hand remains curled around his chosen souvenir.

“And… and Quackity is the one who was shot, yes?” Eret asks.

“Yeah, he was–” Ponk turns to look at her, baffled. “You didn’t know who got shot?!”

Eret shrugs, irritable, “how the hell would I?!”

“You could’ve asked–”

“There was a lot going on, seemed like, so I thought I would just wait!” Eret huffs.

Their bickering is background noise, Tubbo far more focused on Quackity, not quite judgemental, but still wary.

Quackity glances over at him, he grimaces. “Yeah… yeah, I know,” he says, taking a painful, deep breath.

“Know what?” Tubbo asks quietly. Foolish, despite being right there, unable to move, is doing his best to look away and pretend he can’t hear them, looking around the boring back room with excessive focus like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen.

“I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have done that without asking you,” Quackity doesn’t clarify if he means the spectacle or taking the heart at all.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Tubbo says. He sounds weary.

“No? It’s… it’s not?”

“I should’ve talked to you. Before I… before I did what I did with Schlatt. He was yours too. And I took that from you, so,” Tubbo nods to the heart before quickly looking away. “You had to improvise.”

“Huh,” Quackity almost laughs, before sharply stopping himself with a wince, breathless from sharp pain piercing his chest. He takes a moment to just breathe. “Actually, Tubbo… I’m glad you… I’m glad you didn’t.”

Tubbo looks him in the eye once more, eyebrows furrowed together. “You are?”

“I dunno for sure, guess we… we can’t know, can we? But I’m… I’m scared I might’ve tried to stop you. So, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Before Tubbo can attempt to piece together a reply, the side door bursts open, Fundy and HBomb enter, followed by two medics. Quackity almost looks annoyed by the interruption, even as they take over for Foolish, and get him properly prepped for the trip to the hospital.

“T-Tubbo…” Quackity calls, reaching out for him even as the medics try to move him onto a stretcher.

“Yeah?” Tubbo goes to follow, assuming Quackity wants him in the ambulance with him.

“No, no, you…” Quackity needs to talk fast, even as every breath sharpens the pain. “You go help Jack with… you just go help Jack. I know you want to, and honestly, I kinda want you to too,” a weak, bitter smile.

Tubbo only now notices Quackity has taken his hand. His right hand, still bloody, but currently only holding a pair of car keys, which he presses into his palm. Tubbo accepts. “I’ll see you at the hospital later. I promise.”

“We’ll go with him,” Ponk speaks up as Quackity is taken out to the ambulance.

“Thank you, Ponk, I- I mean that, thank you,” Tubbo nods, staring down at the slightly bloodied car keys. He scans the rest of the room, particularly the floor, as the others begin to leave. It isn’t exactly something he wants to find, but the last thing they need is to leave a bloody old heart laying around.

Puffy glances back toward the ambulance, “I’ll talk to the cops, that should give you enough time to leave. They can just assume you ran with the rest of the crowd.”

“Thank you, Puffy.” Tubbo waits for her to leave first, and only once alone does he take out a small, clear trash bag full of plastic communion cups and used napkins, brace himself, and pick up the heart through it, wrapping it up and tying it off. He thinks Quackity has lost his mind a bit, surely, but he also firmly believes it’s Quackity’s insanity to choose. He at least owes him that.

Tubbo is quick to make his exit around the other side of the building, away from the flashing lights and urgent crowd. He goes to Quackity’s car, keeping his head down, incredibly grateful that they had swung back for Jack to get his car before the funeral so Jack hadn’t needed to take Quackity’s. The thought of having to ask some of the fancy rich people and-or mob people for a ride might have killed him. He already doesn’t know how to feel about them all rushing to his and Quackity’s aid, especially considering the events leading up to the gunshot. Puffy maybe he can understand, Quackity had gotten her out of some trouble around her retirement from the Police Force, Ponk as well, but the rest of them, Tubbo doesn’t understand. There’s no fucking way they’re actually forming some sort of community here or whatever nonsense. Bad and Ant following the group doesn’t change that they are still in regular disputes with Manberg over territory. Manberg. It’s an antiquated, bullshit name that Schlatt made to pretend like he was the king of his own little country, but Tubbo has no idea what else to call it.

He’s stalling, sitting in the driver’s seat of Quackity’s car, that’s both literally and figuratively stalling, as one tiny issue is, Tubbo is not a very good driver. To be fair, no one had really been around to teach him, save Quackity once or twice in a parking lot, and Niki letting him drive the delivery truck for all of five minutes before Tubbo went over a curb and he told her she should drive instead. Tubbo has a license, but, well. One he bought off Ponk for ten dollars.

“You… you just got to get home. It’s like, it’s like ten blocks, how hard can it be?” Tubbo, one last shred of procrastination, shoves the plastic bag into the glovebox.

“Nice one!” Tommy cackles, looking at Wilbur’s messy efforts to carve into the side of an old mustang that Tommy swears he saw parked outside Tubbo’s place one time.

Wilbur has, poorly, written Cunt in cursive in the door of the car, adding a heart at the end for a bit of flair. The kid is at least taking his mind off of things. Such as the utter obliteration of all of his plans for the future. They were limited plans, far from long-term, but nonetheless. Not an ending by any means, but certainly a road block. There’s plenty of other danger to find in this city.

Tommy scuffs his feet, this time serving as lookout while Wilbur cleans up his work. Niki had been kind enough to give Wilbur his own key to the flat, and he is a bit worried he’s going to break it doing this. Tommy doesn’t have any keys at all, he’s making do with a sturdy, short blade on a multitool he conjured from his many pockets, which he said was his key to many, many places.

Tommy isn’t particularly creative today, but at least he’s consistent. All their other target vehicles are now adorned with at least one dick.

“There!” Wilbur stands, satisfied. “Who next?”

Tommy eyes a familiar and incredibly fancy car, sleek and black with tinted windows. “That one doesn’t belong to any of Schlatt’s, but… well, it does belong to a rich fancy fucker.”

