#he gently threatened the doctors and nurses not to expose him

[ghostaholics]

I’m laughing so hard with the enemies with benefits trope, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.What if she gets badly hurt during a mission, and ends up unconscious for days, and Ghost stays by her side waiting for her to wake up and when she does, instead of a heartwarming conversation they instantly start to insult each other

The amount of time it took for them to stabilize her had been... long.

Too long.

So long, in fact that they'd had to resuscitate her twice during transport and somewhere in between their (inadequate, by his standards) attempts at life-saving measures and him taking over compressions (he'd bullied his way onto the carrier, of course, much to the displeasure of the rest of the medical flight personnel and was the only one willing to continue even after they'd seriously considered calling the time of death), there was a brief moment where he'd really thought she wasn't going to make it. And for exactly 34 minutes, he'd kept thinking to himself what a goddamn shame it'd be to lose her (not for himself, but for the 1-4-1, the good of the team, obviously). Except then they'd found her pulse again, faint and barely hanging on just under skin, albeit still there – thank-fucking-Jesus – and Simon had finally allowed himself to let out a sigh of breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding the entire time.

It's been about 72 hours since she was initially transferred to the trauma center by helo (or 71 hours and 53 minutes if he wants to get really technical, not that he’s keeping track). This surly, hulking beast of a man managed to fold himself into that tiny hospital chair – has a damn crick in his neck now, stiffness in his muscles from that pathetic excuse of a recliner. And he's had to camp out as a sniper for lengthy intervals before, slept on the ground or up against a fucking tree depending on the situation without complaint, so this should be any different, but he's had to shift positions frequently just to take the edge off because it's bothering him that much; Christ, the things he does for her.

And after waiting all this damn time, he's finally rewarded with some evidence of actual consciousness – the too-thin, threadbare hospital sheets stirring with movement out of the corner of his eye. Simon rises from his seat, completely neglecting his lunch (hadn't even really been able to eat properly until recently, because his appetite was pretty much shite after the whole cardiac arrest thing) and strides over to check on whether or not she's waking up.

She blinks, groggily, eyes adjusting to her surroundings and trying to place where exactly she is before a shadow passes over her line of vision and blocks the annoying fluorescent lights. It’s – oh.

Simon's face comes into view, peering down at her with an expression that she doesn’t quite recognize. This one’s new; she doesn’t have a name for it, but if she were to hazard a guess, it seems an awful lot like concern – or at least his version of whatever that may be. She watches him quietly. Her gaze isn’t as disoriented anymore and she tracks his hand, the way it comes up to cup her jaw, warm palm sliding over her skin in an invitation to lean into his touch.

“Really glad you woke up,” he murmurs, low but still loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic beeping of the bedside monitor. And Simon, being Simon, doesn't forget to add, “There's so many reports I've been waiting for you to sign off on.”

She closes her eyes with a small smile gracing her lips. Her voice is rough from disuse, but the sarcasm behind it is a familiar sound. “Wish I'd been out for longer. Was nice not having you nag my ear off – best damn sleep I've gotten in ages, y'know.”

[bruhstories]

I Swear It

Summary: He didn't hate you — you just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader Warnings & Content: language, slightly ooc!Reiner in the beginning (I think), unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), so much angst, slight dubcon. Word Count: 1.8 k

A/N: What’s this, two one-shots in a day? Best not get greedy lmao, but this is the saddest piece I’ve written so far. I’m gonna have to give Reiner some good things in the future.

Reiner was done. He was so sick and tired of the fighting, the war, the discrimination. He didn't want his little cousin to inherit the Armoured Titan, but he didn't want Falco to have it either. He hadn't slept in days — whenever he closed his eyes the faces of the people he'd killed popped in his mind, giving him terrifying nightmares. He could blow his brains out, the appeal of suicide enticing him like a mirage in a desert. But then there was you, the kindest woman he'd ever met and the best doctor in Marley. You treated him with so much compassion that his mind thought you were playing disgusting psychological tricks on him. You weren't an Eldian, yet you treated Eldians with respect. You were the only person, aside from his family, who anchored Reiner back into reality, and the only reason he didn't end it all was because he wanted to see your radiating smile again.

When Marley took Fort Slava, you were there, patching up soldiers, good as new, your Y/H/C clipped back, dirt, sweat and blood on your beautiful face. When the army returned to Marley, you were there, carrying soldiers with other nurses, managing the hospital and taking care of the injured. Reiner took lives, like an angel of death, while you fixed the unfixable, like an angel of life. But you happened to walk in on the titan shifter at the worst possible time, gun in his mouth, tears on his cheeks, dishevelled and broken. Instead of your usual smile, he was greeted by shock and anxiety and he dropped the gun, arms hanging by his sides, eyes exhausted. You closed the door behind you and brought a chair from the corner of the room, no words spoken until you sat down in front of him.

"Give me the gun, Reiner." You urged him, voice meek but demanding.

"No." Traces of anger in his voice, you extended your hand, palm facing upwards.

"Please, just give me the gun and we can talk-"

"Talk?" The man mocked you, fingers tracing the barrel. "When did that ever help?"

"It does help if you give it a chance." You tried but he wouldn't listen. Head tilted slightly to his left side, he pointed the gun at you.

"They don't have guns on Paradis."

"R-really?" You stuttered, eyes glued to the gun, heart almost beating out of your chest. "What do they have there?"

"Families. Children. Loved ones." Reiner scoffed. "And lots of corpses. All because of me."

"It's not because of you-"

"Are you sure, Y/N?" He lunged at you, pressing the gun into your temple. "You weren't there to see it, to hear their screams of terror." The man walked behind you and you heard the key click in the door, the hairs at the back of your head standing up.

"That's why you need to talk about it." You tried again, too afraid to turn around.

"Why, so you can tell your superiors?" Reiner propped the gun at the back of your head. Panic instilled in you and you let the tears you've been holding back to roll down your face.

"So you can let it all out." You told him between sobs.

"Let it out, huh? No, Y/N, talking's not gonna help." And then you heard it — the zipper of his beige uniform trousers coming undone. "Take your shirt off."

"Reiner..." But the gun pressed harder.

"I said take your fucking shirt off."

You didn't have much of a choice and your trembling hands moved to the first button of your white shirt. Reiner walked back to the chair, gun still pointed at you.

"You don't have to do this-"

"Why did you have to be a Marleyan?" He cut you off and your eyes found his, confused at the question. "Better yet, why did I have to fall in love with the wrong person?" The second question caught you severely off guard, but you saw an opportunity when he lowered the gun, his grip around the handle loosening. You propped your hands on the chair and with all your gathered strength, you kicked the gun out of his hand, the weapon sliding under the hospital bed. You both stared at each other in confusion for a good second before you both dashed to grab the gun, your thinner arm reaching the weapon quicker.

"One missed shot and every man you saved dies." Reiner threatened as you aimed the gun at his head, your shirt unbuttoned, allowing him to see your exposed bra.

"Take your shirt off, Reiner."

"What?"

"You heard me." You lowered the weapon, pointing it at his chest. "You were right." You watched him like a hawk, brow quirked at his perfectly sculpted torso. "Talking isn't going to help." You threw the gun on the bed and leaped into his arms, pulling him into a ravaging kiss, careful not to draw any blood from the way you bit his lower lip.

"Why?" Reiner asked, pushing you onto the bed, fingers digging into your shoulders.

"Why what?" You asked back, fumbling with the belt.

"Why didn't you just leave? You had the upper hand." He sank his head into the curve of your neck, hungry kisses tingling your skin.

"Because," two fingers gently pushed his chin upwards and you looked him in the eye, "I also fell in love with the wrong person."

"Y/N, I'm so sorry... I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Hey, hey, it's alright." You looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a comforting embrace. "You're a warrior, Reiner. I've seen exactly what this war is doing to people, good people." Your chin rested on his shoulder, your hand gently caressing his back. "But please, promise me you'll never point a gun at yourself. Promise you'll talk to me."

"I swear it." He pulled back from your arms and kissed your forehead. Your hands moved from his shoulders, down his abdomen and stopped at his bulge. "Can I... can I make love to you?"

"Yes."

Reiner's hand tugged at your bra, pulling it down slightly, enough for your breasts to bounce out of it. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and you threw your head back, your fingers trying desperately to unclasp the stupid belt. He laughed at your struggle, the sounds vibrating against your skin, and undid it himself, his trousers and underwear pooling at his knees. You lifted your skirt up and spread your legs, offering Reiner the view he'd so strongly desired. His eyes darted at the wet spot on your white panties and hunger filled his gaze. You pulled the undergarments off of you as he pressed gentle kisses on your knees.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N. I'll never understand why you chose to fall in love with me." The man's hand snaked around your thigh, his other palming your wet folds.

"I can't choose who to fall in love with, Reiner, but if I could, it would still be you." You smiled, your lips quickly turning into an O as he gently pushed one finger into your cunt. You didn't know how much your words meant to him, how they fought with his desire to die. Another finger and you flexed your muscles, hands gripping the sheets on the bed.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Reiner marvelled your spasms. You were definitely not his first woman, you'd sometimes spot him at brothels as sorrow filled your soul, but you were definitely the first woman he loved.

"Please..." You whimpered and he shot up, worried he'd hurt you. "Please make love to me, Reiner..." You begged him, eyelids drooping and thirst in your voice. His cheeks flushed crimson, albeit being used to prostitutes asking him to fuck them, but they weren't you. They never were. He positioned himself between your supple thighs, cock hard and eager to thrust into you. Reiner looked at you, as if waiting for approval, and you nodded, your hands gripping his muscular arms. He pushed the tip first and stopped as your walls stretched and adjusted to the girth, then thrusted some more. The expression plastered on your face encouraged him not to stop and he found a pace comfortable for both of you. His hands were propped onto the bed, your head between them and you looked him in his amber eyes. They didn't do a good job at hiding the pain and trauma he's been through, but it showed to you that he was only human. Not the spear and shield of Marley, not the Armoured Titan, but Reiner Braun, the man whose wounds you treated, the man you grew close to, the man you missed, the man you loved.

"Shit, you're so tight." He whispered in your ear and you wrapped your legs around his waist, telling him to go faster. You weren't a virgin by any means. In fact, you tried being in a relationship with a Marleyan while he was gone to Paradis Island, but you couldn't keep up with the charade and broke it off in less than two months. His thrusts made you realise who you truly belonged to, and it was none other than him.

"Reiner, I–"

"Love you." The man admitted as you came undone all over his cock, your fingers digging deeper into his arms. He stopped thrusting, instead he held you close to his chest. You felt his beating heart and tears formed at the corners of your eyes, knowing that your love was meant to be kept a secret.

"I love you, too." You told him, your forehead resting on his collarbone. None of you dared to move, afraid that the only moment of peace you both had in a very long time might end. Your head pushed harder into his chest, forcing Reiner to lean on his back as you removed yourself from his cock. You moved backwards on all fours, hovering over his member, tears falling on his naked body.

"What are you doing, Y/N?"

"I wish we could have a family together." You told him before taking him into your mouth. His head tilted to the side, realising that you made a smart choice by finishing him off with your mouth. Had he spilled his seed into you, you'd both be dead. Reiner's breath hitched as your head bobbed up and down faster, faster. The hot liquid tickled your throat and you swallowed every last drop, not wanting to risk anything.

"This isn't going to end well..." The man sighed.

"I know."

He leaned forward and embraced you, his touch needy yet grateful. You returned the embrace, quietly sobbing into his arms.

"I want you to know that I'll always love you." Reiner stated, and it felt like a promise.

"Please, come back to me. Whatever happens, come back to me, Reiner Braun."

"I swear it."

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[sparetimeimagines]

Weakness | Bakugou Katsuki

tags; fluff, angst, hospital, ptsd

Part 1

Masterlist

He didn’t know how much longer they were going to keep you apart. His fingers were tapping. His body aching. His heart pounding.

He just wanted to see you. What was so difficult about that?

Another hour passed when he finally gave up.

The surgery was taking longer than he expected. How difficult could it be to sear someone up? The tissue is gone. The bone is gone.

The light indicating surgery is in session fades to off and immediately his attention is stolen, much like his heart those years ago.

“She was beautiful. Not the beautiful plastered on magazines and tv commercials. Beautiful like the flower. Organic. Delicate to the touch.”

From the moment Katsuki laid eyes on you, it frustrated him. He didn’t understand why you were so important. Why is it you out of everyone in the room that caught his attention? Some quirkless nobody.

“Hey Dumbass.” They were the first words you heard.

Bright lights, the anesthesia was wearing off and the machine let off a beat that was endless.

Those bold crimson eyes trace your body like they always had, but this time he felt different.

Guilt. Shame. He should have been there.

His hand raises but instantly he retreats.

How can he touch you? How can he deserve to feel your smooth skin under his callused finger tips?

Instead, he relies on his eyes.

They pay attention to every detail. The bruise on your cheek some of the bastard struck you. The burns on your arms from the tight rope he insisted on keeping you still. Bandaged up left hand that gives the illusion of a fist.

It was everything he feared. Well, at least you’re alive.

“Ka-” you start, but then realize your voices is weak. Maybe it’s not the best thing to speak right now. Instead, you watch him with your lazy eyes.

Instead of seeing the love in his eyes, you see hate. Disgust.

After all that time of waiting to see you -Begging to see you- he leaves.

The man you owe your life to storms out the room, slamming the door on his way, leaving you wondering what you did wrong. Your eyes travel down your body and you begin to remember everything that’s happened. Bit by bit, piece by piece you realize that there’s a part of your life that will never be the same again.

The nurses came in, adjusted your IVs and the doctor even made an appearance.

They were kind and generous with their time.

It started with the warnings. Like how you will have nerve damage. How you will still feel nerves in areas of your body where you shouldn’t. How you will never wear a wedding band on the proper finger.

That must’ve been the reason why Kacchan left.

But what they didn’t tell you is how to explain to someone that bad things happen when it’s not their fault.

The room went silent once you were alone despite the beeping from the machine.

Being left alone with your thoughts was the last thing you wanted right now.

When was he coming back?

Was Katsuki coming back?

The door opens with a knock, much softer and collected than anything Suki was capable of.

In walks the darkest of green hairs you’ve seen on a person with the heart the largest you’ll will ever find.

“Deku...”

He returns your weak smile ends step closer to the bedside.

“Y/N.“ His soft eyes welled up with tears however he clears his throat to hold him back. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” His hands slowly creep close to yours, trying not to irritate the IV.

It was a simple friendship you formed as children. Back then, you both were quirkless in a superhero world. It was something simple to bond over. You didn’t feel so alone.

“I see you’re covered in bruises.“ You crack a small joke just to lighten the tension, and a tear threatens to fall.“Aww Deku... don’t ever change.“ His soft face brings peace to mind for a brief second before you check back at the door, your face drops.

“I would never.“ Midoriya brings his soft smile to your attention until he notices something’s still wrong. His eyes glance down at your hand then back to your face which is bruised.

“Your hand…”

“Yeah, Deku“ you pause raising your left hand for the first time since surgery. Your eyes study each dressing that secures the casing meant for healing.

“They told me it’s never going to be the same again.“

They must be pushing some kind of drug to take away the pain...

“But I guess I already knew that... you know... since I was there when it happened.”

“I’m really sorry.“ He says closely watching the injured limb. “I should’ve been there for you. You must’ve been so scared.“

“I was.“

He doesn’t say anything for a short moment, time passes when one thing comes to mind.

“Midoriya.” You start, gathering the courage to ask him what you really wanted to say. “Did you see Kacchan?”

You pause for a moment yet he doesn’t say anything until his eyes match mine.

“Y-yeah.” He chokes. “He was running out as I came in.”

So he really did leave...

Midoriya sits in silence as you observe your hand.

“I don’t understand, Deku.” You start, watching the clock on the wall tick. “Why would he leave me?”

“Don’t think of it like that, Y/n. I think he’s just afraid.”

“Kacchan’s never been afraid, Deku.”

“I wouldn’t believe that, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Yelling and loud commotions distract the conversation to the hallway.

Your eyes grow heavy from the medication as the yelling comes closer.

“Sir visiting hours at this time is for immediate family only. You-” The nurse is cut off by the harsh voice yelling in the hall.

“I am her only family.” He replies winded, passing the nurse to find Midoriya and you.

“Sir.” The nurse warns.

“Deku, what the hell are you doing here? Get lost, you Nerd.” He shoves past Midoriya, putting distance between the two of you.

The nurse stands in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“Visiting hours are over.”

Midoriya immediately abides by the rules while Katsuki refuses standing his ground.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“She needs her rest.”

Midoriya meets the nurse at the door and asks to speak with her outside the room leaving you two alone.

“I’m back. I’m sorry. I’m not leaving you again.” He reaches for your hand then hesitates seeing the IV.

“It’s ok, Suki.”

He notices your eyes and realizes you’re wearing down.

“Are you ok, Petal?” His voice softens while his touch is sensitive.

Your lips form into a firm line and you manage to move over.

“Lay with me tonight.” Weakly, you pat the uncomfortable mattress. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The blond grunts and climbs into the bed without hesitation, aware of your injuries and comfort.

His head against the pillow, he flattens his back enough to pull you into his arms.

“You’re my everything, Y/N.” He mumbles into your hair leaving his lips pressed against your forehead. “You make me weak.” He mumbles.

“I do what?” You must not be hearing this right.

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs. “You’re my weakness.”

Bakugou presses his head atop yours and embraces his silence. His rough fingertips gently slide over the wounds randomly scattered across your skin.

“You know I went crazy trying to find you.“

For once he’s actually keeping his tone low. You weren’t sure if it was how he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s soft on the inside or if it’s something else. “I couldn’t sleep. There’s no way I could’ve relaxed knowing that bastard had you.“

He pauses brushing the hair out of your face. “I had to find you. There’s no one in this world that means as much to me as you do.“

At that moment it wasn’t the aggressive explosion everyone is used to.

At that moment his guard was down and all he saw was you.

“The media got word. They were trying to break in the hospital to see you. They want pictures of you with your wounds. I had to do something about it.” His voice turns into his aggression, his anger begins to make a comeback when you squeeze his hand.

“When I left. I forced them to leave. They were…” he struggles. “They were talking about your parents. Calling them fallen heroes. Said that bastard murdered your family... This was their chance for a shot of glory. I wasn’t gonna let them turn you in to nothing.”

