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redocity · 1 month

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Evan Buckley x fiancée reader

Reader and Evan are recently engaged. Reader gets shot by the sniper instead of Eddie, Buck gets covered in her blood and attempts to save her (like the episode) and then just go from there please ❤️‍🩹. Please include lots of angst, sadness and happiness too 🫶

EMERGENCY ROOM - E.BUCKLEY

after a completely normal day on the job, you get shot seemingly out of nowhere. buck does not handle it well.

WARNINGS: spoilers for 04x13 and 04x14, established relationship, major character injury, blood, guns, buck is on the verge of a mental breakdown for most of it

buck x fiancée!reader II flangst Il 4.2k Il requests open!

a/n: i had so much fun writing the little fluffy bits at the beginning and the end i love them your honour

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

“I know right?” You finally had a few minutes to fawn over your newest accessory now that you’d managed to secure Charlie away from his mother and get him into an ambulance, holding your left arm up in front of you and wiggling your fingers to show off the shiny rock on your ring finger towards Eddie. “Who would’ve thought he was so focused on the details?”

“Hey!” Buck nudges you as he walks past, shaking his head with a smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“People like you aren’t exactly known for their ‘detail orientation’ Buck,” Eddie laughs as he walks past him, pushing his head with the palm of his hand. “Good job on defying expectations,”

“Hey I am plenty detail oriented thank you,” gestures outwards exasperatedly, glancing at you for backup for his statement. You give him nothing more than a shrug of your shoulders.

“Shannon was the same when I bought her ring don’t worry,” Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder. “Went on this whole rant about how she never expected me to put so much thought into how it looked, I think it’s just a girl thing,”

“It’s not-” You scoff, putting a hand up in front of him in absolute astoundment. “I am trying to show my appreciation for the thought that went into making this ring fit my preferences, and you are making me feel disrespected,”

You point between the two boys in exaggerated disappointment, turning your face away from the two with a click of your tongue and a shake of your head.

“Oh come on baby seriously?” Evan sighs dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his head fall back until he’s facing the sky.

“You’ve hitched your wagon to a tank,” Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder once more, and the two share a short laugh.

“I’m gonna ride with Charlie to the hospital, you two good to get back to the station and tell Bobby?” Buck nods towards Eddie, giving him a small nudge towards the ambulance. “Yeah go ahead, we got it from here,”

“Thanks,” He returns Buck’s nod and then sends a finger salute in your direction. “See you later Mrs. Buckley, try not to kill him before the wedding,”

You laugh shortly at Eddie’s jest, shaking your head. “See you Eddie, give us a call if anything happens,”

“Will do!” He shoots the two of you a wave as he jogs towards the ambulance, climbing inside before the doors get shut behind him.

“Mrs Buckley,” Buck takes a few steps forward to grasp gently at your hips and pull you close to his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I could get used to the sound of that,”

You give a soft hum as his lips press to your temple, turning your face upwards to kiss him properly. “I’d hope so,”

You pull out of his grasp with a soft laugh, pressing the keys to the paramedic car against Buck’s chest for him to take before actually beginning to walk towards the vehicle.

“We’ll have to get you a new turnout jacket too,” Buck follows behind you with a smile etched onto his face, eyes scanning over the last name printed on the back of your jacket. One you wouldn’t have for much longer.

“It’d be pretty confusing to have two Buckleys in the same station, the jacket might have to stay,” You turn around to face him once more with a smile of your own, arms crossed across your chest. “We’ll know the truth though,”

You shoot Buck a wink and he laughs, stopping a few feet in front of you and mirroring the way your arms are crossed with his own. “Are you saying that I can’t show off the fact that you’ll have my last name to every single stranger we meet on the job? Because I don’t know if that’s gonna fly with me,”

“I’m sure you’ll find an excuse to let them know, you’ve got a talent-” Your retort is halted by a sharp sound, then a searing pain in your right shoulder, and then you can feel yourself tumble to the floor as your legs give out underneath you under no will of your own.

Buck flinches as you do, a mix of shock from the noise and an instinctual reaction to the splatter that covers side of his face and stripes of his button down shirt.

Then it feels like the world just stops. Buck stands there with wide eyes as he watches you hit the pavement, in an awake state of sleep paralysis as a pool of blood begins to seep onto the pavement and stain the tarmac red underneath you.

He wanted to shout, to run, to move, Anything.

But he couldn’t so much as curl his hands into fists as he stood stationary in shock, eyes wide and locked onto where you’d crumpled into yourself on the concrete.

It took one of the other firefighters on the scene physically tackling him down to the ground for him to move, and even then his eyes never left yours, just barely open as you slip in an out of consciousness.

“Get down!” Mehta yelled across the group of vehicles as he pulled Buck behind one of the trucks, covering him with his own body as he tried to radio for help. “Shots fired. Shots fired a firefighter is down. I repeat, a firefighter is down!”

Buck can feel himself hyperventilate, his hearing going quiet until the sounds of the civilians nearby are drowned out and replaced with his own racing heartbeat. He watches as your hand crawls forward along the pavement in his direction as if silently trying to confirm to him that you were okay, but the far away look in your eyes wasn’t reassuring him at all.

Then your eyelids fluttered and you weren’t looking at him anymore, your hand left still in front of you with the stones on your finger glinting in the sunlight like a sick taunt of Buck’s anguish.

Shots continued to rain over the fire engines, and as Mehta moved from Buck to radio dispatch again he mustered all of the strength he physically could under the rush of adrenaline in his system to make a break for where you were laying, crawling underneath the bed of the truck as cover as he watched you roll from your side onto your back. “Come on baby! I’m coming I got you!”

You groan through the pain as you roll over, still conscious despite the agony raging through your shoulder and down the rest of your arm as you squint your eyes from the harsh sunlight.

Buck gets as far out as he can without exposing himself to the raining shots, grasping at your wrist as soon as he’s close enough and tugging until you’re dragged under the engine and onto the other side protected by the metal of the truck.

The friction sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, a sharp yell leaving your throat as you’re dragged across the concrete.

“Get her in the cabin! Quickly!” Mehta and a few other firefighters from station 133 rush to open and prep the back of the truck to cover you inside, and Buck pulls you into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder as quickly — and carefully — as he can to secure you safely.

Another shot is fired in the group’s direction as you’re pulled out of Buck’s hold and onto the seats, shattering the glass of the window and only further hastening the efforts of the firefighters as everyone clambers into the truck to rush away from the scene, leaving the paramedics car you’d driven over in erupted in flames on the side of the road.

“Okay, we got you, we got you you’re okay,” Buck lays you down across the back of the truck with help from one of the paradmedic’s from station 133 with panic written all over his face, continuing to speak reassurances to you in haste, mostly trying to reassure himself that you would be alright.

He rips open the top of your uniform shirt, paying no mind to the buttons that are pulled from their stitching in his haste to cover your gunshot wound in gauze and stop it from bleeding out. “We got you baby you’re okay, just- just stay with me okay?”

Your vision is blurry as you blink up at him, and you can vaguely hear Mehta calling for a trauma unit on standby as you attempt to lift your head slightly to clear your vision of Buck’s face. “…Are you hurt? There’s a lot of blood..”

Buck follows your eyes as they trail down the stains covering the front of his torso, and he shakes his head quickly as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. “No no no, I’m good baby, you just hang on for me okay?”

The hand that’s not stopping your wound from bleeding all over the place moves to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek softly, a stark contrast to the way he practically barks at the driver of the truck to hurry up.

You barely manage to lift up your arm to cover his hand with your own over your cheek, shaking your head slightly under his palm. “You shouldn’t shout at people…”

“I know baby I’m sorry-” He takes a sharp breath in as he turns his attention back to focusing on you and not on the fact he felt like this drive was taking forever.

The paramedic in the back helps to stabilise your head as you start to slip out of consciousness again, and buck rubs his thumb over your cheekbone to get you to keep your eyes on his. “Hey, three minutes away, you’re so close, I just need you to hang-”

It wasn’t working very well.

The paramedic preps and secures an oxygen mask over your mouth as your eyes start to flutter closed.

“I just need you to hang on…please…”

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

He’d just asked you to marry him, you were supposed to be spending the evening celebrating.

You were supposed to get married and have children and grow old together.

Not get shot and bleed out in the back of a fire truck.

Buck jumps out of the vehicle the minute it stops in the hospital, practically screaming for the doctors to come and get you out.

“Through and through, upper torso,” Mehta explains your injury with just as much panic as Buck, although remains decidedly more collected as he barrels out of the front to watch you get pulled onto a gurney. “Large caliber-”

“We’ve got transfusion ready-” One of the nurses gives Mehta a nod before stopping as she takes in the last part of the explanation. “Did you say large caliber?”

“It was a sniper-”

“Pulse is weak! Trauma bay 2, quickly!” The medical team rush with you on the gurney towards the entrance of the hospital’s emergency unit with Buck watching on like everything was happening in slow motion. “Let’s set up for a thoracotomy-”

“Buckley, are you okay?” Mehta looks over at Buck with concern written all over his face as he examines the stains of your blood covering his face, torso, and hands, and Buck waves him off with nothing but a dismissive nod as an answer as his eyes remain locked on the door you disappear into, the the 133 firefighters, Mehta included, following after you inside.

He was not okay.

—

“Hey,” Eddie approached Buck carefully, but he still jumped at his voice anyhow. Eddie gave a short sigh through furrowed eyebrows, face contorting in concern. “She’s gonna be okay man, she’s strong, you know that don’t you?”

Eddie placed his hand slowly on Buck’s shoulder, immediately able to feel the trembling in his hands that traveled up his arms and into his back. “She was standing right in front of me I-”

“Hey.” Eddie swerved Buck to look at him, shaking his head. “This was not your fault. Nobody knows what happened. When’s going to be alright, you’ve just gotta put faith in her,”

Buck took a series of short, staggered breaths through his nose with a small nod, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. “I need to change- And have a shower-”

“You need to take a second to breathe,”

“You don’t get it I-” Buck exhales heavily, his eyes flickering as he turns to face Eddie. “I can still feel it under my fingernails and no matter how many times I wash my hands it won’t go away-”

“Okay slow down for a second,” Eddie raises his hand up to stop Buck from falling into a spiral. “You can’t go home alone like this, you’re not okay,”

“I don’t know what to do-”

“Alright, you’re coming back with me, come on,” Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder, guiding him through the parking lot towards his car.

—

A sniper who was specifically targeting firefighters, who would’ve thought.

Being sent back out into the field wearing bullet proof vests and swat protection didn’t feel any more secure than proceeding unprotected Buck thinks. If they were going to get shot with a bullet proof vest on then the sniper would just aim for somewhere not covered by the vest.

And it only proved to remind him that you didn’t have the protection you needed when you were shot. Why should he be surrounded by swat agents and covered in kevlar when you weren’t afforded the same luxury.

You ‘took one for the team’ as people would say. But you shouldn’t have had to. Why you?

It was such a selfish thought, but he would’ve rathered any other firefighter on the scene get shot as long as it wasn’t you. He’d’ve rathered get shot himself than it being you.

But apparently the universe was conspiring against him, making him watch and suffer from the sidelines as everything he cared about got ruined one by one.

Maybe that was why he was so reckless. Maybe that was why he climbed the crane with zero protection when he knew he could’ve been shot at from any of the windows of the surrounding skyscrapers and loose his own life whilst still debating how he would live if you lost yours.

He could see the look Bobby gave him as he was lowered down to the ground again, preparing himself for another scolding about him being ‘reckless’ once they got back to the station.

But it never came.

In fact, Bobby didn’t speak to him at all.

“Are you gonna say anything to me?”

Bobby puts down the chopping knife with a sigh, turning around to see Buck leant against the kitchenette sink. “I don’t know Buck, what would you like me to say?”

“Uh… I mean- I mean usually it’s- ‘what were you thinking?’ or ‘that was reckless’ or my… personal favourite ‘you could’ve been killed’.”

“It doesn’t seem like I need to have that conversation, you know it by heart already.” Bobby gestures exasperatedly before picking the knife back up to continue chopping the onion on the table in front of him. “And still, you went full Buck.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing-” Buck approaches Bobby slowly, arms braced over his stomach in a self-soothing fashion.

Bobby sighs once more as Buck doesn’t drop the conversation, giving up his chopping to put his full attention on Buck. “You’ll never be the guy who thinks before he acts. And i’ve learned to come to terms with that,”

”In part because I realised I don’t have a choice, you’re never gonna change,” Bobby gestures outwards with his hands before clasping them together. “But also because… I know no matter what actions you take, no matter how dangerous or impulsive they may be, they come from your heart because you care.”

“Wow, uh, thank you,” Buck gives a soft chuckle as he claps his fist into his hand, clearly happy that he wasn’t getting a scolding this time around.

“Today was not that.” Bobby paused for a second before continuing. “You didn’t get caught up in some moment and rush in where angels fear to tread, you made a deliberate choice to make yourself a target.”

“Yeah.” Buck shrugs his shoulders exasperatedly. “I made myself a target because I wasn’t gonna let any of you guys take that risk because I cannot handle anyone else getting hurt right now.”

“And what about her? How do you think she would feel if she wakes up in the hospital to find out you got yourself killed because you weren’t being careful?”

Buck didn’t really have an answer to that question.

“You have responsibilities Buck. You have a responsibility to this team, you have a responsibility to your fiancée, and most importantly you have a responsibility to yourself.” Bobby shakes his head disappointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You cannot keep putting yourself in reckless situations Buckley because there are people around you that need you alive.”

Buck exhales heavily, biting the inside of his cheek. “Look I couldn’t protect her from getting shot, but today? I had an opportunity to protect the rest of you. So I did.”

Bobby sighs as he turns back to the half diced onion, finishing chopping it slowly. “We are a team, and we’re supposed to protect each other.”

There’s a small moment of silence before Bobby turns to look at Buck for a final time, a stern expression on his face, although lingering traces of gracefulness simmer into the wrinkles by his eyes. “Don’t do it again.”

—

The doctors said the surgery went well. It was probably one of the most relieving moments of his life.

He didn’t have time to visit you immediately though, the team had to go on a call out first.

And of course, because nothing was ever easy, the man who’d called 911 from the fire was also the sniper who was targeting firefighters.

Bobby ended up with a pistol shot to his abdomen, and after helping Athena get into the building dressed in firefighter gear to subdue the sniper the team headed straight to the hospital, now with two team members induced for bullet wounds instead of just one.

Bobby’s was much less severe than yours, but he was still put in for surgery, and Buck decided that it was a good time to visit you down the hall in the recovery unit.

You were still unconscious when he arrived, and it physically pained him to see you hooked up to so many machines as he took a seat at your bedside.

“Hey baby…” He took your limp hand in his own, fingers brushing over your knuckles and the ring still resting on your finger. “The doctors said that your surgery went well… So you should wake up soon…”

He lets out a small stunted exhale as he lifts your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss to your fingers. “I was so worried about you… God you scared me half to death-”

He continues to fiddle aimlessly with your fingers as he recounts the events of what happened to your sleeping self, how he risked his life, how Athena ran into a burning building to find Bobby and how he’d been bothering Eddie and Christopher for the last few days so he wouldn’t have to be on his own.

He told you how he’d moved the reservation of your engagement dinner so you wouldn’t have to miss it, laughing softly to himself at how excited you were to go to that specific resturaunt and try everything they had to offer.

He stayed after regular visitor hours were over, using his position as your fiancé to stay just a little while longer as a priority visitor, not wanting to miss the moment you woke up.

He ended up missing it anyway.

You woke up slowly, eyes fluttering open to the florescent lighting and the rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor.

The most prominent thing though, was an added weight on your left thigh, right near your stomach.

A mop of sandy blond hair is what meets your sight first, then your follow it down to his broad shoulders and his back, awkwardly bent forward in his chair to lay his weight on top of you. Then you noticed your hands caged together, his fingers intertwined with yours and held close to his chest.

The sight makes your heart melt a little, and you smile softly as you achily pull your right hand over to thread your fingers through his hair.

He stirs almost immediately, and you can feel his eyelashes brush against your thigh through the thin hospital bedsheets as he pushes himself upwards slowly until he’s supporting his own weight again.

“Hi baby…”

Buck lets out a short breath as your voice meets his ears, features flooded with relief. “Hi…”

You mirror the smile that breaks onto his face with your own, expression still laced with fatigue but also filled with your absolute love for him. He’d really stayed with you in the hospital for so long he’d fallen asleep.

“How’re you feeling?” Buck’s gaze flickers from your face to your bandaged right arm, and you give him a small shake of your head to dismiss his worries.

“I’m okay, takes more than puny bullet to put me out of commission,” You give him a soft wink and he gives you a little chuckles in return.

“You’re one tough lady…” he leans forward towards you until your foreheads brush against each other and your noses bump together. “I’m glad you’re okay…”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” You laugh softly, shaking your head against his and causing your noses to brush back and forth. “You put a ring on it remember?”

