Hurt - Dad!Spider-Punk x Mum!Reader
wc: 1.5k
I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or inserted into ai.
cw: injuries (lots of them), mention of blood, kissing, hospitals, morphine.
not well proofread so if you see anything glaringly obvious or super bad please tell me
masterlist
You’re sat on the sofa, curled up watching trashy reality tv. It’s your treat for finishing cleaning up the flat. On your lap is a little blanket that you’re knitting and there’s a baby monitor sat next to you, that you glance down at almost unconsciously every minute or two. It’s cold out so you’ve put a jumper on, one of Hobie’s ones. Honestly, property in your flat is communal, so… It’s your jumper too.
You hear a soft thump against your front door. You get up to investigate and open it slowly. Your heart is in your throat as you look out, and panic fills you as you see Hobie leant against the doorframe. His arms fall by his side, his suit is ripped in various places and covered with blood, his left cheekbone has an angry red mark on it, that you can already tell is going to develop into a nasty bruise. He’s bleeding the most from a gash in his side, and perhaps the scariest thing of all is his expression. He looks… apologetic. You can tell he’s waiting for you to freak out, but you can also tell that it isn’t what he needs. You swallow back the panicked yells, and hold out a hand to him.
“Oh baby, come sit down. Slowly.” You let his weight fall on you, and you lead him to the sofa. You can’t even think about how hard bloodstains are going to be to get off, your mind won’t let your thoughts be anything other than consumed by Hobie and your concern for him.
“There we go, good job Hobes. Where does it hurt the worst?” You push his hair back from his face as you murmur gentle praise to him for making it to the couch.
“My side” He groans out, each syllable is slow and seems painful, like it’s being dragged out of him.
“I’m gonna take your suit off, okay?” His head moves enough that you can call it a nod, as you start to peel it off his torso so you can accurately tell the extent of his injuries. You reach out a hand and let him squeeze it when the pain flares up. His whole chest and abdomen is bruised, the gash in his side is deep and blood is slowly dripping down the side. The skin over his ribs is purple and you can’t categorically say that ribs aren’t broken. You hold his battered face.
“My poor boy, I’m gonna take you to the hospital.” Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you press a gentle kiss to his split lips. You finish pulling his suit off his legs and drape a blanket over him so he doesn’t get cold waiting for you in his underwear. He grumbles a little about having to the hospital, but you’ve made it clear this isn’t a discussion. You go and pack up the baby bag and grab some sweatpants and a baggy shirt that you won from a pizza place for Hobie to wear to the hospital. You walk back out to him and see him clearly exhausted, looking down at the baby monitor with a small smile on his face. Not a smirk, not the smile you get when he comes home from patrol or the smile when you tug him closer in the night with a quiet giggle and your hands under his clothes, it’s a new smile. A paternal smile.
“Can you see her?” You say, a coo in your voice that only comes out when you talk to children. You say it just like you did when your nephew came over to play and he was pointing at the baby in her bassinet, before trying to climb in with her. Hobie nods.
“She’s perfect, y’know that?” You smile and slowly start dressing him.
“Yeah, we made a good baby.” You agree, pulling on his socks and slippers, because combat boots aren’t exactly practical to be injured in. “Wait here, I’m going to get her in her carseat.”. The ‘wait here’ is a force of habit, Hobie isn’t going anywhere anytime soon without your help. At this realisation you feel a wave of anxiety crash over you, your chest tightening at the thought that you were now fully responsible for your two month old and your husband who already wasn’t very responsible before he lost the ability to stand without assistance. You push down your nerves and walk to the nursery and slowly wiggle your hands under her tiny body to lift her without waking her, and put her outside outfit on to keep her warm. You clip her into her carseat and somehow manage to carry her, the changing bag, your car keys and having Hobie leaning onto you for support out the door, locking it behind you, and into the lift and out to the car. When you finally get everyone buckled in you breathe a sigh of relief. Now your biggest challenge yet… driving at night. You can drive well, you passed your test and everything, but something about the dark. Let’s just say you’ve been happy to let Hobie take the wheel.
You finally pull up at the ER, and pass Hobie the keys.
“Lock the car when I leave, I’m going to get help.” You kiss his head and leave the car, jogging to the actual entrance of the emergency department. A nurse watches you run in and makes eye contact with you.
“Are you okay?”
“Hi, my husband has been in a fight and he’s quite badly injured but I can’t get him here from the car with my baby too and I can’t leave either of them alone. Can you help me?”
“Yeah, okay do you know if he needs a gurney or can he sit in a wheelchair? How bad are the injuries?”
“He’s fine in a wheelchair, he sat in the car.” At this the nurse grabs a wheelchair and begins walking to the car with you. “The wounds are mostly superficial with significant bruising and minor swelling. He has a deep laceration on his left side, blood is pooling slowly so I can safely assume it wasn’t deep enough to hit any major arteries though I think it will need a few stitches. There is a lot of bruising so I am concerned about rib fractures, that’s why I brought him here.” You ramble this all off and he looks at you with surprise. Theres no time to discuss anything because you reach the car. Hobie unlocks it and you grab the baby as the nurse helps Hobie into the wheelchair.
A short while later Hobie’s set up in a room on pain meds while you guys wait for someone to come and check on him. He’s woozy and undeniably high. You’ve seen Hobie after a blunt or two, but morphine is a whole new ball game.
“Luv. Luv. Luv.” You tilt your head expectantly at him. “Luv. Luv. Luv.” He continues, not picking up on your signal for him to talk.
“Yes Hobie?”
“What’s ‘at?” He points at the baby in your arms before his hand drops back to the bed.
“That’s your baby, do you remember her?”
“Hmmm maybe…” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Lemme see ‘er” You lift her up Lion King style for Hobie’s drugged up inspection.
“Can you see okay?”
“Yes silly sausage, my eyes still work.” He rolls them in some sort of fake defiance, poking the baby in her swaddled stomach. She lets out a squeak of discontentment, and hiccups in that familiar way she does when she’s getting ready to cry. You lift her back against you, her little face rooting around against your chest, a result of her hunger and the innate search for comfort. Hobie frowns.
“Bye bye, see you later ‘tato”
“You can see her in a little bit, she’s hungry now.” You slip your top off one shoulder and let her settle into you to nurse. Hobie’s eyes widen and he looks very worried about something.
“Lovie, I don’t mean to alarm ya but the baby is eating your…” He makes a squeezing motion with his hands and whisper shouts ‘BOOBIES’.
“It’s okay ‘Bie, that’s how she eats. Good looking out for me, well done.” He basks in the praise, smiling up at you.
“‘Tato looks like ya, y’know. She looks like a p’tato though.”
“Is that why she’s called ‘tato?”
“Mhmmmm” You smile and pat his hand.
“Can you be super good for me and go to sleep?”
“Okay lovie, promise when I’m sleep they won’t take my leg” He looks at you with full sincerity, patting his right leg, showing you the leg he’s decided he needs to keep.
“I promise i’ll make sure they’ll keep that leg on you.”
“You’re so good to me.” You lean over and kiss him, your hand on the back of your baby’s head to protect her while she eats. You lips meet his and you kiss him slowly, being careful of his injuries.