“Eh, fine by me,” Wilbur takes a step toward it.

“I dunno. She’s blind and shit, that feels fucked up and pointless. She can’t even see it, and she won’t know it’s there to like, take care of it or whatever with her buckets of money,” Tommy explains.

“Oh, that’s Eret’s car?” Wilbur presses on brightly.

“You know Eret?” Tommy is quick to keep up.

“Yep! They hung around Niki a lot. You know, with their cool voice and handsome face and-and charming good looks…” he crouches down beside the car door. “Prick…”

“Did you have a crush on ‘er?”

“What?! No!” Wilbur blusters. “They were– She was annoying! And, uh, snobby. But no, Niki thought she was so cool,” he rolls his eyes.

“You had a crush on Niki, then?”

“No , no she’s like my little sister!”

“Dunno about little. She’s way stronger than you.”

“Yeah, now she is, Niki– I mean, she wasn’t then,” Wilbur assesses the car door.

“Come on, now, it’s not like Eret can see it…” Tommy still has doubts.

“But her driver will, obviously, and then she’ll have to take care of it!”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot she had a driver.”

“Forgot she–? Yes, yeah, she’s not blindly driving herself, oddly enough. Honestly, it’ll probably make her laugh, considering money is no fucking object to her,” Wilbur scratches one line into the car door before he hears a muffled gunshot. “The fuck–” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s sleeve, dragging him to the ground.

“Don’t worry, it was a ways off, I think,” Tommy is unbothered, perhaps a bit cautious as he cranes his neck to scan the carpark.

That’s when the screaming begins, and the parking lot floods with people dressed in black.

“Oh, fuck, come on, kid, we should not stick around to see what all the fuss is about,” Wilbur grabs onto Tommy’s jacket, head down, dragging him through the cars.

“Wait–” Tommy pulls against him. “M-My– My friends, they’re in there–”

“What?” Wilbur glances back. “Then you’re better off clearing out and not getting in the way,” he continues to drag Tommy by the scruff, about to take off down the street with him stumbling in tow.

“Oi! Wait a fucking minute!” Tommy roars furiously, yanking away. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” He snarls. “My friends are back there, and you’re here, and you’re fuck all to me, so don’t fucking touch me!” Tommy looks like he has half a mind to start swinging, but Wilbur doesn’t move, just stares at him, wide-eyed. “What gives you– You don’t have the fucking right. And you’re not gonna get in your thick head that you can stop me! If you wanna run like a little bitch, feel free,” Tommy roughly fixes his collar, “but I’m not,” he turns around, storming determinedly back toward the throng of hysterical civilians.

Wilbur paces from foot to foot, torn between running for the streets or after Tommy. “Oh, fuck it,” he grumbles, jogging after the boy before he loses him in the crowd. Tommy actually makes a sharp left, Wilbur struggling to keep up.

“Jack Manifold!” Tommy shouts, slipping through people easily, well-versed from stealing wallets, in pursuit of a face Wilbur finds familiar.

“Tommy?!” Jack jumps, almost dropping his car keys, barely sparing either of them a glance, eyes instead locked on a brown Pontiac that most definitely has the word Cunt carved into the driver’s side door. “A-And Wilbur Soot– Okay, fine, fuck, that might as well happen–”

“Hello?! Jack, where’s Tubbo?!” Tommy grabs Jack’s shoulder, turning him around whether he wants to be or not.

“He’s fine, Tommy! Safe, but he asked me to– oh fuck,” Jack scrambles into the driver’s side, and without question, Tommy gets into the back seat, so Wilbur follows. “What the hell are you doing?! Oh, fuck it, I don’t have time for this,” he starts the car, all but ignoring them, eyes still locked on the ugly car struggling to get out of the lot.

“What’s going on?!” Tommy leans forward, still shouting in Jack’s face.

“All you need to know is, that man shot Big Q– he’s gonna be okay, don’t worry about it, they’re getting an ambulance and shit–” he says quickly as Tommy looks like he has half a mind to duck and roll out of the car, “and Tubbo has sent me after him, alright?” Jack turns sharply as the car forces its way out, running over some scraggly bushes on the way. Jack keeps him in his sights.

Among the many other cars currently fleeing the scene, the Pontiac doesn’t show sign he knows he’s being actively pursued.

“Oh, we’ll fuck him up, alright,” Tommy growls.

“What?! No, we’re– Tubbo said to keep an eye on him and call him when he settles. You wanna help? Just– Do what Tubbo asked, alright?” Jack says.

Tommy grumbles wordlessly, “alright, fine!”

Wilbur leans forward to greet an old friend he hasn’t seen in quite a few years. “Ayup, Jack. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, alright, thanks, mate. Er, you know, new job and all that,” Jack glances at him, very much embracing an attitude of this might as well happen as Tommy “Innit” and Wilbur Soot have decided to make themselves at home in his backseat, unprompted, among the chaos already rioting throughout the day. He continues to drive methodically behind the Pontiac, keeping his distance, occasionally risking a turn and rejoining another block down. Thankfully, the chaotic traffic of funeral-goers gives them some coverage, but it won’t last.

“Oh, fuck,” it takes five minutes for Jack to mess it up.

“What?!”

“I’ve lost him.”

“You had one fucking job, Jack Manifold! One fucking job!”

“It’s not my fault! I am doing my best here, why are you even here?!” Jack shouts back frantically.

“Both of you shut up!” Wilbur shouts. “Christ… Jack, just… just circle the block, work your way out, he can’t have gone far.”

Jack nods, tight lipped and tense, doing as he says, even Tommy grudgingly keeps his silence. They almost miss it.

“Oh, cunt!”

“What?!” Jack turns back to look at him bewilderedly, almost hitting a curb.

“No, Jack, look,” Tommy rolls his eyes, pointing to what Wilbur had just spotted.