You pull back enough to flash your hand at him and show of your ring like he wasn’t the one who bought it for you.

He pulls your hand down into his lap without a care in the world for looking at the gemstone on your finger, his eyes not wavering from yours for even a second as he cups your face for a kiss, one filled with all the love and pain and anxiety and relief that he’d felt over the last few days.

“I love you so much-”

His lips leave you almost breathless, and you give his hand a soft squeeze. “I love you too Evan,”

He pulls you in for another kiss almost before you can even finish your sentence, and you laugh softly against his lips at the fervour. as you return his enthusiasm.

He shifts his hand down from your face closer to your neck as the kiss continues, and you groan against his mouth as it brushes a little too close to the brushing around your shoulder, pulling away with a hiss of pain.

“Ow ow ow-”

“Oh I’m so sorry-” Buck brings both his hands up away from you like he’s not exactly sure what to do with them, eyes wide in imminent panic of hurting you further.

The expression on his face sends you into a small for of giggles, and it’s enough to ease his panic back into calmness as you prove that he hadn’t actually hurt you.

“You always were a little rough with your hands,” You tilt your head against the pillow with an amused expression on your face, and it’s enough for him to crack a smile himself as you reach up your hand to pull his head back down towards yours.

Your lips connect more with his teeth than his own lips as you kiss him through his smile, and he laughs softly into your mouth at your statement. “You’ve never complained,”

“I never will complain,” You shake your head against his softly with a laugh of your own, one that’s cut off by his lips on yours once more.

All’s well that ends well he supposes.

#9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction #buck x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #asks 🚒#evan buckley angst

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delulujuls · 5 months

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silent carnival | ln4, op81

i will just leave this here without any particular comment. im glad that the las vegas is over and im even more glad that lando is okay. anyway, please enjoy it as always!

summary: lando crashed and went to the hospital, y/n and oscar coming to the rescue

warnings: nothing i think

pairing: lando norris x fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri

The prevailing silence in the car was almost deafening, even the radio didn't dare to hum songs. The only audible sound was the quiet engine working at full throttle, ready to reach the destination as quickly as possible.

Y/N and Oscar sat next to each other in the back seat, gazing at the night landscapes illuminated by fiercely glowing neon lights. Neither of them was in the mood for conversation. The atmosphere was truly worse than gloomy.

Las Vegas was way much more than intense. The city pulsated with nightlife, decidedly more than any other place where Formula 1 had the pleasure to visit. That's why the silence that surrounded the McLaren drivers was quite shocking. However, this silence was entirely justified. It emerged when the orange car with number four on it submerged in sparks and concluded its disastrous ride in the barriers. Right then, all of Las Vegas froze; right then, the entire McLaren garage held its breath.

When the taxi parked at the hospital driveway, the pair quickly stepped outside and headed towards the entrance. After talking to the woman in the reception point and facing temporary difficulties finding the right room, they humbly sat on chairs in front of it. They had to wait until the tests were completed and the doctors left the room, allowing them to come in.

Seeing Y/N nervous, Oscar wordlessly embraced her, providing comfort. She closed her eyes and leaned on his shoulder, knowing well that she wouldn't calm down until she saw Lando with her own eyes.

After some time, when two doctors and a nurse left, the couple entered the room. Lando was genuinely surprised to see his friends, but he smiled seeing them.

The girl quickly approached the bed, ready to hug him, but she hesitated and lowered her outstretched arms, not wanting to cause him unnecessary pain. However, Lando pulled himself up a bit, reaching out to her and allowing the embrace. Oscar exchanged a reassuring look with his friend, smiling at him encouragingly. He sat on the bed and also hugged Lando, soothingly patting his back.

"You gave us quite a scare," Y/N murmured, still holding him tightly.

"It looked worse than the actual outcome it brought," he replied.

After some time, she pulled away and sat beside him, scrutinizing him carefully. Fortunately, there were no signs of serious injuries, just a few bruises and bumps.

"Thank goodness you're okay," Oscar said, glancing at him. However, Lando didn't seem overly comforted.

"Maybe I'm fine, but I completely fucked the car. I'd rather something happened to me than—" "Don't even say that," Y/N quickly interrupted him, scolding him with her gaze.

"Our cars have been total crap for a few races now, so I think you did a favor to the factory people," Oscar remarked with a reassuring smile, lifting Lando's spirits a bit, although he still shook his head.

"Total massacre. At least you fought for our honor," Norris said, looking at the aussie.

"Fought is an understatement. Oscar was ready to throw hands," the girl laughed at his comment.

"Maybe it's for the best, considering how much of a disaster the track was. And you just crashed and hopped into the warm and comfy ambulance without giving a fuck—lots of space, delicious, perfectly chilled water, phew," Piastri joked, maintaining a serious demeanor.

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement. "I'm glad this race is behind us," Norris admitted with a sigh, wincing as he adjusted himself on the bed. "It's just a shame about the outcome."

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "The most important thing is that you're okay."

"Since I'm fine, you shouldn't waste time here," Lando said, looking at his friends. "This is our last night in Vegas; I'd go for a wild party if I were you."

"Oh c'mon, fuck Vegas," Oscar cut in, shaking his head.

"I can't wait to leave this place," Y/N admitted, taking out her phone "I'll order us some champagne, what do you think? We need to toast to this cursed city."

"I'm a hundred percent in," Oscar nodded.

"I hope no one will be mad at us for a little party here," Y/N said, dialing a number.

"It's an open party, the McLaren house is open to everyone," Oscar added.

And as they said, so they did. Shortly after, three bottles of champagne appeared in the hospital room and each of the trio could swear that the shared evening was better than any party.

At some point, Lando stopped thinking about the past race and the unfortunate crash. His thoughts departed from that incident; he didn't even feel the pain of his bruised body as he held a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne in his hand. He couldn't also contain his smile as his friends danced in the middle of the hospital room, singing a song in his honor. At that moment, Lando was genuinely happy and understood that to feel this way, all he needed was the company of these two, who would do anything for him.

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #formula 1 #op81 #ln4 #f1 #lando norris #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x reader x oscar piastri

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?”

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him.

“Last name?”

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter.

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.”

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago.

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses.

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table.

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers.

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull.

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything.

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head.

His girl. His.

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass.

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak.

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him.

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.”

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know.

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know.

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open.

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.”

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now.

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him.

“Simon.” You whisper.

He steps back.

Your face falls.

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t.

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again.

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family.

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain.

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price… she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.”

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw.

“Fine.” The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What? You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.”

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks.

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away.

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work.

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder.

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad.

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His.

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?”

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage.

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously.

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.”

“It’s not.”

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open.

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat.

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed.

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her.

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face.

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.”

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.”

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him.

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad.

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #sassy series #simon riley #pregnant reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #tw pregnancy #peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #dad Simon Riley

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themultifandomgal · 2 months

Text

Jay Halstead- All My Fault

Trigger warnings- hospital, passing out, blood clot on the brain, near death

4 hours, just 4 hours left of my 12 hour shift left. I can do this.

For the last few days I’ve felt like I’m catching the flu but when I woke up this morning I felt so much worse and it’s only getting worse as the day goes by. If this was the start of my shift I would have gone home, but I’m so close to being done and then I have 4 days off to recover. So I’m going to power through the last hours.

“Feeling any better?” I hear my husbands voice. I look up at squint at the brightness off the lights, but I notice Jay looking down at me

“No”

“Why don’t you head home? We’re just doing paperwork” I glare at my partner, Adam

“Don’t jinx it” I groan making Jay chuckle

“In all serious babe I’ll take you home”

“No I’ll be fine” I give Jay a weak smile then return back to my paper work

“At least take some painkillers”

“Fine” I slowly stand up, but Jay places his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down in my seat

“I’ll get them. You stay put” I give Jay a thankful smile. I look at my computer, but have to blink a few times as my vision blurs, probably due to this migraine that I’m having.

“How long has this migraine been bothering you?” Erin asks concerned

“Have had it a couple days now, just today it seems to be worse”

“Here” Jay comes back with some painkillers, a water bottle and a cereal bar “try and drink all of that and eat this. Might help. If your still not well tomorrow I’ll call Will to come over” I roll my eyes at Jay, but instantly regret it as the pain behind my eyes feels like I’m being stabbed. I take the pills and drink half the bottle then open up the cereal bar.

Finally my shift ends, Jay has another couple of hours, so Adam drops me off home

“You sure your going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to have a bath try and eat some toast then head off to bed”

“Ok, but if you get worse please ring me and I’ll come over until Jay gets home”

“Thanks. See you” I wave goodbye and close the passenger side door, get my keys out of my bag and unlock my door. I give Adam one last wave and close the door behind me. Sighing I drop my bag on the floor, take my shoes off and head upstairs into the bathroom. Turning the tap on the blurry vision returns and I stumble backwards feeling dizzy. The last thing I remember is the way my head feels like it’s going to explode.

Jays POV

I return home expecting to see YN in bed asleep, or at least trying to. Heading upstairs I notice the bathroom light on and can hear the water running in the bathroom

“I’m home” I call out but don’t get a response. That’s when I notice the floor is wet. Panicking I open up the door and see my wife on the floor unconscious “YN? YN baby can you hear me?” Not getting a response I immediately take my phone out of my pocket and dial 911

“911 what’s your emergency”

“I need an ambulance at ‘address’ my wife is unconscious”

“How long has she been unconscious for sir?”

“I- I don’t know. I just got home. She’s been home for 3 hours on her own”

“Ok can you check her breathing for me?” I lean down and see if she’s breathing, thankfully yes

“Yes” I breath out

“Ok I have sent an ambulance to you, they should be with you in 5 minutes, keep checking her pulse and breathing until paramedics arrive”

5 minutes go by and they feel like the longest 5 minutes ever. Brett and Dawson arrive, I feel slightly relieved that the paramedics on shift right now are these two as I trust them the most with my wife

“Jay we’ve got her” Gabby says after I lift her onto the stretcher

“Can I ride with you?”

“Sure”

“What the hell happened?” Boden, YNs dad shouts walking over to me sat in the waiting room

“I don’t know. I just came home and.. fuck she looked…” I rub my hand over my tear stained face

“Does will know?”

“Yeah. He’s gone to see if he can find out what’s going on. Fuck I should have brought her here earlier, she wasn’t feeling good when she was at work”

“Jay, Wallace” I look up and see Will walking over to us nervously “I’ve spoken Abrams, she’s in surgery right now”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with my daughter?”

“YN had a blood clot on the brain. Has she hit her head recently?” both will and Wallace look at me. I think back to the other day, before her headache started

“Fuck this is all my fault. She hit her head on a job, she told me she was fine and I looked at her head, there was no bump so I didn’t….. fuck I should have forced her to….” I choke on my own words. This is all my fault.

#jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead #jay halstead x yn #one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago med imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago med #chicago pd

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thedroneranger · 4 months

Text

Need a Favor

Rhett Abbott

Synopsis: Rhett does more than hurt his shoulder when he's bucked off a bull during competition. While his wellbeing is in question, your biggest hurdles are his family and his pesky ex that constantly call you into question.

Notes: My first foray outside Top Gun. I've had this kicking around for quite a while and finally got the inspiration to finish it. It felt Rhett-Outer Range coded, so here we are! Influenced by the Jelly Roll song Need a Favor.

Warnings: Bull riding, religion; religious inaccuracies; medical inaccuracies; mentions of blood.

Word count: 5.3k.

The arena was electric. The cheers of the crowd, the clattering of the chutes, the grunts of the bulls. There had to be more people in this arena than in all of Wyoming.

Then it died.

The silence was deafening. My eyes never left his slumped form as I charged down the stands. People parted like the Red Sea, allowing me the most direct route. My legs were gracious, bracing me as I dropped the eight feet into the arena and then sprinted toward him.

The medics had yet to arrive and the wranglers stood back as I approached. I dropped to my knees at Rhett’s side. His body was contorted in an unnatural position. His hat on the ground beside him—crumpled. Blood trickled from his hairline.

It would be a miracle if he didn’t break his back. “Rhett? Baby?” My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his shoulder. He didn’t move. My vision began to blur, and I did my best to contain the tears threatening at my waterline. Still shaking, I pressed two fingers on his neck just below his jaw. My entire body untensed as I felt a thready pulse. “He has a pulse,” I stated to myself.

Then I saw it.

A sizable puddle of blood. Panicked, I pushed him over to find the stain on his shirt blossoming near the bottom edge of his vest. Without a second thought, I shoved my hand between his vest and shirt until I felt a tear in the fabric and then jagged flesh the wound.

The medics arrived and pulled me out of the way. One of the chute hands held me by the elbows as we watched Rhett be braced and loaded onto a stretcher. Then she handed me off to a paramedic who helped me into the ambulance.

I sat quietly and watched the medic fuss over Rhett. He was stable—for now. “Do you want to hold his hand?” The man offered. All I could do was stare at him as I balled my hand—the drying blood pulling at my skin. Clad in rubber gloves, the medic tucked Rhett’s hand in mine.

Sitting in the ambulance, clutching his hand, my vision began to blur again. Warm streaks painted my cheeks, and I felt the droplets as they leapt from my jaw. Tears dotted my jeans.

The medic was doing his best to soothe me while monitoring Rhett. His voice was white noise as I gazed at Rhett. He hadn’t moved. His mouth didn’t twitch. His eyes didn’t dart behind his lids. He didn’t squeeze my hand.

Thankfully they had slowed the bleeding, but he was steadily soaking through gauze.

It all felt surreal as we arrived at the hospital, exited the ambulance, and I stood in the hallway as his gurney disappeared through the emergency surgery doors.

A breath left my body I had no idea I had been holding. Feeling was returning to my fingers and toes—reality setting in. All that was left was to wait. Wait to hear if Rhett made it out of surgery. Wait to hear if or how this would alter Rhett’s life.

Remembering I had a hand caked in blood, I looked for the nurses station. One of the nurses kindly took me to a bathroom and helped me scrub clean. She also pilfered me a scrub top. We put my stained shirt into the biohazard bin.

Back in the waiting room, still shaky, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket. Just as I was heading to find a seat, I heard a familiar voice. “Hey! Hold on!” I turned to see the medic hurrying toward me. I kept eye contact as he approached. “I wanted to make sure you got these.”

At his side, Rhett’s vest hung in one hand and my rosary sat in the palm of his other. Once it registered it was my rosary, my eyes widened. I looked between him and his palm. Then I then held out mine and he deposited the beads into it. “Thank you.” I had the smallest smile.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, handed me the vest, and then continued back to his rig.

I clutched the beads as I turned to continue further into the waiting room. Finding a somewhat secluded corner, I tucked the vest beside my chair and pulled out my phone. My eyes trained on my screen, scanned the list of Abbotts in my contacts. Ultimately, I decided to call the house in hopes Cecilia would pick up.

My heart rate increased with each ring, and then…voicemail. Quickly, I punched the end button before dropping my phone in my lap. I plopped my rosary on top of it, and used both hands to rub my temples.

What was my next move?

Coffee.

Coffee was the next move. Then maybe I would have the gumption, and the gusto, to try Cecilia again—or call Royal.

This hospital was too small and too archaic for those fancy coffee vending machines. So I headed to the nurses station where the charge nurse pointed me in the direction of the cafeteria.

Nearing 10 p.m., the cafeteria was sparsely populated. A doctor here and there trying to conceal themselves, hoping for 15 minutes alone. A few workers were in the serving area, refreshing the limited offerings. A smile pulled my lips as I spotted the coffee.

While I paid for my drink, I heard the rain. Not just a light drizzle but a steady drumming of water. I stepped into the dining area and noticed the far end was a solarium. The rain streaked down the glass, distorting the view. Soothed by the sound, I walked over.

Sipping my coffee, I stared into the distance. I bet on a sunny day, it was a beautiful garden. Patients milling around with their visitors or their therapists coaching them through their post-op movement quota.

Maybe Rhett would be out there soon. Wobbling around with a cane or a walker under the watchful eye of a nurse or PT. Cussing under his breath because he “doesn’t need any help” but too polite to say anything aloud. I chuckled to myself as I turned to head back to the waiting room. The coffee was helping, but I still didn’t want to talk to Rhett’s family.

Somehow Cecilia was the least threatening Abbott. Hilarious, considering the first time I came to meet the Abbotts and have dinner Cecilia wouldn’t let me into the house. She and Rhett had a standoff—whisper bickering on the front porch and all. It was only when her granddaughter Amy grabbed my hand that she, begrudgingly, let me in.

The Abbotts didn’t strike me as overly religious. There were the usual hints here and there—a crucifix on the wall in the dining room, a bible in the end table drawer beside the couch.

Cecilia proved to be the most faithful Abbott. She clearly believed in good and evil. Heaven and Hell. And to her, I was the devil. Brought into the Abbotts’ lives to test Rhett—lead him astray.

If I were to succeed, Rhett might move off the ranch. Maybe leave Wabang, entirely. Desert the family. Lord knows if he could stay healthy, he’d be one hell of a bull rider.

