#i went to get blood work done and the nurse was like trying to soothe me with conversation and I was like 👁👄👁

[hawnks]

all of the nurses at the clinic being extra special nice to me becuase i came in looking like this:

[aelinschild]

You'll be Fine - Drabble

A quick little drabble inspired by my afternoon; AKA when I fainted after getting blood drawn for the first time. It was an absolutely ridiculous experience and thoroughly amusing, so I'm using it as content :)

SYNOPSIS: Who knew Aelin's greatest enemy was a scheduled blood test? WORDCOUNT: 1.2K WARNINGS: Very fluffly, Mention of needles but not descriptive whatsoever, fainting

Main Masterlist

A late Tuesday afternoon, after both Rowan and Aelin had finished work. Her boyfriend had been happily waiting in the parking lot of her office, a packet of chips and a sparkling water set on the passenger seat for Aelin. He normally picked her up after they both finished work, but the snacks were an added bonus. 

She had forgotten, obviously, the scheduled blood test Rowan had booked for today. Her boyfriend, ever astute, had noticed her balance had been particularly horrific in the recent weeks. Noting the bruises littering the soft skin of her body when they went to bed. Where his shirts wouldn't cover. 

A quick appointment with their general practitioner had rolled into a referral, which was where the couple would be off to next. 

Skipping along, Aelin made her way to the black sedan Rowan tutted over like a mother hen. Opening the door with a practiced gentleness, she slipped into the warmth of the car and leaned over to kiss her boyfriend.

“Someone's happy,” the rumble of his voice filled her insides with warmth. “What's got you so worked up?” 

“Just happy to be done for the day…” She murmured against his jaw, kissing down his neck. 

“As much as I-” She cut him off with a nip to the sensitive skin between his jaw and throat. “Slow down there, love.” Pushing her away gently, Aelin let out a whine. “Later, I promise. But for now, we have places to be.” 

“What?” Moving away from her exceptionally attractive boyfriend, she went for the chips. Tearing the bag open with a ferocity only achieved by working in an office. 

“The blood test? Your appointment is at six, and traffic is hell at the moment so if we want to-��� 

Aelin tuned out the rest of Rowan’s verbal planning, her heart dropping and any previous arousal washing away quicker than blinking. Blood test? What blood test? 

“You with me there, Ae?” Rowan's large hand made its way to her thigh, making soothing movements along the muscle. 

“Ro, what blood test?” 

“For the dizziness, and lightheadedness, and bruises. You remember, don't you? The doctor's appointment…” 

It came back in a flash, and the anxiety that pulsed under Aelin's skin was a beast. Closing her eyes, she avoided counting her pulse. 

“Right…” 

“Hey,” Her boyfriend's tone was a measured gentleness. “It's going to be okay, Ae. It's quick and painless” 

“Mhm.”

“I promise,” His hand moved over to her jaw, pulling her to look into his deep green eyes. “I'll be there if you get scared, but I know you will do great.” She could see the sincerity and love that lightened his irises, but it didn't wash away the rising fear. 

-

Sitting in a cool leather chair with an extendable arm that fell over her lap, Aelin practiced breathing patterns. Deeply in, hold, out. 

Over and over again. 

“You're going to make yourself lightheaded before you ever start,” Rowan commented, trying to lighten the mood. 

Her boyfriend was seated next to her in a similar chair, just without the extra arm, as he would not be getting any blood drawn. This was the moment Aelin cursed her immune system. 

“What if we just hightailed it out of here right now? They can't catch us both.” She heard Rowan snort. When had her eyes closed?

Before he had a chance to respond, a nurse knocked on the door, and it clicked open. The woman looked older, with lines on her face that probably came from the large smile she wore. 

“Hi there Aelin!” Moving over to the little desk to Aelin’s left, she began putting on gloves. “Oh, and company! Who might you be?” 

“Rowan. The boyfriend.” She could hear the smirk. 

The kind nurse chuckled, preparing her tools and checking over Aelin's referral. Aelin just closed her eyes again and leaned her head against the wall. She could feel her blood again and she just wanted this to be over. 

“... Are you alright over there?” The nurse's voice was slightly muffled by the ringing in her ears. 

“Yep!”

“She’s a little afraid,” Rowan said at the same time as her. She peeled open one eye to glare at him. He just gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Oh, don't worry. This can be hard for some people. It's all okay. I'll make it as quick as possible, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you,” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s hand came to rest on her knee. 

“Okay,” the nurse started, swiping some alcohol over the crease in Aelin's elbow. She tensed at the cold feeling. Wrapping a blue elastic band a few centimetres higher than where the needle would go, she tightened it around Aelin's bicep. “It will be quick I promise. Don't look, sweetheart.” 

Taking a deep breath, Aelin nodded and turned away. She heard Rowan murmuring gentle encouragement and ‘I love yous’. Just as his hand tightened on her knee, she felt the prick of the needle. 

It was over before she knew, and she let out a great heaving sigh. The deep breath that escaped her was one of extreme relief. Laughing a little, Aelin opened her eyes to her lover smiling at her. She offered a smile back before turning to the nurse. 

The movement set her off, her head suddenly feeling lighter and slowly she felt herself leaning forward. Her awareness cutting out, before she relaxed onto her arm, the world going dark. 

-

“Aelin, Aelin, Aelin, Aelin…” she heard, repeated over and over again with an undercurrent of concern. The voice was muffled like being underwater. She didn't want to wake up from the deep slumber she felt herself in. 

“Love. Aelin, Aelin.”

She gasped, sitting up abruptly. Her head swam, dizziness surrounding her vision. She felt warm hands guiding her backwards to rest on the wall. 

“... Slow down, yeah, there you go. All right, sweetheart.”

“Did- did I… I faint…” Trying to focus and not let the weird swaying take over her senses again, Aelin moved her eyes slowly to the direction of the voice. 

A low chuckle, and a yeah from her boyfriend. The kind nurse just smiled at her. Aelin groaned. 