Jack stares, mouthing hanging open slightly, at the car he had been following, plainly marked out as he can now see by some foul language cut into its side. The car itself appears empty.

“Right, that’s… great. Where the fuck is he, then?” Jack sighs.

“Can’t have gone far,” Tommy starts to open the car door. Jack has not stopped, even as he’s moving slowly down the side-street.

Jack and Wilbur’s protests overlap, Wilbur scrambling to reach over him and shut the door.

“What the fuck were you planning on doing?!” Wilbur says scoldingly.

Tommy gives him a look. “You know, looking around?”

“No, no, this is my job, I’ll– I said I was gonna call Tubbo and tell him, and you lot should clear out,” Jack, the car now stopped and parked a halfway down the street from their target, gets out of the car.

“I want to help Tubbo, man, come on, let me!” Tommy whines, following him.

“No! No, this is getting really dangerous, and you’re not dying on my bloody watch! You and… and Wilbur, who you’re hanging out with for some fucking reason that I cannot fathom, and… you’re both gonna clear the fuck out of here, aright? And I dunno, I’m gonna find a payphone!” Jack storms off toward the payphone he’d spotted just around the corner, shouting over his shoulder one last time, “keep your distance! I mean that!”

“Ugh, fine! Fuck off, Jack Manifold, we’ll clear out!” Tommy groans dramatically.

Jack shouts one last, “don’t mess this up for me!” Before resuming his irritated pace.

Tommy watches him go, rolling his eyes. “Ready for some reckon-essence, Soot?” Tommy nods smartly.

Wilbur looks at him, baffled and a bit endeared. “Reconnaissance?”

“That’s what I said, dickhead,” Tommy scoffs, creeping forward, intent on lurking in the alley as near to the car as he can get.

“I thought we were supposed to clear out?” Wilbur repeats Jack’s warning mockingly.

Tommy snorts. “Day I take orders from Jack Manifold is the day I die. And Tommy “danger” Innit doesn’t die.”

Wilbur has no retort. He is wildly aware this is not a good idea. He follows anyway.

Tubbo has a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, hypervigilant as he slowly moves through the streets, the traffic of others fleeing is both terrifying and a useful guide. He just has to try not to hit anyone. All other traffic laws are a footnote. He stops the car in the middle of the street outside of the townhouse, halfway down the block. He runs the rest of the way, inside the house, and down the hall to Schlatt’s– to his office.

He opens his desk drawer.

He takes out his bomb.

Tubbo stares at it, his heart beating louder in his ears.

The phone rings, and Tubbo gets so scared he almost drops it, pins and needles of cold-blooded panic rushing through him as for a moment he’d been convinced he’d been about to get blown up. He sets it down carefully on the desk before scrambling for the phone.

“Y-Yes, hello?!” Tubbo manages to speak coherently.

“Hey, Tubbo, er, Boss.” It’s Jack. “We’re stopped by his car, he’s not in it. I’m guessing it’s a hideout or some shit. I’m watching the car, though, and if he comes back I’ll keep following, but nothing yet.”

“Okay, right– yeah, of course. I will– Where are you? I’ll be there soon,” Tubbo stares at the bomb. He really cannot risk crashing the car this time.

Quackity passes out some time getting wheeled into the hospital, but he manages at least to rasp out the phone number for his apartment, Ponk promising to call Karl, that last comfort is enough that he stops fighting to stay awake. Karl will be here soon.

Quackity hasn’t been in the hospital for a while, especially not for something severe enough he blacks out, but he wakes soon enough, fortunate that he’d stayed unconscious long enough for some doctor to dig the bullet out and stitch him up.

Quackity wakes, and the first thing he feels is someone holding his hand. He opens his eyes, squinting in the white lighting, Karl coming into view.

“H-Hey, babe…” Quackity mumbles hoarsely.

“Quackity… you are totally the worst sometimes,” Karl smiles weakly.

“Aw, you don’t mean that,” Quackity grins back, sheepish.

“I do. I do mean it,” Karl sighs, leaning forward, kissing Quackity’s hand.

“Aw, but you love me anyway.”

Karl gives him a weary look, eyes watering, and Quackity realizes Karl had been crying. “I do,” Karl says softly, a wavering in his voice he half tries to bury. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“I do. I know,” Quackity softens, reaching out, brushing against Karl’s face. “Hey, I’m okay, Karl. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rather than prevent tears, Quackity’s attempts at gentle reassurances seem to usher them in. Karl leans forward, a sob escaping, quiet, just a shuddering in his chest as he cradles Quackity’s face. “Y-You’re– You’re not okay, Q, you’re not okay, you– you got shot. You got freaking shot in the chest. In what world is that okay?!”

Quackity leans into Karl’s touch, covering his hand with his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispers gently into his palm. “I love you too.”

“You’re… you’re the worst. Totally the worst…” Karl says, not meaning it in the slightest.

Quackity smiles. “Yeah. And it wasn’t… it wasn’t really my chest. It’s more like… more like my shoulder, okay?”

Karl sighs exasperatedly, gesturing to his bandaged shoulder. “Oh, alright, in that case, never mind! You’re fine, then!”

Quackity laughs, trying to bury a wince as it sends sharp pain through his bandaged shoulder. “Y-Yeah… told you I was fine.”

Karl sighs, taking Quackity’s hand again. “Are you gonna tell me what happened? I saw Ponk earlier, I think they went with Eret and HBomb, but like, they didn’t explain, really? Just like, talked about some general weirdness at the funeral, that somehow ended in you getting shot.”

Quackity winces. Maybe he should feel like he’s made progress in some way with communicating with Karl. He’d told him about the funeral, at least. Even if it had been mostly to explain why he didn’t want him there, not in terms of danger, but more so, “I don’t want you to be in that part of my life, Karl. I want that part of my life to die with him, and after this– it’s– it’s almost over, okay?”

Karl had grudgingly accepted that, although he seemed to be regretting it considering.

