If I See This Again I'll Die - Pt. 3

If I see this again i'll die - pt. 3

final part in the series ig unless i get pissed off again

overused commentary. if you make the main character too sassy it mucks up the pacing and the understanding. there's a fine line between snarky and pedantic. too much backtalk is annoying and not funny.

not using metaphors/figures of speech correctly. seriously, some of them are so wrong it's funny. 'little to the imagination' means 'revealing' not 'modest'. i see that alllll the time.

'yet' is not another version of 'and.' it is a conjunction like 'but' or 'however.' i'll prob do a full length post abt that cause it's pretty common to see incorrectly.

typos. i mean come on, just copy it into google docs and get rid of the red and blue squiggly underlines. it's not hard.

not formatting paragraphs. BREAK IT UPPP MY EYESSSS ARE SEIZINGGG PLSSSS 😭😭

xox that's all byeee

Writing Prompt #2791

"I'm expendable. It's okay." Her smile was so soft but so honest.

"You can't leave me. I need you."

"No. You need to survive. More people need you than you need me. I love you."

T Minus 9

T minus ten part 2

(the way i stopped writing for ten minutes just to watch this gif over and over) (no i don't need help)

chapter warnings: language, medical inaccuracies, panic attacks, some angst, miscommunication, sassypants Miguel, we're getting somewhere guys i swear pls bear with me-

read part one here

You stared owlishly at the outstretched claw, the razor sharp edge gleaming in the hospital lighting.

Miguel's gaze was simmering. It would take nothing for him to sever your hand from your wrist, leaving a knob of bone and his glittering sneer. You felt heat building underneath your clothes. You didn't want to be rude and back away, but god if he got any closer-

You took a shaky breath. "Um..I...I need your actual arm, Mr. O'Hara, could you-"

A terrified lurch capsized your stomach as he effortlessly slashed the cage to pieces. This time you couldn't hold back a yelp. Standing now, you appraised him from a few feet away. The wall was the only thing keeping you from sprinting towards the other side of the planet.

Tension thrummed between you. You knew he was mad, and couldn't blame him. Not sure if he was mad at you or if you just happened to be the only person available, you debated whether or not small talk was appropriate. But given the way he responded earlier...

Be seen and not heard.

Slowly, you stepped towards his bed. Acutely aware of the carmine glare smoldering through your cheek, you tried to move efficiently. As you were carefully arranging yourself around the numerous cords, a small movement caught your eye. Confused, you looked up.

A gleam of white, and sharp fangs snapped an inch from your ear.

Shrieking, you stumbled back and threw the syringe across the room.

Oh my fucking god I'm going to die holy fucking shit what the fuck-

"What the fuck?" Your shriek shattered the tense silence.3

You could barely focus on the man in front of you over the hammering of your heart beat. A fuzziness started tickling your head. Don't pass out don't pass out. Collapsing, you shuffled to put your head between your knees.

Breathe. In, out. In, out.

That was closer than you ever wanted to be to a pair of fangs. Peeking from between your fingers, you saw the mountainous Spiderman hunched, shoulders twitching.

Was he laughing? If this motherfu-

The alarmed beeping of his heart monitor shocked you to your feet. Not laughing. Seizing.

Desperately clearing the terrified fog from your mind, you fumbled for the help button and tried to assess Miguel. He was groaning and hissing as warm crimson was covering his torso.

In his haste to bite your cheek off, he'd torn the tourniquet holding the rebar in place. Though the spear hadn't been removed, it was secured in place to prevent further damage. The pain meds must have been so strong that he didn't notice it. Until now.

An animalistic growl tore through the med bay. His claws tore through the mattress, his pained yowling making your ears ring.

Oh shit-

You scrambled towards the door, snatching up the syringe on your way. The alarms were already flashing, and you could hear the quick footsteps of your staff.

"He woke up, I don't know what to do-"

The crowd pushed around you, frantic shouts echoing in the long hallway. Techs, guards and nurses flooded Miguel's room. You could hear his roaring and caught a glimpse of vicious fangs in the bright lights.

In another rush of activity, a sedative was delivered and everybody tensed. Slowly, slowly, his breathing calmed and his eyes rolled back. Maria sobbed with relief. His claws had frozen an inch from her soft cheek. She stumbled back, safely out of reach.

You stood, shell-shocked, as the nurses ushered out of the tiny room. Dr. Ben stared stoically at you, nodding sharply in the direction of his office.

"Now."

