Emo Trinity x Reader (Book 2)

Jet Star x Reader - Unspoken Truth

Request: Fic request: Literally anything with Jet Star because there isn't enough fics of him :)

Warnings: the usual load of blood, injuries, pain, violence etc., as always with DD

Word count: 3 805

Slowly you tilted your head a little, ignoring the pain that shot down the muscle strands from your neck into your back. You really had pulled your neck badly. But now your focus was less on the pain you were in as much as it was on the brown haired Killjoy in front of you. The orange light of the evening that streamed into the dirty diner through the dusty windows, made every single one of his curly hairs glow warmly, and his lashes were almost shining. You blinked slowly, and wondered if you had ever felt so fondly for anyone as you felt for Jet. He was always kind and patient with you, and more than once you had fallen asleep to the mental images of curling into his side at night.

Your daydreaming was rudely interrupted by the painful sting on your leg, as Jet started stitching you up.

"Hold still," he pressed out between his teeth, when you flinched involuntarily.

"Sorry," you mumbled, and did your best not to move again.

You had made it pretty unharmed through the fight this time, no lacerations like usually, not until the very last Drac had managed to shoot you in the calf. It was not bad, not like some other injuries Jet had successfully dealt with, but painful. And of course you had been, once again, the only one who had gotten injured.

For a while you tried to get back to that peaceful place in your mind where you were so focused on watching Jet treat your wound that you did not notice anything else around you, but this time the pain was too present. Sighing, you leant your head back into your neck, so you did not have to see the blood that ran down Jet's fingers, your blood. Your shoulder was aching from the pulled muscle, and slowly you tried to roll it, hoping to sooth it a little.

"Your shoulder alright?"

Jet's voice had lost the sharp edge it had had when he had told you to hold still, and instead was back to the warm, caring sound you were used to hear from him.

"Just pulled a muscle," you shrugged, regretting the motion immediately. Lifting your head back to look at Jet, you found that he had finished stitching you up, but your foot was still propped to his knee, where he was kneeling on the floor.

"You should keep it warm," he told you, looking up to you a hunch of concern written across his features, "Wrap a scarf around it, or a jacket."

You nodded, signalling you had heard and understood him, and carefully he rolled the now ripped open and bloody trouser down your leg again.

"Thanks," you mumbled and got up, carefully putting weight on the injured leg. It hurt and the stiches were pulling, but other than a little limp you would be fine to walk around.

Jet got up too, his eyes not leaving you, as he watched you hopple away. Sometimes he wondered if you even cared about how much he cared. Sure, he cared for everyone, would die for every single one, he loved all of his friends, but you were special. He did not see you as a friend, no matter how hard he tried. His heart beat far too fast every time he merely thought of you, he was more scared for your life than his own when the group got into a battle with the Dracs, and when you were not around, or when he was trying to fall asleep, his heart ached for your presence.

Biting his lip, he watched as you limped out of the door, into the evening sun. He knew you would climb to the roof top of the diner, even with that injured leg. You always climbed on the roof when you wanted some peace, and somehow he felt like he had said or done something that made you want to be alone now. Maybe he should not have been so harsh when you had flinched earlier. But he would almost have hurt you even more; he had been concerned. Slowly he shook his head. He had just treated you like he would have treated the others too. You had never given him any reason to believe you might want to be treated differently. And he could not always blame every second of you not being entirely happy on him. He did not take credit for your happy moments either. Even though he wished he could play at least a small part in you being more relaxed and happy out here, in this dystopian desert.