No matter what Cecilia thought of me, I needed to get a hold of her. Looking around the empty hallway, I stopped and pulled out my phone to try the house again. Still no answer. That woman really needed to get with the times and carry a cell phone.

Royal and I didn’t see eye-to-eye much, but Rhett was his son. I tapped his name and put the phone to my ear. I did my best to remain calm when he answered. Not wanting to waste anyone’s time, I first made sure he hadn’t already been contacted by the event staff or hospital.

Of course, Royal made a point to remind me Maria was listed as Rhett’s emergency contact and ask where she was in all this. I never knew how Maria managed to fly under the radar with the Abbotts. After all, we wanted the same things for Rhett. We both knew he could be doing so much more than mending fences and getting into bar fights.

Hell, the thought even crossed my mind to call Maria, but I couldn’t stomach her being here at the same time as the rest of the Abbotts and them doting on her. Plus, Rhett got quite warm under the collar when his family pitted us against one another.

Still unsure who would appear at the hospital, I was just glad that some of the Abbotts were en route. Feeling a little more at ease, I sipped my coffee as I pocketed my phone and wandered back to the waiting room.

My butt hadn’t even hit the cushion when someone was calling Rhett’s name. Immediately, I stood back up and made eye contact with whom I presumed to be the surgeon. “I’m here for Rhett Abbott!” I nearly tripped as I scrambled to the doctor.

“Next of kin?”

“Fiancée.” The lie rolled off my tongue so naturally. I backed it by giving my full name.

My heart felt like it was in my throat as I stared at the surgeon, waiting for him to continue. “That bull really did a number.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and crossed my arms.

I did my best to listen as the surgeon explained. They were following concussion protocol since Rhett bashed heads with the bull and packed dirt. And getting gored how Rhett did was a freak accident—competition bull horns were always filed blunt.

Overall, the damage to his internal organs appeared minimal. The bruising pain would take longer to subside than for the abrasions to heal. The only hiccup was Rhett still losing blood, so a vascular surgeon scrubbed in to assess him.

Willing myself to be more hopeful than disappointed as the trauma surgeon disappeared, I sighed and shuffled back to my seat.

It felt like an eternity as I finished my coffee and then stared into the bottom of the cup. Still no sign of the Abbotts, I decided to occupy myself by trekking back to the cafeteria.

The rain was still pounding as I, again, took time to fantasize out the window. As I turned to leave, I nearly bumped into an older man. We exchanged pleasantries as he profusely apologized.

“Coffee wouldn’t be the worst thing I wore today.” I tried to lighten the mood.

He eyed my scrub top and chuckled as he knelt on the floor for a second. “Does this belong to you?” He opened his palm to reveal my rosary. I shook my head as he deposited it into my hand.

“How many Hail Marys to forgive dropping it on the floor.”

“Well, that’s not my rodeo. I usually phone a friend.” I laughed softly at his response and thumbed the beads. “There’s a chapel on your way out if you want a few minutes to yourself. Or, if you want company, I’m happy to join you.” He paused. “I can also phone that friend.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I think I’ll spend some time one-on-one.” He nodded as we parted ways.

The chaplain wasn’t kidding when he said the chapel was hidden. The door was the same color as the sterile hospital wall. The only giveaway was the stained glass window, which read as a painting if you weren’t paying attention.

It was quaint. The front of the room was the focal point with a trio of stained glass panels. Raindrops ricocheted off the panes. I slid into the middle pew of the five rows. Still fiddling with my rosary, I stared at the windows.

Clutching my beads, I folded my hands in the back of the pew in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about Rhett.

“Religion is more Ma’s thing, but the Sundays she does get me to church, it doesn’t seem to matter how you worship.” Oh, Rhett. The thought of his voice was comforting.

Suddenly a tear hit my wrist and I sucked in a breath. “Please don't let me lose him.” I mumbled between sobs. My forehead rested on the backs of my thumbs as I let my tears freely fall.

Once I felt empty, I sat back on the bench and slid each bead between my index and middle finger as I said the corresponding prayer. It was amazing what you could remember when it was beaten into you. A smile curled my lips as I thought about the first time Rhett realized the scarring across my knuckles and wrists were from rulers.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought about the tenderness he showed as he kissed each of my knuckles and then my wrists. He made his way up my arms as he pulled me into his lap. Eventually my lips were on his with my arms wrapped around his neck.

“Fuck,” I said as tipped my head and rolled my eyes to keep the tears from continuing.

Just then, I heard the door. I turned to see Cecilia, of all people. It took all my might not to let loose a barking laugh.

I was more shocked when she slid into the pew beside me, leaving just a few inches of space between us. “Surprised it’s still standing? The altar isn’t on fire?” I joked.

She eyed the beads in my hands. “Isn’t that Rhett’s necklace?”

“It’s mine.” I paused for a second. “And it’s not a necklace, it’s a rosary. And I lent them to Rhett to protect him when he rides,” I added. She turned her head to look directly at me. “Blessed at the Vatican.” Her eyebrow jutted up the faintest bit.

I leaned slightly over toward her. “It’s the fallen ones that need a savior most, isn’t it?” I listened to the rain for a few seconds before continuing. “And we only talk to God when we need favors?” Rhett would hate that I was needling his mother but also be proud I was standing up for myself.

Cecilia broke eye contact as she thought about how to respond. Instead of words, she placed her hand over mine that was holding my rosary. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Some of our prayers are the same.” She squeezed my hand as we bowed our heads. I followed her lead as we softly recited a prayer aloud.

We were through our first set of Hail Marys when Royal walked in. “There’s news.” We jumped up, hand-in-hand. Royal noticed our physical attachment but he didn’t say anything as he turned to lead us out.

Perry and Amy were standing in the waiting room with the surgeon I spoke to earlier. Royal had to support Cecilia as the surgeon delivered cautiously optimistic news. Instinctively, I squeezed the beads in my hand. “When can we see him?” I blurted out.

“He hasn’t woken up, but you can visit him one at a time.” Amy bounced on the balls of her feet. “You can go accompanied by an adult,” the surgeon added, looking at her with a smile. He then turned to look at me. “Fiancée first?” All the Abbotts exchanged looks but no one challenged the title.

“Yes,”I said quickly and then herded the surgeon away.

A hand on the door knob, he looked at me. “Are you ready?” Silently, I nodded. Then he pushed the door open, allowing me through first.

The room was soft lit and the only sound was Rhett’s heart monitor. Slowly, I walked to the bed. He looked peaceful. Tired but peaceful.

Taken with Rhett, I didn’t even realize the surgeon let himself out. Quietly, I walked to the bedside. Rhett didn’t move, except for the rise and fall of his chest. His breaths were deep and even.

They did their best to clean up his face. When he collided with the bull, it was face first so he ended up with a broken nose. The bruising was already apparent under his eyes. The stitches at his hairline were hardly noticeable.

After a few minutes, I softly sat on the edge of his bed and gently tucked a curl behind his ear. His eye twitched and my hand stilled. He didn’t respond further, so I slipped my hand into his and rubbed the back with my thumb.

I sighed, continuing to watch his face. Selfishly, I wanted to stay here all night with him. However, at the very least, his mother and Amy needed to see him.

With one last squeeze, I gently got off the bed and headed for the door. I looked back one more time before leaving.

After everyone had a chance to see Rhett, Royal and Perry decided to drive over and get Rhett’s truck from the arena.

Amy and I stayed in the waiting room while Cecilia sat with her son. Amy was in good spirits, although Rhett had yet to wake up. She succumbed to curiosity and asked a million questions about Rhett. I did my best to answer every one.

Finally, Perry and Royal returned. Trailing behind them was Maria. I stood as Amy ran over to greet her father. “I figured you would turn up here,” I said coldly to Maria as she stood directly in front of me.

She shrugged. “Well, they called me directly, so I figured I should stop by and check in.”

“Where’d you come from? The moon? How are you just arriving if you were the first call?” I asked. “Did you even bother to call the Abbotts?”

“Of course, I called Cecilia,” she explained. “But she wasn’t home, and Royal didn’t pick up.”

“And Perry?” I pressed her.

She lowered her voice. “I don’t call that piece of shit for anything.” She glared in his direction. “Isn’t it kind of weird Rhett hasn’t changed his emergency contact?” She looked back at me. “Maybe he wants to make sure it’s someone he can trust.” She smirked.

Before I could say anything, Perry approached us. He dropped Rhet’s truck keys in my hand. “Assuming you’re going to want to stay, being his fiancée and all.” I could feel the heat in my cheeks as he winked at me.

She tried not to appear obvious, but Maria’s eyes widened slightly and her gaze dropped to my hand. I could see her relax when she realized I wasn’t wearing a ring.

Just then, Royal, who had excused himself to say good night to Rhett and collect his wife, returned with Cecilia. “Maria!” Cecilia opened her arms to embrace her.

However, Cecilia was focused on me during the interaction. “You’ll update us as soon as you hear?” Royal held out Cecilia’s coat, coaxing her to part with Maria.

“Of course.” I nodded.

“We’ll plan to come back tomorrow afternoon,” Royal stated.

“I’ll swing by, too,” Maria added.

“Ooh! We can come together!” Cecilia added.

“Perfect.” Maria smiled.

It took all my energy to not roll my eyes. My attention was diverted when Amy threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I smiled and hugged her back, kissing the top of her head.

I waited for them to disappear through the doors, and then made my way to Rhett’s room. Light was beginning to peek through his blinds. He was still sound asleep. I tried my best to be quiet as I pushed the little cushioned sitting chair as close as possible to his bedside. Once seated, I sipped my coffee and told him about the night with his family.

Eventually, I moved onto reminiscing about some of our shared memories. Feeling a little stiff, I changed positions, folding my legs under me in the chair and leaning forward so my stacked arms rested on the edge of his bed. With my chin resting on top of them, I watched him.

Just being there gave me a sense of peace. The adrenaline was wearing off. My eyelids felt so heavy, which reminded me that I was coming up on 24 hours without sleep. It wouldn’t hurt to rest my eyes…

Rhett and I were laying in one of the pastures on the Abbott ranch. A beautiful day, the sun was warm on our faces. The back of Rhett’s fingers stroked my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. He kept saying my name as we looked at each other.

My eyes darted around behind my eyelids, and then shot open to see Rhett staring at me—he really was stroking my cheek and saying my name. Basking in his touch, I leaned into his fingers. The tiniest smile pulled a corner of his mouth.

“Rhett.” I sounded groggy. He rasped my name in response. Leaning into his fingers one more time, I pulled away to get him his water cup beside his bed.

After a few timid sips, he was damn near chugging. “Whoa, slow down. It’s not going anywhere.” He smiled as I put his cup back on the bedside table and sat down. Rhett brushed his finger along mine. In response, I put my hand over his.

I could feel the tears building. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” I leaned down and kissed the back of his palm.

“Me, too.” He did his best to hold my hand. After a minute he said, “What’d I miss?” Clearly, his sarcasm hadn’t been broken. I couldn’t help but smile.

We enjoyed each other’s company until a nurse came to check his vitals and realized he was awake. Then I stood beside his bed and held his hand while nurses and doctors poked and prodded and questioned him. Rhett remained calm throughout the entire process—might’ve been the morphine.

Once the doctor was satisfied, the nurses continued to work, so I stepped out to get another coffee and call Cecilia, as promised. Again hoping to reach her directly, I called the house line. She answered on the first ring. She was holding back tears as I updated her. It was the first time I heard sheer happiness in the woman’s voice.

I soaked in every minute I could alone with Rhett. I was torn between giving Rhett a heads up about Maria or letting him find out when she sashayed into his room. “Rhett?” I was cross-legged in the chair, leaning against the side of his bed and holding his hand.

He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Maria is coming to see you.”

“What?” Surprise was evident in his voice.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “She’s still listed as your emergency contact, so she got a phone call to notify her you were injured,” I explained. “She showed up last night well after visiting hours.” He scoffed. “And Cecilia invited her back today.”

Rhett groaned and shifted a little. “I can’t believe her.”

My thumb soothed the back of his palm. “Maria is always trying to win you back.”

“I’m talking about my mother. She has to cut this shit out.” Rhett’s voice was tense, and I could feel it in his fingers.

“Don’t worry about them, Rhett.” We locked eyes. “It’ll be fine. I only mentioned it so that you weren’t completely caught off guard.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. A smile pulled the one corner of my mouth as I placed my free hand over our clasped ones.

We sat in silence until Amy bound through the door. “Uncle Rhett!” Both their faces lit up as she ran over. She hugged me after she came around the bed. Amy was small enough, I hoisted her onto Rhett’s bed to carefully hug him and then hold his hand.

She was chattering a mile a minute when Cecilia and Royal came in. After greeting them, I excused myself to get a coffee.

As luck would have it, Maria was arriving. “Too scared to be in a room with me?” she asked.

“Mhmm, I don’t like the smell of trash.”

She audibly laughed. “Your insults mean nothing” We held eye contact. “The Abbotts love me. And I know them like the back of hand. I can play ‘em like fiddles.” She scanned my face for a reaction—I remained stoic.

“Cecilia thinks you’re the devil,” she continued. “Trying to lure her baby off the ranch.”

“And what exactly is it that she thinks you’re doing?” I retorted.

Maria smiled and shrugged. “I had my heyday. I wouldn’t possibly want to move away now. I’m ready to find a husband and settle down. I know there’s no place like Wabang.” Sarcasm colored her tone.

I laughed. “That’s for damn sure.”

“Good luck overcoming that.” She huffed and bumped my shoulder as she passed.

Just as she was about to cross the threshold into Rhett’s room, Cecilia popped out the door. It felt like slow motion as they collided. The lid popped off Maria’s coffee and scalding brown liquid dyed her baby pink blouse.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Cecilia cried. “Let’s get you cleaned up!” Cecilia took Maria by the elbow down the hall in the direction of the restrooms. Maria held the fabric away from skin as Cecilia muled her along.

A shake of my head, I continued to the cafeteria for my own beverage.

On my way back, I stopped in the almost hidden chapel. During my previous visit, I’d noticed the bowl of holy water and wanted to splash some on my rosary to cleanse it before giving it back to Rhett. It was the best I could do without a priest.

When I returned to Rhett’s room, Cecilia was sitting at his bedside. They were whispering in harsh tones. They immediately stopped as I entered. “I can leave.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder.

“No, no!” A smidge of desperation in Rhett’s voice. “Ma was just leaving.” Cecilia stood and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Rhett’s forehead.

She looked at me as she left. Her expression felt softer somehow. I waited until she completely exited the room before venturing over to my usual seat. Rhett immediately extended his hand.

“I have something for you.” His interest was piqued. “Hold out your hand.” He did as he was told and I dropped the beads into it.

“I was getting ready to ask the nurse about this.” He rubbed his thumb over the beads and closed his hand, bringing it to his heart.

“The EMT saved them,” I added.

“I think they saved me.” Rhett looked at me.

“I think modern medicine saved you.”

“Don’t go all evolution over creation on me, now,” he shot back. “You gave these to me for a reason.” He was right. I rolled my eyes and moved to press my lips to his. “Mhmm, you shut me up like that more often,” he said as we parted.

“Based on how hard you’re roasting me, it feels like you’ll be discharged any minute.”

Sure enough, by the end of the day, Rhett was being wheeled to the passenger door of his truck.

Once he was home, Cecilia became his caretaker. She and I did come to an understanding that included me pre-cooking meals for Rhett. I was skeptical when she extended the use of their kitchen to prepare them. However, I gladly accepted, and the very next night, we all sat down to a meal I cooked for everyone as a thank you.

“Before we dig in, how about we say grace?” Cecilia looked at Royal, who nodded in agreement. Everyone folded their hands around the table and bowed their heads. Cecilia called my name, and I looked up to meet her gaze. “Would you do the honors, since you made this meal?”

Rhett’s hand settled on my thigh. I could feel his eyes on me. “Of course,” I agreed with a small smile, which Cecilia returned. We all bowed our heads as I said grace. Amy was the first to join me, then Rhett and the rest of the Abbotts.

“Amen.” We all said in unison.

“Thank you.” Cecilia looked at me with a genuine smile.

“You’re welcome,” I replied. Rhett squeezed my thigh as we exchanged looks.

Dinner felt like a dream. Or a trap. Although I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, I felt oddly comfortable. Standing beside Cecilia washing dishes while she dried them seemed natural. As if we had been doing this for years.

I was wiping down the empty sink when I saw a vehicle approaching the house. There it was: the trap springing closed. Silently, I took a deep breath to brace myself. I didn’t say a word to Cecilia. Besides, she was likely expecting Maria.

Knocking rang through the house. Cecilia poked her head out of the kitchen as Amy shouted, “I’ll get it!” and ran toward the door. Everyone seemed surprised by Maria’s presence, but Royal politely invited her to stay and enjoy the dessert she brought.