There’s so many emotions going through his system; he can’t decide on which he wants to use.

Anger. Guilt. Disgust.

“I wanted to do this the right way. Lights, candles, by the water the way you like. Under the gazebo where you can see the stars. I wanted everything to be perfect.” He stops to look at your damaged hand. “But... now, I realize time is so valuable, and life is so vulnerable. You’re my family and you mean everything to me.” He starts to get choked, and even though you’re the one who needs help, you are the one who needs to be taken care of, YOU are the one who’s making sure he is ok.

“Su-“

“Let me finish!“ He chokes with a short fuse. “Let me finish.“ He repeats himself with a much softer voice, hardly over whisper. You look to him and he has a soft smile almost hidden behind his angry eyes.

“Petal, I’ve loved you since we were kids. Since we were so young we didn’t know what love was. When I couldn’t find you, I was devastated. I didn’t understand that you were everything I’ve ever wanted. When there was a chance that i would never see you again, I felt a part of me break.” His voice is choking once more. “Great now I sound like some nerd.” he chuckles sniffling away his tears.

“You bring out the side of me that’s so dangerous and I wanted nothing more than to see you smile. You scare me; and nothing scares me in this world.“ He gets frustrated and pulls out an object from his pocket.

“Look, I’m trying to say I love you. And I never wanna see anything happen to you. I know things have happened, and our lives may never be the same again but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

From his pocket he exposes a black velvet box. It’s small in his hand but you couldn’t believe your eyes.

The beautiful diamond that sat in the ring was more than anything you could’ve ever asked for.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you. It’s you. It’s you.”

By now he’s sobbing. Like the diamond, unlike any thing you’ve ever seen before, the energy he’s giving off, everything that he said would’ve fooled you into believing he’s somebody else.

“Who are you?” You ask, looking from his face to his hands and back to his face again. He chokes and sits up straight.

“Your husband if you let me.”

The machine beside you begins to be wildly, and the nurse along with Midoriya who is outside we came rushing in, exposing the moment between you and Bakugo.

“Get out you nerd.” He yells Midoriya who stutters.

“N-no. I need to see what she says.” The moment of bravery from the green one has you confused. The ring in the blond’s hands and shocked look on the green one’s face leaves you speechless.

“Well what do you say?“ Bakugou flushes from his cheeks and all you can do is nod.

“I promise you. When everything gets straightened out, I’ll make you the happiest person in the world.”

[ayamiya345]

Okay, I have been writing this piece for like a thounsand years, and never been posting it anywhere. I know that post an unfinished pieces is not respecting my story but I just want to atleast let it see the light rather bury in the dirt.

So this one only mention about the Celestial War and my Mc and another non related character that I made up.

What if Mc already know the brothers before the Celestial War and add more chaotic plus angst?

The fight between the student council of the Royal Academy of Diavolo with the Night army has come to an end. General Aya has been carried back to the Night hideout to treat her wound. Her body is covered by blood from head to toe, arm ripping apart. Leg bend in unlogical way.

The doctors and nurse have moved her in immediately to treat her, they don’t want to face the boss' wrath when he comes back.After a long surgery and treatment. Aya now lay in the bed, sleeping peacefully while one of the nurses took cream to apply on her scar.

They all know that general Aya really cares about her appearance, like she has said. It was her biggest strength and others biggest weakness. After that, they clean up the general body and move out.

A few hours later, Aya awakens. She looked around to see there were some doctors and nurses coming to greet her.

They call her general, then it must be people of the night. Only they call Aya general. The others are afraid of her more than accept her as their general.

She grunt and sit up, she is fine.

This little wound is nothing compared to the one from the Celestial war. And that is an angel compared to a demon.

The first time she was in war. She is only by herself, one lonely wolf against a whole army of angels to protect fallen angels. This time, the fallen angels from the past are now the most powerful demons in hell.

But again, she is still by herself, they lose, they lose her, again.

She mis-hearted answered the doctor and nurse checking up question. She rolls up her sleeves like an old bad habit, to take a look at the….

Where are the scars? Where is her scar?

The nurse must see her shocked reaction so that she calmly and proudly explains. And for the response, general Aya did not thank but stared deep into their eyes.

They what? They erased her scar?

The nurse's proud smile is fading right away as Aya grabs on their collar and throws them midair to the wall. No matter how much the others screaming and begging for her to calm down, she keep picking up the nurse and punch.

In the general eyes now is nothing accept wrath, her eyes, her mind is full with wrath. There is no words to describe how much she want to end this stupid soul right away.

When there is another punch ready to land on the terrify soul face, someone reach in and grap her wrist, prevent her to hit the innocent soul that is crying, sobbing, begging her to stop. She doesnt turn back but scream for whoever interrupt her to step away.

But the response for her screaming and threatening is a hug. The night pulls her up and drags her into a tight hug, no matter how hard she fights kicking him to back off.

She hated him, no, not only hate, she wanted to kill him. He is non stop following her, he not stop let her has her own life. He is everywhere she is, but whenever he is there is death.

At the Celestial realm, at the human realm, now, even when Aya has run deep to hell to avoid him. The night still has way to drag her away the happiness she is having, and drag her toward him.

She bit hard on his exposed neck, hard enough to draw blood out of his body. She want to know, is this cold blood soul really cold. The others is screaming and try to get help for their boss. But he shused them to be quiet and gently lay a hand on her head. Whispering she is okay, everything is okay.

But she know that is not. She is not okay, infact, she is being in the most terrible state in the milliane years.

She finally found a place to call home, a place to look forward to going to, a place that she could find comfort. And a place where she could actually take a sleep, without being fully in guard and mind full with cautiousness.

A place that the Night could never afford for her.

A home. With the brothers, with the one she truly loves and trusts, with a family. A feeling that she thought she could never feel it, she has it in her hand now.

But the night, envious of it, he envies that she has a home but he does not, so he has to destroy her.

And one more time dragged her into the dark, again.

[eretzyisrael]

Lama Al-Manar, 36, doesn't remember what she put into the small bag she was carrying when she stepped into a Red Crescent ambulance, other than medical documents. She doesn't remember the last words her husband, who was riding with her, said to her before they separated at the Erez crossing. She doesn't know whether he followed them with his gaze when she walked toward the crossing and passed from the Gaza Strip to Israel, where a Magen David Adom ambulance was waiting for her.

From the moment she left Shifa Hospital that afternoon, until she arrived at Sheba Medical Center at Tel Hashomer some five hours later, Lima's eyes never left the incubator that was holding her son, Abdullah, 2.5 months old, whose tiny body was receiving oxygen.

She also wouldn't have remembered what day it was if they hadn't explained how lucky she had been. It was Monday, May 10, 2021, the day on which Operation Guardian of the Walls against Hamas infrastructure in Gaza began. The ambulance that brought her and her son to Israel was the last allowed through Erez crossing before it was closed for 13 days.

Three children are waiting for her at home. Two years ago, she gave birth to a stillborn child, and when she became pregnant for the fifth time, she was eager for the new baby to bring joy back to the home. But Abdullah was born two months prematurely with a complicated heart defect and Lamaand her husband realized they would need to fight for his life.

"I was afraid. His condition wasn't good," Lama says. "He lost weight, and his breathing and other parameters slowed. I prayed to God to heal him. To fight for his little life. A doctor at Shifa Hospital recommended that we send him to Israel for treatment. My husband reached out to the Shevet Achim organization to help us get him there."

Thursday afternoon, the 11th day of the Gaza campaign. The radio reports a rocket alert in Ashkelon, and then a direct hit on a residential building. We arrive at the parking structure attached to the labor ward at Sheba Medical Center, which is next to the Edmond and Lily Safra Children's Hospital. The children's ICU was transferred here on the fifth day of the fighting for fear of rocket hits.

We go down one floor. After walking through the gray halls lined with oxygen tanks at the ready, we encounter a colorful sign decorated with a drawing of a sun and a kite: "Protected Children's ICU." Reality stays outside. In the parking structure, which was filled with cars the previous week, there are 40 small beds. Each one takes up two parking places, and holds a small baby who is hooked up to medical equipment. Nearby is a treatment station, a computer, and a lounge chair for adults.

The beds are separated by flowered curtains that were hung on the metal pipes that line the parking garage's ceiling. No one closes the curtains. There are also hanging screens that are attached to monitors that fill the space with dim beeping.

In the center of the improvised unit are a dialysis cart and another cart that holds equipment for chest drainage. Sometimes, a baby's cry can be heard. It is weak, and starts and stops quickly.

Over bed No. 26 a sign reads: "Abdullah Al-Manar. Date of birth: Feb. 26, 2021. Weight: 1.6 kg (3.52 pounds)." Lamasits on the chair and watches Shani, the nurse, take off Abdullah's cloth diaper, exposing a large incision that runs from his chest to his belly. Shani changes the dressing, rubs cream on it, puts his medicine into the IV bag attached to his small arm, and covers him gently.

In the next bed lies three-month-old Rana, who is recovering from her third open heart surgery, which she underwent two days earlier. On the left is Yazen, a month old, who had a catheterization.

Dr. Evyatar Hubara, 43, a senior doctor on the unit, moves from bed to bed. He slept three hours the night before due to the number of cases.

"The three children from Gaza suffer from complicated heart defects," Hubara explains. "They came to us in serious condition, among other reasons because it took time from when the problem was diagnosed in Gaza until their transfer to us could be coordinated, all the permits received, and that's without changing ambulances at Erez and the bumpy journey. Right now, all three are in an acute stage. We still haven't gotten to the rehabilitation state, which will begin here and continue in Gaza," he says.

Hubara stops by Abdullah's bed and looks at him warmly. "Abdullah was born prematurely and was incorrectly diagnosed in Gaza. The doctors … performed the wrong operation on him when he was two months old. A week after the operation, he began to decline, and a week after that he reached us. In the first few hours we needed to stabilize him and keep his blood pressure steady with medication.

"We started to look into the problem. We did an MRI and other tests. Before every stage, we explained to his mother what we were going to do. She trusted us from the beginning. After we stabilized him, we found that the true defect he was suffering from was an aortic valve stenosis. It turned out that in Gaza they had tried to close the ductus, but closed one of the main arteries by mistake.

"In the insane Israeli reality, we had to protect ourselves against rockets from Gaza along with the babies who come from here," he says.

"I remember one siren that caught me on the unit, before we moved to the parking structure. All the mothers, Jewish and Arab, just grabbed their babies – the ones that weren't hooked up to machines – and ran to a safe space. I shouted, 'We have time, 90 seconds, go slowly so you won't fall with the kids.' Everyone gathered around in the safe space. Staff members and patients, Jews and Arabs together. The shocking sight of the mothers who ran there with their babies doesn't leave me," Hubara recalls. Not all the mothers were able to take their babies to a safe space. Abdullah, Rana, and Yazen, as well as another 12 Israeli babies, are on respiratory equipment, and they were unprotected during the first rocket alerts. This is why the hospital administration decided to move the entire department from the sixth floor to the underground parking garage. Here, the sirens can't even be heard.

We go with Lama, Raida, and Samira into the staff room, located at the exit. The room has a big refrigerator full of popsicles donated to the children and the staff who care for them. Every few minutes, a parent or a staff member comes in and takes one.

About a year ago, when the COVID pandemic was still raging in Israel, a COVID unit opened in this same parking structure to ease the mass of patients that was overwhelming the hospitals. That event seems like ancient history, and the only thing that remains of it are the letters of thanks stuck to the door. It seems as if this is the last place in the country where people are careful to wear masks, and wear them properly.

The three Gaza women are embarrassed. They aren't used to being interviewed. All three are wearing abayas, long dresses that include head coverings, as well as hijabs and surgical masks. Since they arrived in Israel, they have been sleeping here, on the unit, in the recliner chairs next to their children's beds. They are also given meals. Once every few days, they allow themselves to go upstairs and shower. None of them speaks any language other than Arabic, with the exception of a few words of Hebrew or English. Moshe Ravid, 26, a nursing student from Jaffa and a volunteer with the Shevet Achim organization, translates.

Raida (Umm Ahmad), 48, is from Khan Younis. She is Rana's grandmother, a housewife and mother of six.

"My daughter-in-law, Rana's mother, came to Israel with her in February, two weeks after she was born," she says. "After two weeks, she was tired and not feeling well. Because she has a four-year-old at home, she called me and asked me to switch with her. She went back to Gaza, and since then, I've been here. Three months already. This is my first time in Israel."

Q: Were you afraid?

"No, why should I be afraid? My husband worked in Bat Yam for 20 years. Every day, he went from Gaza to Bat Yam, until the disengagement in 2005. After that, he found work in Gaza. He told me that there are good people in Israel, that everyone here is all right."

Abdullah's mother Lama, 36, is wearing a brown abaya accessorized with a shining silver star. Her smartphone has a pink cover. She works in a laboratory, and her husband is a producer for Palestinian television in Gaza. She has two other sons, 11 and six, at home, as well as a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter.

"My mother had cancer. She went to Israel to be treated, and recovered," Lama says. "She told me that everything is good here. When Abdullah's condition got worse, the doctor recommended that we come to Israel. My husband reached out to Shevet Achim. Now he and my mother are watching the three other kids at home."

Q: What do you tell your families about what is happening here?

Lama: "They're afraid for us, and we're afraid for them. When they call to hear how we are, I answer, 'Al Hamdullah,' so they won't be scared and worry, and when I call to ask how they are, they say the same thing. We talk about the boy, how he ate, how much he ate, how much he slept. "I tell them that the doctors here are good, that they treat us well, answer all our questions. I tell them that the food is excellent, that the women have nice clothes, about their hairstyles. I like the fashion in Israel, and the grilled chicken breast and salad they serve at the hospital."

Raida: "The medical staff thinks only about the children – whether their condition has improved, what they ate, how they slept. We sit next to their beds, don't know how they'll be from one moment to the next, whether they'll get better at all."

Q: Do they send you pictures of the strikes on Gaza?

"They send me pictures of the special Ramadan sweets," Raida answers, with a smile.

Samira, 62, is the grandmother of Yazen, who is only a month old. "I have nine grown children, and my son has four children other than Yazen. Their mother needs to take care of them, so they asked me to accompany the child. At home, when we talk about Israel, we only talk about the medical treatment we want to get here."

Moshe, the translator, tells them in Arabic not to be frightened, that they can speak freely. They all answer at once: "We aren't afraid, we're speaking honestly. Everyone wants peace. We want it to be all right."

Samira: "Inshallah, things will calm down. We aren't dealing with politics."

Q: What did you do when people in Gaza fired rockets toward this area?

Raida: "What everyone else did. The nurses took us to a safe place. The babies stayed on the unit, hooked up to respirators. I was worried about them, that they were alone, but everyone calmed us down, said that it would all be fine."

Lama: "We tried to talk to the other people in the safe area, without understanding one another. Everyone wants to know how the other's child is doing. He's sorry about my son, and I'm sorry about his."

Q: Did your families leave their homes because of the airstrikes?

Raida: "No. Everyone is in his own home."

Q: Are any of your family members involved in the fighting?

All three shake their heads, no. "Not everyone in Gaza enlists in the army," Raida says. "My husband worked in Israel. Half of Gaza used to work in Israel. You must have seen the workers who would come from Gaza."

Samira: "My father and my husband used to work in Israel."

Q: When are you going home?

Raida's eyes fill with tears. "Rana's chest is still open from the last surgery. I'm sitting with you and laughing, but my heart is crying. So I'm telling you that my every thought is for the baby. That's our situation."

Lama: "Today, Dr. Evytar said that Abdullah has an infection in his right lung, which was good. Until now he had one in his left lung. I hope it works out. I'll go back to Gaza when he gets better, but I don't know when."

Hospital Director Dr. Itai Pessach says that every year, the center treats about 500 children from Gaza and another 2,700 children from the Palestinian Authority. "They range in age from a week to 18. Some of the children arrive through the Shevet Achim organization, and others through our own coordinator."

"During the last military operation, our doctor colleagues in Gaza reached out to us about children in serious condition, and we fought to bring them to Israel during the operation. Unfortunately, we didn't succeed, and that's very sad. I'm happy we're getting back to normal," Pessach says.

According to Pessach, "we don't see any difference between a child who comes from Gaza, Nablus, or Tiberias. Our treatment looks at all the child's needs, including emotional needs and school work at the school that operates on the hospital grounds. A year ago, a nine-year-old boy with cancer arrived from Gaza who didn't know how to read and write. He returned to Gaza last month, after a year-long hospitalization, healthy and knowing how to read and write in Hebrew, Arabic, and even English."

Q: How did the patients respond to this during the Gaza fighting?

"A family from Gaza arrived two days before the operation started, and we diagnosed their son with a rare disease, one that only seven children in Israel have. By chance, two rooms away there was a Haredi family with a child who had been diagnosed with the same disease two months ago. While the rockets were falling, the Haredi mother insisted on meeting the mother from Gaza and teaching her everything she knew about the disease and how to treat it."

"There is a truly shared fate here. They feel that they're fighting against something bigger than rockets. To get better, a patient needs to feel secure, and that's what we're doing. A hospital is a home for all the patients.

"I'm happy to say that the external tensions didn't creep into the work. There was no tension between the staff and the patients. The good of the patient always comes before everything else. Even at administration meetings – everyone put aside their own political views and we managed to provide a quality medical response and protect the safety of the staff and patients," Pessach says.

The funding for the Gaza children's treatment comes mainly from donors – mostly American Christians, and some Israelis.

"Saving the life of the child is an entire world," says Jonathan Miles, founder of Shevet Achim. Miles arrive in Israel from the US in the 1990s, as a journalist, and started to volunteer with the group Christian Friends of Israel.

"We welcomed Russian immigrants to Israel. We wanted them to understand that the Jewish people have friends in the world. One day a mother from Ukraine whose child's life was in danger came to me. She had no money for medical treatment, and she begged me to help. I started raising money to help him. Wizo helped a lot, as did other people, both Jews and Christians.

"After that, I heard about sick babies in Gaza, and in 1994 I founded the organization. We bring children from Muslim states to Israel for treatment."

Amar Shami, 32, who coordinates the transfer of children from Gaza to Israel for Shevet Achim, lives in Jerusalem.