“I've never done that before,” moaning out, she closed her eyes again. Why is it so hard to keep my eyes open?

“It's fine. I promise. You had just worked yourself up a little too much beforehand, yeah? Though, you got through the needle part before you fainted.” She laughed lightly. “How are you feeling now?”

“I'm sorry, I can't believe I just fainted.” 

“Ae, it's okay.” Her boyfriend reassured. She let her eyes slowly open to see him standing over her now, looking slightly distressed but amused. 

“Ughhh- god.” And she snorted. In front of the kind nurse and her ruffled boyfriend. She let out a devious giggle, unable to help as the laughter took over her. I can't believe I fainted!

“Well, I guess you're all better now.” The nurse laughed alone with Aelin's ridiculousness. “And, boyfriend, she shouldn't drive or lift anything heavy for at least a day. Just make sure she-” a look at Aelin, “rests. Thoroughly.”

Rowan sighed fondly, “Sounds good, miss. Thank you.” 

Aelin giggled.

Taglist: @backtobl4ck , @goddess-aelin

Thanks for reading!!! :)

[szallejhscorner]

No Time to Die - Part II

The first thing you notice when waking up is the sound. Beeping, slowly and steadily, and breathing. It sounds like two persons, one a more rattled breath and the other very quiet but close to you.

Next comes the pain. Your body feels as if it has been crushed to bits, and breathing has never been so uncomfortable. You moan, unable to open your eyes yet, and someone shuffles next to you. It takes only a second until you feel a cold liquid run through your veins, starting from your right arm and spreading through your whole body. It muffles the pain and covers everything under a dull blanket, even the sound.

“You’re awake”, a familiar voice mutters, and at first you can’t really designate it to a certain person. But then the face of Chishiya comes to your mind, his silver-white hair and his condescending eyes, and you realize that he’s the one looking down at you – literally, this time.

“What the hell happened?” you want to ask, but whatever comes out of your mouth has barely anything to do with human speech. Chishiya understands you anyway and chuckles dryly. “You had a haemothorax”, he states as if you’d immediately know what that is supposed to mean, “and you’re just waking up from anesthesia. The ambulance said it was a car accident. I’d like to know more though about how exactly you landed on my surgery table.”

The only answer you can give is a moan, and the pieces still don’t want to form a bigger picture. You remember getting ready for work, then thinking about the surprisingly warm weather… But everything that happened afterwards is a blurred mess locked behind waves of pain.

“Uuugh…” Your mouth feels dry and the taste is terrible. Bitter, somehow, with a hint of blood. It’s giving you the urge to gag. “Wa… water…”

The blonde next to you sighs and doesn’t say more, but his face disappears out of your vision. For a moment, it leaves you scared to be alone, but Chishiya returns shortly after and helps you to raise your head so you can take a few sips out of a plastic cup. Despite the plastic taste of the water itself, it helps a lot to get rid of that weird taste on your tongue, and speaking turns out to be much easier now.

From the corner of your eye, you can now see another bed on the other side of the room. Whoever is lying there is still asleep, and several tubes are coming from their body. Still waking up from anesthesia, just like you. And for a brief moment, it makes you wonder what they went through and why they’re here.

“I… I was on my way to work…” you begin to trace the events of this day, and while not everything comes together as you talk, you begin to remember most of it. There had been a car accident, squealing tires, shattering glass, shouting people. The accident itself had been at the other side of the street, but another truck on your side, trying to evade the crash, had veered off the road and hit the sidewalk instead. It might be a blessing that you can’t recall the collision, and then you woke up here.

Since you’ve regained consciousness now, Chishiya orders a nurse to bring you to your room. He accompanies you through the hallway, listening to all snippets that make their way back into your memory, but then he has to get back to work, nodding to you when your eyes plead him to come back once his shift is done.

Hospitals are a scary place, even more so when you’re the patient, and you don’t want to be alone. Knowing that Chishiya will be there in a couple of hours is a soothing thought, and the time passes rather quickly since the nurses check on all your injuries and you have two roommates to talk to. One of them has been here for a week now after a planned bypass, and the other, a woman in her seventies, has had a check-up on her artificial heart-valve that caused problems some days ago.

It turns out that the haemothorax that Chishiya operated on wasn’t the only damage you received in that accident, but a sprained ankle and several bruises and cuts. On top of that, your head is close to explode in a throbbing pain and you feel sick, probably the concussion one of the nurses talked about. They insist to keep you here for at least one or two nights to make sure everything heals appropriately, and never before have you been glad about Chishiya working several shifts in a row.

Even the police visits you later that day to ask questions about the incident. You tell them everything you remember, which isn’t much information to help them. One of them, a middle-aged woman with a kind, slightly wrinkled face, tells you that the truck driver has experienced a great shock driving into pedestrians, but he’s alright and besides you, there haven’t been any serious injuries. You can’t even blame that man – he had been focusing on a much worse crash in front of him and noticed too late where he was evading to.

Just as promised, the clever blonde approaches your bed right as the sun goes down outside. You would have almost missed him since you were already dozing away into slumber of boredom, as the nurses don’t allow you to leave the bed for the next twenty or so hours, but when you spot the shoulder-long dyed hair and his calculating eyes, you can’t help but grin.

“Thought you’d never come”, you mutter jokingly and shift a bit so Chishiya can sit down on the bed next to you. He looks tired and smells like disinfectant, but he isn’t wearing his white coat any longer.

Chishiya snorts. “The chief wasn’t exactly happy when he found out we’re liaised. Incredible how fast those nurses are able to spread their gossip, isn’t it?” He rolls his eyes, but there isn’t much concern in his voice. “There wasn’t much he could do, though. Hard to reverse a surgery that already happened, and the result is pretty good, so he can’t really blame me.”