“Let me slice it up!” I waited for Maria to catch sight of me. “Oh, you are here.” The light left her face as she sat a pie on the table.

“Doing your best to suck up to Cece and Royal?” she added as she walked toward me. I didn’t move as she got in my personal space and reached around me for a pie server. “Excuse my reach.” She withdrew, tool in hand, and walked back to the table.

“Just making sure Rhett gets fed during recovery.” I leaned against the sink with my arms crossed. We briefly made eye contact as she made the first incision. It was silent as she put monstrous portions on each plate.

“Oh!” Maria feigned surprise as she looked at the empty tin. “I wasn't expecting you to be here.” She loaded pie plates on her arms and disappeared into the dining room.

Maria came back and grabbed the final plate. “If there is any left, you can have my sloppy seconds.” She winked and turned to head into the dining room.

As she spun around, there was Cecilia. Before she knew what hit her, she was covered in pie. “My goodness, Maria!” Cecilia looked her up and down, and then motioned for me to pass a kitchen towel. In no rush, I tossed one in their direction.

Cecilia fussed over Maria and tried to clean her up but really just smeared it more into her shirt. “Well, looks like you have to settle for crumbs!” Cecilia added as she dropped some pie bits into the waste bin.

Maria’s eyes narrowed as she looked between us. “I said I wasn’t going to stay long, and this feels like a sign that I really should get going.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you next time we’re at the bank!” Cecilia ushered her out. While she was herding Maria to the door, I found the broom and finished cleaning.

Cecilia came back as I was emptying the dust pan. When I turned around there were two plates of pie on the table. “She practically served that pie in quarters.”

“Thank you,” I said as I came toward the table.

“Finding the snakes in the garden can be tough,” she responded and handed me a plate. “You can call me Cece.”

“Ok, Cece.” I tested it out as we made our way to the dining room. Rhett pulled my chair close to his as I sat down. Cecilia watched us as she folded her napkin on her lap.

She cast an unnoticed glance at my hand as we ate—a reminder to make sure he knew where she kept his maternal grandmother’s wedding band so he could get it resized when he was ready.

Royal ran his finger along Cece’s, pulling her back to the present moment. Her mind ran from wedding rings to homesteads. Then she had a moment where she thought about having two daughters-in-law. “Please don’t let me lose her,” she whispered under her breath.

With that favor, she returned her attention to those around the table.

Visit my masterlist for more | Sign up for my tag list!

A kind reminder: Likes work hard, but reblogs and comments work harder 😈

Tagging a few friends I've seen interact with Rhett content: @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @sunlightmurdock @ereardon @bobfloydsbabe @sebsxphia

#rhett abbott #outer ranger #rhett abbott x reader #religion #need a favor #jelly roll #Spotify

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vienssunshine · 4 months

Text

Distracted Driving

pairing: Yuki Tsukumo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!Yuki wc: 1.9k author's note: I skimmed a motorcycle tutorial for this description: Yuki convinces you to ride her bike and rewards you for your bravery

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yuki says, holding out her spare helmet.

You’re floored she would even suggest the idea. “I’ve only ridden on your motorcycle, what makes you think I can drive it?”

“You’ll be a natural,” she urges, pushing the helmet into your arms, “and this is the perfect place to try it out.” She gestures to the abandoned dirt lot you’re standing in; it doesn’t have much to crash into. The only other thing out here is the road lined with glowing streetlights heading back to a city you passed around fifty miles back, a distance like that meaning an ambulance would take forever to arrive if you had an accident. You can’t even get started about wait times in emergency rooms.

“You said we were coming out here to go stargazing, not to see how fast I can kill us both by crashing your bike.”

Yuki laughs and steps closer. “It’s cute when you get all worked up over nothing.” She presses a kiss to your flushed cheek. “What if I give you a reward for your bravery?”

“It’s not bravery, it’s stupidity,” you respond. This is a bad idea, no doubt about it. You have trouble driving a car, which has four wheels, a motorcycle only has two. It’s like making the jump between rollerskating and rollerblading, but with the potential of much more severe consequences. Your eyes flick back up to Yuki—she’s dressed in her stupid, dangerous, sexy motorcycle jacket and goggles—and see her watching you with a tilted head and smirk. She’s been your girlfriend long enough to know that curiosity is tugging at you and isn’t surprised when you look away and ask, “But…what is the reward?”

Yuki turns, walking back to her propped-up bike. “Only one way to find out.”

She’s such a tease. What’s more frustrating is how it works so well on you.

You huff, strapping the helmet on. “All right.” It can’t be that bad, can it?

It is indeed bad when you’re on the thing, the angry engine rumbling beneath you and the exhaust spitting out fumes of gray smoke. The glare of the headlights just barely scares off the darkness of the night so you can see the dirt a few feet in front of you. If Yuki’s arms weren’t wrapped around your waist, you would’ve been off the motorcycle in a second.

Your fingers tighten around the handlebars. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Yuki purrs in your ear, sending a tingle down your spine. Or is this death machine activating your fight-or-flight response? Either way, you readjust yourself in the seat.

“Okay, whatever, how do I even do this?”

One of her arms loosens from your waist and she lays her hand on top of yours on the right handlebar. Her riding gloves leave her fingers uncovered, so you’re able to feel her skin as well as the rough leather coating her palm. “This is the throttle, and you twist it toward you to move forward.” With Yuki leaning forward to demonstrate the mechanics of the handlebars, her chest is pressed against your back. Her motorcycle jacket would muffle the sensation if it wasn’t unzipped like it is now, so you can feel the plushness of her breasts on your shoulder blades as she’s describing another lever on the bike. “…is the brake. Got it, angel?”

“Um, yeah…yeah I got it.” Doesn’t seem that hard, just a few twists and levers. Maybe it is possible you’ll survive this ordeal.

“Okay, I’ll just–” You twist the right handlebar toward you and the bike kicks up and starts rolling forward.

Yuki laughs, “Attagirl! Look at you go!”

You laugh a little too, not because you’re amused, but because you’re in disbelief that you’re moving the thing and haven’t blown up yet.

Still cautious, you turn the throttle slightly further, bringing the speed of the motorcycle up past the pace of a casual walk. And when you steer the bike into a gentle turn at the border of the dirt patch, you find it easier to control than you expected. Soon you’re successfully circling the lot while Yuki cheers you on. As impossible as it first seemed, you’re actually doing it, you’re driving her motorcycle.

“That’s my girl,” Yuki says. You want to turn and show her the smile her encouragement brings to your face, but you’re not comfortable driving without looking straight ahead yet.

“This is kinda fun,” you say, still leaving room to change your opinion in case of the terrible crash that your nerves are convinced will happen.

“You’re so good at it,” Yuki responds, giving your waist a small squeeze with her arms.

These kind of situations are why you like dating Yuki so much, she knows how to pull you out of your comfort zone, help you grow and try new things. Despite your anxiety, every experience she’s helped you through, though usually miserable whilst occurring, has been rewarding after pushing through it. It’s how you feel now, you’re proud of yourself for doing something that scared you.

You’re about to express your gratitude when her hands unclasp themselves from around your waist and travel up your torso. Your brows furrow, but you’re able to focus on the upcoming turn until her fingers splay out on your breasts, squeezing and kneading them.

You look down to the gloved hands on your chest. “Yuki, what…what are you doing?” The motorcycle lurches to the side and you snap your eyes back up to the dirt ahead of you, scrambling to re-center the bike until it steadies. The close call leaves your heart pounding and breath short, but Yuki is unaffected.

“It’s your reward, silly.” Her fingers pinch your nipple through your shirt and you gasp. “For being so brave.”

“What?” you whisper. You can’t make sense of this. Heat burns through your body and you’re not sure if it’s from her touch or your panic. This has to stop. Where did she say the brake is? You can’t remember.

“If you keep doing this”—she nuzzles her chin onto your shoulder and nibbles at your ear—“we are going to crash. This is literally distracted driving.” You steer through another turn, having a much harder time with it than your first attempt. With her touching you like this, if you make the smallest mistake, like hitting a rock or going into a turn too fast, you’ll both get sent flying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuki coos, “I’ll make sure nothing happens. Just enjoy the ride, m’kay?”

“This–this is crazy, you know that?” A sharp exhale leaves your lips when Yuki moves from your ear to your neck, opening her warm mouth to lick and suck on your pulse. You shift in the seat of the motorcycle, trying to keep your attention on the land ahead while Yuki’s every movement is pulling it away.

“Fuck, don’t–” Her hands are moving downward, unbuttoning your pants and traveling underneath your underwear. Surely you’ll crash if she touches you there.

“You’re doing great, angel. Just keep those pretty eyes on the road.” You whine her name and she gently sinks her teeth into your neck, her arm slinking around your waist as other her hand descends to your heat. “Thought you’d be too nervous to be this wet,” Yuki breathes against your skin, hungry. The bike wobbles.

She slides her fingers through your folds and your vision blurs, the glow of the headlights melting into the dark of the night until you blink and refocus your eyes.

“Yuki–shit–I’m–”

You’re driving. You need to tell her to stop, but you can’t get the words out, you don’t know if you want to. Even if you think this is bad, idiotic, truly a one-way ticket to the hospital, the excitement flooding your core, swirling and churning deep inside you, is impossible to reason with. Any tension or tightness in your abdomen is softened with the swipes of her elegant fingers. You’re helpless when she’s making you feel this good.

It’s hard to keep your attention on the road, but you’re still trying, so you don’t notice how your hips angle themselves forward so she’s able to start circling your clit. You also don’t notice how your tightening grip on the handlebars—your body unable to bear the pleasure spreading out within you—causes the motorcycle to pick up speed, now traveling at the pace someone could pedal a bicycle at. The wind whisks your moan away into the night and the muscle memory built in the first few minutes of riding takes over to help you steer.

“I want…more,” you say, grinding your hips against her hand.

“Gotta focus on driving, angel,” she responds.

“I–fuck–I know, it just–feels so–”

“Uh huh?” Yuki skims her teeth over the heated skin of your neck.

“It feels so…good…when you touch me,” you say, and she kisses you. You try to keep your eyes from fluttering closed as she continues to swirl her fingers around you, tending to the pressure pushing up against your insides. It’s interesting how you’re being built up to an orgasm so much faster than normal. Splitting your attention between an activity like driving while pleasure is sailing through you wipes out any of those thoughts you have that take you out of the moment—how your body looks, whether Yuki likes what you’re doing, if you’re being sexy enough. In this moment, you’re out of your head, able to feel her touch without insecurity marring the sensation. Maybe Yuki knew this would happen. She knows you well.

You moan her name, doubling over. You shoot your head back up immediately, keeping your eyes on the road even though your legs are attempting to press together, trying to shut out the pleasure overwhelming your body, though the tangled metal of Yuki’s motorcycle keeps them apart and you susceptible. The bike rocks again.

“Yuki–I can’t–I can’t take anymore,” you plead, “I can’t focus.”

“I’ve got you,” she says, her hand stroking your waist. Her skilled fingers pick up to the pace she knows you like when you’re close.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“It’s okay,” Yuki tells you, “Just let go.”

So you do. The rope holding you together snaps as strings of pleasure whip through your poor body. Any consequences of releasing yourself, thoughts of crashing, dying, long ambulance wait, it’s all washed away; you even let go of the handlebars. The motorcycle bucks for a second, but Yuki wrangles it with her free hand, holding onto the handlebar as you cum all over the hand working at your clit.

You grab onto her forearm, clamping down on it as pleasure rolls over you, making it hard to realize how reckless letting go of the handlebars of the motorcycle you were driving is. You don’t really care though, with this feeling washing through your body, you don’t care about the bike, your stupidity, or anything that doesn’t relate to the motorcyclist behind you who’s slowing her strokes and cooing in your ear as the last muscle spasms of your orgasm calm.

Yuki takes her hand from your pants and is unfazed by the wetness coating it when she reaches it forward and to the lever sitting underneath the right handlebar. She pulls on it and the bike slows to a stop. So that’s where the brake is. The realization makes you laugh a weak, fucked-out laugh.

She kicks out the bike stand and you unfurl from your hunched form and sit back so you’re leaning against her chest.

“That was insane,” you heave out, “and stupid and dangerous, and…”

“…and?” There’s a grin in her voice.

A hazy warmth settles over you. You pull her arms into your lap, running your fingers over her gloves palms.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say.

She knows you mean more than just for the orgasm, she knows you appreciate how she pushes you from your comfort zone and helps you try new things. Even if those new things are reckless and crazy.

Yuki leans to your side and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’re welcome.”

#yuki tsukumo smut #yuki tsukumo #tsukumo yuki #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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longhardtransitionreturns · 2 months

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I'm too weak to stand by the time my wife and our midwife decide it's time to transfer me to the hospital to give birth to our son. I'm splayed listlessly in the birthing pool, my red-rimmed eyes half slipped back in my head. The baby is lodged so tightly in my hips that any tiny movement sends sharp spikes of pain through my pelvis. Pushing is white hot fire and absolutely out of the question so I'm left skewered on the girth of my baby, too out of it from pain and exhaustion to have anymore input on what happens next.

When the paramedics arrive they do their best to hide their shock when they find a 350lb bull dyke with a buzz cut and biker tats inked across her swollen GG breasts grunting in a pool so small I'm touching all the sides.

They move away to confer, likely about moving someone my size, but I'm too out of it to be offended. My big, hairy pussy is bulged out so far it seems almost impossible there's no head showing. My wife Monica moves to my head and kisses my cheek. I can tell she's scared but trying to put on a brave face.

The paramedic who is clearly in charge, a tall, butch Black woman with short nails and even shorter hair, jumps into the pool and introduces herself as Jean before announcing her intention to check me. I'm briefly relieved another lesbian is going to be the stranger who is digging around in my pussy then I feel her fingers enter my overstuffed hole and I can't bite back a weak moan at the intrusion. She rubs my bulge gently near my clit and makes a shushing noise. My eyes roll back in my head involuntarily at the intimate touch. I'm hurting too bad for it to be pleasurable but it gives me a tiny ounce of relief nonetheless.

Monica is staring down at me with worry on her face when Jean announces to her team that the baby is stuck on my pubic bone and the first step to getting it unstuck is to get me standing. I barely have time to protest before the 3 muscled young men taking orders from Jean are helping lift my bulk from the tub.

Even with five people supporting my weight I am unable to keep myself from falling gracelessly into a wide squat as the weight of my huge child drops down even further. My bulging pussy hits the water as I feel the unmistakable sensation of urgently crowning what must be an absolutely huge head.

I'm screaming about the fire in my crotch as Jean takes one of my meaty thighs, the biggest paramedic takes the other, and the other two support my back as I am lifted, legs spread around my crown, onto the floor beside the birthing pool.

The best case scenario, Jean tells me over my screaming sobs, is that I push it out right here and she and her team give me and baby a ride to the hospital. It looks like that might work for a few pushes but I'm fading faster than before and don't have much to give in the way of help. She briefly considers forceps but would rather get me to the hospital if my baby is still in danger of breaking my pelvis when I push him out. She reaches inside my rubber band tight lips to feel where the head had previously been stuck on a bone and noticeably pales.

She doesn't say anything out loud to alarm me or my wife but she tells her team with harsh urgency that we are transferring to the hospital immediately. I'm being moved again, still with my legs spread wide by men on either thigh, on to a bariatric stretcher and rolled out of my living room before I can even think to protest being rolled out of my front door naked, my crowned, leaking pussy bared for for all our straight, conservative neighbors to see.

I hear Jean telling Monica and our midwife that they're going to have to meet us at the hospital. Between my size and the seriousness of my potential injuries, they need all the room they can get to keep me intact until I'm able to be rushed into emergency surgery.

I don't hear whether my wife argues or not because I'm being lifted up into the ambulance. The jostling sends a sharp, warning pain through my pubic bone and I scream for them to stop moving me. Jean yells almost at the same time, glaring at her subordinates. She orders them to freeze with my feet tilted up into the ambulance and then leans down to place her palm firmly against my crown.

The counter pressure immediately eases some of the burning sensation around my lips and the ominous aching in my pelvic bones. I lay my head back and groan at feeling, for the first time since I hit transition, some of the pain lessening rather than intensifying.

I focus on how good it feels to have Jean pushing back on some of the insane pressure in my cunny while they settle me into the ambulance. A strap is placed around my straining middle and the stretcher is locked into place. One of the nameless young men starts an IV as the sirens start blaring and I feel the ambulance start to move.

Jean, still holding my crown, tells me her colleague is giving me something for the pain and that a surgical team is being assembled right now to meet the ambulance and rush me into the operating room.

"Everything's going to be just fine, Libby. You and your baby are going to be just fine as long as you don't push. No matter how bad you need to bear down, you can't. You will break your pubic bone and probably your tail bone and you really don't want to do that."

I don't. I've already started to feel the effects of the drugs and I'm still in more pain than I've ever been in my life but there is a thin, hazy distance from it now. I feel the warmth of Jean's hand around my crown and I blink up at her with what I think might be close to a flirtatious smile.