"The families who go back to Gaza tell each other about the treatment in Israel," he says. "One mother tells another. When the child has a problem, they reach out to me. Sometimes the doctors reach out directly." Q: What goes through your mind while you're busy providing treatment and rockets are flying outside?

"Inside the hospital, we detach. We only want to help them. When you go out you realize that reality is different. We hope that when the families from Gaza go home, they will sort of be our emissaries, say good things about Israel."

The night that the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas took effect, Rana's heart stopped beating, despite the doctors' best efforts. Her grandmother, Raida, left the hospital weeping. She was driven to a Shevet Achim apartment in Jaffa. When Erez crossing opened, she returned to Gaza with Rana's coffin.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 11

Breaking the group apart, several guards escorted each participant to their rooms. Cara lost the comfort of being in a crowd, feeling exposed like a specimen on a microscope slide being scrutinized. The white sterilized hallways were suffocating, leaving a bad taste in the mouth. The people around her stopped talking to her. Now they talked about her as if she wasn't there, not a human being glaring at them and their fancy clipboards.

She lost track of the many security doors they passed, each one requiring a key card for access. Her eyes kept darting back to the door they came through, painfully aware of how much farther away it shrunk with the growing distance. Her gut screamed. Any further, and she felt she may never see the exit again.

"Boy, this was a bad idea," Cara mumbled under her breath, fidgeting with the loose seams of her collar. Of all the times she was stupidly impulsive, this was the worst. She should have never trusted a shady advert at a bus stop.

Cara never spent much time in hospitals. She was never sick enough for her parents to even consider taking her. God knows she needed it in the past. The point is, maybe this was simply a phobia of the white coats. Fear of the unfamiliar triggering all these emotions and the bad taste in her mouth.

This situation reminded her of when her parents left her five-year-old self in a car on a record-breaking heatwave. She was stuck with the windows closed for over an hour, delirious from the heat and struggling to breathe. Her trip in the oven ended when her parent came finally came, casually going about their business without a look at the back seat. At least her torture ended then when her parents returned. But here, there was no one to help her. She neglected to tell Claire and all her friends what she was up to. Looks like all the lies are catching up to her.

Cara had no idea where her worry came from. She came here by free will and had yet to see anything illegal. The money was within reach, but the nerves couldn't be soothed.

Cara started walking slower than the guards, hoping to give them the slip. Of course, they noticed, grabbing her arm tightly. She was shoved forward hard and almost stumbled face-first onto the white tiles. The hair on her nape stiffened, and she raked her fingers through her hair, clenching her jaw.

"Hey, what's your problem? I was trying to follow you. It's not my fault you were walking too damn fast," Cara snapped, scowling at the men. She didn't like how they manhandled her, throwing her around like an object, physically steering her this way and that like an infant who couldn't take direction. Three grand wasn't worth this treatment, or so she told herself. She was, Afterall, very, very desperate for money.

"Don't you want the money, little girl? It's super easy paper. In fact, the checks are already signed and ready, sitting in a drawer somewhere. They just need to be distributed by the good doctor," Tilting her head, Cara watched the knowing look shared among the three guards. Their smiles were anything but friendly, looking more like a wolf than a human.

Crossing her arms, Cara narrowed her eyes. " If the money was so good, why don't you join the study?"

"Why would I do that when I could be helping poor, unfortunate, folks just like you get themselves out of poverty. I'm all about the charitable work."

"Oh, of course. Thank you so much, sir. I was so desperate for help. I'd be homeless if it wasn't for your generosity." Cara patted her eyelashes, grabbing onto the front of a guard's bullet vest. "It's getting cold again, and I only have the clothes on my back. How could I live-"

"Shut the fuck up and keep walking. Don't even think of causing trouble. We have a special place for such folks." shoving Cara away, the guard placed his hand on his gun holster. She received the message loud and clear.

So much for the charity work.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," her smile turned into a scowl as soon as the men's backs were turned. She dragged her feet as she followed them, racking her brain for some sort of plan, mentally willing time to move slower. She needed time to think.

The alarms in her head rang louder. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead despite the frigid air of the hospital. She needed to get out immediately. But how?

She was shoved into a room and forced into what resembled a dentist's chair. With one final warning look from the guards, they exited the room through the automatic sliding doors. She sprang out of the chair as if it burned her. She felt even more trapped, her eyes darting around for an exit. The door was the only way out, and she didn't have the key card. She was utterly fucked.

A woman's voice sounded over the speaker system sending Cara sprinting to the corner of the room, her back pressed to the wall. Heart hammering against her ribcage, it threatened to jump out of her throat. Realizing the voice was recorded, she still couldn't relax even as the standard messages about handwashing and proper coughing etiquette played.

If only washing hands could get her out of this situation, she'd scrub her skin raw.

Two researchers, a man and a woman in white hazmat suits, walked into the room. Cara inhaled sharply when she noticed the syringe filled with a neon green fluid. It was carefully contained in a glass case held by the woman. Cara's eyes stayed glued to the syringe as they came closer, barely listening to what was said about her and to her. Their questions fell on deaf ears. In a trance, all she saw was neon green.

She absolutely knew that the contents could end everything as she knew it. Death in a bottle, or in this case, a syringe no wider than her pinky.

"It's easy money, kid. Relax, it'll be over before you know it." the woman holding the syringe said, slowly approaching Cara as if she were a cornered animal.

Cara's preparedness to fight for dear life disappeared when a taser struck her in the stomach. Waves of pain shot through her body as her muscles turned to jelly (the liquid kind). She was on the ground, and they were on her before she even realized what happened. she couldn't lift even a finger.

Her mouth refused to work, and all she could do was whimper pathetically. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes pleaded with whatever tiny speck of humanity the two had left. All she saw was desperation for results at all costs, greed, and over-ambition for recognition, a cold and calculating look.

Cara thought it was all over, or maybe it was simply her fear of needles blowing all her emotions out of proportion. Either way, she will find out very soon.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to relax, hoping for a quick end. She tried to imagine herself back at school getting a vaccine like all the other kids in her grade. She was usually called to the nurse last due to her last name. It always left her waiting and dreading until every last kid received the shot before it was her turn. By then, many kids would make up stories about the pain and how they found needles stuck in their bones, inflating her terror.

Cara hissed as the needle broke through the skin of her neck, clenching her eyes even tighter. She refused to look, scared of what she might see. The woman's finger moved over the plunger, ready to apply firm pressure.

A pager went off, screeching. It startled everyone, and the woman holding the needle suddenly jerked her hand. "Shit! The needle broke," she snapped, examining the shortened tip. She not so gently forced the broken tip from Cara's neck, squeezing and pinching until it emerged.

Boiling over, the woman yanked out her pager. She was going to make whoever interrupted her experiment pay very dearly. As she read the message, her face paled, and she stood abruptly.

"Who paged?" the man asked, quickly glancing between Cara and the woman.

"you 'know who', wants to see me, something about a possible security breach." the woman answered with a warning look after giving Cara a once-over. She understood why. Names implicate people, and whoever is on the other end of the pager does not want their name casually used.

"Fine, for now, take the girl to her room until I deal with this. They are too damn paranoid around here."

Only then did he remove the taser, and Cara inhaled with greed. Finally able to use her muscles for more than gasping for breath.

---------------

Seeing her body quivering as she walked, he didn't see a need to call for escort guards. He didn't see the kid as a threat and was sure he could handle her on his own. He never knew anyone get so lucky, but it won't happen again. The inevitable was temporarily delayed. Pretty soon, her heart will pump not only blood but a very valuable virus. Dying for umbrellas ambitious is an honor.

Taken to another room, Cara struggled to keep up, her body exhausted from the endless shocks she had endured. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the bare twin-size bed and metallic toilet. Cara knew she had to do something quickly. A chance like this won't come again.

With an idea forming, Cara hoped she still had a dab of luck because what she was about to do was incredibly stupid. Leaning against the wall, she clenched her stomach and cried in pain.

"The fuck's wrong with you? The man approached her cautiously, and her eyes flickered to her target.

Once he was close enough, Cara grabbed the taser clasped to his belt and jabbed him in the neck with the highest voltage. His body went slack, and she grabbed his head, smashing it against the metallic toilet with a loud crunch. She repeated it for good measure, watching as the body lay limp on the floor.

She wasn't sure if it was the adrenalin, but she barely remembers donning his biohazard suit and pocketing his key card before rushing out of the room. Cara had to remind herself to behave normally, to slow her breathing to avoid inciting suspicion.

The suit fit her poorly, hanging on her frame awkwardly, clearly meant for someone taller. But the headpiece helped conceal her face a little. If anyone looked at her from behind, they wouldn't immediately think it's a run-away test subject. It was a tiny bit of comfort.

Surprisingly, no one stopped her. The researchers, assistants, and guards ignored her. If they gave her a second glance, she wouldn't know because of the helmet. They were each in their own world, fussing over clipboards and busy yelling at assistants for every little thing. The air was thick of tension, putting everyone on edge.

The place was a maze, full of endless hallways of white. She thought she would fuse with the white walls in her white suit before she was ever found.

"Cara," someone behind her growled her name, and she froze, holding her breath. The voice was thunderous, and she couldn't focus enough to hear their next words.

She didn't need to turn around to know Wesker stood less than two meters away.

The voice was unmistakable. She'd know it anywhere. But how did Wesker recognize her from behind? The suit left only her face visible. She had no idea why he was here and why he was angry. Well, she did steal a biohazard suit and injured a researcher. It wasn't hard to connect his overtime activities to a hospital run by Umbrella. Now he really might kill her, clean up a mess long overdue. Especially now that she likely pissed off his employers.

Cara pretended not to have heard him, attempting to casually walk away with her head down. Hearing his thunderous footsteps behind her, she broke out into a sprint.

She sprinted into a crowd of researchers, taking random turns in hopes of losing him. She ran until she no longer heard his steps and became even more lost in the maze-like building.

The room she ducked into contained several workbenches lining the walls, complete with microscopes and other high-tech appliances. Thankfully, no one was in the lab.

A jar caught her attention containing something between a cross of a human baby and a lizard. It neither moved nor breathed, and Cara concluded it must be a dead experimental specimen. Things like this must be illegal.

Approaching a workbench, Cara peered into a microscope. While she found the cells colorful and interesting, biology was not her strong point. She had no idea what she was looking at. But it definitely wasn't a plant cell. There were too many tentacles. Maybe it was-

Grabbed from behind, Cara screamed as she was yanked hard by her arm. She kicked and pushed but could free herself. Her voice died in her throat when the headpiece of the suit was yanked off her head. She was left gaping at Wesker, barely noticing when the headpiece was thrown across the room, taking down an office lamp with it.

"I knew it was you," Wesker spoke in a carefully controlled tone, but the edges were jagged.

"I-I can explain!" Cara stammered, feeling the edge of the desk cut into the back of her legs as Wesker cornered her, their chests touching.

with a curl of his lips over his teeth, his smile did not match his eyes. "Oh, please do go on. Explain what you're doing here." He seemed like a different person; eyes warped into a miserable pit of ice.

"Why are you so mad?" her voice quivered under his piercing scrutiny. Cara knew she fucked up but didn't want to admit this to him. "They said the drugs should be-"

"Safe?" Wesker said with an ominous smile and threw his head back, laughing without humor. "Half the participant won't make it out of this experiment alive. Even if they survived, there is no way they would be allowed to leave."

"What?" Cara shook her head vigorously. "If they knew it'll kill people from the start. Why the hell are they going through with it? Why? This is a hospital for god's sack."

"Simply because Umbrella can. They do what they want, and the locations of the experiments are irrelevant. It could be in an orphanage or a sewer, and they will still get their results."

"They are fucking monsters. How could someone so evil run a fucking hospital?" Cara swallowed, thinking about how she almost became an experiment. How many of the participants were already injected? Were they already dead? How important were the drugs for someone to be willing to kill unsuspecting people for data? The cure for cancer? What a fucking joke.

Her questions were endless, but Wesker had his own.

"It's called business, sweetheart. Now, why are you here?" He asked again, but she knew he already had an idea. What was the point of putting her stupidity into words?

"I... got evicted. They were offering money and-"

"Why didn't you tell me? you could have come to me,"

Cara gapped at him with wide eyes, feeling a loss for words. "Why would you help me? wouldn't this help you get a problem off your hands?"

"Sherry cares for you." she didn't know if she had imagined it but, something flickered in the depths of his icy blues.

"Sherry, right? Is this really about her? are you sure it's not you feeling something in your cold dead heart? But how could you feel anything? you're a monster covering up the work of other monsters."

"Watch yourself, Cara. I make one phone call, and you'll be the next body piled on the others sent for incineration after the good doctor gets what he wants from you. This could all happen in less than an hour." He hissed

Something snapped inside of Cara, letting loose a current of emotions too fast to control. She was too tired, exhausted from clutching the bar with all the weight dragging her down constantly. No matter how much she had told herself to hold on a little longer, she didn't see an end to the stress. Her problems only seemed to grow heavier. Her blistered hands and broken arms couldn't hold on for another second. she let

"How long are you going to threaten me for? You know what? I am sick of it. I'm done! I'm done!" Cara shoved at his chest, her voice rising in octaves. "I'm here! Come, and get me motherfuckers!" she screamed, Choking on her sobs. She didn't care what happens next. All she wanted was for the stress and the fear to end.

Spreading his fingers through her hair, Wesker pulled hard. He tilted her head up, his eyes setting her ablaze. Cara swallowed, running her tongue over her chapped, dry lips. She felt as if she was looking down a cliff. One step forward, and the jagged rocks below would greet her.

Cara's eyes widened as his chin tilted towards hers in one fluid motion. Her words were lost the moment his mouth came down, claiming hers. Her gasp was stolen, along with her ability to breathe.

In moments of confusion, she would lean into his touch, remembers who he worked to protect, and she would rack her nails over the skin of his arms. He let her hurt him, pulling her even closer, and she would let him.

This was so wrong. So very wrong and so was how much she wanted him to continue. Her lips moved on their own accord, responding to his touch. Her fingers slid over his chest, feeling the engraving of his badge. The moment she kissed him back, Wesker pushed harder into her.

She tried to focus as Wesker's lips brushed her own, hungrily devouring everything. His hand left her hair, sliding down her neck while his other hand snaked around her waist, fisting into up the material of the biohazard suit. She let him lay her back on the desk, his body quick to cover hers like a warm blanket. She anchored a hand into his belt, tugging blindly. She wanted- no needed too many things and didn't know where to begin. She wanted the suit off her scorching body and his damn belt undone, but her shaking hands could do neither.

Shoving her away, Wesker abruptly turned around.

In a moment of clarity, Cara could finally think clearly without the cloud of haze Wesker brings. She couldn't believe what had just happened, staring at his back, dazed and speechless. She touched her swollen lips, feeling them tingle.

Wesker's jaw was tense, and it took him extra moments to steady his breathing. While Cara still sat flustered on the table, Wesker had recovered his well-kempt appearance just as three guards burst into the room, guns raised.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He answered in his usual tone, completely unaffected, and Cara hated him. He was quick to wear the mask, too damn good.

A look of recognition crossed their faces, and they immediately lowered their guns, taking cautious steps back. "Captain Wesker, what business do you have here? Dr. Stanford was not notified about you taking a tour of the wing."

"I sent one of my employees to test the security, and she made it all the way in here and escaped the test room. Let the head of security know that I would like a word with him...soon." Wesker said before grabbing Cara's arm. "Have a good day, Gentlemen. You may go now. There is no threat to Umbrella in this room. Go spend your efforts where they are needed."

Reluctantly, the men followed each other out of the room, leaving Cara alone with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the room shrink. She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, busying herself with unzipping the biohazard suit. The clasps and zipper kept slipping away from her clammy fingers, refusing to open. After multiple failures, she aggressively tugged on the plastic material to rip it off, but its thickness taunted her. Of course, these scientists only worked with high-grade materials.

Feeling long fingers slid up her back, Cara's hands froze. She held her breath, every muscle tense. Warm hands covered her cold ones, dropping them to her side as they took over the task. With a few clasps undone, her neck was exposed. The hair on the back of her rose as the cool nipped at her skin. Something soft touched the base of her neck, and she gasped, realizing they were a pair of lips. Slowly, they spread featherlight kisses towards her throat, then her chin. Her face was on fire, steadily gaining degrees.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat you, dearheart," Wesker whispered against her skin.

Cara pushed him away, desperate for some distance. "We shouldn't be doing this. This was a mistake. I-"

"I don't make mistakes," with one firm tug, the suit dropped to the ground, pooling at her feet. Cara felt all the warmth migrate downwards and shivered, feeling her stomach play host to angry butterflies. She still had her clothes on, but she felt naked in front of him and yearned for the scorching suit to cover her again.

"Come, it's time to go," Wesker turned to leave, and she exhaled, her body losing its tension. She couldn't bring herself to move, glaring at his back. She chewed her lips and sighed at the confusing thoughts now occupying her mind. There was enough stress in her life, and this was the ripe cherry on top.

Noticing her lack of movement, Wesker paused at the door, "I know you want to continue, but this is not the place nor time. wouldn't want anyone thinking they could join in,"

when she thought her face couldn't glow any hotter, it proved her dead wrong. "You go ahead. I'll take the bus. It's safer." Cara rushed to the door, but he hooked a finger in the back of her shirt, pulling her back.

"Nonsense. a young lady like you shouldn't take the bus this late at night. wouldn't want you falling into the wrong hands."

"Like there are worse hands than yours." Cara retorted, slapping his hand away, but they just went on to wrap around her waist. She was ready to munch on some fingers when the hand suddenly disappeared just as a couple of researchers passed them in the hallway. They all greeted him as 'Captain Wesker' before making quick strides out of sight.

"Oh yes, there are. Ones holding scalpels over your skin as you lay paralyzed,"

"Have you... have you dissected before?" Cara swallowed, glaring at his hands as they continued stealing touches. Those hands hurt and killed innocent people, yet she couldn’t fully say they were unwelcome.

"I was a scientist before I was ever a cop." she hated people who dodged questions, skirting around the sinkhole but never falling to the bottom.

"So... you did? Or not?" she frowned, failing to read him. his long strides made it harder for her to keep up, forcing her to almost jog after him.

"Give me the badge you stole from the researcher. I don't want it leaving the building."

"Come on, it's a simple yes or no,"

Stopping suddenly, Wesker extended his hand, palms up. " The badge, now." The order was clear, and she struggled to do the opposite.