“Is it?” you mock, carefully poking your chest where a fresh scar is hidden under bandages. “Hurts quite a lot, so I’m not sure about you doing it good en-“

“Silly”, Chishiya interrupts you, “the best suture will hurt if you poke around it like a curious toddler.” He moves your hands away from your chest, gentle but still determined, and takes a look under the bandages with nothing but confidence in his eyes. “I wouldn’t know any other surgeon who could have done it better than me.”

You reach for his hand and move it to your cheek instead, cupping your own face in his touch. His hands are cold, which isn’t unusual after a long shift. It might have to do with standing in the cool operation theatres, holding sterile instruments for hours and hours while carefully maneuvering through a human’s body. Not that you’d care too much, since it’s still the hand from the man you love. “Me neither”, you admit, and it’s true.

“Although there was no need to test that”, Chishiya finally says with a chuckle. “Just believe in my skills next time so you don’t have to jump in front of another truck for practical testing.”

Snorting so heavily it hurts in your chest, you burst out laughing. “Shuntarou, that-… that’s not what happened! Besides…” you kiss the palm of his hand, releasing it from your touch, “I doubt your chief will let you operate on me again.”

The blonde leans back into the pillows next to you, allowing you to snuggle into his side. You love the way the tips of his hair tickle your nose, and how he brings so much comfort into the unfamiliar hospital room despite being silent. He has a special something on him, kind of an aura that can make others feel welcomed, mocked, humiliated or even hated just by being there. And then there’s the expression in his eyes… that little spark speaking so much more than a thousand words could do. The same shimmer that usually sparks condescendence, although now it’s telling you that Chishiya is glad you’re okay. Words he’d never speak out loud.

“Then you better make sure this stays a one-off experience”, is all he says.

 -

Two days pass until you’re allowed to go home. The sprained ankle still troubles you, but there’s not much you can do despite putting your feet up and taking it easy. No more blood has gathered in your pleura and the scar is healing nicely, so the nurses equip you with painkillers and dressing material and send you home at noon, once Chishiya’s shift that day is over. Luckily for both of you it has been an early shift, and you can’t wait to leave the white walls stinking after sickness and death behind.

A shower is what you’re craving most while you let the blonde help you into the flat, since you’re not allowed to take a full bath yet as the water might irritate the suture on your chest. But standing on your own is difficult with a sprained ankle, so you can’t help but laugh when Chishiya places a plastic stool inside the shower cabin, allowing you to sit down.

“Come here, old woman”, he teases and you indeed feel like a grandma, slowly limping through the bathroom and dropping down on that stool. You even ask Chishiya to help you with showering, but his only answer is a snort before he closes the door behind him, leaving you the privacy you missed so much in the hospital.

The hot water running down your spine is both a blessing and a curse. It washes away the hospital aura still clinging on to you, although it irritates the several bruises and cuts that still cover your body. Getting used to that takes a bit, but once you’ve passed a certain point, the pain becomes more than bearable and you simply enjoy sitting there, rubbing foam into your skin and hair. The accident has thrown you into a situation you didn’t really want to be in, and you can’t wait for life to return to normal. At least Chishiya is here now, since he has the next two days off and then a couple of night shifts, allowing him to take care of you as long as you need to rest. Of course he already made sure you know how much he despises playing babysitter for you, but the way his lips had curled into a grin told you he’s not entirely serious about that.

You stay in the shower for what feels like an eternity, until Chishiya knocks on the bathroom door to check you’re still okay. The hot and damp air indeed starts to make you feel dizzy, and once you decide it’s time to get out, you’re grateful having the blonde on your side to help you get dry and refresh the bandages. After slipping into the most comfortable clothes you can find, you hobble to the sofa and grab all the pillows around you, stuffing them behind your back and under your leg so you can sit as comfortable as possible.

“Guess I’ll binge lots of series the next days”, you chuckle as you reach for the remote.

The blonde raises an eyebrow, obviously not sharing all of your optimism. “I give you five or six hours.”

The Netflix start page pops up and you already scan through the options of shows you haven’t seen yet. “Why that? Think I can’t keep up with a series marathon?”

“You? Maybe”, Chishiya explains. “Your back? Not as much.”

And he’s right, like he always is. Five or six episodes in, it is almost impossible to find a comfortable position. Either your ankle hurts or your chest, sometimes both at the same time, no matter how much you try to change your position. A few episodes later, your back refuses too, and you end up rolling from one side to the other, unable to calm down properly. You want to go for a long walk, but you’re not allowed to and the sprain wouldn’t even let you do that. Once it’s time to take the pain killers, it does get better for a while, but the symptoms return.

Chishiya, who has been disappearing out of the living room now and then to do whatever he does in his free time, comes to check after you, a knowing smirk on his face even before he spots your annoyed expression. “Still think it’ll be wonderful to be sofa-bound for the next couple of days?”

“You’re a surgeon with magical hands”, you plead, “can’t you work some more of that magic and help me?”

“It has nothing to do with magic. It’s called skill, and this is your burden to carry, not mine.”

Rolling your eyes, you rearrange the pillows in your back for the thousandth time. “Oh, you selfish, arrogant-“

“-fabulous surgeon who saved your live”, he finishes your sentence and places down a plate next to you containing dinner. Probably the only meal Chishiya is able to cook: instant noodles. At least he chose the slightly more expensive ones that taste surprisingly good. “I made sure you can live on in this doomed world, and I’ll be here to endure your whimsies. That’s already more anyone else could ask for, don’t you think?”

You pick the noodles and take a spoon full, realizing that even instant noodles are so much better than what they served you in the hospital. “It might be, and yet here I am, asking you anyway to massage my back because man, it’s killing me! And yes, I want to hear whatever comment’s on the tip of your tongue.”

Knowing Chishiya well enough, his countenance isn’t hard to read for you, and he chuckles under his breath. “And here you are, asking for a massage. After I helped you into the shower and cooked you noodles. Maybe next time, I should make sure the suture will be extra-itchy.”

You both laugh while Chishiya sits down next to you, focusing on his noodles as the television keeps running in the background.

