#duster x reader

You stood from the couch and walked briskly to the bathroom door that had been left slightly ajar. "I'm coming in," you said as you heard a slight groan in response. With little effort, you pushed past the door and your eyes widened. "What happened?"

Awan was hunched over the sink, hissing in pain as he tried applying an antiseptic to a nasty cut and bruise that coated his left eye. One of the shelves—the one he had promised to fix—had toppled over, spilling first aid equipment all over the sink and floor.

"It's just a bruise, not a big deal," he assured you, quickly covering his eye despite you having seen the damage. He turned from the mirror and leaned against the sink, producing a pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Unconvinced, you lifted a brow and reached up to tug at his wrist. Reluctantly, Awan's hand fell away from his face, along with his smile.

"It looks a lot worse than it feels," he quickly said, lips moving quickly to sway you away from your scolding. "I've had paper cuts in the office worse than this—"

You gave his hand a squeeze before reaching for a nearby cotton swab. Wordlessly, Awan squeezed your hand back before sitting on the edge of the tub. He was no longer towering over you, making it easier for you to take care of him. Carefully, you began wiping at the cut right below his left eyebrow.

You worked diligently to clean the scratch as Awan told you what happened. There happened to be a nasty scuffle at the office and he happened to be in the way of a fist or two. Although you were no doctor, you didn't think he any sort of orbital fracture. Just a scar and really nasty purple bruise.

"It comes with the job," he said, his long arms wrapping slowly around your waist as he tugged you towards him. You stumbled forward, though straightened a bit as your finger slid the bandage over the cut. "No need to worry about me."

You let your defense down and looked into his eyes. "Please be careful, next time? No more fights." You stuck out your pinky, your lips turning into a slight smirk. You knew his job had been his first love and that he had no intentions of parting with it soon. After all, he sacrificed the comforts of familiarity, his family, and lifestyle to maintain it. He'd be darned to give that up over petty office tensions.

Awan's signature grin came to fruition. "No more intentional fights on my end, I can promise you that." He stuck out his pinky and wrapped it around yours.

If there was one thing you couldn't stand more than the sight of blood, it was the stench of cold, hard whiskey. However, its presence was necessary as your boyfriend had sustained a nasty graze. You worked diligently—your hands working fast to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound, all while Jim threw back his head once and then twice. The liquid swished down his throat. He let out a hiss that made you wince.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you swiped the disinfectant clean. You grabbed some makeshift gauze—a bath rag you found on the bathroom sink that happened to be folded neatly, ready for temporary use.

"I'm not gonna die, am I?"

"Shut up." You playfully smacked Jim in the chest and he chuckled in response. "I'm not a nurse, Ellis, but I know what I'm doing," you said, tying off the rag firmly with a triple knot. "Just stop running in front of bullets, alright?"

After finishing the knot, you stood to call it quits, but a set of arms pulled you back and you were sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress again.

"Is that your way of thanking me for saving your life?" Jim said, his hold firm but playful around your waist.

Carefully, you turned around so you were facing him, being mindful of his injured arm. "That's my way of warning you, Jim. There's no sense in us being together if you're trying to get yourself killed. I can handle my own, remember?"

The both of you simultaneously smirked at the memory of your first meeting. Had it not been for Jim's quick thinking and your shooting skills, both of you might've been dead by now.

"How can i forget?" Jim said, surprising you with a quick kiss to your cheek. "But if you're coming to a gunfight, having two guns is always better than one."

You knew he was right. Ever since you stepped foot into this town you'd only been running into trouble on your own. But the moment you ran into the injured man you were currently sharing a motel room with, the burden of being on the run seemed a lot less heavy.

"I hate it when you're right," you mumbled, cleaning up the mess from patching Jim up. Once all the materials had been put away, you sank onto the bed, knees curled to your chest as your eyes were glued on the tv.

Jim groaned as he leaned back against the headboard. His hand found yours and you squeezed it gently.

Perhaps being on the other side of the law wouldn't be as bad as you thought.

Granted, you missed the safety and security of having a steady income. But the politics that came with the job, the advancement, the badge...it all felt like a waste with the blood, sweat, and tears it sucked out of you. Had it not been for Jim, life would've felt a lot more lonely.

"Thank you," you eventually whispered

Jim shifted to look at you, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. "For what, doll?"