Huffing loudly, Cara ignored his outstretched hand and shoved the key card beneath his bullet vest before walking away.

"Cara," He called out to her, and she couldn't help but pause. His voice had a way with people, lulling them to do his bidding.

With arms crossed, Cara glared at Wesker. "What is it? I already gave it back. It's not broken. I just used it."

"Since you know your way around the hospital so well, why don't you give me a tour?" He smirked, leaning against the wall, his eyes following her movements.

"I'm your employee, right? I Gotta do my job properly. I was checking for security threats over there, but it looks like the hallway is clear. I'll be checking this way next" Cara turned around and began walking down another hallway, her hands over her eyes like binoculars.

"you're still going the wrong way dearheart, it's this way. I ought to demote you for your lack of direction," Wesker smirked, nodding in the opposite direction she was going.

Cara followed, admitting that she had no clue where she was going. She pretended he wasn't walking ahead of her trying to focus on everything but him. it was hard, given how she nearly let him have everything. No matter how many times she forced her eyes away, they kept soaking in the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform as he walked. How was she supposed to behave around him now? Pretend it didn't happen?

With his words fresh on her mind, Cara nibbled on her nails. ' I don't make mistakes.'

What was she supposed to do now?

[whump-town]

Whump. Very minimal, hardly there Hotchniss.

Jack is a big kid now and he’s still not forgotten the mortality of the adults around him-- not that they give a chance to

Jack puts up his best defense-- avoidance. Walking into the hospital, he holds his head high. He’d inherited his father’s height and in moments like these, it’s incredibly helpful. No one so much as blinks as he walks to the front desk. Looking more like a man than a seventeen-year-old, it’s not hard to garner some attention from the desk.

“What can I do for you, sugar?”

Jack clears his throat, counting fingers his fingers so that he doesn’t exhibit all of the stress tells he knows he has. “I’m looking for my--” he looks to the side for a moment. He’s looking for Hotch and Emily but he needs to establish a relationship to get anywhere near them. “The agents?” He asks, eyebrow raised. “The agents that came in, they’re my-- my parents.” He brings his hands together to rub nervously at his palms. “Agent Hotchner and Prentiss?”

The woman nods her head, not even giving his stuttering or hesitation a second thought. She’s seen plenty of kids and parents come in through those doors. Most of which, aren’t in the best state of mind. Rather one tracked with their goals in mind. Not that she can blame them.

“Alright,” she says, pulling up both files. “Well,” she clicks her tongue. “Agent Hotchner is, currently, signing himself out AMA on the third floor.” She looks up at him. “You can get to him through that hallway straight back,” she turns and shows him. “Agent Prentiss is in surgery so I can’t do much for you there.”

Without taking his eyes off of the door she pointed out, Jack nods. “Okay, thank you.” Suddenly, he’s lost his nerve. 

“On through there,” the nurse repeats, her kind smile still in place.

Jack nods, “right.” Right.

Stepping into the hall he falters to put on some hand sanitizer-- which is always a good idea but it’s just a diversion. To keep as much space between him and all of this. Whatever has happened.

When he sees them, he pulls in a full breathe and straightens his back again. “You guys suck,” he announces to the room. Their heads shoot up and he gets a few forced smiles in response. “A family reunion without me?”

Dave forces himself up out of one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the wall. “How are you holding up, my boy?” Jack closes his eyes as he’s pulled into Dave’s arms. He stands just a little taller than him now but that doesn’t stop him from pushing his face into his Pop’s shoulder. 

Jack has to fight back the tears Dave is attempting to wrangle out of him. “Me?” he asks, voice stiff with the emotions bursting in his chest. “Dandy,” he replies. “How are dumb and dumber?”

Dave chuckles and the sentiment is shared with the others. Jack can see Derek shaking his head, JJ even smiling and rolling her eyes. Good, he thinks. They need to laugh more.

Dave releases him with one final squeeze. “Emily,” he says, “is back in surgery. She was holding on pretty strong there until the end.” His face pinches as he fails to decide just how much of the truth he’s willing to divulge and how much of it Jack can handle. Placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder he smiles sadly, “she gave us quite the scare.”

Jack takes the news as he has to-- without flinching. He nods his head and digs his nails into his palms to keep his voice steady. “And Dad?” 

No sooner than Dave can even process the question, Hotch steps out of a room. He’s leaning to the left, using his dominant hand to keep him balanced as he slowly shuffles the two steps through the doorway. “Jack?” His white dress shirt is pulled open and his hair is pushed in every direction by thick white gauze wrapped around his head. 

JJ is the first to move. Before anything can be said, she’s moving to stand in front of Hotch. She starts to button his shirt, ignoring just how far off Hotch looks when he just stands and watches her deftly manipulate the tiny buttons into the equally tiny holes. Covering up his exposed chest because if he were in a better state of mind he wouldn’t want any of them seeing the scars littering his chest.

“You need to sit down,” JJ says, taking his elbow and gently turning him back towards the room. Hotch grunts but doesn’t go with her. She reaches up and cups his cheek, waiting for his cloudy brown eyes to find her. “Come with me, Hotch. Jack can come too.”

It makes Jack feel immensely guilty but he has no desire to be anywhere near his father right now. The sight of him so vulnerable-- his blood is still soaked into his shirt, confusion twisted into his pained expression, and the emotion in his eyes-- is too much. Of course, Jack understands everyone is mortal. His father will die. Maybe not today but eventually. 

But he’s still a seventeen-year-old kid who can’t wrap his head around what he’s seeing right now. 

“Don’t…” Hotch grunts again this time pinned between Morgan and JJ and losing any say he has in the matter. “I’m not gonna sit in that bed,” he mumbles, shuffling where he’s guided. 

Morgan shakes his head, “it’s the bed or the wheelchair, Hotch.”

Jack scowls at the ground. As they’re all funneling into the room, Dave makes Jack go next right after Morgan, JJ, and his father. He’d much prefer being in the back. Away from all of this. 

Settled into the wheelchair and grumply allowing Garcia to tuck a blanket around him, Hotch looks a little better. The blanket covers his bloodied t-shirt and the bulk of where the bandages sit on his chest. “How’s Emily?”

Jack keeps his eyes on the floor even when he’s certain his father is looking up at him. He just glares at the floor and wills his tears away. He does glance up as someone-- Dave-- steps into the room. But he’s looking at the ground again before he catches anyone’s eye. 

“I just talked to the doctor,” Dave says. He comes into the room and Jack can feel Dave looking at him. “She’s doing well. They’ve put her in a room and she’s already responding to them.”

Jack makes the mistake of looking up and when he catches his father’s eye he feels a heat across his face. Hotch looks away first. 

Dave clears his throat, “they’re gonna let Aaron back to see her--”

Jack looks up, torn between anger and ease that he doesn’t have to go too. 

“So the rest of you can head on home,” Dave says. “Come back in the morning, well rested, and they’ll let us all back. But for now it’s just Jack and Aaron.”

Fuck.

They share awkward half-hugs which are really just bad because neither Hotch nor Jack do much more than limply allow the hugs they’re being pulled into. Hotch won’t actually look at any of them, not that Jack does much more than mirror Morgan’s chuckle and lean into Garcia’s hug.

“Come on, boys.” 

Sooner than they’re ready for, it’s just Jack, Dave, and Hotch. The later of which is losing his fight against the drugs he was given upon being admitted into the hospital. 

Jack down right looks pissed when he realizes Dave standing at the door means he’s being left to push his father’s wheelchair. Once again, he loves the man. Hotch has been an amazing father. He’s kind and loving and Jack’s never felt anything but safe and loved but… he’s uncomfortable. 

Without a word, Jack moves behind Hotch and heaves all his weight forward. They go no where.

Hotch glances back at him with a shake of his head, silent judgement. “Brakes, genius,” he rasps.

Jack puffs out an impatient sound and moves to the side, shooting Hotch a frown as he unlocks the brakes. “I’ll run you into a wall,” Jack threatens. This time, when he moves behind the wheelchair, they move when he pushes. “Lay off the brownies, old man.” It’s hard to take turns but he successfully makes it down two halls and an elevator without running them into anything. Not that Hotch certainly acts like he’s being reckless. 

They take an elevator to the next floor up.

“Jack?” 

He gets really, really hot. Glancing at Dave out of the corner of his eyes, he realizes that bastard has left him completely on his own. “Mhm.” He pulls his hands from the wheelchair he rubs at them nervously.

“I’m sorry.”

Jack turns his head away from Dave and Hotch, thankful the elevator stop just then.

He doesn’t say anything. 

Hotch has been sorry for stupid crap like this Jack’s entire life. While he doubts whatever happened occurred without fault of some kind on his father, he also knows he can’t change his dad. 

Hotch is a hero and Jack knows what happens to heroes. 

His entire life he’s looked up to heroes. Equating his father with the likes of Captain America or… Ironman. Jack had seen how that ended. He’d gone to see the last Avengers movie with his friends, Henry amongst them. And when Ironman snapped, dying a slow painful death, and leaving behind his kids and wife… Jack had excused himself to the bathroom. 

Because he knows that he’s more than likely going to loose his father in the same way.

Except, men like Aaron Hotchner don’t get memorilized. They turn into ghost and lessons. 

Jack pushes Hotch right up to Emily’s side, never once looking at either. He settles himself into a chair on the opposite side of Emily, away from Hotch. He looks up at his father once, catching his eye. He has to look away. 

He’s lost a mother, already. He remembers what that was like. To hug his mother for the last time while his father cried on the other end of the line. A serial killer standing in their living room and being told to go hide and just hope… what would have happened if Hotch wasn’t a little quicker? If he’d died that day or both of them?

Glancing up at Hotch once more time… 

Jack knows his father wishes he’d died that day. That Haley were still here and Foyet had killed him. 

Jack can’t imagine life going any other way than how it did. Would his mother take him out to the park every Saturday like he and Hotch had? Would his mother have stayed in touch with the team? Would he view his father like he now views his mother?

What he does know, is that he’s scared by the way his mother died but he’s glad his father is still around. He loves and appreciates Hotch fighting the way he did that day and everyday sense and one day, Jack will learn how to say that.

But for now he’s got to worry about Emily. Who is not only awake but reading his tension like an open book.

Jack fiddles with his thumbs, unwilling, or unable to look at Emily. 

She doesn’t say anything about it. In the low light of the room, silent while Hotch sleeps peacefully, she’s content. Slowly, she keeps drawing her fingers through Hotch’s hair. His back is going to ache and his ribs will give him hell but for now, he’s bent over the side of the bed with his head on her hip. Snoring softly. Sleeping, as he should be. 

“Do you want to talk about it,” she asks, keeping her eyes on the steady rise and fall of Hotch’s back.

Jack shakes his head, clutching his hands tighter and willing them to steady. “No, ma’am.”

Ma’am. That makes her snort a little. There’s nothing that really says Hotchner like manners popping up out of nowhere. Well, was she not the Queen of pettily calling Hotch sir just to piss him off? Maybe it’s just them thing. The three of them.

“I’m mad at you,” he whispers. He tries so hard to keep that humorous undertone but it falls sort of flat. Not that she doesn’t get he’s being slightly funny. “Always out running around like reckless kids.” He leaves out that if they die they’re leaving behind a kid. Him. And at seventeen it wouldn’t be a big deal having to deal with foster-care or even adoption.

They know Dave would take care of him. That’s just not the point.

“Baby,” she whispers, her own tears pooling over as one runs down Jack’s face. 

He wipes it away angrily. “I’m fine,” he grumbles.

Her smile saddens. She reaches out to him, hand palm up on the bed. He takes it without really thinking. “You’re too much like your father,” she chides, softly. “You’ve got to get out of that head of yours and tell me what’s wrong.” Squeezing his hand, a hot tear runs down her cheek. 

Jack sucks in a choked breath and he stands, not even asking when Emily opens her arms up and he buries his face in her neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises, holding him closer. “I promise, Jack.”

And, God, what he would give to believe her.

[marvelmadam08]

Baby Blues 1/?

Summary: Chris and Alex have just brought a bubbly baby boy into the world. Now they have to face the most challenging year of their lives.

Chris Evans x Black Reader, OFC!Alex

Warnings: Childbirth, mentions of death (No actual death), anxiety, swearing, Chris as a new dad FLUFF!