"Just don't move your hand, baby," I mumble and she clearly understands because her cheeks redden and she cracks a wide, slightly embarrased smile.

"Alright, Sappho. Glad those drugs are starting to work."

I probably wasn't going to respond because I was seconds away from passing out when suddenly the ambulance is hitting something with extreme force and my gravid body is bouncing up into the air. I see, as if in slow motion, Jean's steadying hand get ripped away from my pussy.

I'm slammed back down on to the stretcher and, inevitably, my bones shatter. When they give way my baby is ejected out to his shoulders before anyone can stop him to try to spare me even greater injury.

I'm writhing and screaming incoherently as I feel Jean gingerly pull my son out the rest of the way. I can feel his heft shifting around pieces of bone in me as he slithers out and I am acutely aware how badly I wish I could lose consciousness.

I don't. When my son leaves my body to be handed off to one of the men and my clenching cavity clamps down on nothing, I am catapulted into another stratosphere of pain. I start hyperventilating and am barely able to understand Jean as she straddles the stretcher in between my legs and starts to touch my lips.

"Libby, hold on for me, honey. I'm gonna do something and it's gonna hurt like the dickens and then it's going to feel amazing. Just keep breathing for me, sweetheart."

Why I look down right at that moment I will never know but I watch her gloved, fisted hands plunge into my pussy and my asshole at the same time. I use my last remaining strength to wail in protest as it feels like a white hot iron is being rammed through my pelvis. Then she does what can only be described as a punch with the fist in my cunt and I almost throw up with how suddenly relieved I feel because of whatever Jean's hands are doing to hold my gravely injured body together.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still in agony. But between whatever Jean's fists just did and the drugs starting to kick in even more, I'm barely able to do anything other than lay there and whimper.

When we get to the hospital the medics have just taken me down from the ambulance when Monica runs up. She takes in Jean, straddling the stretcher in between my legs and then the position of her fists in both my holes. My face is a rictus of pain and shock and I'm horrified to discover I can't talk. I'm not even able to close my mouth when I feel drool slipping down my chin.

I look up at my wife, who's being handed our 15lb baby. She walks beside my stretcher as I'm rushed in to the trauma bay. I fight with all my will to be able to muster up the strength to say one more thing to the love of my life before the drugs pull me under completely. The fact that I'm about to almost die on the table three times because I'm silently hemorrhaging into my abdomen as we speak is the only thing that comes between me and divorce later so stupid were the words I chose to say.

"Jean's hands feel so good in my ass and my pussy. God, it feels so good."

#birth kink #labor and delivery #maesiophilia #preggo kink #giving birth #painful birth #hospital birth #birth #medfet #pregnant #paramedic #wlw

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

Down in Flames (modern!HOTD) 9

previous ~ next ~ series masterlist

pairings: modern!Aegon x Reader & modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You, Helaena, and Daeron race to the hospital, unsure of what happened, and the state of everyone. No one is answering their phones. You have to get there. Before it's too late.

warnings: descriptions of the hospital, medical equipment, injuries, mentions of a car crash, Aemond's medical trauma, emotional distress, angst, mentions of addiction

word count: 4.2k

note: no spicy stuff in this chapter, just angst & tooth-rotting fluff!

masterlist

The car ride to the hospital was a nightmare, you nearly threw up out the window as Daeron drove, the nerves eating away at the lining of your stomach. Despite the rain, you rolled the window down, hanging your head outside of it, clinging to the feeling of the wind, the angry pelts of rain against your face. You call again and again.

Aemond’s voicemail is always greeting you, the sound of his voice sending a stabbing pain through your chest.

You try again.

The phone rings and rings.

Still no answer.

WhathappenedwhathappenedwhathappenedAemondAemondAemond.

Daeron skids the car to a stop outside the emergency room doors. An ambulance is parked in front, the paramedics blinking as the headlights illuminate them. The ambulance is empty, with no sign of Jace. No sign of Aemond. Or Aegon. Or Luke.

“Go!” Daeron tells you, and you fly out the door like a bat out of hell.

Helaena holds your hand tightly as you race forward, her silver hair plastered against her skin from the rain. You are soaked to the bone, but you barely feel the chill.

You’re in a panic running through the hospital, the fluorescent lights blinding you, nearly slipping on the shiny floors, as you hurry to the nurses' station.

A bright-eyed nurse smiles at you, jet-black hair pulled from her face in a high ponytail. She has a giraffe clipped next to her nametag, and a pink stethoscope around her neck.

“Can I help you?”

The doors open behind you and Daeron jogs in to join you both. You wet your lips, trying to calm your nerves enough to form a coherent sentence.

“Yes, I- I am looking for-”

“Y/N!”

You turn and see Baela running toward you. You push away from the nurses' station and throw your arms around your best friend. She hugs you tightly, so hard you’re afraid your ribs will crack as you bury your face in her silver curls.

Helaena stays at the nursing station, talking with Daeron to the confused nurse. Her voice is soft but insistent, violet eyes shining with tears. Daeron is vibrating with nerves beside her, clinging like a silver shadow.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask and Baela shakes her head.

“The roads were so slick, the rain was coming down in fucking sheets,” Baela says, tears streaming down her face, “Jace lost control of the wheel; the storm came out of fucking nowhere.”

You nod, listening intently, but your thoughts are racing.

Where is he?

“They hydroplaned, they crashed into a guardrail, but they were okay,” Baela sobs, “but then Aemond came around the corner.”

Your heart stops at the sound of his name and Baela shakes her head.

“I don’t know what happened, but he hit them!” Baela cries, “he must have lost control of the wheel, he probably didn’t even see them and they crashed.”

The panic is slashing through you like a knife, cutting you into ribbons. You’re sure any minute you’ll start screaming, the urge is crawling up your throat as Baela speaks.

“Where is everyone? Where’s Aemond?” you say panicking, “where’s Jace and Luke? And Aeg-”

Baela’s fully panicking, choked sobs escaped through her clenched teeth. Her breathing is ragged as if she’s drowning, gasping for air.

“Luke hasn’t woken up!” Baela sobs, her body heaving, “he won’t wake up!”

You put your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself. She clings to you, tears dripping from her face to the linoleum floor.

“Baela, where is Aemond?” you ask again, but she has dissolved into sobs.

You hold her against you, shaking. You’ve never seen Baela like this, this inconsolable. You’re still holding her when Jace appears from down the hall. There’s a cast on his arm, a butterfly suture on his eyebrow above his swollen eye, and his lip is also cut.

Baela leaves your arms, throwing herself in Jace’s. He maneuvers so she doesn’t touch his injured arm, wincing, but holding her close.

“Jace,” you say, voice breaking.

His eyes are wet with tears. His brother hasn’t woken up. His brother. You’ve rarely seen one Velaryon without the other. Luke is his brother’s shadow. And now he may be his brother’s ghost.

You feel so selfish. So incredibly selfish but all you can think of is Aemond. Is Aemond alright? Is he lying in a bed like Luke, unconscious, alone in a hospital again like when he lost his eye? Where is he, where is he, WHERE IS HE?

Helaena says your name but it sounds like she’s speaking it through a tunnel.

It’s like you’re moving through a fog as you turn to her. Daeron trails behind her as she places a hand on your shoulder. She’s wearing little dragonfly earrings, with green gems at the tips of their wings. For some reason, you haven’t noticed until now, but there they are, hanging from her ears sparkling in the hospital lights.

It's so strange at this moment that’s all you can focus on, your brain feeling fuzzy as you watch them spin.

“Aegon’s in room 223,” she says, tears falling down her cheeks.

You nod wordlessly, letting her guide you. Baela and Jace sit in two chairs in the hallway, wrapped in each other's arms. You will come back to them later. You turn the hallway, head pounding as Helaena scans the room numbers.

210…211….212…

You can see 223, just in view down the hall when the door opens. Suddenly it feels like you can breathe again as Aemond steps through, glancing down the hallway. There is a slash above his eyebrow, the scarred part of his face and that’s it. He looks fine. He is fine.

Aemond’s face forms a soft smile as he sees you, tense shoulders relaxing.

“Hey princess,” he says quietly.

Your heart has begun beating again, tears gathering in your eyes, and overflowing, spilling warm streams down your cheeks.

“Say that again,” you beg.

Aemond’s smile grows, his violet eye glassy.

“Hey princess,” he repeats and you’re running to him.

There’s nothing else to do. You run and he’s there. Right in front of you. You throw yourself into his arms, clinging to him. Wrapping your legs around his waist, Aemond holds you tightly against him, burying his face in your hair. You breathe him in, the scent of his cologne, the faint smell of rainwater, and cigarettes. His arms hold you tightly against him.

“I thought I lost you,” you cry, voice nearly whispering, “I thought…I thought.”

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, “I’m right here.”

Gods he’s here, he’s real, he’s okay.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you tell him, voice muffled in his chest, “do you hear me?”

Aemond chuckles, sending vibrations through you. You pull your face away from his chest, as his hands move below your ass to keep you seated at his waist. You don’t waste any more time, slamming your lips against his, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Arms wrapping tightly around his neck, a desperate relieved moan leaves your lips as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Woah,” a small voice says from down the hallway.

You pull away, still holding onto Aemond tightly as he lowers you to the floor. Legs shaking you stand on your feet turning your head.

Jace’s jaw has slacked but Baela wears a much more neutral expression. You can feel your cheeks begin to burn. Even at Alicent’s, you weren’t this affectionate in front of the others. This kiss makes it real.

Your hands cling to the fabric of his shirt, knuckles blanched from how tightly you hold the fabric between your fingers.

“What happened?” you ask.

Aemond keeps his arms around you, as a frown comes over his face.

“It was my fault,” he says softly, “I looked away for a second…Aegon was choking on his own vomit in the back seat. It was just a second…”

You nod, understanding. Aemond watches you carefully.

“Do you want to see him?” Aemond asks, “he’s alright.”

You glance down the hall at Aegon’s door.

“Yeah,” you tell him, “yeah I’d like to see him.”

“You go,” Aemond tells you, “I’ll tell Helaena and Daeron.”

The door to Aegon’s room is closed. You place your hand on the handle, turning it. The door creaks when it opens and you see him, lying on the bed, lip split and swollen, a cast on his arm. His eyes open when you enter, a small smile on his face.

No matter what, Aegon is smiling. You wonder at this point if smiling is more of a coping mechanism or a trauma response.

“It’s you,” he says groggily, lifting his arm to wave.

It’s always you.

The tubes and wires don’t let him raise it high and he winces. You smile. You don’t think you’ll ever hate him, not truly. It’s Aegon.

“It’s me,” you answer, walking over to him, “Hey Aeg.”

You brush some hair from his forehead, watching his eyes well with tears. He places his free hand in yours, holding on tightly.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks quietly.

You’re still smiling, nodding your head. Aegon closes his eyes in relief. You glance around the room.

“Where’s Cass?” you ask.

“She went home, after the dinner,” he tells you, “I don’t really know, she said she had some shit to figure out.”

You nod, coming to sit in the chair next to his bed. You scoot closer to him, still holding onto his hand.

“You want me to call her, let her know you’re here?” you ask.

Aegon shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

Gods, Aegon.

It all comes back to him, doesn’t it? Aegon is chaos in human form, and you were addicted to it for too long. You craved the adrenaline, the violence, the unpredictable whirlwind of him. The way he touches you now would have made your knees buckle a year ago and would have sent shivers tingling down your spine.

The vulnerability in his eyes, the helpless, watery glance.

He needs me, your heart used to scream, he needs me.

For so long you’d disguised yourself as a healer, as the person who could fix him. Finally, it truly feels like the thread between you has snapped, that desperate need to save him leaving your body like water being drained from a bathtub.

Aegon doesn’t need me, you think to yourself, Aegon needs himself.

You don’t know why it's taken you so long as the memories flash through with every stroke of his thumb against your hand. You were never going to rescue him. You were never going to save him.

You smile softly, the newfound knowledge warming your chest. It stings brutally, burning through your veins. You don’t want chaos anymore. You don’t want what you thought you needed.

You want the calming presence in the storm, the line to your kite. The light of the moon shining the path home through midnight darkness.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” you tell him.

“Why?” he asks, chuckling softly, “I’ve been so horrible to you.”

You tilt your head.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Aegon’s lower lip wobbles and tears begin to pour down his cheeks.

“I’m such an asshole,” he whispers, “I don’t deserve you. I never did.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not going to validate him in his verbal self-flagellation. But you’re not going to disagree either.

You feel your face becoming wet as your own tears fall, mirroring his.

“I think I need help,” he says softly, voice sounding like a scared child, “I really think I need help, Y/N.”

Your expression falls as he speaks. You’ve waited so long, so fucking long for him to come to this conclusion. For him to truly hit rock bottom. Relief floods over you like a wave. It’s a weight that rises off your shoulders, off your lungs, letting you finally breathe again. A sob escapes you as you hold his hand tightly, and you nod, before brushing some hair from his face.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

Aegon nods, beginning to sob. Helaena enters the room with Daeron behind her. She places a hand over her mouth as she watches Aegon cry. Daeron looks to the floor, but you see a tear fall down his cheek. The siblings silently join, Helaena climbing beside Aegon, taking his head against her shoulder as he cries. Daeron sits at the foot of his bed, silent tears escaping.

You sit with them for a bit, before leaving, giving them some privacy. The silver siblings. The green siblings. You care about them all so much.

You find Aemond seated, still as a statue in the waiting area. He hands you a coffee before speaking.

“I hate hospitals,” Aemond tells you, knuckles turning white from how hard he clutches the arm of his chair.

You think about the trauma he shared with you and imagine Aemond, younger than he is now, perhaps less hardened by the world. You wonder what that boy was like before everything happened. Sometimes you see glimpses of him, you think. In the way, his eyes soften when he speaks to his favorite people; in the way he interacts with Alicent. With Helaena.

With you.

He looks so out of place in the sterile environment, the dark colors he wears in juxtaposition with the shocking white floors and walls. Aemond shrinks in his chair as doctors hurry by, the sound of pagers and machines whirling in the air.

You place the coffee on the table, before grabbing his hand and placing it on your own. He glances at you.

“Everything is okay,” you tell him, thumb stroking the back of his hand, before you bring it to your lips, kissing it softly.

Aemond squeezes your hand, holding on tightly to the lifeline you offer him. He could crush your fingers if he needed to, there’s no way you’d complain. There’s no way you’d let go. Emotion swells in your chest as you look at him.

Shit.

Aemond meets your eyes and you’re sure he’s peering into your soul. You think about the calm you long form, the warm feelings of home. The line to your kite.

You love him.

“Y/N,” Baela calls, beckoning you.

You turn to Aemond, cheeks flushed from your realization.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, and he squeezes your hand.

“Mhmm,” he hums, before releasing your hand.

You get up walking toward Baela.

“You go,” Baela tells you, “I’ll keep him company.”

You nod, before continuing toward Luke’s room.

Baela sits down next to Aemond, taking your seat. Aemond’s leg bounces nervously. The two sit quietly side by side, unsure of what to say to one another. The vending machine beside them churns, a gentle hum emitting from it. Baela turns her head.

“You gonna hurt her?” she asks, the question blunt.

Aemond glances at her sideways. She’s sitting on his blindside, so he’s forced to jut his jaw out to meet her gaze.

“I’m going to try my best not to,” Aemond tells her.

Baela sizes him up. She thinks back, analyzing memories, flipping through them like a scrapbook in her mind.

“You know,” she begins, “I always thought there was something off. About the way you treated her.”

Aemond looks away. There are not a lot of people that intimidate Aemond Targaryen, but Baela is your best friend. Her opinion means everything to you.

“But I always thought it was nothing. That it couldn’t be anything,” Baela tells him.

Aemond says nothing. Baela’s gaze does not falter, her lilac eyes burn against the side of his face.

“It was from the beginning, wasn’t it?” Baela asks, “even though she was with Aegon. Even then.”

Aemond breaks away from her gaze, before giving her an answer.

“Even then.”

Baela takes a sip of coffee, and the two remain seated together in silence.

You open the door to Luke’s room. Rhaena is sitting in a chair she’s moved beside his bed, knees curled up against her chest.

You enter the room, tears spilling down your cheeks. He’s laying in bed, tubes and wires connected to him.

Rhaena is seated in a chair dragged to his side, knees held against her chest, fingers laced through Luke’s.

“He’s breathing on his own,” Rhaena says quietly from her perch, “they took out the incubator. They said-” she swallows, “they said we just have to wait.”

You place a hand on Rhaena’s shoulder and she does not pull away. She doesn’t flinch from your touch as you had expected. Instead, she reaches her free hand up, covering your own.

Tears spill down your cheeks.

“Rhae-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells you quietly, “it was so stupid anyway. None of it matters now.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“Poor Luke,” she says, voice cracking, “I wish.. I don’t know.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Or maybe he won’t be,” Rhaena says, voice laced with panic, “and then what?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her.