He doesn’t give you a massage, but he does help you with the pillows, easing the pain in your back a bit. It’s a start, and you’ve still got a couple of days left to try. You’ve given up hoping for a painless recovery, but you didn’t give up on the massage. Yet.

[mxstas]

2:19 am - baji keisuke

prompt: fixing up bajis wounds

genre: fluff, a little angsty

warnings: tr spoilers‼️, blood, bruises, scars, mention of fighting, gn! reader, alternate valhalla arc ending, mention of stabbing oneself, baji isn’t dead in this.

wc: 746

it was never a surprise to see baji at your doorstep all beaten and bruised. he knows how upset it makes you to see him like that, yet he liked the comfort it gave him when you would help patch him up.

one day, baji yet again, showed up on your doorstep. It was late in the night and you were wondering what he could be doing at this time to make him end up like this. you opened the door to see his knuckles red and bloody. he had a bruise forming on his cheekbone and some blood smeared above his top lip. he stayed silent as he stood there with an awkward smile on his face.

you stared at him with an almost disappointed look as you sighed and let him in. “the usual?“ you ask. it wasn’t necessarily supposed to come off as a joke but baji chuckled anyways. “you know it” he replies.

he goes to sit in his usual spot, the corner of your dining table. you went and got the first aid kit and started to work on his hands first. you cleaned the blood off of them, searching for any scratches that could be on his hands or arms. of course, you find a couple and you begin to pat at them with a damp, alcohol filled cotton ball.

“this might sting a bit” you say. you can hear him wince a bit, but other than that he had no complaints, unlike how he did when you first started your duty as his nurse.

you moved on to his face. you wiped off the blood under his nose and pressed on his cheekbone where the bruise was.

“does is hurt when i touch it?” you asked.

“yeah, maybe you should kiss it and it’ll feel better” baji remarked with a smile.

you press on the bruise harder. “ow ow! im joking, im joking!!…sorta” he says through giggles. his smile is contagious, you cant help but smile a bit too.

“take it off” you say. he knew you were referring to his shirt so that you could see if there were more bruises or cuts. he slipped it off and you examined his torso. there weren’t any cuts but there were bruises scattered across his abs.

you scanned down his chest, only to be met with a pale, sharp oval shape. you stared at it for a bit before place your hand over it and rubbing the spot with your thumb. it was the scar baji had gotten when he stabbed himself during the fight between Toman and Valhalla.

it was also the scar he got the day he confessed to you, before passing out from blood loss. luckily he survived, it was a miracle to everybody. but ever sense then, the weight of the situation still follows you. watching baji come home like this makes you worry about what could happen while you aren’t there with him.

you place your head on his shoulder, not looking away from the scar. bajis stomach drops with guilt. he hates to see you like this, he hates that you have to worry about him the way that you do.

he begins to rub shapes on your back as a way to hopefully soothe you. baji wasn’t all that good with words so he sticks to physical contact as a way to show what he feels, which explains his expressive violence. he places a couple of kisses on your forehead and the side of your face. finally you decide to speak up.

“baji please….just….be more careful next time” you plea.

“i will. i promise.” he mumbles in the crook of your neck.

once you were done patching him up you got rid of all the first aid stuff. you started to walk away before baji gently grabs your arm, efficiently stopping you in your tracks.

“i think your forgetting something”, he said as he pats that bruise on his cheekbone. you sigh and peck his cheek before trying to walk away again. key word, *trying*.

“you missed a spot.” he says before you could get to far. he pouts his lips out and taps them. “your a child”, you say while giggling. you place a chaste kiss to his lips as he returns the favor. he cups your face in his hands and mutters between kisses.

“i love you, ok? ill be more careful for you.” he says reassuringly. “i love you so much”

a/n: this was a lot more angst then i intended but whatever. im bored and i couldnt get this thought outta my head so🤷‍♀️ also probably a lot of grammar mistakes. i wrote this at like 12-2 am so.

[yourmidnightlover]

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

-

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

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[yuzukult]

i’m bad too 16 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none a/n: :D hope you guys enjoy!! taglist: @wownajaemin​​​ @crescent-iak​​​ @ncttboo​​​ @byunbaekby​​​​ @jinfizz​ @doyoungyoung​ @ahgayeah0305​ @doyobun​ @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr​ @m1ss-foodi3​ @hcwurld​

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Doyoung looks so pretty like this.

The space between his brows are crinkled in vexation, hair unstyled and brushing against his forehead with his lips pursed while focusing on the task at hand. He’s taken the day off of his internship for this, with approval from your brother, and plus, the way his eyes are sunken and the breakouts on his skin are appearing, it seems like he deserves to chill out for a bit.

But, he seems to refuse to do that, opting that his priority is to take care of you.

Doyoung hasn’t been back to his apartment other than just to grab the necessities—his business casual attire for work, underwear, some lounge clothes, and just things here and there that might be useful. But he hasn’t slept in the comforts of his own bedroom, no, instead he’s been sleeping at your side in your room.

“Would you stop squirming?”

“Well, you could say it’s a bit weird when someone else does it for you.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Be cooperative. I’m trying to make it better.”

You puff your cheeks in agitation, stubborn because you’re not used to this much physical touch, despite the amount of times you’ve slept with Doyoung. There’s something about this that feels more intimate, not like a quick bang for pleasure, but rather he’s doing this because he cares about you.

“Steady. Just a little longer and we’ll be good.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“It has not been twenty minutes.” Doyoung isn’t that same soft boy you met months ago. He’s gotten intrepid, unabashed by any smart or sharp remarks that you throw his way, in fact, he dodges them or bites the bullet before resuming back to having you in his arms. “You think it’s been twenty minutes because you’re preoccupied with nagging about how you don’t like this happening.”

“It’s weird,” you state, tapping your fingers against the wooden frame of your bed as a distraction. You could use a cigarette, but somehow you managed to let a pretty boy like Doyoung convince you to stop. “I don’t like having people this close.”

“I’m literally just replacing your gauze.”