A/N: More of a prologue than anything.

~~~~~~~

“Come on, you got this! Just one more!” Chris encouraged

“I can’t!” Alex cried, she knew it was an ugly cry too. She was covered in sweat, muscles she didn’t know she had ached, and she had used every swear word in the book, including a few Romanian ones she learned from Sebastian “I’m fucking tired. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Yes you can baby girl.” He rubbed down Alex’s back “You’re almost there. You’re doing great.”

Two years of dating, two more of marriage and trying to a baby, nine long months of pregnancy and ten longer hours of labor and Alex and Chris were just a strong push away from meeting their son. 

Alex clutched down on Chris’s hand, and took in a huge breath before she pushed again. 

“It’s a boy!” The doctor cheered

Chris looked over to see the wailing newborn and broke out in a smile so wide his cheeks hurt.

“He’s beautiful Al.” he kissed her on top of her head “You did it.”

“Is he okay?” Alex panted 

“He’s perfect.”

“Would you like to cut the cord, Papa?” the nurse asked Chris while handing him a pair of umbilical cord scissors

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris wiped his tears away with the back of his hand before carefully cutting the cord. Once the baby was whisked away to be cleaned, Chris was back to kissing and praising his wife “You were amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely, he’s beautiful, you’re beautiful.”

“I’m a sweaty mess.”

“So I’ll run around the block a few times, we’ll both be sweaty.”

“Congratulations.” the first nurse returned and lowered the fussing bundle into Alex’s arms

“Oh Chris, look at him.” Alex cooed, the baby began to settle a bit, only fussing when exposed to the cold air of the hospital room “Hi sweetie, I’m your momma. He’s just the most beautiful baby ever.”

“He looks like his mom.” Chris slid on the bed next to her

“Oh please, he looks like you. I don’t know why you’re so against naming him after you, a little Christopher Jamal Evans.”

Chris laughed “I think he looks more like a Levi.”

“We can’t name him after jeans.” Alex pouts 

A simple but complicated decision, Alex and Chris went back and forth between names for the last two months. Nothing sounded right to Alex, except for Christopher Evans Jr., and Chris wanted to give the baby his own, independent, name. Or whenever they did come up with a name, the initials would spell something out like “PEE”, “DIE” or “ICE” Now that their baby was here, the choice was even harder than before.

“Benjamin?” Chris tried

“No, Cooper?” Alex scrunched her nose

“Cooper the pooper?” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t work either.” Alex sighed “What is your name baby boy?”

Chris watched Alex gently whisper and rock the newborn “How about Alexander?”

“You wanna name him after me?”

“Yeah, why not?” He suggested “You did most of the work anyways.”

She paused “Alexander... Christopher Evans.” The newborn fussed loudly, Alex smiled “I think he likes it.”

“Okay then,” Chris happily agreed “Alexander Christopher Evans, it is.”

“Great name.” The nurse jotted it down “Oh how cute, his initials spell out Ace.”

Chris and Alex laughed as quietly as possible to keep from disturbing the sleeping newborn.

“It’s better than ‘PEE’.” Alex shifted him gently in her arms “You’re turn to hold him.”

Chris cradled his son close to his chest, tears threatening to fall over again. Alex laid back against her pillow and listen to Chris hum ‘Return to Pooh Corner’, a sleepy smile on her face.

“You’re a Dad now, Chris.”

“And you’re a Mom.” He smiled back at her “Get some rest, we’ll be fine.”

Alex didn’t have to be told twice, once she was comfortable enough sleep over took her, but only for about thirty minutes until she had to feed. Chris stepped out to wake up everyone in his contact list and tell them how Alex and the baby were doing.

“My Mom is gonna come by first thing in the morning.” He whispered “And your parents send their love. They’re already demanding pictures and even said they’ll sign a NDA if it makes us happy.”

The two of them had agreed not to post any baby pics until later on. The two of them weren’t comfortable with letting online trolls give their unwanted opinions on their baby. Especially not after they first came out as a couple. Most comments came from vengeful (alleged) Marvel fans that threatened to boycott Chris’ movies if he didn’t break up with Alex. Others came from Alex’s (former) fans that claimed she didn’t belong to the Black community anymore since she was dating Chris. The last thing they needed were those same hateful, comments under any pictures of their son.

“They can get all the pictures they want.” Alex softly stroked the small hairs on her son’s head

“How are you feeling?” Chris asked 

Alex sighed “Happy- and a little nervous. He’s so small, and fragile. Is it wrong that I wanna stick him in a protective bubble?”

“Of course not baby girl. I feel the same way.” Chris watched in adoration while his wife rocked their son back to sleep. He couldn’t help the small, negative thoughts that popped into his head.

When Alex first told him that she was pregnant his first negative thought was “What if there’s a miscarriage?”. Even with numerous doctor appointments, research and reassurance from his both his wife and therapist, Chris wasn’t able to shake off that fear until seeing his son in the doctor’s arms. But now he was terrified of doing something wrong. “What if he stops breathing at night?” “What if he’s allergic to the baby food we give him and we don’t catch it?” “Am I gonna accidentally drop him? Forget him the backseat of the car on a hot day?” “What if he gets kidnapped?” Chris couldn’t stop the run away train of disasters in his brain.

Alex touched the crease forming on her husband’s brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think we’re ready for this? Being parents?”

“A bit late to ask that question don’t you think?” Alex hoped her joke would ease Chris’s anxiety “When my mom had me, she relied on her instinct. Then she had my brother, and relied on prior experience. When my brother and his wife had their first kid they relied on the books. And even now, they go on about how much they were blindsided by everything within the first year alone.”

She caressed Chris’s cheek with her free hand. “We got this.”

A soft smile cleared away the frown lines on Chris’s face. The amount of love he had for his wife at this moment couldn’t be put into words. Her ability to find the silver lining in every situation was just one of the reasons Chris fell in love with her in the first place. They pulled each other out of their dark places, comforting each other and erasing any sign of doubt they might’ve had about anything.

He leaned over to give her a soft kiss on the lips “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Alex turned to their, now awake, son. He stared at them with soft brown eyes, his tiny eyebrows scrunched up “And I love you.”

“We both love you, Ace.” Chris tickled his son’s exposed foot

“Ace.” Alex tried out the nickname “Oh no.”

“What?”

“’Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks’.” she half sang the jingle and giggled

[degenerate-yandere]

Yandere Tomura Shigaraki x Nurse!Reader - Trust

A/N: So this is based on a request I recieved asking for Kai, Aizawa or Toga with a nurse reader. I liked the concept, but I couldn’t really inspire myself to write it for those characters, so here we are. Enjoy! It has come to my attention after rereading this, that it is complete garbage. I apologize in advance.

TW: Stalking, yandere, mild descriptions of violence, implied kidnapping, slight NSFW

“Please, just trust me.” Your hands gently pushed against his shoulders, the muscles within tense and stiff. You couldn’t bear to meet those crimson eyes, so intense in their disdain as they bore into your skull.

“I just-” You gulped, hands moving to your lap, fingers nervously fiddling with one another. You wished for nothing more than to be consumed by the mattress you were perched on, the one now occupied by the disheveled stranger.

“I couldn’t just leave you there.”

-

You’d found him lying in a pool of his own blood in the alley beside your apartment complex. His breathing, heavy and slow, a product apparent of anger rather than agony. You raced to his side, trying your damnedest to compose yourself and assess the grotesque scene before you. Deep lacerations littered his body, oozing with a vile red. He growled a raspy ‘fuck off’. You shook your head in response, refusing to compromise your integrity as a health professional by leaving someone to die so indignantly. Skeletal fingers inched closer to your exposed wrist, before a wave of pain left it limp against the reddened concrete. You began pulling your phone, digits trembling as they tapped the screen. 

“It’s okay - everything will be okay.” It was a reassurance to you as it was as much to him. “I’ll make sure you get an ambulance -”

“No!” He growled, violently jolting toward you. His nails bent against the cold floor. The snarl of his voice was quiet, but the reverberations it sent through your body was indicative of its presence. Suddenly, his eyes lost their terrifying conviction, his head collapsing to the ground.

The next hour or so was a complete blur. A frantic application of every medical precaution you knew was employed. Each cut was carefully tended with concise professionalism. You were somewhat relieved by his lanky stature as you precariously dragged him to your apartment, although you could only chalk up your newfound strength as a result of your adrenaline-induced frenzy. By the time you gently laid him against your bed, you were completely exhausted.

-

“So... please.” You finally worked up the courage to meet his glare, a decision you almost immediately regretted. His scarred face was rigid in its expression of contempt, his gaze unblinkingly accusatory.”Please just stay a little while, just until I know you’re okay.” His face softened slightly at your pleas. He scratched at his neck, pangs of pain from his stomach sporadically eliciting flinches.

The man’s voice was gravelly, Its sudden sound almost making you jump.

“Fine.”

-

The next few days were surprisingly pleasant. Sure, Tomura was a little rough around the edges, but you were certain he warmed up to you. You’d serve him soup which he never failed to completely devour. Every day you would tend and redress his wounds, a process of which you swore made his cheeks redden as your fingers brushed against his bare abdomen. You had offered him free reign to entertain himself with your collection of video games, which somehow ended up in an in-depth conversation about the state of the contemporary industry which ran well into the night. It was charming, seeing a man so gruff and cold have such normal interests. 

Tomura showed a genuine effort in getting to know about your life. Whether or not he actually cared was uncertain, his face always etched with a slight frown. He seemed less than enthusiastic to receive your reciprocated interest in him, however. He’d grunt, giving one word responses to questions that required more complex answers. Your inquiry into what he did for a living was met with an apathetic shrug of his shoulders, any questions about his family warranted a dreadful glare before he continued with whatever he was doing. When you inevitably asked about what got him into such a dire situation in the first place, he only responded with a rumbled hiss;

“Just taking care of some pests.”

You’d once made the mistake of complaining about how the constant villain attacks were leaving you completely overworked, wishing those heroes would help you catch a break. The comment itself was lighthearted in intention, but garnered an evening of tense silence from Tomura.

You shuffled into your apartment after a particularly exasperating day. To your surprise, the lights were off, and stillness permeated the air. Tomura was gone. All he’d left behind was a ripped piece of paper, reading ‘Thanks’, accompanied by a hastily written phone number.

-

You made an effort to keep in touch with Tomura. The two of you added each other on the various online games you frequented, regularly finding time to play together. You did find it odd that now and then he’d give you a different phone number to contact him with, but you were sure he had his reasons. Tomura was surprisingly more eloquent and out-spoken through messaging. You supposed that the lack of face-to-face contact really helped an introvert like him to open-up. Despite his enigmatic short-comings, it felt like you were getting to know him, the real him. He would send you cute in-game gifts or messages, and regularly shot you texts asking how you were.

Your relationship to Tomura was unfortunately sidelined, however, when you came home one day to find your door unlocked. Your belongings were haphazardly strewn about on the floor, cupboards left open with their contents thrown aside. Whoever left your home in such a state had no concern with hiding their presence. You were completely shaking, nearly on the verge of tears. The final straw, the detail that made you crawl into the fetal position and sob, was the evident absence of many of your clothes, including your more intimate garments. Whoever this person was, this sick fuck, could come back at any time. You shuddered to think what they’d do if you were here when they did. So you booked it, walking as fast as you could to the nearest police station.

The ordeal left you terrified for weeks. The few days following the incident, you stayed at a motel out of dread from the persecutor returning. Your restrictive income, however, was a factor in your inevitable return. What followed was sleepless nights filled with paranoia, anticipating an intruder at any moment. You loathed the idea that some creep was getting off to your clothes like a pervert. The cops were frustratingly useless as well, giving you no hope of ever finding the culprit.

Your fear was made tangible in every facet of your life. You swore you felt a presence, a burning gaze assessing every movement, as you made your way to and from work. Things always seemed out of place around your home, but you could never quite trust your own suspicions. This suffocating fear was completely fucking with you.

The dark circles under your eyes and the tired complexion of your face didn’t go unnoticed. You were sitting alone at one of the cafeteria tables, nursing a coffee between your hands. Your appetite wasn’t what it used to be.

“You good, buddy?” An enthusiastic voice snapped you from your tired daze. One of the doctors, a younger man, shot you a charming smile, and you offered a weak one in response. He sat beside you, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay? You’re not lookin’ too good, (y/n).” You scratched the back of your neck, a forced, exasperated laugh slipping from your throat.

“I’m okay, really.” You assured him. The young man’s hand gently gripped your shoulder, his smile softening.

“(Y/n) it’s okay, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tears threatened to prick your eyes as you averted your gaze.

“I-it’s just.... I feel like someone’s following me whenever I walk home and I’m-” Your hands clenched the fabric of your uniform tightly, and subtle tears dripped down your face. “ - I’m really scared.” You felt awful dumping your problems on the young physician. But his warm smile and sincere eyes betrayed his utmost compassion.

“What about I walk you home? I don’t think my place is too far from yours.”

You nodded weakly, barely holding back the sobs of relief that threatened to pour fourth. 

The man made well on his promise, meeting you outside the hospitable after your shift. For once in what felt like an eternity, you felt at ease. The trip was filled with unsubstantial small talk, primarily on the man’s behalf, but it was a comfort against the usual crippling silence. The night was warm, streets abuzz with soft blankets of light. You were lost in your appreciation of the urban beauty, a privilege you had long forgotten. A reassuring squeeze against your hand pulled you back to reality, your face flushed as the doctor held your fingers between his. He let out a lighthearted chuckle.

“Feel better?” 

Your lips quirked in response. 

“I do. Thank you.” You stopped abruptly at your complex, hesitantly drawing your hand from his. He beamed a toothy grin.

“Well, I think we should do this again sometime. I’m glad I could help you feel a little safer.” 

You nodded in agreement. “We should. Thank you again, your my hero.” Your compliment was met with a light chuckle. He nodded toward you.

“Well, your hero will be around whenever you need them.”

-

Your eyelids dipped as the television blurred in your vision. You were emboldened after today. There was hope that you’d get through this whole ordeal, you only needed the right people to help you. For once, you felt like you could let your guard down. You’d indulged in a hot bath, and cocooned yourself in a shell of blankets, content to fall asleep in front of the television, as you had done so many times before.

A fierce pounding on the door stole your attention however, forcing yourself to squirm out of your makeshift nest. The knocking only increased in intensity as you lazily walked toward it. You hesitated, fingers lingering on the doorknob. Whatever brought about such ferocity surely can’t be good. Against your better judgement, you carefully pulled it open.

Tomura was standing in the hallway, his face contorted into a visage of pure loathing. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching with spilling rage. His left hand was clenching and unclenching repeatedly, straining every bone in each finger. The other hand held a clear plastic bag, filled with what you could only guess was ash.

“Tomura?” You were taken aback. He looked so unhinged, contempt radiating from every pore of his body.

Without warning, he stepped in and pushed you aside. He swiftly slammed the door shut, and you heard the tell-tale click of the lock mechanism. You were completely stunned by the absolute speed and decisiveness of his actions. He stomped toward you, his breathing reminiscent of the first time you met.

“(Y/n)...” He spat, clearly trying to restrain himself from screaming at you. He was hovering directly above your form, his hot breath dusting your face. You couldn’t move, every muscle tensed and immobile with complete dread.

“Why...” A rumble resonated within his chest.

“...Have you been ignoring me?”

For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied that you’d never even thought about playing video games. You seldom used your phone, and you hardly wanted to drag Tomura into this mess.

“I-I’m sorry Tomura I’ve just been going through a lot right now.” Your voice was quiet, losing any authority in the presence of Tomura’s insurmountable rage. Before you could react, four fingers were placed around your neck. The sheer pressure of each tip displayed a strength you didn’t know he possessed. His fifth finger was hovering just above the base of your neck.

“LIAR!” Tomura yelled, shots of spit coating your face. Your breath was erratic and irregular, your throat choking on the deafening sound of your rapidly beating heart.

“You’re a little slut, you know that?” His voiced seethed with toxicity. Your eyes frantically darted across that chapped face, trying to convey the utter confusion you felt.

“You lead me on, and then go jump on the dick of some fucking NPC?” Tomura brought the bag up to your terrified face. “Can you guess who this is, huh? Don’t you recognize that little piece of shit?” 

Your head shook violently. You had no idea what was going on, no idea what he was insinuating and no idea who this monster was before you. It couldn't be your Tomura, you refused to believe it.

He scoffed in response, bringing all five fingers in contact with the bag. Your terror amplified ten-fold as the plastic crumbled into dust and scattered across the floor. It was starting to all click now.

“T-Tomura, di-did you-” His fingers pressed deeper into the flesh of your throat.

“You’re lucky I like you so much, (y/n).” His now free hand began to play with your hair. To your dismay, he leaned in, pressing his nose against your scalp. The smell of your shampoo - the smell of you - was utterly intoxicating. His body physically relaxed, his breathing grew measured and subtle. 

Tomura’s gaze turned to the television, a wide smirk growing on his face. You rarely ever saw Tomura smile, and in hindsight, you were glad. He looked demented, terrifyingly jovial. A small, resonant chuckle erupted from his chest.

“Well, look at that ~” He moved his four digits to grip your chin, turning your head to watch the broadcast. The news anchor recounted a massacre of heroes at the hands of ‘the league of villains’, their leader of which was presented on the screen: It was unmistakable, that mop of light-blue hair.

You felt like the world around you was crumbling away into ash. You’d helped save a criminal - a murderer. And now, you were at his mercy. You felt tears torrent down your cheeks, chocked sobs escaping that dry throat.

You turned to face him, his smirk widening at the sight of your precious misery. His tongue made quick work of your tears, reveling in the taste of the salty liquid.

“Don’t cry. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now, don’t you think?” Tomura’s hands snaked around your back, making sure to keep one finger raised above your shirt. He didn’t want to see you exposed for him just yet.

His chapped lips met your forehead in a chaste kiss, making sure to inhale as much of your scent as he could.

“Don’t worry, (y/n). All you have to do ~” His breath assaulted the shell of your ear, his voice becoming a mocking whisper.

“Is trust me.”

[starlightsearches]

Hi there can I please request a Hux x nurse!reader? I just rlly want a lot of fluff bcs I recently rewatched TROS and I felt sad again bcs of hux's fate. Thanks owo

For Good Luck

Of course! IDK if this is as fluffy as you wanted, but I kind of ran with it, and I think that the ending is nice and soft! Hope you like it 😊

Requests are closed for now, but will be opening again very soon ✨

Armitage Hux x Nurse! Reader

Warnings: Language, an injury and some medical care including needles!

“He’s asked for you again,” Tayan says in a sing-song voice, and you look away from him to hide your reaction. It’s no secret—to you or anyone else working in the medbay—that the general prefers you over the others. The real secret is why he prefers you, which is something you’re not really sure about either.

“What’s he here for?” you ask, leaning over the workstation to get a look at the report on the data pad, but he hides it from your view.

“Split lip and a bruised ego,” Tayan says with a shit-eating grin, “do you think you can kiss it better?” He bats his eyelashes in mock innocence, and you shove him in the shoulder, rolling your eyes. You’ve told him before—sworn on your life—that it wasn’t like that, had never even come close to that, and he still wouldn’t believe you. Not that the truth is any more believable.

“How’d it happen?” you ask, changing the subject, still trying to peek at the screen.

“Haven’t you heard?” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you. Tayan, you’ve learned since joining the Finalizer crew, is a terrible gossip. Those words come out of his mouth about as often as he breathes. Only half the information he imparts is actually true, but you don’t hold it against him. It is, after all, very entertaining.

“The Resistance escaped.” His expression darkens, any trace of laughter gone, an unfamiliar hardness set in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, “are you serious?” He doesn’t have to respond. Not even Tayan would joke about something like that.