“I went…” Quackity sighs. “I went a little… a little overboard at the funeral, y’know?”

“A little overboard?” Karl repeats skeptically.

“Believe me, I’m kind of regretting it…” Quackity mulls it over, trying to think of how to tell him. He’s tired of secrets, especially from Karl, but it’s not exactly easy. “I will explain, Karl, I mean that, I just… I don’t know how to just yet, alright?”

Karl grudgingly accepts this, nodding. “Alright.”

Quackity looks at him, always so patient, so understanding even when Quackity scares him half to death. Karl will give him shit when he deserves it, and Quackity wouldn’t have it any other way, but Karl will also wait and give him time, especially with things like this.

“Do you wanna–” Quackity stops himself. Now isn’t the right time. It’s not the eloquence Karl deserves, but Karl can clearly see he wants to say something.

“What?” Karl looks so earnest, too genuine and open and sometimes Quackity almost can’t bear it when he looks at him like that.

“Uh, never mind, don’t worry about it,” Quackity lays back down.

“Don’t worry about what, Q? You don’t like, you don’t have to tell me about it right now, but you don’t need to… to hold back for my sake or anything, okay?”

Quackity takes a deep breath. He wishes he had planned ahead, that he had a ring or something or anything or he at least didn’t feel this yearning in his chest right now, that this feeling could wait for a moment more beautiful, more worthy of everything Karl had done for him. Lying pathetically in a shit hospital bed will have to do.

“Now, don’t feel pressure just ‘cause I’m wounded, only say it if you mean it, Karlos,” Quackity gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Karl, will you–”

The phone on the bedside table rings, scaring the hell out of both of them, Quackity being startled hurts more, jumping enough it strains his injured shoulder.

“Do you… do I answer it?” Karl stares bewilderedly at the phone.

Quackity groans, annoyed, “shit, yeah, I’ll– Can you hand me the phone? It’s probably important.”

“Important?”

“Yeah, let me– Once I get news, I’ll… I can fill you in on that bit, just–” Quackity motions for the phone. Karl passes it to him.

“Hey, Quackity?”

“Jack?”

“Yeah, I just updated Tubbo, he’s coming to join me. I just thought– Well, we’re following the guy that shot you. I’m watching his car.”

Quackity processes Jack’s uncertain and meandering reply. “You’re… okay, okay where are you exactly?”

“A side street of Centennial. Like, right past that one Deli with the ugly cow on the sign.”

“Yeah, yeah I know it, okay, I’m coming–”

“Here?! You just got shot?! Are you– Really?!”

“Yes, fucking really, Jack! Don’t– Don’t do anything I wouldn’t–” Quackity struggles to sit up, “or anything I would!” He adds sharply into the phone, hanging up before Jack’s stammering protests can continue.

“What do you mean?” Karl stands, looking almost panicked. “Q, why does it– Why did it sound like you’re planning on–”

“Going somewhere? I gotta, alright?” Quackity swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh, shit-” he immediately regrets it, “oh, fuck–” He stops, wincing, a hand going to his shoulder.

“Whoa! Whoa, careful! What– What is it?!” Karl paces from foot to foot, reaching out like he wants to help in some way but doesn’t know how.

Quackity grimaces, giving him an apologetic look. “I know you’re already putting up with a lot of shit, Karl, but I gotta go–” Quackity tries to stand.

“Quackity– Quackity, oh my god, you can’t actually be–” Karl moves like he wants to stop him, but unwilling to grab him considering his wounded shoulder. “Quackity, Q, don’t!” Karl actually shouts at him.

Quackity stops, staring at him, surprised.

Karl almost doesn’t know what to do with an attentive audience, but Quackity isn’t moving. He waits, listening, if not weary.

“Quackity, please. You can’t keep–” Karl stops, taking a shaky breath, “you can’t keep doing this. And– And I can’t keep doing this.” Karl stares at him, waiting for Quackity to give some sign of taking his words to heart, all he gets is that Quackity is at least still listening, still waiting. “Where…” Karl gestures uselessly, his hands falling back to his sides. “Where are you even going?”

Quackity looks remorseful, but that isn’t enough. He clearly hasn’t changed his mind. “I… I need to go help Tubbo.”

“With what? Why?” Karl is demanding answers, and Quackity knows he won’t be able to get past him without giving some.

“Tubbo is going after the man who shot me,” Quackity’s voice remains level, accepting of whatever reaction Karl will give. “His idea, not mine, although I’m not exactly opposed. He is there, so is Jack, but I think he still needs me.” A weighted pause, Quackity trying to find the words, and definitely not the words for a proposal, especially not now. “I am going to get out of this, Karl. I mean that. Not just– Not just some bullshit hypothetical I’m stringing you along with, not anymore. Schlatt is dead and I fucking swear to you that means something. I just–” He sighs, eyes closed for a moment. “I need to know Tubbo can do this on his own first, that he’ll be okay. And after that, I’m done. No more Manberg or whatever the fuck, none of it. We buy the old bank across the river, and… and I live a morally upstanding life as a casino owner,” he gives Karl a weak smile.

Karl sighs, stepping forward, pressing a kiss onto Quackity’s forehead. “I don’t care about morally-whatever, I care about you being safe.”

“I know, Karl. I am so sorry you’ve gotten stuck in all this,” Quackity murmurs, hands resting around Karl’s waist. “If you tell me to stay here, I will, but I need to–” He stops. “I want to go help Tubbo.”

Karl sighs, looking grim. “I’m driving. Obviously.”

“You’re–?”

Karl cups his cheeks, gentle, insistent, unyielding. “I’ve decided. We’re going, Q. We are both going, okay? I’m not gonna stop you, but there’s no way I’m not coming with you.”

Quackity feels weak, holding onto Karl’s hand against his own cheek, looking up at Karl, his hair a bit messy, cheeks red, and eyes gleaming. Beautiful.

Breathless and lovesick, Quackity can’t stop himself. “Marry me?”