You frown. “It’s… intimate.” Doyoung can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at your response as he reaches for a fresh new gauze. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do, I just—”

“You won’t let your own boyfriend touch you like this?” He queries, and you’re starting to find yourself in this position often. He’d say something bold, something that he normally doesn’t do, and it leaves you feeling small like you used to do to him. Oh, how the tables have turned. He calls himself your boyfriend recently, despite not officially making it a label, but you like it. It feels… right, for once, like this is how it’s supposed to be.

“It’s not that,”

“Then you should just let me do this, yeah?” He tosses the old bandage into the trash. “Plus, we’re almost done anyways. Would you like to go on a walk after this? I kind of wanted to talk about something.”

Staying put, you inhale in a deep breath in surrender because you’re curious about what he wants to discuss. He remains focused, wrapping you once again, despite the fact that the staff at your house offers to do it since it’s their job, but Doyoung insists it’s his job as much as theirs.

After pulling your shirt down, he offers a hand, helping you transition over to your wheelchair, one you’ve grown to hate because it makes you feel helpless, and Doyoung takes you down the hall.

“There’s an elevator down the hall.”

“A what?”

“An elevator,” you reiterate, and Doyoung doesn’t move, feet rooted into the ground. “We don’t have many floors because we do have an elevator. Goes here, the lobby, basement, then the wine cellar.”

“There’s a wine cellar under your basement?”

“You don’t have one?” He knows it’s a joke, so he just shakes it off and heads over to the large metal doors. Your personality never showcases your wealth, and although he’s in your beautiful home with staff that fills up the majority of it, he still forgets the money you come from.

Naeun is still gorgeous, despite the bruises on her cheeks and the cuts that are scattered across her face.

She’s wiping her hands, after running them under the water in the sink, soaping up her previously flawless porcelain skin that’s now marked with the aftermath of another fight. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be better,” you admit, rolling around the kitchen in your wheelchair. “How are you feeling?”

“Bitchin’,” she states calmly, giving a thankful gaze in Doyoung’s direction when he slides over the first aid kit toward her. “Lover boy been takin’ care of ‘ya?”

“Wish he’d go home and take a break for once, but yeah. Good boy decided he wants to play nurse.”

“Why do you guys talk like I’m not here?”

The two of you shrug, waving him off as Naeun hops onto the granite countertop and begins tending to her own wound. “There’s been another attack,” you glare at her and Naeun only rolls her eyes. “He already knows, don’t act like he’s all innocent to this.” She dabs the remnants of blood on her lip before grabbing the disinfectant wipe. “Johnny’s dead, just so you know.”

“What? Johnny’s dead?”

“Nah, he’s undercover,” she winces at the impact of the alcohol against her open cut. “Fuck.”

You furrow your brows. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Just kidding, he’s dead.”

“Naeun,” you say sternly. She’s playing another game.

“Just kidding. I’m just testing your cognitive skills.” Searching for the neosporin, she gives a quick scoop of the ointment and applies it on. “Seeing if you can still think the same. I have a really bad itch that they’re gonna ask you to come back, love.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’m interested in,” you’re pointing to all of your gunshot wounds. “Got a couple holes in my body that are still whistling when the wind blows.” Tilting your head, you’re trying to make out the expression on her face from underneath all that hair. “What’s with that look?”

She jolts her head at you. “What look?”

“You know something.”

“Other than Johnny’s death?”

“Naeun.”

“Alright,” she sighs, leaning back against her arms. You can’t help but notice the twitch in her lip, and it’s not from her cut. “Rumor has it, they’re going to try to initiate you again. This time, maybe not so nicely.”

“Even after I went through all that trouble? In case they’ve forgotten but I literally have holes in my body. I risked my life for the guy and here I am, sitting in a wheelchair, unable to fucking take a piss by myself, and he wants me to hop back on the field again?”

“You know how he is,” Naeun says apologetically, although none of this is her fault. She’s just the middle man, the bearer of bad news, and she’s only doing her job by protecting the Boss but you’re not even directly tied to the group, just simply a contractor. “He sees your capabilities, thinks you’re more than worthy, he wants to keep you. Seeing that you’re standing in front of the bullets, taking one for the team and protecting those who are part of us… it only makes him want you more.”

“But he can’t even wait?” You exasperate, baffled by his abruptness despite the fact you were still going through a recovery period. “I’m not even ready yet.”

“Well, he’ll give you some time—”

“You’re making it sound like it’s soon.”

She looks pained. “It… It is soon. He thinks the sooner you begin training, the better. You’ll be better equipped and—”

“I thought this was supposed to be temporary,” you state, voice firm. “I mentioned prior that this was simply a gig I needed to get by.”

“This was before you caught the mole. Before you put yourself in danger, protecting the members of the organization. You proved yourself more than capable, and he wants that. He wants you. You get the job done. Why do you think we keep coming back and hiring you? Because sometimes, you don’t even need a gun. You have your fucking head and that’s the weapon.”

“Well, I need a break.”

“There is no break.”

“Naeun, I almost died. To be quite frank, I don’t give a fuck what Taeyong says. I’m taking a break.”

The sunset is breathtaking; warm hues over the horizon, shining on the Good Boy’s face and only adding on to the fact that he’s also the golden boy. Seated on the picnic blanket beside you, he’s resting his weight back on his arms, eyes closed, soaking in the sun with a soft smile upon his face, inhaling in deep breaths to soothe his nerves. “This is nice. I’m glad you suggested it.”

You hate that you have to lean against this make-shift seat, back pressed on the trunk of the tree. But it hurts so bad to sit on your own; parts of your torso require you to straighten yourself because any slight bend stings. You desperately miss being able to function on your own—it’s so embarrassing asking your boyfriend to do things for you.

“You good?” He asks, turning over his shoulder to glance at you. “I hear you wincing.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, adjusting yourself once more. “I’m just… getting comfortable.”