“The Supreme Leader was livid when he found out,” he continues, expression still grave, “I heard from Mina on the bridge that he threw the general into a wall.”

“Damn,” there’s not much else to say, and your heart breaks for the general, but you hope Tayan won’t see that as silence falls over the two of you for a moment, thinking about what might happen next. It’s times like this that make you grateful you’re not the one in charge.

“I guess the general’s been summoned to the Supremacy,” Tayan continues lightly, restored to his normal self, “but he had to say goodbye to his girlfriend first.” He drags the word girlfriend out like a little boy, and needles you in the side with his elbow when he says it. You flinch away from him, stifling a laugh. A comment like that doesn’t deserve a response, but you sink to his level anyway, flashing him a rude gesture before heading down to the exam rooms.

The prickling excitement begins at the base of your neck, and you force yourself to tamp it down. This is no time for flirting; obviously the general would be upset, and you’d have to be mindful of that. The flirting was mostly one-sided anyways, but occasionally you’d get a glimpse of something different, something softer. You lived for those glimpses.

When you first began working as a medbay attendant on the Finalizer, the general was essentially a myth. You never saw him, but you heard enough from the others to know that he didn’t like the medbay, and any time he was forced to come, well . . . everyone had a horror story, it seemed, and they all loved repeating them when shifts got slow. Personally, you had a hard time believing that the general could really be that bad, but that didn’t mean you had been excited when that asshole, Dr. Hebbit, had told you that it was your turn to perform the general’s quarterly check-up.

You had been certain that the others were playing a joke on you after the appointment. The general had been a model patient; the check up went smoothly as he obliged each of your requests without a word. When you finished, he had left with a curt nod, and that was it. The other medbay attendants had lost their shit when you told them that nothing had happened. Everyone had their own theory why the general hadn’t lashed out at you, but Tayan’s line of thinking had definitely been the most popular. Against your will, a little blossom of hope sprung up in your chest. 

Things only got stranger. After that first meeting, the general was in and out of the medbay on a regular basis, always for minor complaints, and always when you were working. You tried not to think too much of it, but that didn’t stop you from lighting up every time you heard that he needed your help.

And then once, just as you were cleaning up, you felt him behind you. Every part of you was on high alert, addicted to the tension but forced to ignore it as you washed your hands. 

“Thank you for your service today,” he said, and one of his hands came forward—still without touching you—fingering a tendril of hair that had slipped out from where you had secured it. He placed it back behind your ear, and you shuddered, tempted to lean back into him—so that you could feel him there, so you would be sure you weren’t hallucinating. And then he was gone. 

Moments like that happened a few more times, and every time they occupied an even larger part of your mind. It was enough to drive you insane, but no matter how much you wanted it, nothing more had happened. That didn’t stop you from imagining what it would be like. 

You clear your mind as you enter the exam room, and there’s a stab of pain in your chest when you see him. He’s never looked this small before, his shoulders slumped as he studies the floor, but you clear your throat to announce your arrival, and his posture straightens.

“Hello General,” you say, adopting your typical bedside manner, “I’m here to take a look at your injury.” He nods, watching you with careful eyes as you scrub your hands and then put on a pair of exam gloves. There’s already a supply tray set up by the exam table, and you glance over it quickly, checking to make sure that you have everything that you’ll need. Once you’re sure that it’s all in order, you can get started.

“I’ll need to take a closer look,” you say, gently taking the general’s jaw into your hands with a glass-delicate grip, and he opens his mouth obediently so that you can see the wound. It’s a small gash on the inner corner of his mouth, dripping a steady stream of blood down his chin and onto his neck, and you catch yourself thinking about cleaning it off with your tongue.

Gross, you scold yourself, rolling your eyes, heat rising in your cheeks. That needs to stop.

“Something wrong?” the general asks, the muscles of his jaw flexing under your hands, and you stiffen in surprise.

“No, sir,” the words come out rushed, and you look away, hoping he can’t tell how embarrassed you are, “just something in my eye.” It’s a weak excuse, but he doesn’t question it, and you grab a wipe, clearing off the blood with gentle precision. He smells like mint, and antiseptic, and the coppery sting of blood—none of which you particularly like—but now you think it might be your new favorite combination. 

“The good news is that it's relatively small,” you continue, applying a little pressure to the wound to staunch the flow of blood, “but the bad news is that you’ll probably need at least one stitch to keep it closed. I’d use bacta, but I don’t think it will work very well in such a moist environment.” You cringe inwardly; it’s strange to talk about the general’s mouth, especially when you have a finger inside of it, but if he’s bothered, it doesn’t show. And if he likes it, that doesn’t really show either. 

“I can get a doctor to do it, if you’d prefer,” you offer, out of habit. You’d given plenty of stitches working the medbay, but most people were a little less trusting when you had a needle in their face. Still, the sharp sting of jealousy bites at your heart. You’d come to think of the general as your patient, and you’re not really interested in sharing.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, and you relax only for a moment before you’re tense again at the thought of getting that much closer to the general’s mouth.

“This will hurt,” you say, and the general nods. "Do you want anything for the pain?" Another shake of the head, and you thread the needle.

He shivers when you turn back, glancing at the needle out of the corner of his eye, but you don't think it's from fear. Gently, and with more feeling than you’d like, you stroke your thumb over his bottom lip, and they part once again. You get closer, adjusting yourself between the general’s legs so that you can have a better view of the area. It’s not strictly necessary, but it does improve your view just enough to be worth it.

You hold the general’s lip down with one hand, and approach with the needle in the other. Just as you’re about to break the surface of the skin, he stops you, gripping your wrist with one gloved hand. You practically jump out of your skin, the movement startles you so badly, and it’s only by sheer luck that you keep hold of the needle. He studies the inside of your arm, completely ignoring the confusion in your expression, and thumbs the edge of your glove away, exposing the veins right at the bend where your wrist meets your hand. He pulls your wrist closer, like he’s going to bite you, but instead he presses his soft lips to the exposed area, and your vision blurs around the edges. The blood rushes from your head, and your pulse explodes under the contact. Your knees threaten to buckle underneath you when you feel the faintest trace of his tongue run over your skin, but he grips your wrist more tightly, holding you up. 

Your face is on fire when he finally returns your gaze, and although his expression is calm and untroubled, there’s a blaze beneath it. He wants you. He’s made that perfectly clear.

“For good luck,” he says, releasing his grip, and you’re shaking, your mind gone hazy from the unexpected turn of events. How’re you going to pull a needle through his skin now? You close your eyes and take a few grounding breaths, waiting for the blood to return to your normally-steady fingers, but it’s difficult when you’re still thinking about his mouth.

By some miracle, you’re able to gain control once again with a superhuman amount of determination and the strict directive to avoid eye contact at all costs. Once you’ve accomplished that, the actual stitching is fairly easy, and you tie it off with a quick flourish.

“All done,” you say, dropping the needle on the tray and removing your gloves. Even though your hands are steady, your voice still shakes, and you’re not ready to look at him just yet. “Just make sure you don’t smile for a few days.” He snorts in response as he stands, and you scold yourself. Of course he wouldn’t be smiling. Not where he was going.

Thinking about it again brings the feeling of a knife blade to your heart. He would be leaving, this is the last time you’d see him in a long time, maybe forever. Another stab of pain arrives; that was why he finally made his desires clear. He knew this was his last chance.

“General, wait-” you call out, but to your surprise, he hasn’t left yet. In fact, he’s still right behind you, like he was waiting for this moment. The determination you had moments ago withers slightly and you find yourself looking up through your eyelashes, suddenly shy.

“Yes?” he asks, like he always knew you’d end up here, and you raise your hand, emboldened, fitting it behind his neck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, closing the gap. You press your lips gently to his, hoping to preserve the stitch, but the general doesn’t seem to care about that as he holds your face in both his hands, hunger apparent in every movement, need laid out before you. You know the stitch has to be pulling at the tissue, threatening to pop, and you taste the blood as his tongue meets yours, but all of it is so far outside your realm of concern right now. He’s kissing you back. Finally.

You part from him, reluctantly, as he pulls away from you, hoping for just one moment more. You know you’re doe-eyed when he looks at you, already cursing the heat in your cheeks, wishing you could be less-obviously enamored. Hating how much you care. The general looks indifferent, to your disappointment, there’s no trace of his visit to the medbay visible at all. Like you never existed. Moments ago you were rippling with happiness and now you’re left empty.

“I’m leaving for the Supremacy,” General Hux says, adjusting the perfect fit of his uniform, and you nod quickly. The sooner he leaves, the better. You don’t want him to see you cry. The traitorous tears come anyways, and you turn away from him, clearing off the supply tray and hoping he won’t notice. The act works so well, you almost don’t hear his next words. “I’d like for you to come with me, transfer to the medbay there.” You look at him again in surprise, and you see it: the softness he had only barely begun to show, there in full force.

“Do you anticipate needing much medical care, General?” You’re not sure if you mean it as a joke or if you’re searching for some kind of validation, but either way the general doesn’t laugh. No, instead he steps closer once again, tilting your gaze to meet his with a hand on your chin.

“No,” he says, “I just don’t want to go alone.” The reason doesn’t matter. You already know you’ll follow him anywhere.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

The Smell of You-Part 7

This is the last official installment of my BTS!Vampire AU! You can find the other 6 parts on my Masterlist! <3 

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boyscouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS One-shot, BTS Fanfiction, BTS!Vampires, Bangtan!Vampires, Fluff, Angst, Poly!BTS, seokjin x you, yoongi x you, hoseok x you, namjoon x you, jimin x you, taehyung x you, jungkook x you

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warning: Mentions of death and trauma

The long drawn out beeping of the flatline sounding from the heart monitor jars you from your lifesaving trance, and you step back, gloved hands falling limply to your sides as you stare ahead at nothing. 

“Time of death: 18:02.” 

The attending doctor’s voice reflects how you are all feeling in that moment-flat, defeated, slightly sad. He steps past you, offering you a pat on the back in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but a gesture which fails to pull you from the fog that has suddenly descended over your senses. 

You cannot look away from the thin, golden wedding band, gleaming on the patient’s finger, once shiny, but now dulled with quickly drying blood. The same band, that if you raise your head and look to the other room, matches the delicate shining band on the female patient’s fourth finger, already covered with a sheet and waiting to be taken to the morgue, now to be joined by her husband. 

You shake your head, looking away from the sight of the nursing assistant pulling up the sheet over the patient’s now unmoving body, and vaguely hear one of the other nurses mention something about “going home” and “two hours past your shift”, although her voice sounds as if it is underwater and far away. 

Without thinking, you turn from the table and stepping around bodily fluids on the floor, though you’re not quite sure why you do this, as your white sneakers are already stained crimson with blood, you grab your things and leave, not bothering to change, just ready to be out of the hospital and back in the safety of your apartment. 

You are thankful, as you slide into the front seat of your car, that you do not have to take public transportation looking like this-scrubs and shoes and skin splattered with the remains of the fight with death in the Er, a fight which ultimately, you had lost. 

And though you don’t cry, you can feel, as your fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, the tears threatening behind the lump in your throat and you know, when you get home that you will cry-cry for the young couple that should not have died, cry for the fact that you could not save them, and cry simply for the fact that life is more difficult for those left behind. 

*****

Stepping through the door into the apartment, your blood stained sneakers a stark contrast to Jin’s perfectly clean carpet, Jimin’s voice calling out a happy hello as he turns from the counter, like he always does, to greet you, you cannot hold it in any longer. 

You were right. 

Bursting into tears, Jimin’s grin immediately drops from his face, and hurrying to your side, as the other’s quickly join him, he wraps you in his arms, his voice full of concern as you continue to cry into his chest. “No, oh no, baby girl. What happened?” 

His voice is blurry, like the nurse’s voice from earlier, and you feel someone take your hands, and when you manage to look up, Yoongi is in front of you, staring at you intently, his lips pressed into a thin line as he takes in your appearance. “Baby, listen to me.” His fingers rub across the back of your knuckles, the creases of your skin stained dark with blood. “You don’t have to talk, but just answer this-you’re not hurt are you?” 

You shake your head, sniffling loudly, the vision of the boys surrounding you, concern evident in the way they smash their lips and shoot looks to one another, blurring through the tears. 

“Hey, little sparrow.” Hobi takes Yoongi’s place in front of you, offering you a gentle smile as he covers your hands with his own and gently tugs you toward the hallway. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? That’ll help.” 

You manage to nod, and stumbling over your feet, you follow him down the hallway, the boys instantly starting to whisper amongst themselves in worry as soon as you leave the room. 

*****

Sitting on the edge of the tub, body numb, you are vaguely aware of Hobi hurrying around the bathroom, gathering wash cloths and soap, before he crouches down before you, and leaning around you to turn on a hot stream of water from the mouth of the tub, he glances up at you and asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You shake your head, biting you lip, and are grateful when he drops the subject, reaching to start wiping down your arms and legs and face with the warm wash cloth he has wetted. 

Hobi carefully wipes the streaks of dried blood from your cheeks and jawline, and then works his way down your neck, where the blood has pooled into the divets of your throat and collar bone, and you find, after swallowing hard, that the lump in your throat has disappeared enough to finally speak. 

“How do you do it?” 

Hobi glances up at you, eyes surprised, and you are surprised yourself momentarily, that these are the first words you have spoken since coming home. 

“Do what, sparrow?” Hobi asks, reaching to rinse the rag, the water running pink from between his fingers. 

“Stay happy all the time.” You sniff again, rubbing your now clean hand across your nose as you avoid his gaze. “The world is shit most of the time.” 

“It is.” Hobi agrees, and you look up at him in surprise, once again, at the most negative thing you have ever heard him say. He offers you a smile, slightly dimmed by the circumstances, and sets down the rag, taking your hands into his own, his long fingers gently running over your skin in a comforting motion. “And I have my days. However, I manage to stay positive because I have you.” You open your mouth, ready to protest that that cannot possibly be the only reason, but he grins, fully this time, and continues before you can interrupt.” And I have six brothers who are closer than any other blood family.” He sighs, running a hand through his light hair. “And I have my job-I get to do what I love every day and teach dance.” He laughs. “Not to mention, I have eternal life and my incredible good looks and charming personality.” 

You feel your stomach unclench slightly at his joking manner and the light sound of his laughter, and as he helps you up from the edge of the tub, you feel slightly better, as he motions to your dirtied scrubs with a critical eye. 

“Now, change out of your dirty clothes, and get ready for me to snuggle the shit out of you.” 

*****

An hour or so later, you’re lying in Hobi’s bed in nothing but your underclothes, clean and warm and safe under a pile of blankets, and you’re feeling much better than you were earlier. 

“What?” Hobi pauses in telling a joke to you, noting suddenly that you’re staring at him intently. 

“Nothing. Just.” You lean forward, laying across from him, facing him, and push a strand of chestnut colored hair out of his eyes. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“Of course, Sparrow.” Hobi offers you a bright smile, turning his face into your hand as he presses a kiss to your palm. “Would you like to talk about it now?” 

You hesitate, and then reply quickly, “No, I don’t think I do.” You shiver involuntarily as the memories of the ER-the sight, the sounds, the smells-all come flooding back for a moment, until you hurriedly push them to the back of your mind. “Actually.” You lean up on one elbow, giving Hobi a sly smile as you run your fingers down his cheekbones and jawline. “I’d much rather focus on your incredibly good looks and charming personality right now, Jung Hoseok.” 

“Yah.” Hobi appears flustered, as he waves a hand in your direction and laughs forcedly. “You know that was just a joke right?” 

“No it wasn’t.” You shake your head, fingers hovering over his lips, not quite touching the soft skin, before you lean in and rub your nose affectionately against his own. “I happen to think you’re in possession of both of those things.” 

His pupils dilate slightly at your sudden closeness, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, as he murmurs, “But you’re biased.” 

“Mmmmhmm.” You hum in agreement, before your lips meet his and your mouths meld together, stopping further conversation. 

Your lips part, and Hobi’s tongue slips in between the sudden gap, expertly swiping around the inside of your mouth, his fingers tangling into your hair in a way that makes you let out a soft moan against his mouth, and he pulls back, panting slightly as he looks down at you, fangs just visible, pupils blown, before he groans out, “Don’t make noises like that, little sparrow. It makes it hard to control myself.” 

“So don’t.” You reply, before pulling him back down to smash his mouth once again against your own. 

His fingers tickle down the bare skin of your sides and you arch into him, as his mouth slips from yours, trailing down across the exposed flesh of your throat, his fangs dragging across the skin, and then, his teeth are sinking into your body, and your hands are fisting into the front of his sweatshirt as you pull him down, flush against you, lost in the euphoria of the bite. 

You gasp as he begins to drink, causing him to let out a low growl beneath his breath at your response, just barely heard over the sound of him swallowing, your blood running hot and red down his throat. 

And then, like always, it is over, and Hobi pulls back from you, carefully licking over the holes he has made, as you sink further into the bed and snuggle against him, eyes already closing, making him chuckle softly. 

“Tired, Sparrow?” He asks, and you nod, barely coherent, although coherent enough to feel him slide from your grasp, as you let out a tired whine as his warmth is suddenly pulled from your side. He chuckles, leaning over to press a kiss to your brow. “Hang on. There’s one thing I have to do.” 

You mumble something, probably a complaint, and wiggle deeper down into the blankets. 

It is only moments later, that you feel Hobi slide back underneath the covers with you, his nose brushing yours as he rolls to face you, but you are slightly startled, when you feel Jungkook’s body fit to the curve of your back, his heavy arm going around your waist, and then hear the sounds of Namjoon and Jin settling down on the outside edges of the bed. 

Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin find comfortable spots at the end of the bed, limbs tangled as they all reach up hands to rest them on your thighs and calves and ankles, and you smile, once again sleepy, at the feel of all the familiar bodies around you, comforting, warm, safe. 

“I thought you could use all of us tonight.” Hobi whispers, his breath warm on your face, as your hand finds his beneath the blankets. 

And he was right, because surrounded by the seven people that you love most, you sleep better than you ever have. 

[malcolmwhitly-bright]

Brightwell sickfic with a happy ending, please!

I promise I did my best with a happy ending. You can also read the full fic here

I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Malcolm Bright sits bolt up-right in the bed, his head spinning, and heart racing. His breathing cuts through the room, louder than the soft thrum of the air conditioning in the window by the bed. His body feels disconnected, having no control over his trembling, overheated extremities. He’s sitting in a pool of his own sweat. His shirt plastered to his skin and sticking to his back, drenched. His skin is visibly wet, in the low light glistening. He can feel it cooling across his brow as the air circles through the room.

Feeling his side of the bed shift suddenly Dani rolls over to see what’s the matter. She eyes him in confusion. It’s not rare for him to get up in the middle of the night. The chemo leaves him exhausted but that means he sleeps odd hours and takes naps in the middle of the day. When he does get up, he’s always cautious. Overly careful so that he doesn’t wake her too.

“Are you okay?” She sits up in the bed, pulling the cover up to her exposed chest. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to pop up. “Malcolm-”