Your eyes didn't move from the floor, feeling like a shamed puppy. Dr. Ben had finished his speech and was glaring daggers at your hidden face.

"Do you have anything to say?"

An embarrassed twinge choked your throat. No, you didn't. What was there to say? You'd entered a dangerous patient's room without clearance and hadn't had proper protection. Whatever happened had technically been your own fault.

"Did..." you swallowed down the ache, "did his injury worsen after?"

Dr. Ben let out a long sigh through his nose. Marching over to the main screen, he pulled up Miguel's file.

"Mild tearing across lower left pectoral as a result of aggravated activity," he read stonily.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't...he lunged at me and I got scared."

Dr Ben removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. An awkward silence ticked between you as he tried to explain the situation.

"We've...." he sighed heavily, grimacing. "We've found some things out. And I was meaning to tell you before the whole thing," he gestured towards the med students fixing the broken chair, "but clearly that didn't happen.

"The poison has been determined as non lethal, but if he's exposed to it for too long, it'll deteriorate his muscular tissue. He's clear so far, and the damage has been minimal, but any longer than...a month, and some issues might arise."

A month? That was so much time. "What do you mean a month? This kind of thing will be resolved-"

Ben cut you off and pulled up a chart.

"See his bloodwork? The kind of spider DNA he's been spliced with responds negatively to basically everything we can prescribe," he explained. you frowned, leaning closer.

"The labs have created a treatment, but it's diluted and he can't handle more than a small dose at a time."

You sat back, releasing a tentative sigh of relief. Treatment was treatment, and if it meant you wouldn't be in biting range for much longer, you were all for it.

"The downside is, it sets his treatment trajectory at around two months."

"Two months?" You shouted, rocketing to your feet. Dr Ben frowned at your outburst. Stay professional, good god. Words escaped you. This monster would be haunting your med bay for two fucking months?

HQ would be missing their leader for two months.

A heavy, oily dread trickled in your chest. Miguel was the blood and soul of the Spider Society. He literally had the entire world on his shoulders. Nobody even knew half the things he had to do to keep it running. If he wasn't at full working capacity for that long, who knew what would happen?

The chair wheezed as you collapsed backwards. This was insane.

"How..." you sighed again. "How...the fuck are we gonna keep this together? We can't just tell everyone that our leader is basically dead to the world-"

"No." Ben cut you off again, an uncharacteristic fury in his eyes. "This will not be addressed to the Society. There is no reason to work everybody up for something that will be over in ten weeks. Miguel can still work, he will just need a medical aide and frequent breaks." He held up a finger at your indignant scowl.

"I'm not finished. I propose that you administer the medicine twice a day and monitor his progress. The only, and I mean singular reason for anybody other than the two of us to know about this would be his death."

All the air in your lungs rushed out in a Fuck. That was...a really big deal. Did you want that job? Hell no, Miguel had literally almost turned you into a chew toy thirty minutes ago. But if you didn't, who would? And then...you shuddered to think.

"Okay...so...how does it work?" Focus on the work, not on him. He's just a patient.

Two doses of 120 mg every twelve hours. One in the morning and one delivered via IV in the middle of the night. A simple routine that only needed charting the immediate our before and after administering. You'd had harder times taking care of the flu. This wasn't hard.

Why am I so stressed?

Maybe it was the shade of red that glowed beneath dark lashes. Maybe it was the vicious snap of his fangs a breath from your cheek. Maybe it was the utter hatred that his gaze ensnared you with.

Focus. Breathe. Only ten weeks. that's seventy days.

Your eyes shot open. Seventy-

Breathe.

"You start tonight at 1800 sharp."

Fuck.

The slam of the office door cracked your remaining resolve. A sob wracked your chest, and you cried into your jacket.

Maria found you later, sat on the floor of your shared apartment. Miguel's file was strewn about, papers haphazardly stacked and shoved into color-coded folders. A tablet and a laptop were open, live updates of his monitors relaying data across the screen. You were passed out, a half-eaten bowl of soup gone cold in your lap.

"Psst," she hissed, gently shaking your shoulder. You scowled gently in your sleep, wrinkling your nose. She tried again, more urgently.

"Ffuck you wan'?" you mumbled, batting her hand away to rub sleep from your eyes. The dim room blearily came into focus. Maria peered down at you, brow creased.

"It's 1730," she hissed again, "Ben wants you down for a briefing!"

1730? Who gives a fuck what time-

"Miguel." You tripped over your bowl of soup, nearly covering the carpet in minestrone. Maria rolled her eyes and threw a keycard at you. You hurriedly thanked her and bolted.