Doyoung sighs, finally picking up on your personality and habits by now, so he slides himself back just a bit and extends his legs. “Come here.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

He pats his lap. “Come here. Lay your head on my lap, and enjoy the sun with me. We can soak in the warmth, and talk about what’s on your mind. Feels like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and not a whole lot of talking.”

Conceding, it takes you a while but with Doyoung’s help, you’re finally laying—there’s less pain in this position, and you’re grateful he suggests it. He brushes your hair out of your face, a soft smile looking down at you that tugs on your heartstrings. “You’re probably thinking a lot.”

“I am,” he admits, pursing his lips. “Have been for a while.”

“Well… will you tell me?” You’d be lying if you said that Doyoung confessing he’s been pondering frequently doesn’t make you nervous. There’s always that possibility of him deciding that maybe this wasn’t for him—that taking care of you, learning you’re a sort of a hitman and part of some shady organization, or that your family owned the company that he worked at wasn’t… what he signed up for.

But that stupid grin doesn’t ever wipe off of his face. “What is it?”

And with a gentle voice, he says with a press of a kiss on the crown of your head, he says these words that have you levitating. “I love you.”

[whump-town]

The Blood That Haunts Me

post-scratch fic

no pairings

Hotch has a bad heart

word count 6k

In Savannah Hayes’ experience, Saturday’s are typically for parents with screaming toddlers looking for emergency medicine to soothe their fears about whatever toy their child has shoved up their nose or to ask an aged nurse what to do with this croup that just won’t go away. It’s scrapes and bruises from a fender bender with kids just learning to drive and roughly two to three broken arms from seven-year-olds learning to ride a bike without training wheels. With any luck, there will be only one underage kid in a banana bag and the college kids will be in and out for stitches and gone as quickly as they come. There’s always the regulars - older men and women that buzz with the opportunity to be out of their houses even if it’s to withstand the pain of stitches and staples on their thin skin.

Rarely has Savannah faced a Saturday where she knew someone being pulled into her emergency room. Virginia isn’t the biggest place but her friends are young and healthy and Saturdays are for squirmy children and stupid teenagers. When she sees him with his ankles stretched out over the end of the stretcher and a large hand weakly fighting with the paramedic to hold the oxygen mask over her face she’s certain of his identity. She’s good with faces and his is unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be on break yet, baby.” Derek picks up on the first ring, the sound of Hank babbling loudly in the background making him chuckle deeply as he moves. The phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, she can hear him pick up their son. Talking back to the baby.

Savannah is sitting in the emergency room, camped out behind the desk as she catalogs patient information. Despite it being a Saturday, the hospital is startlingly pretty timid (knock on wood). When there is a new patient the clatter is noticed. So when Hotch came in, supine but weakly fighting against the oxygen mask pulled down over his mouth, Savannah noticed. Even drugged and combative, he’s distinctly himself.

And as Savannah tells Derek, describes the man she’s quite fond of, he doesn’t believe her. Hotch doesn’t go to the hospital and no one’s heard from him in forever, he’s probably not even in Virginia. Garcia said Jack started high school last fall and if they were home and situated again with no contact then… Well, what are they supposed to do? “Derek--” Savannah can hear the pitch change in his voice. Derek goes from dismissive to genuinely worried and now pulling at strings because no one has talked to Hotch in months (nearly two years) and the idea of seeing him now is terrifying. “I am positive that it’s Hotch.” She leans around the monitor, frowning as she watches some nurses she knows buzz around him. Throwing out words she can’t make out entirely but she can see what they’re doing and it makes her heart jump a little to hear medications that they put orders out for.

Hotch makes a noise - it has to be loud for her to hear it from the distance she’s at. “Baby,” she stands and it makes her heart do a weird clenching thing when she catches a glimpse at his face. Sees that he’s crying and clearly upset. “Derek, he’s getting all kinds of agitated. I’m gonna call you back in a second, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and tosses her phone down on her chair before calling out for one of the nurses she recognizes with a wave.

The nurse smiles when she sees Savannah - she’s got a particular gift with patients like Hotch.

“I know this one,” Savannah says, approaching the bed. “What have you got?”

Savannah doesn’t have all the details on the accident that occurred in 2009 with George Foyet. It’s not Derek’s story to tell and it’s not exactly the easiest one to bring into conversation. She’s aware of vague things like his collapse a few years later from scar tissue that caused him to bleed internally and that Hotch's ex-wife was killed by a serial killer. Mostly, she knows that Hotch is dependable and secure and that when he went into witness protection nearly two years ago his absence had crushed them all. Even if the likes of Emily Prentiss and her just as stubborn as hell husband would never admit it.

“Mild tachycardia and respiratory depression -” The nurse tells her about Hotch’s underactive thyroid, something he’s supposed to take medication for ever since the stabbing damaged the organs function. How it’s throwing his heart into tachycardia and it’s getting worse, not responding to medicine yet.

Savannah may not know what happened with George Foyet but she knows Derek regards Hotch as this infallible wall of a man. One she’s come to understand he thinks can’t ever fall down and one that, despite how fondly he’ll speak about him, annoys the hell out of him. Personally, Savannah thinks Aaron Hotchner is just a sweet man. She likes him and his little quirks. He’s quite the odd pairing when he gets together with Emily and Dave but they’re a funny crowd.

What she isn’t expecting is the mess of scars littering his chest. Experience allows her to date some of them by sight - their distinct shape and coloration clustering them into the same time frame and she can’t imagine how someone gets over half a dozen wounds like that at once. They don’t end there. On his right side, there’s a nearly faded out of existence scar from a chest tube. A puncture wound- something blunt she’d assumed by way of its roundness. Even a few rougher-looking, jagged scars that she assumes are shrapnel because Derek has nearly identical ones.

Savannah is a few moments too late to prevent Hotch from being pulled down by a sedative but he’s fighting it, blinking slowly to try and remain awake. “Hey,” she greets softly, turning his wrist over so she can see IV sight in his elbow. It’s secure and there’s nothing special to note but it’s going to bruise. “Long time no see Agent Hotchner.” She squeezes his fingers, smiling at the recognition behind his eyes even if his lips only form a silent mouthed version of her name.