“I wish..I don’t know,” she says again, “I wish I had been nicer.”

Your eyebrows lift as you sink beside her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

“Rhae, you were always nice,” you assure her, “Luke knows that.”

“I just…it’s Luke, you know?” she says, looking at you with watery eyes, “I never…it’s Luke.”

You nod your head, simply listening to her try and express what she’s feeling.

“And then I saw him in this bed, in the gurney they wheeled him in on…” she looks back at Luke, her hand still holding his, “it’s Luke. My heart felt like it was dying. Like it was rotting inside my chest. It still feels like that.”

She keeps crying, the end of her sentence turning into a sob.

“And I’ll never get to tell him, it’s not fair,” she sobs, “I was so stupid. For taking this long.”

“Rhae, it’s alright,” you try to soothe her, “Luke knew you were friends. He knew you cared about him.”

Rhaena’s sobs continue, her free arm clinging to yours. She won’t let go of Luke’s hand. You hold her close, it's all you can do at this moment. Until a breathy sigh escapes the mouth of Lucerys Velaryon.

Rhaena’s entire body stills. Your eyes widen as you both stare at Luke. His lips have parted, eyes remaining shut.

“Rrrrr,” he rasps, “Rrrra…”

Rhaena sits up straighter.

“Luke?” she whispers, squeezing his hand, “Luke? Can you hear me?”

Luke’s eyes open, the warm brown color of his eyes barely visible. But they are there. His mouth tugs upwards into a weak smirk.

“You ladies crying over me?” he says with a hoarse voice, straining to get the joke to leave him.

“You prick,” Rhaena hisses, “we thought you were going to die.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Luke says, wincing as his smile widens.

“Luke,” Rhaena says, bringing her other hand to his.

Luke looks down, cheeks turning pink as he notices their interconnected hands.

“I wish… I’d known this is what it takes,” Luke begins, “would’ve gotten hit by a car a lot sooner.”

Rhaena laughs, despite herself.

“You’re an idiot,” she says through her tears, through her smile.

You release Rhaena, stepping back, giving them some space when Luke’s eyes meet yours.

“Everyone else okay?” he asks and you nod.

“We’re all okay,” you tell him.

And we are.

Luke sighs with relief, turning back to Rhaena. You continue to back up out of the room to give them some privacy, and to let the others know that Luke was okay.

You walk back to the small waiting area where Jace, Baela, and Aemond are seated. Daeron and Helaena are presumably still with Aegon.

“Jace..” you say, smiling softly.

His eyes light up and he springs from his chair, hurrying down the hallway to Luke’s room, Baela flies down the hall behind him, silver hair a whirlwind behind her. You can hear his laugh of relief from down the hall, followed by his grunt of pain. You assume he forgot all about his broken arm when he saw his little brother’s smiling face.

When Baela and Jace return a little while later their cheeks are streaked with happy tears.

Rhaenyra appears down the hallway, with Alicent by her side. When Rhaenyra stops at the sight of you all, Alicent continues to the room where her eldest son lies. Her firstborn. Her face says it all, a mask of sheer panic.

Aegon was her first baby, you think to yourself. The first child who made her a mother. You know parents say they do not have favorites, but that has to mean something. Aemond is the first to address Rhaenyra.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard what happened, I was worried,” she tells him, hands ringing the umbrella she holds.

“Were you?” Baela snaps, and Jace squeezes her shoulder.

Rhaenyra looks at her, eyes scanning Jace’s bruised and bloodied form. Droplets of water drip from her fingers, splashing against the floor like tears. Rhaenyra doesn’t cry. Aegon used to tell you he had never seen his sister cry before. Rhaenyra and Aemond are alike in that way, he would say. That always confused you. Her eyes trail to Aemond.

“Is everyone okay?” she asks, and Aemond nods.

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and you think back to the conversation you had, just a few hours prior. She holds your gaze and you hope she’s thinking about it too. Rhaenyra looks away first.

“I’m going to go see Luke, and Aegon,” she tells you all.

You take your seat next to Aemond once more, and he drapes a hand over your leg, drawing smooth circles on your thigh. Rhaenyra starts down the hallway, heels clicking against the tiles. She stops, her head dropping, not turning around.

“I’ll agree to a settlement,” Rhaenyra says, back still facing you, “have your people call mine.”

Have Otto Hightower call Daemon Targaryen, she means.

You glance at Aemond. He’s staring at his sister’s back, an unreadable expression on his face. Rhaenyra doesn’t turn, doesn’t ask for confirmation if anyone has heard her, and Aemond does not give her one. She simply remains still for a moment, shoulders tense, before she releases a breath and begins walking once more, headed to Luke’s room.

Baela sighs, placing her head against Jace’s shoulder.

Aemond walks into his brother’s room once more, hands in his pocket. Alicent is curled up in a cot by the corner of the room, in a deep sleep from the exhaustion of the night. Daeron and Helaena have left to explore the hospital cafeteria as the adrenaline fades, and their stomachs rumble.

Soft snores echo throughout the room, along with the white noise of an infomercial on the old television that hangs from the wall. Rain drizzles outside the window, the storm long over. Aegon looks at him.

“Are you treating her well?” he asks gruffly, swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat.

“Yes,” Aemond tells him.

Aegon purses his lips.

“Why did it have to be her?” Aegon asks, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Aemond lifts his gaze from the floor, meeting his older brother’s eyes. There are so many things he could say he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Because when I met her everything changed, he wanted to say. When she walked into our lives, it was like the sun came out for the first time. It was like seeing the goddamn sun for the very first time after living in a world of midnight darkness.

“I love her, Aegon,” Aemond admits softly.

Aegon sighs, his eyes still glassy. He nods, lips pressed tightly together. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“It’s hard not to,” Aegon agrees, settling on that as the final words he will speak on the matter.

The brothers do not speak again as a gentle rain begins to fall, fat drops making music against the glass window. But Aemond sits beside his elder brother and does not leave until Aegon has fallen asleep.

When he exits the room he’s greeted by you sitting in a chair, knees curled against your chest, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands. You smile softly as he walks toward you.

You are the sun greeting him, bathing him a warmth.

“Let me take you home,” Aemond says, reaching for your hand.

You lace your fingers through his as he takes out Daeron’s keys.

“They’re staying?” you ask, beginning to walk down the hallway.

“Yeah, they’re going to keep mom company,” he tells you, leading you out of the hospital.

The clouds have begun to part, the rain stopping once and for all as the light begins to shine from the east. You climb into the passenger side of Daeron’s car, shutting the door behind you.

You both sit in silence for a moment. Aemond looks at you.

“You ready?” he asks, though something in his eyes wants to say more.

You smile taking his hand, your expression mirroring his.

The kite and the line.

The moon and the sun.

“Let’s go.”

note: 🥹🥺 1 PART LEFT 💖 MY BABIES 😭 I hope you enjoyed my loves! 🥰

DIF taglist: @padfooteyes, @herfantasyworldd, @kyuupidwrites, @lost-and-founds, @doublesparrows, @virginslut08, @f4ll-for-you, @violet2507, @itsabby15, @raphaellathedragon, @tswiftsthings, @cruelmissdior, @tempt-ress, @lexyr23, @reneki, @fictionalcomforts, @serrhaewin, @yariany02, @lily174, @nina2697, @minttea07, @queenofshinigamis, @duesobabe, @maximizedrhythms, @arryn-nyx, @arcadianmoonlight @kittykylax, @hiatuswhore, @issshhh, @echos-muses, @wrendermeuseless, @youcantbesirius, @partypoison00 @chainsawsangel @bellameshipper @wondergal2001, @arcielee @rwdkarla @sweetsweetpsyche @valeric-writes @sahvlren @ohdemimonde @geminidas @darkenchantress @sophielangdonx, @khaothick, @flavorofsalt, @spinachtz, @alitaar, @crazylokonugget @eddiemadmunson, @schniiipsel, @borikenlove, @afro-hispwriter, @whitefang1919, @sarcastically-defensive17, @paprikaquinn, @minttea07, @iiamthehybrid, @ghostheartbeat, @namelesslosers,

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mauswrites · 20 hours

Text

Fear (Simon Riley x AFAB!GN!Reader)

A/N: I was recently reminded of my worst fear, that being cryptic pregnancy (No weight gain, no symptoms, no nothing. You don't know about the baby until it's on its way out) and can't stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a fic to get it out of my system. (sorry if this sucks, this is the first fic I've published in like almost a decade)

Genre: hurt/comfort

TW: Blood, mentions of childbirth, medical inaccuracies, possibly OOC Ghost, reader genuinely thinks they're dying

You couldn't sleep.

Not because of the thoughts racing in your mind but of the unbearable pain in your abdomen.

Occam's razor would tell you that it was just your period, but you've never experienced cramps like this before, like being torn in half.

With a huff, you shove the blanket off your body and get up, but as soon as your feet hit the floor, pain shoots up your spine, causing you to crumple to the floor, wailing out in agony. You clutch your stomach, forcing air in and out of your lungs.

Why am I wet? you thought.

The pain had distracted you until now, but you managed to reach for your bedside lamp to see blood running down your legs.

A lot of it, too.

As the fear settled in your bones, you hurry to get your phone and call for an ambulance.

"999, what's your emergency?"

"I don't know what's wrong, I'm in a lot of pain, I can't stop bleeding... I-I can't walk."

"Where are you now?"

You give the address to your flat and hang up when the dispatcher assures you that the ambulance isn't far.

Walking may seem impossible, but you manage to crawl to the front door to unlock it, sitting down in the hall, waiting.

Desperation clings to your heart, and you make one more call, this time to your ex-boyfriend, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Simon? Hey, it's me... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For my attitude, the arguments, all of it."

The blood loss is getting to you, but you take a ragged breath and press on.

"I think I'm dying, an ambulance is on their way, but–"

The pain spikes suddenly, causing you to scream.

"In case I do, just know that I love you."

Hearing sirens from outside, you hang up and wait, dreading the black spots in your vision.

The ambulance ride is a blur, the EMT asking questions that your brain isn't processing, and you barely remember being put under at the hospital.

As your eyes flutter open hours later, sunlight leaks into the room through the blinds, and your stomach is sore, but you otherwise feel better.

A nurse is still in the room, typing away on the computer in your room.

"What happened?"

She seemed startled yet relieved at your voice, still groggy from sleep.

"This may come as a shock to you,"

Uh oh.

"But you experienced what's called a cryptic pregnancy and needed to undergo an emergency C-section. The bleeding was caused by a tear in your uterine lining, but you'll recover just fine."

Her diagnosis hit you like a brick to the face.

"So... I had a baby?"

"Yes, a little girl; a bit premature, but otherwise healthy."

You merely hum in acknowledgement as you look around the room, your eyes landing on the bassinet.

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse asked.

"I... yes."

She smiles as she walks around the bed, picking up your daughter and passing her to you.

A lump forms in your throat as you lock eyes with the infant in your arms, hers a deep brown.

"Um... hello," you say, "it's nice to meet you."

As you fall silent, the nurse pipes up once again.

"I'll leave you two be for now. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call for someone."

You quickly thank her before she leaves, closing the door behind her, and you quickly turn your attention back to your daughter.

Your heart and mind were both racing as you admired her, even softly speaking to her every so often. For seconds or hours, you're not quite sure, but you only snapped out of your trance when the door opened.

You watch as Simon comes in and pulls up a chair next to your hospital bed, on the same side as the bassinet, all without a word.

"I'm guessing they wouldn't let you in looking like the Grim Reaper," you joked, taking note of the black surgical mask on his face, "How've you been?"

"I should be asking you," he said, "that voicemail scared the shit outta me."

"I've been..."

What do you even say?

"Honestly, not great; missed you like hell," you admit, casting your eyes back down to your baby and letting her tiny hand grip onto one of your fingers, "but I think I'll be okay."

"Cute little thing," he said, referring to your little girl.

"Thanks, I made it myself."

"Got a name yet?"

"Haven't exactly had much time to think of one," you reply, "got any ideas?"

"You told me you always liked the name Emilia."

"That's true. Seems it's settled then," you do your best to straighten up, "Simon, meet Emilia... Riley?"

"Riley," he confirmed, making you smile for the first time in a while.

"Do you want to hold her?"

He nodded, and you placed a kiss on her forehead before passing her over to him.

She already looked tiny in your arms, but compared to Simon's much bigger frame, she was damn near microscopic. He was practically holding her with just his hands, handling her delicately, like one wrong move would cause her to fall apart.

"What d'you say you come back home," he said, "We try again, be a family."

"Is that actually what you want? I don't want to be the parents that are only together for our child's sake."

"I mean it."

"That's good," you pause, fighting back tears, "Promise I won't be such a bitch this time 'round."

"You say that like I was a saint."

"Then we'll both be better, for each other and for her."

"Deal."

You silently admire the scene before you for a few minutes until the nurse from earlier returns.

She asked some questions about you and the baby, filled in some blanks on the birth certificate, and stepped out to bring you some ice water, leaving you to think about the past twelve hours.

"I'm honestly dreading going back to my flat." you thought aloud.

"Why?" Simon asked. He carefully placed Emilia back in the bassinet, giving you his full attention.

"There's blood everywhere."

"I'll take care of it; you just rest up and heal," he stood as he spoke, taking off his mask to kiss your temple, but before he had a chance to walk away, you placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay.

"Promise you'll come back?"

"Promise."

As he left, the weight of the situation settled deep in your bones, but you found solace in knowing that you wouldn't have to face it alone, and that things would hopefully turn out better this time around.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #tw blood #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort

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bradshawsbaby · 1 month

Note

“ yes. i am telling you what to do. i’m telling you not to pull something like that again because— ‘cause fucking hell. i care about you. okay? ”

it’s giving Rhett suffering a bull riding accident and reader finally admitting they have feeling for him

It sure is! It’s making me think of The Longest Ride, when Sophia is begging Luke not to ride anymore after his accident.

It had been the worst 5.2 seconds of your life.

You had known something was wrong from the jump. Rhett had seemed uncertain, unsteady on the back of that monster. You’d never seen him like that before. And that scared you.

For 5.2 seconds, you stood there in the crowds, frozen with a painful knot in your stomach. You watched him thrash and try to maintain some semblance of control. But then, after 5.2 agonizing seconds, you watched the man you loved—the man you’d never told you loved—get thrown from the back of that savage bull, trampled in the dust by his unforgiving hooves.

You weren’t even sure how you ended up in the hospital. Somehow, despite the screams that you wanted to let loose and the tears you wanted to cry, you must have managed to push through the crowd and convince someone that you knew him, that you knew Rhett Abbott, that you were his friend, the only one there for him tonight.

That must have been enough for the paramedics because you have a memory of being lifted up into the back of the ambulance, holding Rhett’s hand all the way to the emergency room.

The emergency room. That’s where they’d whisked him away from you, and you’d been forced to sit—no, pace—for what felt like hours, terror clinging to you like pollen on a spring day. That’s where the doctor had come out to meet you, to tell you that Rhett was alive, that he was going to be okay, but that if he wanted to live to see 35, he would have to leave bull riding behind.

That’s how you’d ended up in his hospital room, weeping into his neck, begging him to give it up, to leave the rodeo circuit behind.

“Wha—what?” Rhett asked groggily, still hopped up on pain medications and hooked up to an IV. “What’d you say?”

“You’ve gotta give it up, Rhett,” you told him tearfully. “It’s what the doctor said. You can’t take another injury like this. You’ve got to stop the bull riding.”

Rhett just scoffed like he always did, like he didn’t believe anything in this world could really destroy him.

“Rhett!” you exclaimed, more forcefully this time. “I ain’t kiddin’! This is serious!”

“Yeah?” Rhett asked, arching a brow as he looked at you, his face bruised and beaten from the aftermath of those 5.2 seconds. “You tellin’ me what to do?” You could hear the challenge in his voice.

“Yes!” you exploded in frustration. “I am tellin’ you what to do. I’m tellin’ you not to pull somethin’ like that again because—fuckin’ hell—I care about you. Okay?”

Your skin grew warm as you battled for breath, the shock of your admission turning the tips of your fingers numb.

Rhett looked as shocked as you felt. “You…you…what?”

“I love you, damnit!” you snapped, shaking your head. “I—I love you, Rhett,” you repeated, softer this time.

Rhett finally smiled, the split in his lip reopening as he did so.

“What took you so long to say somethin’?”

soft(ish) angst prompts

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #outer range #rhett drabble #lewis pullman

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joshym · 3 months

Text

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 4 (teaser)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

*mentions of a parent in the hospital*

You hadn’t even realized how tightly you'd been clutching the necklace your dad gifted you all those years ago. It's somehow serving as a comfort for you as you're being driven to the hospital, even after everything he's put you through. You find yourself running your thumb over the engraved initial, just as you always had before he left.

As much as you’ve grown to hate him over the last year, you can’t help but wish he were here. Not being able to rely on anyone right now…it's fucking terrible.

Well, aside from Jake.