Of all the times to sneak in a nap.

You were glad for the study break, though. Hours of tediously inspecting X-rays and blood samples were beginning to fry your already exhausted mind. At least the situation was starting to make sense.

Dr Ben was understandably irritated when you showed up exactly thirty seconds before 1800. Not late yet, your defiant gaze smirked. Gritting back an insult, he pointed you to the syringe and IV setup on the counter.

"you'll do a wrist drip and administer the meds after he eats. It needs to be taken after he eats at least one meal and drinks a half liter of fluids. No alcohol, caffeine or pain meds. Capiche?"

you nodded, brushing him away to begin setup. It wasn't a difficult system, he was being oddly frenetic.

Maybe because Miguel would slit his throat if he got it wrong.

This was your patient. Get it together.

hot breath gleaming bone s n a p sharp-

Stop.

Shakily trying to calm your racing heart, you brought the prepared meds out to the white room. Ben watched, lips pursed, giving you an impatient nod to continue. Breathe. Breathe.

The restraints had been removed; instead, Miguel had been knocked unconscious with a sedative intended for hippos. He was out cold.

He can't touch you he can't hurt you just be quick-

Breathe.

"I can do this," you whispered, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. Miguel's breath was wheezing, you realized, a soft rasp that indicated his injury was worse than you thought.

It must have grazed his ribs and his lungs.

Focus.

ten weeks

Focus.

we'll die if he does

"Focus!"

You blanched, realizing you'd screamed out loud. Praying to anybody up there, you peeked at Miguel. Still asleep.

A sigh of relief.

You were halfway through inserting his IV before you heard it.

A groan.

His eyes were still closed, but his heart monitor had noticeably spiked and the blankets were rustling around his other arm. you still had to give him the meds and his fluids and take his vitals and holy fuck he's waking up

You froze. The eye contact was blistering, despite his bleariness. He studied you. Flashes of something you couldn't identify flickered across his face as you stood like a deer in headlights. The needle hovered centimeters from the back of his hand.

His claws were absent, though he was gripping the sheets for dear life.

You took a deep breath and tried to neutralize your face.

"I'm...I'm gonna prick you just a li-little, okay? Try not to-"

He hissed and yanked his hand away from your gentler ones, all drowsiness gone. Pure hatred had return to his gaze. You tried not to wilt. Why is he so difficult?

"Miguel," you tried again, patiently, "please-"

"No." His voice was wrecked, twisting his harsh response into something that curdled your blood.

you were beginning to tremble. Afraid of dropping the syringe, you set it down and swallowed. don't bite don't bite don't bite please oh shit

"I don't wanna..." your voice broke. Tears clogged your throat and you felt the urge to vomit. Panic had dug its claws into your head and wasn't letting go. Calm down calm down breathe

If you freak out, he's gonna freak out. Stay in control. Stay in control.

The whole time you were grappling with your sanity, Miguel was watching shrewdly. As soon as you released the syringe, his fists unclenched. you gulped in air, trying to stay as discreet as possible.

A patient had never rattled you this much. It shocked you. Your patience was unrivalled, and the ability to stay calm in these situations was commendable.

Why now were you crumbling?

When Miguel's gaze shifted away, an ounce of pressure lifted from your chest. Be quick be quick be quick-

You swiftly took up the syringe and made a grab for his hand.

too slow-

He snapped his teeth again and tore away, ripping out the IV. A broken gasp made you drop the needle.

Both of you retreated, you to the far corner and him to the confines of the little cot.

"Wh-wh-why..." you were muttering fearfully, rubbing your arms for comfort. Tears were falling steadily now, streaking your cheeks. Snot made you choke. you were burning with shame and fear like a sniveling child chased by a big dog.

A low ringing made you wince. Breathe. You were getting lightheaded. Breathe. Five things you can see.

A few deep breaths later, and the world stopped tilting. Your heart settled enough for you to stand shakily, still pressed into the corner.

You assessed the scene in front of you. The syringe was destroyed, and the dose was unsalvageable. A spare was tucked into your pocket, thankfully. Miguel was heaving, spittle flecking his cheeks. Like a rabid dog.

A rabid, terrified dog.

What was he afraid of? He was three times your size, and you weren't small. Though you spent ample time at the gym, he could snap you like a twig. Even in his state he had the advantage.

The needle.

He was afraid of needles.

Well.