With a smile - remembering the first time they met and how gently he’d taken her hand before shaking his head and admonishing “everyone calls me Hotch” - she reaches down and fixes his hair. He’s let it grow out since he left the BAU. Derek had been livid when he got word that Hotch wasn’t coming back despite the fact that he too left the unit. “How are you feeling, Hotch? Can I call someone?”

His eyes slide shut and for a moment she thinks he’s given in, sunk down low where his pain and his ailments can’t get him. He taps a finger against her palm and she understands he’s still here. “Morgan?” he rasps.

She nods, “Derek already knows you’re here. I imagine he’ll have the whole crew here in no time.” He grimaces, cracking an eye open to give her a look she understands entirely. She’s only ever faced their smothering worry once when Hank was born but she knows it’s a lot. It’s hard to imagine they’re going to somehow be less present and attuned with him than they with her. He’s not looking forward to that and it’s understandable. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “I’ll have your back when they get here.”

He nods, dull eyes sinking back under his eyelids. She holds his hand until she’s certain he’s fallen asleep.

“So,” the nurse asks softly. She moves and tubes and wires around so that they’re not laying against his bare skin. Folding the blankets over Hotch’s hips and leaving his chest bare. He’s still tachycardic, breathing laboriously through inflamed lungs. “How do you know this guy?”

Savannah sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Hotch’s hand into her own. Working her thumb in gentle, hypnotic motions between his knuckles and smiling sadly at the relieved rasping sigh that leaves his parted pale lips. “Family,” she answers because she’s not sure what the answer really is but in some way… yeah, family.

The nurse nods, going about what needs to be done while Savannah stays on the edge of the bed. She does what she can until she clears her throat. “Hey,” the nurse smiles, sympathetic to the soft faraway look in Savannah’s eyes. “Doctor Hamilton admitted him so I need to take him up to the--”

Savannah stands immediately, nodding. “Yeah,” she lays his hand back down on his chest. Stepping away from the bed, “sorry.” She shakes her head, stepping back as the brakes come up and he’s set into motion. “Second floor?” Savannah assumes.

The nurse nods, “he’ll be in room one seventeen. I’ll let the desk know he’s one of yours.”

Savannah watches him disappear down the hall, met at the mouth of the hall by other nurses and staff nodding as they take him to the right floor. She’d been there long enough to see his heart monitor and to identify the ventricular tachycardia plaguing him. He’ll likely need a pacemaker and she’s already racing to a solution. He’ll need to be monitored after surgery but can go home. Hank’s a little too small still but they have the guest room. If Derek cleans up the mess he lets Hank make in there--

Savannah’s heart sinks to the floor and she turns around. Hit with the sudden memory of the last event she saw Hotch at and remembers slowly that Hotch has a son and someone needs to find him.

All morning something had been off, Hotch didn’t have to say it for Jack to know. The oatmeal was made oddly, Hotch’s hands trembling so much he’d gotten the measurements wrong. Too much brown sugar but Jack hadn’t seemed to mind it being too sweet. He’d been distracted by his oatmeal and unalarmed by signs he hasn’t learned to be aware of. If Hotch had gotten up late or made breakfast and then laid down on the couch then Jack would have noticed. Bad days come frequently and like most storms look and sound distinct.

High anxiety days are an early rise, the sound of lights being turned on and off as Hotch fails to get comfortable in any room. Coming out of his room and finding his father curled up on the couch. His knees drawn up and a pillow pressed into his chest, a heated blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. It’s lightly tiptoeing around the house so Hotch stays asleep and avoids him once he does move and allows his aching back to stretch out. Jack knows to keep his music down and to call Jessica if Hotch locks himself away.

Though time has dampened it’s severity it’s not impossible to find his father trying to work through untreated PTSD or ride out an intense wave of depression. Leaving him immobile or desperate for a distraction. Jack knows those things. He understands them and, like the blasting siren that screams out before a tornado, Jack knows when to duck for cover and ride out the storm.

But Jack had no idea what a heart attack would look like. What to expect or even if a heart attack had been what he’d seen.

Hands over his ears, Jack Hotchner sinks into the emotionless walls surrounding him. Trying to find the place past his body where everything ceases to exist. Insistently, against his will, he’s pulled back to a decade ago. To the sound of gunshots tearing through the only home he’d ever known. To Emily wiping his tears away with the palm of her hand, their backs to the carnage his father created in the fall. To a hospital not unlike this one where his father was patched up - open wounds covered and drugs numbing his rough edges - until Jack had finally been able to see him. The feeling of his father’s chest, broad and forever, solid as he’d curled his legs into his lap. His father cried softly as he explained what happened, what he’d done.

“Mommy isn’t coming home, buddy.”

Pinching his eyes shut, Jack rocks himself back and forth. He can’t go there. Not alone. He can’t go back to Foyet. He’s too old for those silly games. Too old for nightmares and monsters hiding under his bed. Unaware of the ones still crawling out of his father’s closet, wrapping their cold fingers around his ankle and threatening to pull him into the darkness with them.

You’re never too old for monsters.

Spencer had found the time to confide in Jack about being raised by a mentally ill single mother. His intent was to demonstrate to Jack that not only did he understand the pre-teens intense fury with his father but that the emotions would abate and Jack would have only a few moments to decide what to do next. How Spencer had turned eighteen and had to have his mother committed to an institution. A decision that haunted him but that he ultimately understood it was simply the only option. One day, Spencer clarified, Jack would understand the way his father worked.

Until that moment, Jack had been more or less paying attention. When it came to all things Uncle Spence, Jack typically has a longer attention span and all the patience in the world but the moment Jack realizes this was a one-on-one sort of deal he was done. He wanted out. But Reid stuttered. That one day, and the words had come out so quickly if he’d had a chance Reid would have stopped them, Jack would realize just what that meant. He’d look at his father and all the magic of his childish love would fall away and Jack would be left with his father’s bare bones. And it would be terrifying but, often, that’s all love is: all the bits bleached down to their true forms.