He's last person you’d expect to be leaning on.

But it was purely by accident. Him driving you to the hospital is just a happenstance. He wouldn’t have if your stupid car hadn’t broken down, (thanks, dad) and if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have had to get a ride from Jake in the first place.

But, you’re grateful for him right now. Grateful that he stuck around your apartment long enough to know he needed to take you to her.

If it weren't for him, you'd still be stuck there desperately searching for someone to take you.

Finally, the brakes come to a screeching halt at the emergency room entrance. You absently thank him as you practically jump out of the car.

You don’t look back, but you hear the thrumming motor of his range rover become more distant as he drives away.

You can’t bring yourself to care at this point as you’re sprinting to the front desk in search of your mom.

The young, redheaded man behind the counter with bright green eyes shielded by thick eyeglass frames looks rather shocked at your frenzied state. He’s watching you with his mouth agape, hands frozen on the keyboard of his desktop as he prepares for your inevitable arrival.

“I–I need to f– find my mom. She was just broug–” You take a second to catch your breath, still clutching your necklace for some sort of grounding. “...she was brought here by ambulance and I—” He stops you with a hand held high, asking you to slow down because he can’t comprehend your rushed words.

You can hardly even understand yourself, your voice breathy and stuttered as you’re gasping for air. But there’s no time to waste catching it in your heaving lungs.

“I need my mom and you need to tell me where the hell they’ve taken her. Her name is–”

“Miss,” he interupts, standing up as if to intimidate you with his much taller stature in comparison to yours. “If you can’t calm down I’ll have to ask you to leave.” His voice (that he’s clearly manipulated to sound much more threatening) echoes throughout the entire lobby, looking at you as if you’re the crazy one.

This man has started copping an attitude with you that you’re in no place to put up with. You’ve backed down to people you’re entire fucking life, but right now isn’t the goddamn time.

You’ve decided to challenge him. If he wants to be loud, you can be loud right back.

Your fist pounds the counter with a force that causes everyone in the waiting area of the emergency room to gasp and silence their voices. The metal container holding pens is jolted over the edge, the clipboard holding the blank paperwork for patients to fill out tumbles to the floor from the sheer amount of power behind your hand.

There’s a stinging pain running rapidly up your arm, all the way to your shoulder, ringing through your teeth and vibrating in your skull.

But you don’t even so much as wince from the pain.

A potential broken hand is the very least of your troubles right now.

“She may be dying,” you scream, your first still held firm atop the white marble. “And if you don’t tell me where the fuck she is, you may have ruined the last time I’ll ever see her!"

The tears you’ve held in thus far begin flooding your face, falling like a heavy rain shower on the granite where your sore hand lies.

Before the receptionist can start the process of having you escorted out, a tall woman dressed in a light blue set of scrubs stops him before he can make a single move.

“Tell me her name, sweetie.” Her voice is quiet and her demeanor is calm. Her wavy brown locks tied in a sleek ponytail at the bottom of her neck reminds you so much of the way your mom used to wear her hair before she got sick.

You tell her your moms name through a shaky voice, attempting to make yourself sound more composed so you don’t get yourself kicked out of here.

She gently moves the receptionist aside (Eric, according to the name badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt) and begins clicking the mouse around, scrunching her eyebrows in focus.

“Here she is,” she confirms, the printer behind her humming with the physical version of what she can see on the screen. “She doesn’t have a room just yet, hun.”

You feel defeated and useless. You’re her primary caregiver, and you can’t do your job from behind this stiff counter— not knowing where she is, how she is, what happened. So many unknowns, so much that’s completely out of your control.

You suddenly feel the intense pain radiating from your fist and you instinctively pull it close to you, clutching it tightly against your chest in hopes that pressure will alleviate just how badly it hurts.

“I’ll let you know when she gets a room. Until then, you’re welcome to wait in the lobby.” The tall nurse tells you.

You nod your head in agreement, knowing there’s nothing you can say or do to make them move quicker. Still clutching your fist, you slowly walk away towards the stained, worn lobby chairs and plant yourself in the one that’s closest to the counter.

You pull your phone out of your jacket pocket in search of something to distract you, but you're mortified to be met with the dead battery symbol upon trying to unlock it.

Great. Nothing to divert you from your thoughts (or the searing pain) for god knows how long. You feel the tears start to well in your sleepy eyes again, and you just decide to let them fucking fall. There’s no sense in trying to keep them in, you need to feel right now so you don’t explode again with your pent up aggression.

Crying feels like the safest thing to do at this moment, and the best way to relieve some of the mental (and physical) pain.

You let your chin fall down towards your chest, watching as the tears land on your sheer tights. You can’t help but giggle a little at how much thought you put into this outfit, only for the night to end like this. You had no way of knowing. No signs that she was doing so poorly on the night you decided to fucking leave her.

But before you have the chance to become too lost in your pity party, you hear the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet walking in your direction. You don’t bother looking up; you figure if you ignore whoever it is, they’ll also ignore you in return.

But you find that ignoring them isn’t quite doing the trick. You see a pair of black sweats out of your peripheral standing near you, and as you lift your eyes a little more, you see a hand offering you a tissue.

When you look up the rest of the way, you realize it’s Jake.

“Wha-what are you still doing here?” you ask, the crying making your voice meek and raspy. You clear your throat as you thank him and accept his small (but rather meaningful) token. A sweet gesture that you can’t ignore.

“I just wanted to make sure you found her okay,” he says while settling down in the seat on your left. “And I couldn’t leave knowing you don’t have a way home tonight. This hospital hasn't let people stay overnight since the pandemic. Didn’t want to leave you stranded."

You hadn’t thought of any of that. Aside from getting to your mom, you had no plan of action. Anything to come after that just hadn’t crossed your mind yet. You're glad someone thought of all those things, because your mind clearly isn’t capable of considering much at the moment.

“Well, thank you. But I can just call Nat, so you don’t have to stay with me.” Your tone come across a little colder than you’d like it to. But with the way your emotions are surfacing, it just can’t be helped right now.

“Your phones dead,” he challenges, pointing to the quiet device sitting in your lap. “So, I’m staying.”

You snap your head towards him, wide eyes and scrunched brows in question. “How do you know that?”

“Been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes,” he softly explains, taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his call log to prove it to you. “It was going straight to voicemail. I knew there was a chance you could’ve been ignoring me, but I had a feeling your battery had just died.”

You can’t deny the grin that’s threatening to consume your tired features. You’re flattered, to say the least. While you didn’t fully expect him to stay to be sure you were okay, you’re not entirely surprised. (It crosses your mind briefly that he could just let you use his phone to call Nat, be he hasn’t offered. And you’re not going to ask. You kind of like that he’s here.)

“She doesn’t have a room yet. They told me they’d let me know when she does.” You adjust yourself in the stiff, plastic chair to face him while he nods his head.

His eyes are heavier than usual. His drooping lids telltale sign that he’s just as tired as you. Though, he’s probably had a much happier evening than you have had.

Before you let your mind wander too deeply into the fact that he most likely slept with Stacy tonight, you search for anything to talk about with him.

“So, that spookhouse tonight was–” you begin, but he interrupts your thought before you can continue.

“Shitty.” He states, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie and letting both hands rest inside the fabric. “Shitty and not scary in the least.”

“Yeah.” You huff through a chuckle, grateful for the lazy smile it forced out of you. “Stacy was pretty scared, though.”

The look Jake gives you is one you can’t quite place. He looks…uncomfortable?

You half expected him to giggle along with you, but he didn’t. Not even close. His eyes shift away from you, gazing across the waiting room.

Fuck. Why did you have to bring her up?

You pull your eyes away from him as you awkwardly set your sights back on your lap. You’re not sure how, but it’s clear you’ve stuck some kind of nerve with him.

It’s probably for the best that you keep your mouth shut. And that’s exactly what you do for the next several minutes.

Without as much as a single word uttered between the two of you, you’re suddenly longing for the moments prior to his arrival in the lobby. The ones you spent pathetically crying in defeat and helplessness. Alone.

But just as it seems that all hope of having a normal conversation with him is lost, he breaks the silence.

“Is that what they’re called, where you’re from?”

As you lift your head, you’re met with his drowsy eyes once again set on you, his right eyebrow cocked slightly as he awaits your response.

“Is what called?” you ask. Your mind became so filled with the painful lull in conversation that you’d all but forgotten what you were talking about. Before you mentioned her name.

“The haunted house,” he says. “You called it a spookhouse. I was just wondering if that’s because you’re not from here.”

It’s funny, because you hadn’t even realized that you called it that. Didn’t even think twice about it. It's just normal to you.

The memory of Sam pointing out the very same thing pops in your mind. You’re then reminded of how you left him tonight. The guilt is weighing horribly on you, but, sadly, it’s a welcome distraction against the worry (and far greater guilt) you’re feeling over your mom.

“Oh, yeah.” You fix your posture a bit, facing him once again as he clearly wants to keep some sort of conversation going. “That’s what we call them back home. It’s so odd how we have different names for things based on what part of the country we’re from.”

“It’s pretty interesting.” He mutters, a tiny grin peaking through his sleepy exterior.

You just hum in response, not really sure what to say next. The silence was awkward, but this sad attempt at a casual exchange is almost worse.

You look over to the counter to see if the nurse who helped calm you down is standing there, but all you’re met with is Eric’s creeping eyes from behind the marble that may have broken your hand.

Your hand suddenly begins to ache once more at the thought, and you instinctively bring it up to your chest again to dull the pain.

“Is your hand okay?” Jake asks, probably having noticed your flinch after moving your sore extremity.

You’re not sure you want to tell him about your little meltdown from earlier, so you come up with a quick excuse that sounds slightly better than the full truth.

“I knocked it against the counter when I got here, just by accident.” It’s not a complete lie. The accident addition is a bit of a stretch, but it kind of was an accident that your fist met the granite in a fit of rage. (However justified it may be, it’s still a tad embarrassing.)

He leans closer to you, attempting to look at your hand that you’re still holding against your chest. With a tender touch, he attempts to pry it away from you. You’re so stunned by this that, out of instinct, you hold it even tighter.

“Let me see.” He softly asks.

After some hesitation on your part, (why does he care so much?) you pull it away from your chest, holding it out in front of you and Jake to get a clearer look.

The outer blade of your palm is swollen and already beginning to bruise. It hurts like hell. (And you’re wondering where on earth that kind physical strength came from.)

Jake runs his index finger so gently over the inflammation. Amidst everything happening, your body can’t deny the fire that’s blooming under your skin from his feather light touch.

Your tired eyes flit up to his face, his features wearing stark concern. When his eyes meet yours, you can’t look away. And he doesn’t, either, his finger still tracing a light pattern around the impact point on your fist.

…and then he stops. He looks away and jumps up out of his seat, dead silent as he does so.

He rounds the corner of the hallway and is out of your sight within seconds. Gone. Leaving you sitting here alone again and feeling like you’ve suddenly done something wrong.

Before you have the chance to worry about that for much longer, you notice the tall nurse out of your peripheral walking in your direction.

Your mom.

You stand up to meet the nurse halfway, ready to finally be taken back to see your mom.

“Hold on,” she says, stopping you before you take a step. “You can’t go back right now, hun.”

Why won’t they let you go back? What don’t they want you to see?

Is it because she’s dead?

Your legs threaten give out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes down through your chest. The dizzying feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.

Your body begins swaying back and forth, threatening to collapse from shock, exhaustion…

She grabs your arm to help stabilize you.

“Hey, hey.” She puts her other hand on your shoulder in an added effort to hold you still. “Everythings okay. Just sit down for me, sweetheart.”

She leads you back down to the chair, helping you lower yourself to sit back down.

“I need you to know that she’s fine, sweetie. She’s asleep, but she’s stable.”

The tension leaves your body instantly, like a two ton weight has been lifted off your tight chest.

She’s alive.

“Can I go back? Can I see her?” You’re nearly begging.

“Not right now, honey. I tried to bend the visiting hour rules for you, but the big wigs won’t budge. I just wanted you to know that she’s okay, but she’ll need to stay overnight for some extra testing.”

“Everything okay?” Jake sits back down next to you, taking your hand and gently placing ice wrapped in a paper towel on your swollen fist. The cold nearly shocks your system, but it feels so good against the pain.

That’s where he went. He cared enough to get you ice for your ridiculously obtained injury.

You turn your head to face him, his sweet eyes locked with yours while he holds the ice steady on your hand.

This isn’t the Jake you’ve grown accustomed to over the months of knowing him. But this is the Jake you’ve so desperately needed.

“She’s okay,” you say, looking down the makeshift pack of ice he brought you. “She’ll just have to stay overnight.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He responds, dabbing the frozen compress delicately across the bruise.

“We’re still not certain what happened to her. She fainted; that’s all we know for sure. We’ll run some tests to get to the root of it.” The nurse draws your attention from Jake back to your mom. You distractedly nod, your mind still consumed with Jake holding your hand the way he is. “You’re welcome to come back first thing in the morning, okay? We’ll take good care of her tonight.”

A small breath of relief washes over you. At least she’s alive. And she’s stable. But fuck…you just wish you could be back there with her. The immense guilt of not being there when it happened is eating away at you. You want to apologize to her, tell her you’ll never fucking leave her again. But, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. You’ll just be stuck sitting in your guilt until then.

The nurse begins wishing you a good night, but before she leaves, she glances at your hand that Jake is still holding in his.

“Is your hand okay, sweetie? Do you need someone to take a look at it?” She asks you, concerned.

“I think I’m okay.” You respond, looking to Jake who probably has a better idea about your condition than you do. It’s the least of your worries at the moment; you just don’t really care about it in comparison to everything else. This feels insignificant, you feel insignificant. It just doesn’t matter.

Jake nods, looking at you and then averting his gaze to the nurse. “A little swollen and beginning to bruise, but it’s not broken.” He lifts the ice to inspect it a little further, running his finger over the swelling. “It’s already gone down some. I suppose just keeping ice on it will do the trick.”

You give him a look that says a silent ‘thank you’ for taking care of this for you. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t think twice about it.

The nurse smiles in response, then looks to you again. “I’d say you’re in good hands, then. Better not let that one get away." She says, pointing to Jake.

She once again bids you a good night, reminding you that you can come back in the morning.

Neither one of you seems to react to what she just said. Not aloud, at least. You both just ignore it as you walk through the automatic doors.

“I’ll go get the car,” Jake tells you, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Had to park kind of far away. Be right back.”

As you watch him walk away, you can’t stop replaying what the nurse said over and over in your mind.

“Better not let that one get away.”

If only she knew.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The ice is melting all over you and Jake’s floorboard. You’re desperately trying to catch every drop in your lap, but it’s proving difficult. You were freezing when you first got into the car, so Jake cranked the heat all the way up for you, but it’s causing you to make a huge mess.

“I’m so sorry, Jake.” You tell him, fighting back a few tears brimming your eyes. It’s not the dripping water that’s threatening to make you cry, it’s the fact that you feel like such a burden. And here you are, being even more of one by dripping water all over his nice car.

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, peering over to you. You sniff the tears away, not wanting him to see you crying over something so fucking ridiculous.

“The ice,” you answer through a cracking voice. “It’s melting all over.”

His brows crinkle, looking over at you to assess the situation. His eyes lock on your soaking wet lap for a spell, taking a deep breath before they're back on the road.

“It’s just water, y/n. I’m not worried about it.” He takes the final left turn onto your street that’s now much more quiet than it was the last time he turned here. He pulls into the parking lot, parking in what would normally be your spot if your car wasn’t sitting worthlessly at his place.

He keeps the car in drive, letting his foot rest on the brake as he unlocks the door for you.

“Just keep ice on it intermittently throughout the night,” he reminds you. “The swelling should be mostly gone by the morning.”

Staring at the darkened apartment building, you slowly nod your head as you’re suddenly hesitant to leave his car for some reason. Your seatbelt is still bucked, your body feeling almost too numb to even manage that.

The thought of going into the empty apartment isn’t by any means a pleasant one. You hadn’t even thought of the fact that you’ll be all alone tonight. No one to take care of besides yourself. (And that’s not something you're well versed in.)

You’ve gotten so used taking care of her since it’s just been the two of you. Being in the apartment without her just feels…wrong. On every level. And being alone in your guilt feels even worse.

At this moment, you’re not sure you can do it. But you haven’t a choice.

“Y/n?” Jake’s calm voice pulls you back to reality, to the fact that you’re still sitting in his car, quietly contemplating. He’s probably ready to get you out of here so he can go home. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You lie.

Then, he puts the car in park, leaning back in his seat as he looks at you with inquisitive eyes. “Are you sure?” He asks. “Because you’ve hardly said a word since we left the hospital, and you’re not exactly in any hurry to get inside.”

Embarrassed, you force yourself to remove your seatbelt. “I’m fine, just a little tired is all. Thank you for taking me tonight, I really appreciate it.” You begin opening the door to let him leave, gathering the mental strength to prepare yourself to walk into an eerie, empty apartment.