The medicine couldn't be given orally, so he'd need it put in an IV. ...The IV he just ripped out of his arm. Placing a new one was out of the question, due to the obvious needle involved. You breathed in through your nose.

New plan.

Your gaze caught on the slow trickle of blood from his arm where the tubing had been removed. Start small. Taking gauze from your pocket and a small tube of ointment, you held them out in front of you.

"I'm going to patch that, okay? Just some ointment, it doesn't even sting." Your voice was light, careful. Like handling the younger patients. You can do this.

Miguel made no move to stop you as you tiptoed closer. You didn't take your eyes off of him, gesturing for him to give you his arm.

He didn't budge.

It's okay. Start small.

Gently, you ran your fingers up his tan forearm, stopping at his elbow, then going back. the wound was small but deep. Miguel was gritting his teeth and glaring daggers at you. You didn't react, patient as ever. The angle was awkward; his twisted torso angled his arm so you had to reach across the bed.

Your chest was very exposed to his claws, but you had more important issues.

"Lay back," you whispered, "you'll exacerbate the wound again." He scowled harder, hissing in Spanish.

"Miguel. Please. Just...straighten out."

After a long moment the pain began to register on his face. He shifted marginally, and you let out a relieved breath. Progress.

You bandaged his wound efficiently, keeping your movements light and gentle. His grip slowly released on the sheets. You ignored the holes his talons had carved along the mattress.

"I don't like needles either," you said quietly, tucking the soiled gauze into a disposable bag. He didn't answer, but you saw the look of surprise on his face.

"I used to take shots because I got sick all the time," you explained, moving to grab your tools, "I never got used to them."

He didn't answer. That was okay, he wasn't scowling anymore. You took this as a green light, placing the pressure cuff around his enormous bicep.

Your heart was steady, tears dried on your face. Okay. We're okay.

"You have tattoos."

His question made you jump, nearly crushing your pencil. His lips lifted amusedly to reveal a shiny canine.

s n a p hot breath scream-

You stepped back, swallowing bile. He must have noticed your fear, because he dropped the smirk and scowled again, looking at his lap. Stupid stupid calm down, you've pissed him off.

"I got over it," you rushed to say, wanting to relieve his grumpiness. "I...I don't know, I guess I liked the design more than the needle."

He just nodded sharply, still looking away. No dice.

Back to square one.

You finished his vitals, but the elephant in the room reared its ugly head. He needed his meds. Clearly the pain was getting to him. Miguel's forehead was dotted with sweat, and his abs were quaking from the cramps. A sickly pallor dulled his warm complexion. You had to be fast.

"I...I'm sorry. I know that doesn't...help, but you need to just let me-"

"No," he spat again, teeth gleaming. "I'll get on without it."

You couldn't believe his aloof tone. He was so selfish, for someone with your survival in the palm of his hand.

"No, Miguel," you said sternly, "you can't."

His gaze was incredulously infuriated.

"Your muscles are dissolving as we speak. In a month you won't be able to stand up." Your voice was raising. He needed to understand. He needed to know how bad this was.

"Then I'll work sitting down."

"Don't be stupid! you are the reason any of us are here, and because you're too afraid of a stupid fucking needle you're willing to sacrifice-"

"Don't you dare talk about sacrifice before you've-"

His scathing response was capped with a yell. Impulsively, you'd stabbed the syringe into his pliable chest, right above his heart.

The silence was deafening.

Run.

You dashed out of the room, severing his bellow with the click of a lock.

One dose down, 140 to go.

that was a hot mess but maybe it's okay? I'm trying to get past all the technical stuff but my inner med student isn't letting me I'm so sorry!!! I will tone it down in the future please believe me-

thots?

taglist: @neeshsoodrippedout

comment if you want to be added xox

next part

oscar isaac is such a good actor every time i'm reminded of this

you know what we don’t talk about enough???

santi flinching when the first shot rings out and the way his eyes immediately harden and turn cold and and and ugh

ok i need help i'm looking for a poe dameron x reader fic where reader has an abus*ve partner and poe is like tryna get them out of the situation??? it's either here or on ao3 but i do not remember the title but i wanna read it again pls help!!!

xox i will love you forever

idk what it is about but you should write it because i am starving for more nathan and i'm tired of making my own food

I kind of can't believe I'm saying this but I had an idea for a SUPER ANGSTY Nathan Bateman x reader little series...? I need to talk about my vision with someone else to know if it's a TERRIBLE idea.

I'm unwell, I need to talk to someone and also be put down...