Karl giggles, even as his heart beats a little faster. “Oh my gosh, Q, is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Maybe?”

Karl kisses him, tender and a little giddy, Quackity can feel him smiling. Karl pulls away. “Ask me again later.”

“Oh– Okay,” Quackity is in a bit of a whirlwind, unsure of how to take that.

“I mean, you know what I’m gonna say,” Karl bounces back on his heels, “but ask me again anyway.”

Quackity staggers to his feet, Karl putting a hand lightly around his waist, sure not to hold on too tight, keeping him steady. Quackity puts his good arm around his shoulder. “Of course, mi amor.”

Tubbo gets to the sidestreet Jack told him, alive and in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. He loses Quackity’s right mirror getting too closed to a car parked on a side street, but considering Quackity’s crushed front bumper, he’s not too concerned with the condition of the vehicle. He parks just around the corner, outside the nearby deli which is thankfully closed. The side street is deserted, which does make all of this simpler. Jack is sitting in his own car, slouched down in his seat, keeping the shitty Pontiac in his sights. He screams when Tubbo knocks on the window.

“Uh– Uh, hey. He– He hasn’t moved,” Jack tries to pretend he hadn’t just jumped out of his skin, getting out of the car.

“Good,” Tubbo stares, puzzled, at what might be letters carved onto the driver’s side door of the targeted car. “What’s that say?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack waves him off, then he notices the large box in Tubbo’s hands. The box lacks a lid, exposing wiring and metal casing in a rather recognizable array. “What’s that?” Jack stares at it, despite it being quite obvious.

Tubbo adjusts his grip on the box, holding onto it tighter. “...a bomb.”

“A– a bomb?!” Jack sputters. “You– oh, fucking hell–” He spins around, as if hoping someone will appear on the street to make this less of a nightmare for him.

“Yep,” Tubbo says grimly. He makes towards the car, Jack frantically trying to cut him off.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey! Hey, Quackity said don’t do anything he wouldn’t,” Jack says warningly.

“You called Quackity?!” Tubbo says exasperatedly. He ducks past Jack, “well, that doesn’t change my plans, currently,” he says sarcastically.

“Hey! He– He also said don’t do anything he would!” Jack points at him like he’s raised some grand epiphany.

Tubbo gives him a look, mulling it over. “Well, Big Q’s motivations and machinations are often a mystery to me, so!” He raises the bomb cheerfully and continues over to the car.

“W-What are you planning on doing?!” Jack follows him, voice just a bit higher.

“Gonna crawl under the car, and I am going to wire this thing into the ignition.”

Jack’s voice is cracked and hoarse as he says something incomprehensible, that might just be incredulously repeating what Tubbo had said. Jack tries again. “And– And you know how to fucking do that, do you?!”

“In theory, yes.”

“In theory?!”

“I suggest you stand at the other end of the block, Jack Manifold!” Tubbo says brightly.

“The other end of– No!” Jack says smartly. “No, actually I’m not gonna do that. I am– I am gonna stay right here, and you are not gonna blow either of us up!”

Tubbo is touched by Jack’s willingness to die beside him, even as Jack’s hopes were probably to convince Tubbo to abandon the bomb idea, so nonetheless he continues. “That’s the spirit,” Tubbo has placed the bomb on the sidewalk, dug out some pliers and a small torch from his pocket, and is now crawling underneath it, small enough he just manages it.

“Oh my god…” Jack says weakly, once again looking desperately around the deserted street. Quackity nor Tommy and Wilbur appear to save him.

“Hand that to me, will you, Jack?” Tubbo’s muffled voice reaches him.

“Hand what–? The bomb?!”

“Yeah, what else?”

Tommy and Wilbur had quickly abandoned their watch of the car from the alleyway.

“This is boring,” Tommy whines. “And stop smoking! You’re gonna blow our cover,” he slaps the cigarette out of Wilbur’s mouth.

“Oy!” Wilbur says indignantly, startled, but not surprised by Tommy’s audacity. “What cover? There is no one here. I think Jack might just be taking the piss.”

“Jack doesn’t have the smarts to trick me.”

“Right, sure.”

Tommy sneaks a look around the corner, the car remains empty a few yards away. “What building do you think he went into?”

“What? I dunno, could’ve been any of them.”

“Probably the one he parked in front of.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Um, yes necessarily, there are like, no other cars parked here, he didn’t have to park there, so that’s probably the building he went into!” Tommy nods smartly. “It does look like it’s got a garage, maybe a warehouse or storage building or something? Dunno why he didn’t park his car inside of it then, that would’ve been smarter.”

“Right.”

Tommy scans the alleyway, assessing the side of the building he’s deemed most likely to contain whoever they’re after. He starts treading toward the back of the alley, where a rusted fire escape hangs with half a broken ladder swinging forlornly from the bottom of it. “Get over here, Wilbur!”

Wilbur glances agitatedly from the car they’re actually supposed to to be watching to Tommy. He sighs, following the kid. “What is it? And shouldn’t you not be shouting in case you blow our cover?” He says teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah sure, come on, give me a boost up,” Tommy nods to the ladder.

“Why?”

“Because, dickhead, do you not see how busted up that window frame is? I can totally get in there,” Tommy nods to the second floor again.

“Into the building. Where we think the guy who shot your friend is hiding?” Wilbur says skeptically.

“Yes, obviously. Reconnaissance, remember?” Tommy bounces from foot to foot, having made up his mind and now restless to get up there. “Fine, if you’re gonna be a pussy about it…” Tommy backs up down the alley, eyeing the ladder carefully, before running at it at a full sprint. He actually makes it, jumping high enough to grab the second to bottom rung, which with an agonizing screech, promptly becomes unattached in a shower of rust, Tommy instead smacking into Wilbur at dangerous speeds.

Wilbur squeals, hitting the ground hard, Tommy unharmed as he basically lands on top of him. Tommy laughs, staggering to his feet. Wilbur remains laying on the filthy alley floor for a moment, weary.

