𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘉𝘖𝘠𝘚 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒

black noir x injured reader

Your ribs were far beyond bruised. The skin between the bones felt as if it was torn, pain dug through your flesh. It was a miracle you could move your legs at all. You gasped for air as the tarmac ground pressed so harshly against your back. If not for the sound of hurried, crunching steps, you would have convinced yourself you were deaf.

A shadow loomed over you. A muscular, shiny shadow. 'Noir,' you choked out.

A warm, knitted hand cupped your face, and the pad of a gloved thumb smoothed along your cheekbone. Though you couldn't see his face under the helmet and mask, the urgency of his movements alerted you to his worry. He shook his head frantically, trying to figure out which part of you hurt the most.

In breathing heavily to draw more oxygen into your lungs, the stabbing pain in your sides flared up. A scream fought its way through your gritted teeth, and Black Noir froze. The sight of your blood was his only trigger to move. He scooped you up and held you close to his chest plate, your head tipped into the crook of his neck so you could hear him breathing so heavily as he ran.

The world faded in and out as you gazed above at the grey sky. 'Noir, please,' you coughed and red ran down your cheeks. 'Where are we going?'

His large arms tensed around you and his steps slowed to a more reassured yet furious storm. Suddenly, polished patterns of lights were passing you overhead and a million people called yours and Noir's names. Trying to make sure you didn't slip, the supe accidentally jammed his hand into your side and evoked a pained wince, to which he instantly made his hand flat and quickened the pace once more.

He wasn't going to take any chances carrying you to a hospital. Vought had their own private healthcare staff who were paid millions to keep their heroes in check. As you were rushed through the halls of the infamous Vought tower, one face remained in your sights the whole time. Through all the coughing and choking, your arm remained propped up along the broad shoulders, except he couldn't look at you anymore. You could die and it would be his fault. He determinedly stared ahead, nothing could rip him away from the path that would get you to safety.

That was, until the arms supporting you were dragged away and the cold comfort of a bed enveloped you. Still, you moved. Still, you were plagued by a constant chorus of your own name when all you desired was the true love of silence. Peace. His beautiful silhouette faded and your vision was overcome with unbearable light.

Time passed. Some moments a wide variety of beeps sat there with you, and in others only a few. But never silence.

The publicists didn't seem to understand you were still in immense pain as they babbled on. Your wounds were bandaged, your grazes treated, but a deep throb pulsed within you that prayed Noir was only a minute away from your door. 'VNN's currently reporting on your medical state. We've told them to say you're in critical condition, now that was true for a moment there but if Gen Z hears you're on the brink of death for a month or so then our ratings will be through the roof next year. Kids love a hero story.'

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. 'Where's Noir?'

'W... uh...'

You sobbed. 'Ashley, you dumb bitch, please.'

'I don't know where he is,' she said arrogantly. 'He fucked off the minute you were on the stretcher.'

Of course, you thought. You were mid-way through a mission, and he had to handle the terrorists while you were in surgery. Still, you were unable to relax or stop moving even slightly without his presence. Still, you craved the quiet.

'Happy now?' Ashley antagonised further. 'Right, PR is going to be here in two minutes, then VNN are going to do a quick-fire report in thirteen. You have a quarter of an hour to prepare, get your statements together, and in two days, Cameron Coleman is going to sit down with you and-'

'You just planned all this?' you choked out.

She froze. 'Of course!'

It wasn't as if Vought were an awful corporation desperate for media attention that would jeopardise the safety of their best assets for the top story. But this was far too convenient.

'Aren't I just allowed to... get better?'

'Of course!' she repeated, painting on a new smile. 'But it's important that we keep the public updated on the condition of their heroes. Think of national spirit.'

'If the public needed any more national spirit, they would turn over from someone in a hospital bed to the fucking baseball,' you frowned.

Ashley's lips tightened for one more moment and she continued blabbering. Sure enough, cameras and microphones were pointed at you within fifteen minutes and despite all the many talking points that were relayed to you prior, the most you could manage was a blank stare into the lens as cold tears dropped down your face.

If only you knew which eyes had been watching that broadcast.

The following morning, you lay motionless as sunlight streamed through the window and the chatter of Vought employees was merely a blur to your unconscious mind. Beside your bed sat a muscular outline with his elbows leaned on his knees, his head propped in his hands. His boots nervously tapped at the floor and beneath his mask he muttered curses and worries over your condition. The minutes ticked by and eventually, Black Noir found himself stood over you, brushing hair out of your face, leaning down gradually to take in your beautiful yet heartbreaking appearance.

The press of charred lips to the top of your head caused you to stir - your eyebrows furrowed softly, you slowly kicked your sheets down to reveal to him your unbelievably bruised body. Noir's heart sank and he stepped back to evaluate the damage and deteste himself for allowing this to happen.

'Noir,' you sighed in relief.

He knelt to watch your face closely. Deliriously, you reached to touch his mask and he leaned into the motion, his left hand cupped your jaw.

'Can't you take me away from here?' you asked with the dread of today's PR meetings weighing down on you.

Noir scanned over you once more and carefully scooped you out of bed. His arms were relaxed. His stomach unclenched. You remembered only fading in and out of consciousness until you reached the roof, at which point the altitude ceased your lungs and breathing adopted that dangerously reminiscent similarity of falling so far, reaching for him and screaming in terror.

Your chest puffed in and out. Noir's grip on you wrapped in thin sheets tightened momentarily before he sat you on one of the redundant generators and crouched opposite. The movements of his head quickened. Why were you breathing so fast? He placed one hand on your chest, the other on his own, and began to take deep breaths.  The steadiness and warmth if his hands was heavenly. You couldn't help but melt against his touch.

Silence. Finally. You were so far above the ground that New York bustle was shushed below a hum and all in sight was the sky and him. Black Noir. Only him.

He opened your palm and softly drew shapes. Shapes that turned into letters, that turned into words.

I... M... S... O... R... R... Y...

'No... no, Noir, don't. You saved me,' you assured.

He held your face with burning affection, as if you might not know just how much he cared for you if he didn't hold you. And in that moment the silence became perfect. He was cautious to touch you in any place, should he interfere with a bruise, and watched the wounds closely. Others would have considered the interaction uncomfortable, but for you it was perfect. It was the peace you longed for. It was warm and gentle and completely quiet.