Can u write gator and female reader play fighting but he’s too rough and hurts her maybe made her bleed by accident but the reader has a phobia for blood and just go from there 😄
wait i love this sm here you go i hope u like it🥹
⋆˚꩜｡ you’re walking past gator in the living room when he sticks his foot out just enough to make you stumble.
“gator!” you snap, swatting his arm.
he grins. “what? you’re fine, mama. don’t be dramatic. plus if you would’ve stumbled i would’ve caught ya.”
you shove him back. “quit it.”
“oh, c’mon,” he says, stepping toward you with that cocky little smirk. “you’re tougher than that.”
“gator—”
too late.
he grabs your waist and throws you onto the couch, not hard enough to hurt on purpose, but rough enough that you land hard, your arm scraping against the wooden armrest.
a sharp sting shoots up your skin.
“ow— what the hell, gator?” you snap, sitting up fast.
he rolls his eyes. “oh, relax. it ain’t that serious doll.”
“you threw me!”
“onto a couch,” he says, shrugging. “yer fine.”
you glare at him and look down at your arm.
a thin line of blood is forming.
your stomach drops instantly.
“fuck ,” you whisper, voice already shaking. “gator—”
he sees your face change before he sees the cut.
“what?” he asks, still annoyed. “it’s not—”
then he sees it.
“shit,” he breathes, stepping closer. “hey— hey, mama, don’t look at it.”
the room tilts.
your breath stutters.
your knees go weak.
“gator… i’m gonna—”
“okay, okay— c’mere,” he says quickly, grabbing your shoulders gently. “sit down. don’t look at your arm. look at me.”
you try, but your vision is already going fuzzy.
“i hate blood,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i’m gonna throw up —”
“no you’re not,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “i got you. i got you, sweetheart. breathe.”
you glare at him through your watery eyes. “you said it was no big deal.”
“i know. i know, mama. i was bein’ stupid. i didn’t know you were actually hurt.”
your arm throbs and your stomach flips again.
“gator—”
“don’t look,” he repeats, gently turning your face toward him. “yer gonna faint if you do. just breathe for me, okay?”
you nod weakly.
he moves fast, grabbing a towel, a bandaid, then sitting on the floor in front of you.
“give me yer arm,” he says softly.
“no—”
“mama,” he says, voice low and steady, “you ain’t got a choice. let me help you.”
you swallow hard and hold out your arm.
“you’re okay,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut with a damp towel. “you’re doin’ so good. i’m right here.”
you squeeze your eyes shut. “it burns.”
“i know, sweetheart. i know. almost done.”
he smooths the bandaid over your skin, thumb brushing the edge.
then he leans down and presses the softest kiss right above it.
“there,” he whispers. “all better.”
you sniff, still shaky. “you were mean.”
he nods immediately. “yeah. i was. i’m real sorry.”
you cross your arms. “you said it wasn’t serious.”
“i was wrong,” he says, voice small. “real wrong.”
you try to stay mad.
you really do.
but then he pulls you into his chest while his hand rubs your back and his chin rests on your head.
“i’m sorry, mama,” he whispers. “i’ll be gentle next time. swear it.”
you breathe into him, finally steadying.
“you better.”
he hugs you tighter.
“i will,” he murmurs. “ain’t ever lettin’ you get hurt again.”
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