“Thanks for the catch, Wil,” Tommy says smugly. “I mean, I could’ve made it if you’d just given me a boost like I asked.”

“No, no even this is better than you getting up there, ‘cause you would get yourself shot, and it would be my problem,” Wilbur says grumpily, slowly sitting up, not wanting to put his bare hands on the dirty pavement, its foliage made up of broken glass and even a few old needles, thankfully Wilbur did not land on any.

“Perhaps,” Tommy shrugs. “Come on, then, let’s go back to keeping watch,” he offers Wilbur a hand off the ground.

Wilbur stares at it warily, recalling earlier that same day Tommy brightly confessing to offering him a hand up just to let him fall. Wilbur accepts it, deciding if Tommy tries to let go and drop him, he’ll drag the kid down with him. Tommy doesn’t, he doesn’t even seem to try, just pulls him off the ground and heads back down the alley.

“Let’s check out the back.”

Karl parks around the corner, near the deli, scanning the street carefully. “Okay, so, we’re just– They followed the guy that shot you? Now what?”

Quackity winces, and not just from his freshly bandaged shoulder being jostled by the car stopping. “I mean, I doubt Tubbo is planning on throwing the man a birthday party.”

Karl nods, “yeah, alright. Honestly,” Karl glances over at his wounded boyfriend. If the bullet had been six inches lower, Quackity would be dead. “I’m kinda on board with that.”

“That’s the spirit,” Quackity says, going to get out of the car.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, just– Oh my gosh, babe, just let me do some of the work, please,” Karl reaches out to stop him, before quickly getting out and circling the car, his arm around Quackity, supporting him as he leads the way down the street.

The two of them almost crash right into Jack and Tubbo, Jack looking like he’d rip his hair out if he had any, and Tubbo covered in dirt and motor oil.

“What’re you– What’s going on?” Quackity asks.

“Me? What’re you doing here?” Tubbo stares at him.

“Making sure you’re not getting yourself fucking killed!” Quackity is having a harder time sounding authoritative, even walking around is enough to sharpen the pain from his shoulder.

“Uh, guys, I’m guessing that’s the dude–?” Karl nods behind them, where the face Tubbo had seen, livid and horrified and holding a gun, is quickly going to his car, duffle bag in hand.

“Oh, fuck, come on,” Tubbo grabs Jack’s sleeve, pulling him around the corner of the deli, Karl and Quackity following.

“Weren’t you gonna kill the bastard? Why are we running?” Quackity asks.

“Because I’m killing the bastard a bit elaborately,” Tubbo hisses, pressing himself against the brick wall. “I have no clue how big of an explosion we’re gonna get, so–”

“Explosion?”

The alley ends with no other entrances into the building. Tommy is doing his best not to feel disappointed.

“Come on, then. We should resume our watch,” Tommy kicks an old beer can, turning on his heels and rewalking the length of the alley.

“Yeah, like we were supposed to be doing?” Wilbur bumps shoulders with him.

“Oh, like you knew what you were supposed to be doing. Not like you know Tubbo or Big Q!” Tommy scoffs. He approaches the corner and stops, reaching out to hold Wilbur back. “Hold on, he’s out!” He hisses. Tommy watches him carefully. The man gets into his car, throwing a duffle bag in the back seat. He’s definitely planning on getting the hell out of town.

“What’s he doing?” Wilbur whispers, unable to see around the corner from here.

“He’s just getting in his car. He’s probably gonna fucking disappear, and Jack Manifold is nowhere to be found, of course, not doing his fuckin’ job,” Tommy huffs. “He’s j–”

Wilbur does not hear what the man was doing next, as instead Tommy is once again thrown against him, both of them flung to the alley floor. Wilbur’s ears are ringing. It takes him far too long to realize an explosion had just taken a chunk out of the building and thrown the two of them back.

“F-Fuck–” Wilbur’s own words come out muffled. Tommy is still laying back against him. “Come on, we should– We should clear out before this pulls in more trouble–” Wilbur starts to stand. Tommy doesn’t. “Tommy?!” Wilbur shakes him, turning the kid around, coughing in the smoke, it stings his eyes but he can still see clearly Tommy is bleeding. There’s a cut across his forehead, his eyes are closed.

“Oh shit, you cannot be fucking dead, that would be so fucked up–” Wilbur fumbles for Tommy’s wrist, weak with relief to find a pulse. “Oh my god, Tommy, you’re– Fucking hell, oh shit, just– I’m gonna get you help, alright?” Wilbur’s hands are shaking, sticky now with Tommy’s blood. He’s weak, he’s shaken up, he still can’t hear properly, but he struggles to pull Tommy into his arms, standing and staggering toward the only way out, a destroyed street. “You just… you stay with me, man, you’re… you don’t die, remember?” Wilbur cannot bring himself to look at Tommy’s unresponsive expression, he looks only into the smoke. He doesn’t bother shouting for help. He can barely breathe, and if he collapses now, neither of them get out of this. “You… you don’t die.”

#my writing #mafia au #this one was so fun. I am so close to finishing this arc!! :D

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outshinethestars · 2 years

Text

Growth in Winter (Daredevil fic)

Matt’s fairly certain that he would have killed himself if so many other people hadn’t had the same idea.

Foggy blipped. Foggy blipped, and so did Theo and exactly half of the whole Nelson clan. Claire blipped, Jessica blipped, Danny blipped, Luke blipped, Frank Castle blipped, even Spider-Man blipped, and that last hit unexpectedly hard. It was just, damn, kid couldn’t be more than sixteen. Called himself the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. New York just couldn’t have nice things, huh.

But Karen hadn’t blipped, and Father Lantom hadn’t, and his mom hadn’t. Matt was lucky, he knew, he was lucky.