He throws the bed sheets off of his legs, knees bowing as he rises. Leaning heavily on the nightstand, he takes a tentative step.

“Malcolm-” she moves to help but he’s making quick, shaky progress on his own. As much as she wants to rush off to his aid… she knows it’s important to him that he's able to be mobile on his own. Things are flexible and understood. He asks for help when he needs it and when he doesn’t… she respectfully worries from a distance.

She bites her lip as the sound of his gagging eats through the silent apartment. From a distance, she reminds herself. A glass of water never hurt anybody. She pulls the comforter off her body, padding past the bathroom to the kitchen. She takes her time filling a glass of water, knowing he’s not going to want her hovering while he gags. It’s doesn’t take long, with virtually nothing in his stomach there’s not a lot to throw up.

The dry heaves are worse.

“You okay?” She steps into the bathroom’s doorway, leaning and waiting.

He watches her from the floor, neither inviting her in or asking her to leave. Exhaustion is weighing him down and the pain ebbing in isn’t helping. Mostly, he’s in awe of her. The summer months have darkened her skin and hair, both of which are on display in her pajamas. Her skin is warm and bare in only a sports bra and sleeping shorts.

While he’s sitting on the bathroom floor in the same boxers he’s worn for the better part of four days. There are bruises up and down his side and arms. He gets bruises all the time now. Every day he discovers a new one and from doing nothing. Most days all he can manage is walking from the bed to the couch to the bathroom.

She knows he’s been wearing those boxers since Wednesday. It’s a little disgusting but she doesn’t care. His thighs no longer make heat coil in her stomach, the muscles thick as he walks around their apartment. His clavicles are pronounced with his sickness, his skin stretched impossible taunt but he still holds her hand through scary movies. He orders take out from her favorite restaurant. Text her in the middle of the day about a bird in their window.

He’s still Malcolm.

She hands the water down but he winces. He shakes his head, “I don’t think I can drink that.” His mouth taste awful and his throat is dry but the mint of the toothpaste is going hurt and the water won’t settle in his stomach.

“When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?” She pulls out a clean rag, wetting the cloth before she crouches down in front of him. They share a silent moment before she starts to pull his shirt off of him. Careful as she moves his arms through each hole.

He keeps his eyes pinched shut, afraid that if he opens them he’ll cry. He just keeps losing. Every step forward he stumbles three back. Dying holds no dignity.

The shirt comes free and his flushed chest is able to breathe, to feel the cool air. The touch of the cool rag nearly steals his breath. Gently, she runs the cool rag over his neck and chest. He’s giving in and she’d be lying if she says it doesn't strike fear into her heart. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

He sinks into himself, letting her press the cool rag to his feverishly hot skin. “No,” he whispers, moving limply along with her. “I just…” He doesn’t want to go to the hospital. He wants to stay home with her. To sleep in their bed and wake up to the sound of Sunshine chirping along as the sun rises. Not to the nurses doing their rounds. “I’m just having a moment.”

A moment. A lapse.

The rag has warmed to the touch of his skin. She rises stiffly, wetting it again with cool water. This time she lays it around the back of his neck, allowing the water to drip down his chest. “Mind if I join your moment?”

He looks up and she’s biting her lip, anxious that he’s going to turn her away. He’s never been able to tell her no. God, she just… she owns his heart. Doesn’t she know that? Her smiles made his day and if she cries… He’d kill for her. Which might not sound a lot but he’s spent his entire life convincing himself and everyone around him he’s not like his father. For her, though, in a heartbeat, he’d put it to the test.

He offers her his hand, “no moment of mine is complete without you.”

She takes his hand, smiling as she sits down on the floor beside him. “You’re incredibly sexy when you say things like that.” She kisses his cheek and lays her head on his shoulder. She rubs his fingers, examining them. The tremors have gotten worse with chemo, a lot of things have. He’s off of a lot of his regular medicine- no more anti-depressants, for example. Of course, the bonus is that his mother no longer tries to give him barbiturates.

Every coin has two sides.

“Can I ask you something?” It’s the middle of the night, probably about one in the morning and they’re sitting on the bathroom floor. She’s leaning against him, his hand in hers. He knows that she loves him, she reminds him every waking hour. Glasses of water on his nightstand. Sticky notes on the fridge. Blueberry bagels at dinner. “Why don’t you leave?”

But they’ve been together for half a year. Six months wherein three of those have been within his diagnoses.

To her, it sounds like a stupid question. With Malcolm, though, she’s learned there’s no such thing. He’s not testing her or playing with her mind. He’s genuine and scared but she doesn’t have some winded answer for him. No big proclamation but she knows him. “You’d stay for me, wouldn’t you?”

There’s no question about it. “Of course,” he answers.

She sits up. She wants to see his eyes. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than they were half a year ago- Six months. Six months since he asked her out. How many times have they really said they loved each other? “I love you, that’s why I stay.”

He shakes his head, smiling. His body is weak. His mind sluggish. He needs help showering. She has to drive him to chemotherapy. Wipe vomit off his mouth. Help him in and out of t-shirts. “You have a bad taste in men, you know?”

She considers him for a moment. Her past boyfriends used to get angry when she wanted to spend time with her friends. Some used to bully her into diets. Once, Khalil called her fat. Another used to get drunk and cuss her out every weekend. Only to come back on the weekdays with roses and empty promises.

Malcolm has faults. Every human does but he never shames her and he never seeks out ways to hurt her.

“I do,” she admits. “You are nothing like them though.” She squeezes his hand and blinks away the tears threatening to spill. He’s kind and loving and goofy and handsome and- she could spend all day just sitting with him. Like now. “You’re the best decision I have made in a long time.” She pulls his chin close, kissing him softly.

He doesn’t pull away, leaning in so that their foreheads are touching. “Even with the cancer and the hospitals and the chemo?”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. “Easily,” she promises. “Even when you leave the toilet seat up and when you micromanage where I put the dishes in the cabinet.” She wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him close. Their limbs all tangled together. “Always, Malcolm.”

Tears sting his eyes. It seems… impossible. The thought that someone loves him like she does. “You’re-” his voice breaks and he offers her a watery smile. He looks down at their joined hands. “You’re the only reason that I get out of bed.” He laughs as she wipes a tear from his cheek. He finds her eyes again, “the only reason that I keep fighting.”

She has to bite her lip from crying. “Ditto,” she manages, voice thick with emotion. She leans against his chest, smiling as he wraps his arms around her. Holding her close.

They sit in their comfortable silence for a long moment. Simply enjoying having one another. Her mind is wandering, thinking about the muffin she had last week. She’s considering how likely JT is to get it for her when she remembers that at lunch today his mother called. Inquiring about their schedule tomorrow. “Your mother called, we’re invited for brunch in the morning.”

Malcolm groans, leaning his head back on the wall behind them. “Cancer card.”

“What?”

Malcolm shrugs, “I’m calling cancer.”

Dani frowns in confusion, “Malcolm, that makes no sense-”

When she looks up, he’s grinning ear-to-ear. Mischievous and chaotic. “Dani,” he says softly, lovingly. “I have cancer. The big C. I can’t take the medicine that’s supposed to balance out my moods. Every so often, a doctor pumps me full of poison and kicks me to the curb.” He smiles, “so, what I’m saying is. Tell her no.”

Dani is… amazed. She’s created a monster. “You want me to tell your mother… no?”

Malcolm nods, “I want you to call her and say that I don’t want to leave our warm bed to go eat nasty stuffy rich people food.” It seems like a pretty good idea to him. She’s not going to get mad at him. He’s got cancer. “But if she wants to bring bagels or something later… I might be up for that.”

She rolls her eyes. A monster. She’s created a monster. “You would deprive your sweet mother of seeing her sick son?” She lays it on thick, frowning disappointingly up at him but she can only hold it for so long. He cracks a grin and she loses it, chuckling darkly. “You’re awful!”

He is awful but she’s enabled it.

And they both, simultaneously, wonder if the other knows how much they love one another.

That Dani loves to watch him sleep. That soft snores he makes when he sleeps. When he holds her hand and his fingers squeeze around hers, like in his dreams he’s lost her and he’s reassuring himself she’s still there. That everyday she kisses him goodbye and that breaks her heart. That his lunchtime text made her day. When he comes to the precinct in sweatpants with coffee or sandwiches for her, JT, GIl, and Edrisa that her heart swells.

Because he’s thoughtful enough to know each of their orders.

Malcolm needs her to know that he loves the way she crashes around the apartment. The way she tiptoes around the side of the bed, kicking into the chest at the end and knocking over books on the nightstands. How she’s clumsy and loud when she’s comfortable. That she’s comfortable enough to be a mess around him. How when she gets home she kicks her shoes off and crawls into bed beside him. Tucking herself into his side.

And it’s that love- that unfaltering, endlessly love that will get them through.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Not So Secret Kisses

Christmas fic

Masterlist

Based on an imagine found here by @thefandomimagine

Bones x OFC

Words: 1,974

Warnings: “Secret” dating, minor talks of an injury, mistletoe, getting caught, fluff

It wasn’t unusual for Star Fleet ships to be away from home for any sort of holiday, but after the year it had been, after everything that had happened, it was hitting the crew of the Enterprise harder than normal.

Senior staff had quickly discussed doing something to keep moral up, less they have anything short of a mutiny on their hands, so it seemed, almost overnight that the ship became decorated with all sort of bits and baubles from varying traditions.

The effect was immediately, laughter filling the corridors, some people exchanging quiet gifts, and everyone began to relax.

No one dared comment on it, but even Bones was feeling it.  Some of the nurses often broke into giggles when they saw him smile at some comment or another, or he even cracked a joke or two, that would have other roaring with laughter.  His best mood though, was when Blaire happened to appear from engineering.

Everyone knew that the two of them were a couple, but everyone also kept it closely under wraps so as not to alert her older brother.  No one wanted to think about what would happen to their head doctor if Scotty found out.

Blaire was always unworried though, something that Bones appreciated greatly about her.  No matter how bad things seemed, Blaire was always there to shrug it off and help them move on.  She was the only one that could make him smile after a too long day.

“Doctor McCoy, you have a visitor.”  One of the nurses said, smirking as she walked past, causing Bones to look up and instantly smile.

“Don’t let me distract you,” Blaire said as she strides in, grinning at him.  “I’d hate to think that a doctor isn’t getting his work done.”

Bones chuckles.  “In this case, the work can wait.  Unless you know of an imminent disaster approaching?”

Blaire seems to think as she sits on the edge of his desk, before shaking her head.  “Nope, sorry, I’ve got nothing.  I can ask Jim if you’re that desperate?”

“No, thank you,” Bones laughs.  “I’m quite content with this peace for the moment.  If only you engineers would stop burning or hurting yourselves in some way or another, we’d be empty.”

“Risks of the job,” Blaire grins, looking at her own hand, which was currently wrapped tight after a rather serious burn a few days before.  “Luckily, we have good doctors on board.”

“That is a good thing,” Bones stands and carefully takes her hand.  “How is it healing?”

Blaire shrugs.  “It’s okay, honestly I was more worried about Monty, I thought he was going to pass out on me when he saw it.”

Bones shakes his head as he unwraps it, giving a small smile.  “I thought Scotty would’ve seen more than enough by now to not react so badly. I thought he was going to start yelling when we took a little too long to start treating it.”

The wound was healing quickly, something both Blaire and Bones were happy to see, and even though it was still very raw, she wasn’t going to lose any use of her hand.

A fresh does of cream and some clean bandages later, Blaire tugged Bones down to her.

“Thank you Doctor,” Blaire said softly, earning a smirk from Bones.  “You’re going to have to let me repay you somehow.”

Bones chuckles and closes the distance between the two of them, sharing a brief but passionate kiss. “You can repay me by not getting hurt again.”

“No promises,” She grins. “I could also repay you by inviting you to mine for dinner tonight, and who knows?  You might get extra lucky.”

He captures her lips again, unable to help himself, at least until a nurse coughed a little awkwardly from the doorway.

“Apologies Doctor McCoy, we have someone that needs your attention.”

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Bones said, the nurse nodding and moving away, before his gaze found Blaire’s again.  “I’ll be there.  What time?”

“Seven.”  Blaire said with a smile, kissing his cheek as she slid off the desk.  “Don’t be late Bones, it would be rude this time of year.”

He watches her go, a smile on his lips as he shakes his head.  As far as he was concerned, the night couldn’t come soon enough.  It wasn’t often that he could escape away for something like this, but with everyone put at ease, celebrating in their own way with their own customs, it meant everyone had a bit more time.

The two of them hadn’t talked about exchanging gifts, but Bones had found one anyway, now tucked safely under his arm as he headed to her quarters.  He liked Christmas, although he very rarely celebrated it now, and so he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get Blaire something extra nice, even though she always told him that she was just happy with him.

Her door was answered within seconds of him buzzing, and he couldn’t help but let out a low whistle as she beamed at him from the doorway.  “Damn darling, is that all for me?”

Blaire does a small turn for him in the dress she wore, floral but light, it exposed just enough to let the eyes wonder and the imagination take hold.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, much like the lovely woman wearing it.” Bones grins, stepping just into the doorway as she stepped in close again.

She giggles, her hands brushing over his shirt.  “Doctor McCoy, you have a wonderful way with words, have I ever told you that?”

“All the time,” He said, his voice dropping a little, just in case anyone was walking behind him. “I could give you a few examples if you like?”

Blaire laughs, burying against his chest for a moment, still keeping him in the doorway.  “That is a rather tempting thought, but I’m sure it can wait till after we’ve eaten.  I’m starving.”

“Then let’s get us some food then,” Bones said, not taking note of the mischievous look in her eyes as she looks back up at him.  “And maybe I’ll even let you open your present early.”

He holds the gift out to her, and she beams, taking it.  “Thank you Bones, you really didn’t have to.”

His fingers brush over her cheek.  “Of course I did, you’re very special to me Blaire, and I’m going to use every opportunity to say that in any way I can.”

Blaire giggles, putting the present safely on the table next to the door before wrapping her arms around his neck.  “You’re very special to me too Leonard, it’s almost a shame that we can’t do this more often.”

Bones nudges her nose gently with his.  “Then why don’t you let me through the door so we can eat and do whatever else that comes to mind.”

“Because,” She smiles at him.  “If I let you in without committing a certain tradition, then we’re both going to be very unlucky.”

It takes Bones a moment before his gaze travels upwards, and he can’t hep but chuckle when he sees the sprig of mistletoe above the doorway, the two of them standing directly underneath it.  “Have you put one over every doorway?”

“Maybe.”  Blaire laughs.  “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Bones laughs and shakes his head for a moment before sweeping her into a kiss.  Their lips melded and danced easily with each other, the kiss slow and delicate but steadily getting away from them.  A small moan from her and Bones presses her into the doorway, craving closeness, his hands trailing over her exposed skin, her hands burying into his hair.

In that moment, they both completely forgot that they were out in the open and still very much exposed.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?”

The furious, stunned voice, broke them out of the kiss, both of them looking at Scotty, who had frozen, down the hall, a dangerous glint quickly forming in his eyes.

“Shit.”  Blaire muttered and quickly stepped in front of Bones, who cleared his throat.  “Monty, this is not what it looks like.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” Scotty snapped, finally marching forward.  “Or are you really going to try and tell me that he’s standing in your doorway, under mistletoe, for fun?”

“Um,” Blaire licks her lips. “Yes?”

Scotty’s glare focuses on Bones.  “Fine, then I’ll ask you.  What the bloody hell is going on?”

Blaire sighs. “Monty…”

“I want to hear it from him Bee.”  Scotty said firmly.

“Oh, because it completely just his fault.”  She huffed under her breath.

Bones raises an eyebrow. “Blaire and I have been seeing each other for a while now.  Do you have a problem with that?”

Blaire watches as Scotty takes note of this, mulls the words over quickly, his eyes darting between the two of them before she sighs and takes a step back.  “Well, I’m okay with that I guess.”

She stares at him. “Are you serious?”

Scotty lets a smile slip through.  “Shouldn’t I be?  He looks like he’s looking after you, and now I also understand why you’re getting the best medical treatment there is.  I knew no one could be that lucky in getting Bones all the time.”

Blaire flushes. “Oh?  And so the threats that I’ve put up with all my life?  Of ensuring that everyone I’ve been in a relationship with has been chased away?”

He shrugs.  “I knew they weren’t right for you.”

“Monty, you threatened to kill the Captain for just flirting with me!”

“Because that’s Jim,” Scotty said as Bones begins to laugh.  “And Jim has a reputation that I didn’t want you involved with.  I think, for once, you’ve finally chosen well.”

Blaire pursed her lips. “Oh, you are so dead.”

Bones catches her around the waist before she can leap at Scotty, who was laughing too, making her huff.

“We can discuss that later,” Scotty said, smiling.  “I can see you two already have a night planned, so I’ll leave you be.”  He looks back at Bones.  “There’s still limits though.”

Bones smirks.  “I think I can handle myself.”

Scotty nods and waves back at them as he continues his way down the hall, Blaire letting out an angry, frustrated huff.  “Unbelievable.”

Laughing, Bones pulls her back into the doorway.  “Would you like me to chase away that memory?”

Blaire looks at him and then back at the mistletoe, that she’d stepped out from and now he’d pulled her back under, a smile breaking through the anger.  “A quick kiss then, lest someone else awkwardly catch us in the doorway.”

Bones pecks her lips softly and pulls her inside, finally letting the door close behind them.  “There is a bright side to this, you know?  Now that he knows, we don’t have to be so discreet.”

She stops mid step on the way to the kitchen and looks back at him, it slowly dawning on her what he was insinuating, a smile creeping to her lips.  “I like the way you think.  Maybe I’ll have to ensure that you can visit engineering more often.  I know of a few spots that are discreet enough.”

He chuckles.  “Why do I have a feeling that Scotty isn’t going to know what hit to him?”

“Because he won’t,” Blair said flatly, still thinking it over.  “After all the years of over protection he’s put me through, then this is going to be only fair.”

Bones laughs and pulls her into his arms again, making her grin wickedly.

“You really did put mistletoe above every doorway, didn’t you?”  He asked, not needing to look up this time.”

“What can I say?”  She teased, holding him close.  “I like kissing my doctor.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

have some hopper x reader fluff! i’m working away on fic, so come chat! :)

“Can’t believe you were so stupid,” Hopper grins, teasing lilt to his voice. He holds open the front door and you step under his arm and into the cabin, scowling all the while. “Not my fault,” you mutter, words a little slurred by the good meds the ER doctor gave you. You lean one shoulder against the wall and kick off your sneakers, sending them flying. One lands on the couch and the other goes sailing down the hallway.