“You know, it’s pretty late,” he says as you're one foot out of the door. “And it’s a long drive back to my place. I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.”

It’s almost like he could hear the thoughts in your head. He knows, somehow, that you can’t handle being alone tonight. It's like there’s something within him that understands.

“Jake I–I can’t ask you to—”

But before you can finish, he shuts off the ignition.

“You’re not asking if I’m offering.” He tells you. And he’s right. You didn’t ask, but you still feel bad. Because you would love to have him stay. “It’s actually easier for me if I do. Saves on gas.”

Instantly, the thought of having his company makes you feel worlds better. Even if he’ll just be on the couch. Just knowing he’s there will make things a little more bearable for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, timidly.

“If you don’t feel comfortable with it, I can just—” he starts.

“No, no. I’d love it if you did. Thank you, seriously.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

i hope you enjoyed this little (4k+ word, lol) snippet. 🫶🏻

the plan is to have the rest posted by this weekend! we'll learn a lot more about jake in this chapter, & i think it'll answer a lot of readers questions. (or maybe add to them?) stay tuned! (& thank you so much for reading. makes my heart so indescribably happy. 🥹)

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka #le morte d’arthur

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pink-sparkly-witch · 6 months

Text

The One That Got Away - Chapter Fifteen

Warnings: angst, injuries, fluff, flirting.

Words: 1.7k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

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“Try to get some rest,” Y/N smiled at her patient and exited the room, heading back to the main desk to see who was next on the list. In two sweet hours, she’d finish her shift and finally get some proper time off.

Jess’ premature departure meant she and all of the nurses on her staff had banded together to cover more shifts than usual as they waited for a temporary replacement to start. It had been exhausting, and Y/N was surprised at how quickly she’d fallen out of the habit of pulling a seventy hour week, but it was finally over. The new nurse had started yesterday, and normal shift service had resumed for her and her team.

There was another reason for her excitement: her date with Dean was in fourteen hours. Not that she was counting. Y/N had been disappointed they had to postpone their date last week, even more disappointed they couldn’t fit it in last week. However, these things happened, and Dean had been right; absence made the heart grow fonder. Not that she’d tell him that. He didn’t need the extra ego boost.

“Y/N”, Dr Ellen Harvelle said as she arrived at the check-in desk, ready to take another patient. “Got an emergency four minutes out. Someone from Firehouse 3 has been injured on a job. Normally I wouldn’t ask, but everyone else is tied up.”

“I’m on it, Dr H,” Y/N replied, trying to push down the dread rising from her stomach. Throwing herself into action, she gowned up and ran to the ambulance bay. Please don’t be Dean or Bobby. Please don’t be Dean or Bobby. Was all that was running through the nurse’s head as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Sirens blaring and lights flashing, the ambulance screeched to a stop in front of them, immediately followed by the firetruck. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, but the second Dean and Bobby jumped from the engine, Y/N exhaled deeply and relaxed.

“You good?” Ellen asked, and she nodded and jumped into action.

“What have we got?” Y/N asked, stepping up to the ambulance and waiting for the paramedic’s assessment.

“Castiel Novak, thirty-five, trapped by a falling beam from the ceiling of a burning building. He was found unconscious, breathing apparatus dislodged. Suspect the collapse of both lungs and damage to the airways from smoke inhalation. Compressions have been ongoing since he crashed about thirty seconds ago,” Jack spoke as he and Jo got the gurney out of the ambulance.

“Alright, Y/N, we’re gonna need to do a ride-along,” Ellen said.

“What can we do?” Bobby asked calmly, though his widened eyes showed his concern.

“We need to keep compressions going. Jack, do everything Y/N tells you. Guys,” she directed to the firefighters surrounding her, “on my say, help me move him to trauma bay three. Y/N? Whenever you’re ready.”

Y/N climbed on the gurney and straddled Castiel’s thighs. “Alright, Jack. On the count of three, pull away, and I’ll take over, okay?” she waited until Jack met her gaze and nodded his understanding before placing one hand on top of the other and clasping her fingers together.

“One, two, three!” Seamlessly, Jack pulled his hands away, and Y/N replaced them with her own, not missing a beat as she began pumping Castiel’s chest firmly.

“Let’s move!” Ellen ordered, and Dean and Benny stepped forward and pushed Castiel and Y/N into the hospital.

Having suffered a collapse of both lungs, a concussion, and damage to his respiratory system from smoke inhalation, Castiel was in a serious but stable condition. He was responding well to treatment, but the next twenty-four hours would be critical, and Y/N knew there would be a vigil of firefighters in the waiting room until he was out of the woods.

With her shift just about over, Y/N checked on Cas one last time and updated his chart before handing his care over to Kevin. She wanted to stay on and work a double, but when she spoke to Rowena about it, the red-head told her that she’d reached her quota of hours for the week and reminded her she’d already pulled two doubles this week and to go home before she fell down and she was the one lying in a hospital bed.

Closing her locker, Y/N threw her purse over her shoulder and let her hair loose from the uncomfortably tight and itchy bun it had been constricted for the past fifteen hours.

Making her way to the waiting room to give the firehouse her final update, she smiled slightly, seeing all the firefighters were no longer in their turnout gear. Jackets and helmets were no longer strewn all over the tables, chairs and floor. Y/N remembered from Pamela and Taylor that half of them would’ve taken the truck back, changed their clothes, and brought food back for the others before they would go back and change out of their gear.

“Y/N, what’s the latest?” Uncle Bobby asked as he saw her standing in the doorway.

“He’s responding well to treatment. His oxygen levels are coming up. There’s still a long way to go, but he’s definitely going in the right direction,” she responded.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for him,” Uncle Bobby smiled and walked towards her. “Is your shift over, Princess?”

“Yeah, I wanted to stay, but-”

“You reached your quota again, didn’t you?” Bobby chuckled.

“Maybe…” Y/N grinned. “But, there were extenuating circumstances this week which have been resolved.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s not gonna become the norm for you to go above and beyond?” he smirked, his eyes twinkling as he teased her.

“I hope not,” Y/N smiled softly, her eyes falling on Dean, and Bobby grinned, hoping, just like his niece, that things would work out between the couple.

“You should say goodbye to him before you go,” Bobby told her softly. Y/N nodded and stepped tentatively towards where Dean stood with Benny and Charlie.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean smiled as she stepped beside him. “Thanks for what you did for Cas.”

“It’s nothing, just doing my job,” she lowered her gaze shyly.

“Modest much?” Charlie chuckled. “What you did was heroic!”

“Oh no, that’s not… I don’t… You guys are the real heroes here,” Y/N shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the attention.

“Uh, can I talk to you? Outside?” Dean said, gently pushing her towards the door and she nodded gratefully at his timely rescue.

“Thanks for getting me out of there, De,” she giggled as they stepped outside.

“Well, Charlie is right about the modest thing. You’ve never done well with attention or praise,” he chuckled softly. “So, I hate to do this, but about tonight-”

“Hey, it’s fine, Dean. You’re where you need to be, and Cas is more important than our date,” Y/N said.

Dean smiled, grateful that she got it. Though he wouldn’t say Cas was more important than her, he was a higher priority right now. “Thanks for understanding, Princess. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” she grinned.

“Cross my heart,” Dean smirked. “Now, your shift is over, Nurse Singer, and I think you should go home and sleep. You look dead on your feet.”

“Yeah. I feel like I could sleep until I’m back on shift!” Y/N chuckled.

“Well, if you don’t pass out for four whole days,” Dean laughed. “Call me when you’ve had some rest. Maybe we could rearrange our date?”

“I’d like that,” Y/N nodded and tried to suppress a yawn.

“Go home! Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe,” Dean said, kissing her forehead.

“Alright, I’m going! Keep me updated on Cas, please?” she responded as she stepped backwards away from Dean.

“You got it,” Dean smiled, watching her turn around and walk down the hallway.

“Hey, Y/N!” he shouted, smirking when she turned around. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good night, handsome,” Y/N grinned back before turning and continuing down the hallway.

Y/N spent her first day off sleeping for three to four hours, eating, watching television, doing chores for three to four hours, and then going back to sleep. During one of her awake times, she’d called Dean, and he’d happily let her know that Cas was officially “stable” and out of the woods. He’d be on his feet and heading home in no time.

They’d agreed to wait a few days before planning their date so Dean could be on hand to help Cas if he needed it. No doubt he’d be feeling the impact of the damage to his lungs and airways for a few weeks yet and would likely tire doing the most mundane of tasks.

Dean had apologised profusely and again promised to make it up to her, but Y/N convinced him there was no need, and she didn’t mind waiting a little longer for him.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” she’d teased him.

“So they tell me,” Dean huffed lightly, suggesting just a hint of frustration.

“Come on, De. We’ve waited twelve years. What’s a few more days?” Y/N chuckled, trying to lighten his mood.

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I need to like it, Princess.”

“Aww, are you missing me?” she teased again.

“Yeah, I am,” he sighed, and Y/N’s heart ached.

“Well, I know Cas will be taking up a lot of your time the next few days, but you know where I am if you wanna come over for dinner.”

“If I can, I will, sweetheart,” he sighed again. “Just wish I could promise.”

“Then promise to give me the best second date ever,” she giggled.

“Now that I can promise,” Dean said, and Y/N could hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh, I know you will!” Y/N giggled again, and Dean chuckled softly.

“I gotta go, Princess. I’ll call you later?”

“Can’t wait! Bye, De.”

“Bye, Y/N/N.”

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

Text

Best and worst of both worlds (part 2)

Tw: vomit , drunk, religious stuff, breakinf sum bones

Ok maybe monty may seem out of character here but trust me its cause reader is more cringe fail than he is so hes mothering by default, but if ur the more assertive type like a newyorker, hes defo getting pegged

part 3

You studied too hard and studied too long. The sky is now dark and the only people around are those who are handing their assignment at the last minute. Luckily, the library opens for 24 hours.

But it's time to go home, it will take a 45-minute bus ride to your house, shared with seven other housemates. At least you get your own four walls around your room, albeit thin.

You have your back hunched as you struggle to carry an elephant's worth in the weight of study materials. Grunting and grumbling as you stomped to your bus stop.

The bus pulled over, you slung the backpack over your back again and huffed. You were prepared to enter, but you had to hop backwards because a rather large man, came tumbling down the exit stairs.

He was doing so well, but he came crumbling down when his foot slipped.

He tried his best to push himself off, but to no avail because he was that drunk. So you announced that you're going to help him before grabbing him by the ankles. You think you yanked on him too hard, because he groaned in pain as his head hits the concrete ground.

You pulled him to the side to the best you can, so you could board the bus- hey!

The bus drove off in a hurry. You tried chasing and flagging it down, but it wouldn't stop and it didn't care.

You sigh. Looks like you have to wait for another one.

You returned to the bus stop to see that he was lying on his back. His shaggy brown hair covering his eyes.

You sat on the bench, staring at the unconscious man in front of you.

Feeling frustrated, you stood up and kicked him on the leg. He made you miss your bus!

But you immediately regretted it because he started vomiting, and choking on his own sick. His body was convulsing and you heard painful gurgling sounds from him.

You let out a brief scream before pacing back and forth, panicking on what to do.

Then you remembered that one first aid class that you took.

You didn't lay him on his side. You didn't call emergency services, you didn't do the Heimlich maneuver.

You end up doing a bastardized version of CPR, where you put your entire body weight and your backpack onto his ribs. Using your foot, stomping on him like a bike tyre pump.

You heard a sickening crack, but it worked. A fountain of vomit sprayed to the top, showering you and him in it.

Yuck! You whined and spit.

You flicked away as much as you can. Now he's coughing and sputtering, but at least he's breathing. And conscious.

His bloodshot eyes opened and stared at you. You can't tell if he's grateful that you saved him or offended that you broke a rib of his. Maybe a mix of both.

"I-it..." He wheezed. "...Hurts..." He rasped.

You begin to panic again, but this time it lead you to calling the ambulance.

"No... please. I..." He gulped. "I... can't afford it."

Your eyes darted between him and the phone. You should have paid more attention to your ethics class, because you don't want him to die, but you don't want to put him in crippling debt.

You only dialed the number, you haven't called it yet.

You told him that he's going to die.

He chuckled bitterly. "When... has anyone ever cared...?" The stranger slurred.

You said you did. You didn't want him to die, at least not in front of you, and the next bus is arriving an hour later.

"You... care?" Something glimmered in his eyes. He seem to have selective hearing.

You start to cry, ranting in between sobs that you just wanted to go home and have a nice bowl of instant noodles, as that's the only thing you could afford for now. You wanted more time to study for your midterms and you're just a University student, you don't deserve to face this weird, traumatic dilemma. You complained that your bag is heavy and your back hurts, you reek of his vomit and do not want to wait with a corpse.

He must be sobering up, because he looked concerned for your mental health. The man probably didn't understand whatever you're going through, you thought that he had it worse. But you didn't care, you needed someone to talk to, and this near death drunk man is your perfect victim. He probably wouldn't remember you in the morning anyways.

You concluded that you had a long week, you just want to go home, clean up and rest too. You simply want to get through the hour without him dying before your eyes.

There was a pregnant pause between you and him.

Finally, you heard some shuffling, shadows from that man shifting slowly as he tried to get up in agony. He cradled his heavily bruised side, you couldn't see its severe discolouration because it was concealed under his puke-stained clothes.

You instinctively hover your arms around him, readying yourself to catch the man if he falls. To him, it only solidifies that you truly do care.

"I'm okay, I promise." He coughed into his fist. "I won't be dyin' tonight."

You wiped the last of your tears and nodded. You put your phone away and sat down on the bench.

He sat a distance away from you. Understanding that you would want your space.

The man slumped his head against the side, closing his eyes, fighting the nausea and trying to ignore the throbbing pain under his chest.

He was shaken awake by you, screaming bloody murder his ear. Each time you yank him back and forth, the stabbing pain in his ribs worsened.

He hissed in pain as you shook him like a cocktail mixer.

"I'm alive! I-I'm alive, stop shaking me!"

You let him go and his head hits the wall of the shelter with a thud.

He groaned as he now cradles his head.

You apologized for breaking his rib and shaking him.

"H-hey, it's okay. I'm fine, don't cry, don't cry. Shhh..." He tried to console you by stroking your forearm.

You began mumbling about how the bus is taking so long and it feels like the world is against you. The embarrassment you faced today is indescribable, your cringiest moments are going to keep you up at night, make you lose sleep and force you to fail your exams.

You blabber nonsense, things that you always kept to yourself came spilling out just because you think this man isn't going to remember.

"Hey, h-hey." He tried getting your attention, but you continued rambling your inner demons away.

He sighed and slumped back down, watching you vent to your heart's content.

He waited. Eventually though, you stopped. Because you ran out of steam.

You checked the time. You still have 20 minutes to go until the bus arrives.

You're still visibly agitated and jumpy to him, clearly needing more comfort now. The roads are barren and if it wasn't for this one singular lamp post, you wouldn't be able to see anything around you.

"Hey, hey, look at me." You snapped your head to him.

"It's going to be fine, sweetheart." He smiled. "I'm still here."

He felt relieved when he saw the tension in your shoulders disappear. You sat back down and swung your legs back and forth, most likely to expel more anxious energy that's built up inside.

"What's your name?" He asked.

You tensed up again, not trusting him, you decided to come up with a fake name on the spot. Admittedly, you're not very good at performing under stress and time restraint.

"Your name is... Joe M.?"

You had to physically bite back the urge to complete the joke. So you squeaked a confirmation with the corners of your lips curled up suspiciously.

He must have picked up that you might not be entirely truthful. Because he stared at you for a bit before replying.

"My name is Montgomery. You can call me Monty if ya' want." You nodded and promptly forgot about his name. It's not like you're going to ever meet him again.

"So... you go to the university 'round here?"

You immediately denied it.

"Alrighty then." He took that as a hint that you didn't want to disclose more information about yourself. Because he can clearly see the massive University logo plastered on your soiled hoodie.

A blanket of silence drapes itself onto you and him.

"You wanna say a prayer with me?" He asked out of the blue.

You hesitantly agreed.

He closed his eyes and began.

"Dear Heavenly Father..."

You zoned out as he proceeded to have a lengthy conversation with god. Appreciating the things around him, your presence and to have a roof over his head; literally. He prays that you reach home safe and sound, and that your stresses will pass- among other things.

Regardless of whether you're religious or not, you found his words of faith comforting. Almost like a bubble of protection around the entire bus stop.

"...In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

Amen, indeed.

As soon as he ended it, the bus arrived. You hurriedly gathered your items and rushed to the doors.

You said your goodbyes, apologies and thanks.

He gave you a weak wave. "Have a good night, and take it easy, okay honey? You're gonna be fine."

You nodded before climbing the steps.

Montgomery watches the bus leave. Sighing because he was supposed to get on it too. Well, he can always walk home.

Painfully.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc montgomery #tw vomit #tw drunk #tw injury

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