That night, Matt went up to the roof and did nothing but listen. Understaffed hospitals were swamped with people dying, from car crashes and plane crashes and people whose caretakers had disappeared. Matt had never heard so much grieving before. It was too loud and too quiet at once and his city didn’t sound like his city anymore with half the universe gone.

And Karen came and put a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch. They just sat there until morning, and Karen said, “We’d better get to the office. I’m sure there are loads of people who need a good lawyer right now.” And really, Matt was lucky.

But Matt would have killed himself, or gotten himself killed, thrown himself at every armed idiot he could find, until sheerly by the laws of probability, he ran into a fight he didn’t make it out of. Except that next day, the suicides were reported on the news, and the numbers were staggering. And then there was more grief, and every suicide bred copycats, and Matt didn’t have time to self destruct, he didn’t have time to pick fights.

Every night Matt listened. He learned to recognize the sound of too many pills being poured out by trembling hands, what a heartbeat sounded like when a mind had decided to end its beating forever. He listened still for the sound of a gun cocking, but now he heard it echo in lonely apartments, ran towards it and listened to the bang that followed, broke into homes with the smell of blood in his nose and called 911 and did his best to keep them alive till they got there.

He got very, very good at breaking into buildings quickly, and very, very good at first aid, learned what to do when someone’d poisoned themself, shot themself, hung themself. He went out every night, and there was so much death, and so much of it was quiet, he missed so much, and he came too late as often as he didn’t, but if he saved one life it was enough, it had to be enough.

He prayed. He prayed so much in those first few months, prayed like he hadn’t done since he was a kid. Because when a fourteen year old girl slit her wrists in a public bathroom, and he had already done everything he could to stop the bleeding, and was just waiting for the ambulance to come, there was nothing left to do but pray, pray like he meant it, humbly. Because there was nothing else left in his power, and no one was listening but God. (“Oh, God,” he had heard her say, “Oh God, that’s a lot of blood. Shit, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it. Daredevil, they, uh, they say you can hear people. Daredevil, I fucked up.”)

(She lived. That girl lived, and that was enough. In the quiet of a city more than halved, that had to be enough.)

Nelson and Murdock and Page without Foggy felt like a hole in his chest. They still were in the supposedly temporary office above Nelson’s Meats, and Matt hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to the sound of it, of the bell that rang every time a customer entered Nelson’s Meats and Theo’s cheerful voice. Nelson and Murdock and Page was too quiet, painfully so. The space was too big without Foggy’s warm presence to fill it. So they disbanded. He and Karen packed everything up into boxes and left. Karen wanted to go back into journalism anyway. She was good at it, and the world needed people who knew how to look into darkness and put hope into words for them.

“I’m moving in with you though,” Karen informed him, “I’m not letting you go down a depression spiral again.”

Matt might have protested that, but, first of all, it was true, and secondly, he knew that Karen was secretly terrified of facing this new, broken world alone.

He might have turned in on himself anyway, might have buried himself in night work, because it was so immediate and so much simpler, and didn’t remind him so acutely of Foggy, if it weren’t for Marci Stahl.

He was having weekly brunch with his mom, when it occurred to him that Marci really didn’t have anyone apart from Foggy.

“What are you worrying about now,” Sister Maggie asked in the reproving tone that used to make Matt’s insides turn to slush with guilt when he was a kid. But Matt just smiled.

“Nothing,” Matt said, “Just thinking about mothers, and how you’re not a shitty one.”

Later, Matt looked up Marci’s asshole parents in the registry. They’d both been blipped.

He hadn’t seen Marci since Foggy’s funeral. It’d been a group Nelson funeral, because no one had the energy or time these days to grieve individually, and it seemed like at least half of what remained of Hell’s Kitchen was there. She’d cried at the funeral, even with everyone watching, and Matt had kept his distance, wrapped up in his own grief. He’d left early. He’d always found the Nelsons overwhelming when they were out in full force, turns out they were even harder to bear now, halved and grieving. Marci wasn’t in the same circles as the Nelson clan, she’d been alone at the funeral.

“Welcome to the orphans club,” Matt said to Marci by way of greeting when he showed up at her apartment. Because just because the world had half ended didn’t mean they were going to suddenly stop being assholes to each other.

“If you’re here for Foggy’s ghost, I’m gonna have to break your poor catholic heart, ‘cause souls aren’t real,” Marci said, case in point.

Matt walked in without her permission, but she didn’t slam the door in his face. (And she would have. She wasn’t above banging a door into the nose of blind man, it was one of the things Matt liked best about her.)

“Got anything to drink in this fancy place of yours?” Matt asked.

“Drank it all,” Marci said. She smelled like it, though she wasn’t drunk now. She also smelled like she hadn’t been sleeping much, and like she’d been crying. You’d never guess it from her voice, and Matt was willing to bet you couldn’t guess it from her face either.

Matt thought that’d always been the main reason Marci hated him, his ability to always read her, smiles and makeup be damned.

Matt bumped into the coffee table in a pointed sort of way, to remind Marci how rude it was of her not to tell him where it was, and Marci grudgingly told him where the couch was without actually inviting him to sit down.

Matt sat and Marci sat, and they were silent together for a little while, before Marci seemed to gather herself up and said, “So I hear your cute little law firm’s finally gone under. I always told Foggy he could do better, but I suppose he always thought it was his friendshiply duty to keep you afloat.”

And Matt said, “I’m still in business. So if you ever come across any clients too innocent for you to give a shit about, feel free to send them my way.”

Matt didn’t stay at Marci’s long. It smelled like Foggy, still. Matt hadn’t expected that somehow. The office didn’t, really, or at least, Matt was so used to how the office smelled that all he noticed was the absence of Foggy. Matt didn’t stay long, but he stayed a little while.

And he kept coming back. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on why, and he knew Marci couldn’t fathom it. It was just that Foggy was gone. Foggy was gone, and Matt remembered when Foggy was all he had, but Foggy was gone and Matt still had people, half the world was gone, and Matt was left with a hole in his chest and his city swept out from under his feet, but he hadn’t been left stranded. But Marci only ever had Foggy, really. And Marci could manage on her own in law school, and she could manage on her own as a career driven corporate shark, but no one could manage on their own in the apocalypse.