Hopper whistles. “That was at least a 50 yard kick, babe.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, frowning in his direction. “S’not my fault.” “Kinda is,” he retorts. “Don’t remember anybody else tellin’ ya to try out Max Mayfield’s skateboard.” You can’t actually disagree with him - attempting to ride the skateboard had been entirely your idea. But, “I want the kids to like me! I was trying to fit in.” Jim grins - the audacity! - and strides forward to grip your upper arms. He looks down at you and says seriously, “Face the music, sweetheart, y’ain’t cool to the kids anymore. Now you’re just a boring old adult.” “Who you calling ‘old’, Jim Hopper?” you jab your index finger into his chest, pouting. “The 28-year-old woman who busted her arm tryin’ to ride a skateboard to impress a pack of teens,” he retorts with a smirk. You drop your forehead to his chest. “I’m old,” you moan into the fabric, entirely too dramatic thanks to the pain pills. Jim’s arms come up around your back and hug you close. You lean into the embrace. “It ain’t so bad, gettin’ old,” he mutters into your hair. “Nobody minds when dinner’s at 4 or if you nod off into your mashed potatoes.” He laughs, loud and deep, and you pull away from his arms, smacking his arm with your good hand. “You bastard!” you yelp, a smile threatening to overtake your face. “I will not be eating dinner at 4 or falling asleep into my potatoes.” Ducking away from your abuse, Hopper laughs again and it’s a wonderful sound. “We’ll see, babe. They gave ya the good shit at the hospital.” Even as he talks, you can feel your head getting heavier and fuzzier. You hum a response. “I’m definitely feeling it.” “Why don’t I help you into pajamas and you can get some rest?” he suggests, brushing a hand over your good arm. You nod, going to rub your eye and almost smacking yourself in the head with your brand new arm cast. “Shit,” you mutter, glaring at the plaster. “That’s going to be a pain in the ass.” “Don’t go givin’ yourself a black eye too,” Hopper teases, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “Glad you’re amused, Hop,” you roll your eyes and follow him into the bedroom. You stop in your tracks abruptly, realizing something. “Oh shit!” “What happened?” Hopper turns quickly, worry written across his face. “I gotta shower!” you exclaim, a little slurred. “I wanna wash all the gross hospital feeling offa me.” Even as you speak, your head feels like it’s getting heavier and it’s harder to keep your eyes open. You blink at him slowly. “I needa wash my hair, Hop.” He snorts. “Okay, babe. We’ll wrap your cast up and you can jump in the tub.” He’s already shuffling you off towards the kitchen to grab the saran wrap. You lean against the counter as he wraps the plastic cling film around the cast, checking to make sure that it’s a decently tight seal. Once he’s satisfied, Jim pats your cheek and nudges you in the direction of the bathroom. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll get you a snack to eat before you go to bed.” You nod, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek. “Thanks, Nurse Jim.” “Yeah, let’s not make that a thing,” Jim says drily, rolling his eyes. But he kisses your forehead anyway and swats your ass gently as you walk off. “What now?” he asks a moment later when you stop in the middle of the the hallway. You turn, “I don’t think I can wash my hair with one hand? Can you do it for me?” A pout forms on your face and Hopper’s incapable of saying no. He sighs and nods his head towards the bathroom, “Go on, I’m right behind ya.” And true to his word, he is. His hands find your hips and he’s pushing you along, fingers gently digging into your skin. You smile at his closeness, the feeling of his bulk at your back. He dips his head forward and kisses the skin at the nape of your neck, exposed by your high, sloppy ponytail. You undress quickly, while Hopper fills the tub with scalding hot water and an obscene amount of bubble bath - just the way you like it. He holds onto your good hand as you carefully climb into the tub. “Ohhhh,” you sigh happily, sinking into the water up to your shoulders. “Watch the cast, babe,” Hopper warns, smiling slightly at the look of pure bliss that’s spreading across your face. “Stupid cast,” you mutter, but keep the plastic wrapped plaster well above the water line. Hopper shakes his head. “Still can’t believe you tried the ride the skateboard.” He pauses, smile evident in his voice even though your eyes are closed. “And fell off before you even got two feet down the sidewalk.” Splashing a little water outside of the tub, you gesture wildly, “The sidewalk was uneven! I would’ve gone further if I didn’t hit that curb!” “Sure, sweetheart,” Hopper agrees, shit-eating grin on his face. He grabs the shampoo off of the shower ledge and squeezes some into his hands. “Lean back.” You oblige and close your eyes, sighing in bliss as Hopper’s fingers begin to scrub the shampoo into your hair. He chats quietly, telling you about the stupid things he’s seen people get arrested for. Slowly, but surely, the sound of his voice, coupled with the hot water and pain pills lulls you to sleep. Before you know it, a large, warm hand straying over your breast wakes you up. “Huh?” you ease awake, blinking and looking around in a daze. Your bleary eyes land on Hopper and you grin lazily. “Copping a feel when I’m in a weakened condition?” “Yeah,” Hopper drawls sarcastically, his hand still working over your breast. “Fell asleep, you were so turned on.” The bath is lukewarm now and your hair feels squeaky clean. You smile. “I’m wide awake now, baby.” Hopper raises an eyebrow. You beam toothily at him. “What if I promise not to hit you in the head with my cast?” you giggle. “I wouldn’t believe ya,” Hopper’s moustache twitches. “Once I get ya goin’, you’re not in control of your body.” Wrinkling your nose at him, you stick out your tongue like a child and splash a little water in his face. He rears back, frowning and shaking his head like a dog. “That any way to treat the guy that kneeled on the floor for twenty minutes to wash your hair?” he teases. “I’ll make it up to you,” you wink. “Aw,” Hopper smirks a little, “you drive a hard bargain, sweetheart. Lucky you’re so cute.” He stands, groaning a little, and grabs a towel. He holds it open and you stand up carefully, letting him warm you in the worn terrycloth. Hopper wraps the towel around you and gently lifts you up, settling you on your feet outside the tub. He rubs his hands up and down your arms, warming you completely. You lean into his embrace and Hopper kisses the crown of your head. “That wasn’t quite the sexy kiss I was hoping for,” you mumble. pouting again. “Yeah?” he asks, leading you back into the bedroom. You sit down on the bed while he looks for a pair of old sweats that you like to sleep in. “Sleep the pain pills off and I’ll give ya any kinda kiss you want.” He turns around and you’re fast asleep, sprawled flat on your back, towel threatening to slip open and expose you. With an affectionate eye roll, Hopper quickly changes you into one of his oversized shirts and tucks you in. “Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a large hand over your head.

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[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Eight

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Seven

Read here on wattpad

A/N: Question — what song do you think of when you think of Nikki and Viv? I'm trying to see something

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): Explicit language, Sexual situations, Drug abuse

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My bare feet hook underneath his thighs the second I realize he's about to  finish and he gives a crooked smirk up at me, his breathing beginning to shallow.

Nikki holds my hips still, groaning out as his cum coats the inside of me, causing me to let out a hazey moan, my mind cloudy from our rather lengthy round.

Once he's finished, I'm getting off of him and falling beside him, catching my breath as we recover is silence fore several minutes.

"Are you on birth control or something?" He asks me out of nowhere and I tense up, looking at him.

"Why're you asking?"

"I've been thinking about it since Vince and Sharise had Skylar, for some reason. I mean, I haven't used a rubber since we started dating and most of the time I don't pull out, and we've only had one pregnancy scare in the past, what, like, four years?"

"You've managed to keep track of how long we've been together?" I ask him, pretending to be shocked and he gently hits my arm with the back of his hand, and I chuckle, rolling over to face him, my lips pressing to his bicep for a moment.

I think I'm in the clear, dodging his question, but I'm not.

"I'm being serious, Viv, are you on something or...?" He asks and I lick my lips.

"Maybe my antidepressant affects fertility, I don't know." I shrug, lying through my teeth. "Drugs can cause issues on your end, too, so maybe that's another reason."

"Oh." He replies.

I avoid looking at him, sitting up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed before reaching down to grab his shirt by my feet.

You know those lies, that start simple and small, and then snowball more and more over time and explode in flames from hell that melt the snow and turn it into scalding hot water that leaves third-degree burns on the person that's being lied to? Yeah, we both had lots of those, and that was one of mine.

I

take a shower and brush my teeth, excited for my plans tonight, and as I start putting makeup up on, Nikki's getting in the shower.

"Are you and Robin going out tonight?" I ask him.

"Uh, yeah. Sparkie's coming, too." He replies and I roll my eyes.

I know they'll go out to a club and hide in the bathroom, shooting up and snorting blow a  majority of the time, only leaving to get some drinks.

"My doctor was really curious as to why I needed a refill so soon being that he gave me a month supply a week before Sparkie traded it." I comment to remind him Sparkie's a piece of shit.

"Sparkie learned his lesson, baby." He tells me in a half-chuckle and I raise my brows at myself in the mirror and turn the sink on.

"Jesus fuck, Viv!" He screams, being bombarded with ice cold water for a moment.

"Awe, I'm sorry, maybe Sparkie can sympathize with you." I reply smartly.

He's getting out of the shower, covered in suds, glaring at me, and I take off running with him chasing close behind.

"Spoiled brat!" He calls at me, the both of us naked as jaybirds.

"Trader bastard!" I say back, right before he catches me, pulling me against his wet, soapy body, his hands not skipping a moment to start tickling me.

I squeal, the both of us falling to the floor, my feet and legs kicking out of instinct.

"Don't you do it." He threatens. "Remember what happened last time."

"Not my fault you're a pussy." I reply, immediately regretting it when he starts tickling me again, this time, getting on top of me to pin me down.

He doesn't let up until I'm laughing so hard I'm in tears, and he's tired of struggling with me.

We look at each other for a minute, before he grins and kisses me.

"I gotta finish getting ready." He tells me, getting off of me and helping me up.

"Yeah, I do, too."

I decided a nice trip to Malibu would be a great thing for GN'R. I mean, go to Tansy's house there, have her invite over some of her single girl friends to mingle with the guys, stay over night so they don't have to worry about whether or not they'd be able to crash at their stripper friends' apartment and sleep on the floor that night, have a nice breakfast together the next morning, and just give Axl and Izzy time to really get to know Tansy, because they haven't hung out with her very much, while Slash, Duff and Steven see her almost more than I do.

I glance around the living room of Tansy's Malibu beach house, seeing beach bunnies all around with perfectly tanned skin, bombshell hair and perfect smiles, then look at Steven and Slash, who seem to be having a pretty good time.

They both look like they're in heaven, girls on either side of them, obviously fans of their work on the Sunset Strip back in L.A.

Izzy took a girl up to the guest bedroom long ago, while Axl's just nursing a bottle of Jack, with a beautiful brunette chattering his ear off while he's pretending not to care about what Tansy's doing as she talks to one of her girl friends across the room.

I do a mental head count, and notice my 6'4 blonde is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he found a girl or two of his own and followed in Izzy's footsteps, taking over a spare room?

I brush it off, deciding it's none of my business and step to the kitchen to grab a Pepsi out of the fridge. 

When I pass by the doors that lead to the balcony over looking the ocean, though, I see the outline of someone sitting in the lounge chair. 

Recognizing the slender frame, I grab my soda and head outside, Duff looking over his shoulder to see who I am, before smiling at me innocently, bottle of Vodka by his foot and pack of Marlboros on one knee as a sketch pad and pen are being supported by his other.

"Hi." I say as he scoots over to make room for me. "Mr. Social Butterfly." I add, sarcastically.

"Hey." He replies, moving his Vodka over so I won't knock it down with my foot.

"I figured you be eating that up." I motion to the door, referring to the gorgeous girls inside and he chuckles a little.

"I don't know, I haven't really been feeling chicks lately." He tells me and I furrow my brows a little.

"Well, I'm sure she has some boy friends, too, if you're feeling something different." I inform him, knowing what he meant, but he laughs and shakes his head.

"Not like that, Viv." He tells me and I pull my red hair behind my shoulders to get it out of my face, before taking a sip of my drink. "I've been, uh, working on something new, kinda. The lyrics have been going off left and right in my head, I just thought I'd better get somewhere quiet and write them down before I lose them." He explains, holding up his notepad.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I feel like I've intruded, or messed up his groove, about to leave him alone to finish but he puts his hand on my knee to stop me from standing up.

"No, no, it's fine." He insists, taking his hand off of me, not thinking anything of it, despite me feeling warmth radiate from where he touched me.

I ignore it.

"I've already gotten everything I had in mind, so far." He explains. "Just a verse and chorus."

"What's the name of it?" I ask, and he scratches the back of his neck.

"I don't know if I need to tell you. I'm superstitious about this stuff, Viv." He tells me, even though he's completely full of shit.

He just wants to aggravate me.

"It's just the title, Duff. You let me hear you say 'turn around, bitch, I gotta use for you' and this can't be worse than that." I point out and he chuckles, licking his lips before looking at me.

His hand covers the lyrics, exposing the title line of the page.

"Paradise City" is scribbled in his writing and I smile when he moves his hand and let's me read  the chorus, and verse that he's gotten so far, a giant smile pulling at my lips.

"Who the hell inspired this?" I ask him, raising my brows.

"Nobody particular." He shrugs. "You like it?"

"I already love it." I tell him.

Not to compare two completely different bands who earned their names all on their own, but there are a few song parallels between Guns N' Rose's Appetite for Destruction, and Mötley Crüe's Girls, Girls, Girls albums.

Guns' Welcome to the Jungle was like Mötley's Wild Side. Paradise City was like Girls, Girls, Girls. Mr. Brownstone was like Dancing on Glass. But my favorite parallel has to be Sweet Child O Mine and You're All I Need.

I remember Nikki had given me a tape of You're All I Need after we got into a massive argument because he thought I was spending too much time with Duff. But he had practically accused me of having feelings for Duff, and even acting on them (which was pretty hypocritical being that he'd been screwing Vanity since 1986 at that point.)

A few weeks later, Nikki convinced me to come down to the studio so he could personally give me a copy of a song he had written me, and me--being excited--decided I wanted the guys to hear it, too.

I went to the Franklin Plaza where Steven, Duff, Slash, Izzy and Axl were hanging out, discussing a meeting they'd had with their label.

When I told them Nikki wrote a love song about me (thinking it was his way of trying to patch up our marriage and say to the world "I love this woman") the guys had to hear it, not believing me.

The ballad started beautifully, tears coming to my eyes, but my warmed heart quickly began boiling in my chest by the time the second chorus ended.

"I don't think this is a love song." Izzy stated, while shaking his head a little.

"Yeah, uh...he's talking about killing you." Axl had told me, everyone seemed slightly disturbed.

"Your girlfriends get Sweet Child O Mine and what does the dedicated wife that has done nothing but love this sick bastard get?! A song dedicated to his deep desire to murder me!"

"Dude, hasn't he actually tried to kill you before?" Steven asked.

Which made the song even more ironic, along with the last line of the chorus, "and I loved you but you didn't love me" which in itself was slap in the fucking face.

I didn't hear the full song at that time because Duff had took it out of the player and stomped it under his cowboy boot.

That pretty much set the tone for the months to come.

"You're also incredibly biased." He replies in the same tone and I nudge him with my elbow.

"You don't know how many songs I have actually had to tear out of Nikki's hand and hide them from him because they were so bad I just could not allow them to be recorded." I tell him.

"Oh, please." He brushes me off.

"Have you heard 'Theater of Pain'?" I ask him with raised brows.

"Yeah."

"Home Sweet Home and Smokin' in the Boy's Room were the only really good ones. And Smokin' in the Boy's Room was a cover. The other songs were songs I didn't know were written, or I would have hid them from him, too." I state and he tries not to laugh, but fails, making himself snort, which kickstarts my laughter. 

Once we settle down, he clears his throat, and gets a kind of serious expression on his face.

"I really wish he wasn't on that shit, Viv." He tells me and I don't even have to ask who he's talking about. "I mean, I'm not judging him or whatever because Izzy and Slash are in on that stuff, too, but...I just hate to see he's on it, because it's kinda hard to manage it once you hit a certain point, ya know?" He asks and I nod a little. "I think he's a pretty cool guy...so it sucks to see him act like that."

"It's not that bad, right now." I tell him, completely in denial. "He's still Nikki, he just does stuff he's not suppose to. That's nothing new to me."

"I'm just a little worried, is all." He admits.

"There's no need to be." I reassure him. "He's got a handle on things."

Dear God did I eat those words a week later in Dallas, Texas.

It's like watching a fucking car accident. 

Except instead of a car, it's my husband, and instead of a car accident, it's him losing his ever loving mind, crouched on the hotel room desk, as he babbles on, making absolutely no sense as he shouts at his parents who aren't even present.

I just came back from the pool, got a shower, and came in to him doing this.

"Nikki!" I try to get him out of whatever drug-induced show he's on.

"I'm not me! I'm not Nikki! I'm someone else!" He insists, hands yanking at his hair, his eyes completely taken over by an entirely different beast. 

I panic, immediately calling Fred.

"The fuck is wrong?!" He asks when I open the door, hearing Nikki's screaming and carrying on and I try to keep the absolute fear that's locking up my system from showing.

"I-I don't know. I got in from the pool and he was kinda jittery but I thought he'd done some blow, but then he started screaming when I was in the shower and now he's--"

Fred gets tired of hearing Nikki's meaningless shrieks at people who aren't in the room with us, and snatches him off the desk.

Nikki hits the floor, and a switch is flipped, sending him into strong convulsions, opting thick, white foam to pour from his mouth.

"Fuck, Sixx!" Fred lets out, turning him on his side. "Get me a roll of toilet-paper." He barks at me and I do as I'm told, saying a very colorful, silent prayer in my head. 

He tries to get Nikki to bite down on it to keep him from biting his tongue, but Nikki can't do it. screaming instead.

When I think I can't take the confused, scared, out-of-character shrill, it's like God himself knocks Nikki out, leaving Fred and I in complete silence, riddled with what just happened.

Fred checks his pulse and sighs in relief, looking at me.

"Viv, are you alright?" He asks me, taking deep breaths.

"Y-yeah." I say, nodding, even though I know it's written all over my face that I can't be further from "alright."

"Vivian--"

"I just need a second." I tell him, standing up to go to the bathroom, disguising oncoming tears in a strong, steady voice that's physically uncomfortable to push past the lump in my throat.

I lock myself inside the bathroom and turn the water back on, gripping the counter before I find myself in the floor, quiet sobs rocking through me.

I just want my Nikki back...not this tainted demon nesting himself in Nikki's skin, festering his bullshit in Nikki's mind.

By the time I'm worn down from crying, and tired from lying on the bathroom floor, I pull myself up and open the bathroom door, stepping into the room.

I guess Fred put Nikki in the bed before he left, because Nikki's still passed out, just tucked in the covers. 

I get pajamas on, scared to even touch him because I don't want him to start seizing again.

Cautiously getting closer to him, nestling my forehead against his arm, I thank God for the feeling of his pulse under my finger tips in the crook of his arm, and find myself passing out with utter exhaustion.

The next morning, Nikki's really quiet.

I'm not sure if he remembers what happened last night, but I'm not asking him. 

After finding a needle and evidence of an 8-ball of coke, he can lick my twat if he thinks I'm talking to him anytime soon. 

The video shoot for Home Sweet Home is happening today, and a limo picks Nikki and I up at the hotel, driving us to the venue, neither of us acknowledging the other. 

Once we get there, someone's dressing Nikki like a damn toddler, because he's too fucked from last night to dress himself in his done up stage costume.

Nikki was so, so, so, obviously, utterly fucked up when they filmed the music video for Home Sweet Home. 

The entire time, he was chugging Jack to try to calm himself down from a high he later described felt like, "being on acid and speed at the same time" and with the way he was acting like he couldn't see a damn thing, I believe it. 

He kept sunglasses on a majority of the time so people couldn't see how his eye were practically doing cartwheels. 

"Viv, we're about to start, where's Nikki?" His bass tech asks me and I glance around, furrowing my brows a little.

"I haven't seen in him about an hour. He went over there by the stage...at least I think he did." I tell him, stepping over to the last place I saw him. "He was here and..." I trail off, hearing Nikki having a full blown conversation, his voice coming from underneath the stage.

The two of us sit and listen for a moment, realizing Nikki's just talking, taking long pauses, then answering a question that was never asked by anybody, not even himself.

"Who is he talking to?" His tech asks me under his breath so Nikki won't hear.

I roll my jaw, getting fed up.

"Probably the fucking demon he sees and befriends every time he gets high." I state, fully believing that at this point, there is indeed a demon following him around, breathing down his neck, stripping him of his control and cheering him on with each grain of coke, bottle of Jack, cc of heroin and prescription-grade pill.

"Nikki," His tech starts. "Who're you talking to?"

"I'm talking. Leave me alone." Nikki argues.

"Nikki." I state, looking at him. 

It's the first time he's heard my voice all day.

"There's nobody there, baby. C'mon." I motion my hand for him to get out from under the stage.

"Leave me alone!" He snaps at me, nearly hissing.

"Dude, calm down, you're freaking out." His tech tells him. 

"Nikki, get your ass out from under there or so help me God, I will come in and drag you out by your dick." I promise him. 

He puffs up like a pissed off rooster and stomps out, passing by us, grumbling under his breath.

Do you wanna know what was really fucked up about that time? Vince couldn't have a beer without someone losing their mind. He was supposed to be sober. Nikki would bust Vince's balls if he even saw him looking at a bottle...but then Nikki would load anything and everything into his body, simultaneously.

Vince quickly became the odd man out, and had been ever since that night with Razzle. There was this vibe, this tension, that Vince was only kept in the band at that time, because they were getting hotter and hotter, and each member was the ticket to reach their full potential as a band. Each member was important.

Without Tommy, there was no band. Without Mick, there was no band. Without Nikki, there was no band.

And without Vince, there was no band...that was the one that really didn't sit too well with Sikki.