So here was Matt, some shitty consolation prize, her dead boyfriend’s best friend, here to drink her fancy bourbon and replace it with shitty beer, and taunt her like they used to do in college, because neither of them knew how to care about someone precious to them without being terrified they’d be taken away.

Matt would talk about his cases sometimes, all the ways he was helping people, and Marci would reply with snarky comments about all the money he wasn’t making, and he would ask about Marci’s cases. But Marci would reply, “To hell with my cases, I’m off the clock. And anyway, what does any of it matter these days?”

And then Marci was coming over to Matt and Karen’s sometimes to berate Matt at his place instead of hers. And then Karen and Marci were bonding (mostly over Matt’s inadequacies and self-destructive tendencies) which was a development that Matt observed with a vague sort of horror. And then Marci was going over Matt’s cases and telling him he was an idiot, and all the ways he should be doing his job better. And then, somehow, there was a new office with a new plaque on the door that said Murdock and Stahl.

Matt and Marci were both the perfect balance for Foggy. Together they were something that, in Karen’s words, should be banned by the Geneva Convention. But Matt knew how to seem friendly and approachable if he put in the effort, and Marci knew how to seem open and relatable if she put in the effort, so they managed well enough not to turn their clients away screaming. And when it came to their opponents, well, more than once they made the opposing counsel cry.

But before all that, Matt sat Marci down and said, “Look, if you’re going to be partners with me, there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t tell Foggy and it really fucked him over and almost destroyed our relationship, so.”

And then he told her about Daredevil, and the super senses and all the rest of it, and at the end Marci said, “Huh. You know, it’s insane how not insane that all sounds,” and then, “I knew it! I knew you kept running into things on purpose to guilt-trip me for being a shitty seeing-eye-friend.”

And Matt said, “So, are you going to report me to the police, or?”

And Marci said, “Murdock, you idiot, I literally just said the f word. Come on, don’t get all mopey on me, don’t we have penniless orphans to selflessly rescue or something?”

So every night, Matt went to work and he helped people, and every morning he went to work and he helped people, and the whole world was too quiet and too loud at once, and the whole universe felt wrong, off balance so that Matt always felt he was half a step from falling, but Matt was too busy living for anything else.

Time went on. Slowly the suicides ticked down, the grief less raw, the permanence of the world sinking in. Slowly, crime ticked back up, organized crime reconsolidated, criminals who had taken time off for a while for their own grief, and out of respect for the dead, went back to the streets, as life went on for them like everyone.

And Daredevil was left alone in the city. The defenders were gone, spider-man was gone, even the Avengers were dead or had abandoned their posts.

Captain America had put down his shield and stopped fighting. He’d started some kind of group therapy thing. Karen said that the world now needed a listening ear more than a punch in the jaw. Matt wanted to know why the hell he couldn’t do both. Karen said that just because Matt believed in working himself to death and hadn’t prioritized his own mental health a single day in his life didn’t mean he should expect other people to live that way. More publicly, and in print, she said that Steve Rogers didn’t owe the American people anything, and that he had every right to live his life as he chose. Matt agreed with her completely on that score, but he still thought that what Steve Rogers’ mental health needed most was a good kick in the pants.

But regardless, that left Daredevil. Matt still didn’t leave Hell’s Kitchen, mostly, because he did prioritize his mental health sometimes, (thank you very much, Karen) and he knew full well that trying to solve all of New York’s problems was a straight road to insanity for him. So Daredevil stayed in Hell's Kitchen, but he stayed in Hell’s Kitchen. Through all the chaos of rebuilding a society halved, he was there. He was there through those first few months of suicides, and he was there when all of New York’s various criminals and criminal empires tried to take advantage of the world’s crumbling social infrastructures. He was there in dark alleys and lonely apartments, and no suffering was ever too small, and no odds were ever too long and nowhere in his little pocket of the world was too poor or crime ridden or generally overlooked to be within his notice. When all other heroes seemed to have abandoned them, there was Daredevil, with blood on his knuckles and a snarl on his lips, yes. But Matt never forgot the specific sound of a pill bottle being poured out too many at a time, or a gun cocking in a room with just one heartbeat, and the people, his people, never forgot it either. Matt learned the feel of blood on his hands with no one to fight. He learned how to talk, those times he came soon enough, or those minutes waiting for an ambulance. Learned to find that small frail seedling of hope, and hold it frailly in his hands. Because the world was hard and cruel, and bigger and stronger than you were, but still you had to get up. And you could get up, you could. Not just because you had to, but because it was worth it. He said it, over and over again. Not in words always, but in actions, in listening. Life is precious, no one is alone, not really, life is worth living, life is worth living, life is worth living , so many times, in so many ways that even he believed it.

So when it seemed like all the superheroes had abandoned them, the people of Hell’s Kitchen had Daredevil, and they knew he would come when they called.

And so, to Matt’s bafflement, New York fell in love with Daredevil during those five years after the blip. Because even for the people outside of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil was hope, Daredevil was still fighting, Daredevil was still with them, Daredevil never, ever gave up.

Afterwards, you could tell who survived the blip (and they were survivors, every one of them who made it through those five broken years) because if you asked who their favorite superhero was, almost every one of them said Daredevil.

(For five years Matt worked and he lived and he wasn’t alone. For five years he fought with a hole in his chest that eased but never shrank. And then Foggy was back. The world broke all over again because it wasn’t used to being so full anymore, and everything was so loud from the celebrating and the sheer mass of people that Matt had a headache for over a month, but none of that mattered because Foggy was back , and Matt was so damn lucky he wasn’t sure how to believe it.)

#daredevil (TV)#fic and fic-like things #my stuff #Matt Murdock #Karen Page #Marci Stahl

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