He gets it now, okay? The nutty academic parent with bouts of deep depression, an obsession with their jobs, and no idea how to say I love you like everyone else. He gets the comparison now. Can he be done? He wants to go home. He’s done learning this stupid lesson about love or whatever bullshit this is supposed to represent. When does it end? It’s going to end, right?

Derek Morgan falters in the doorway, stalled like an engine as he stands at the edge of the messy room. Hank hums in Derek’s left ear, bouncing his foot against Derek’s hip as he stands stationary and trying to wrap his head around everything happening. It’s overwhelming. Derek hasn’t seen Hotch in two years and if the sight of him alone - laid out right here - doesn’t bring its own intense wave of anger and longing then the sight of his uncovered chest is it’s own thing as well.

Hotch is on the bed, curled slightly to his right with the blankets leaving his pale chilled skin open. Even with his face turned into the pillow behind his head, he looks deathly pale in comparison to the white bedspread. Entirely too limp, too still as he lays there pulling in breaths audible over the hiss of the canal running under his nose. Nearly drowned out, consumed by the natural hums of the hospital and constant motion of the monitors to his left and the dissatisfied beep of the blood-pressure cuff around his right arm.

Savannah warned him of what he’d find once he got inside in case she got called away to a patient when he got there. She told him the buzz around the staff, what Hotch’s cardiologist thought and it stung to hear her warn him ahead of time what Hotch looked like, worse, she imagined, than what Derek was imaging. Weaker, she’d said as if the word was some sort of betrayal. He’s weak and Derek can’t push him and he’d wanted to advocate for himself but he couldn’t.

With tears in his eyes, he’d promised to be on his best behavior and Derek realized just how awful he and Hotch could be towards one another. How everyone sees it. He’d wondered if… Well, if Hotch hated him for it. They’d been close once. Partners. Haley used to joke she half expected he’d steal Aaron away from her. That old joke used to make Jason laugh so hard, the two of them together were the cause of all his worry and stress. Now…

Well, now Derek is standing in a room that can’t be more than a 120-foot space with far too much equipment in it feeling like he’s never been so far away from Hotch. So disconnected.

Hotch makes a soft sound from the bed, twitching his nose and flexing his fingers. There are more drugs than blood in him, keeping him weak and tired and unable to pick apart his surroundings. Hazy eyes blink open, peeled apart like they each weigh twenty pounds, and the simple act of keeping them open burns. He can’t make out the world around him very well but he sees the empty chairs on his left and the expanse of white all around. The hospital, he knows, and no one showed up.

Maybe they finally got wise and are leaving him to his own devices. Leaving him to rot where he won’t be missed. Sinking into the fibers of the bed and disappearing. They’ll stop pumping him so full of drugs and just let him wilt away. He wants it, craves the nothing he knows he’ll find. No masks or deception or this anger he feels burning and rearing its ugly head. Just nothing.

Derek steps into the room, sniffling to draw in some noise before he steps into Hotch’s line of sight. Hoping not to startle him, as he clears his throat, meeting Hotch’s gaze for only a moment looking down at his shoes. “Just me and Hank,” he offers. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He can feel Hotch still looking at him, hearing those painstakingly slow, labored breaths. He wishes he hadn’t come. To escape all this restless vulnerability.

Hotch’s eyes sink back shut, pale lips parting to mumbling, “Derek,” under his breath. Savannah told him Hotch wouldn’t even likely know he was there. The drugs are affecting his mental facilities, sedating him to keep him calm while they run tests. When he can remember what’s happening he’s scared and when he can’t… he has a baseline memory that hardly differentiates friend from foe. It’s the latter of which Savannah needs him to be aware of because Hotch’s heart can’t handle the stress. His mind is too clouded and his body too weak, he just needs someone to hold his hand. Someone to distract him.

Derek’s expecting a conversation. For Hotch to say something. To apologize for running off or to pay Hank some sort of mind. There’s not even a stiff silence, Hotch looks so weak, so pliant Derek isn’t sure he can even speak. He realizes that despite all the hefty warnings, despite everything that he was told he still walked into this room expecting Aaron Hotchner. He wanted, he needed the man in the suit, with that stern scowl, and gravelly voice. He’d needed the mask and instead he got the man. The man without the armor, just blood.

And it scares him.

It scares Derek that Hotch can’t put up his shields, that he can’t hide and play their cat and mouse game of anger and misunderstanding. They only have blind defeat.

Derek sits down in the visitor’s chair, shushing Hank when he squirms with agitation. Hank immediately starts touching everything in sight. Reaching and leaning dangerously out of Morgan’s lap, to touch the bed and smack his hand against the rail. A sound that makes Hotch’s eyes peel open to slivers before they shut again, unbothered. “Don’t touch that,” Derek pulls Hank into his lap, redirecting his attention.

He knows, from the low whine Hank lets out, that this isn’t going to work for very long. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door and Savannah peeks her head in. Waving at Hank who fights his limbs out of Derek’s hold to be placed on the floor so he can propel his body in the direction of his mother.

“Hello baby,” Savannah scoops him right up. Grinning at that way he toddles, that quick toddler pace because he doesn’t know how to pump the brakes. How to set himself into motion that isn’t just guided by leaning forward and running.

Derek stands from his chair, clearing his throat and glancing down at Hotch before looking back to his wife and son.

Savannah can see his hesitation, his worry. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and get a snack? Hmm?” She jogs Hank up in her arms and he brightens at the offering - knowing pudding or a cookie is coming his way. “Derek?” She offers out her hand to him, “come on. I’ll explain everything to you downstairs.”

“Ugh--” all he can see is Hotch shivering. His skin slick with sweat from the strain on his body but the way he’s curled into the side. Trying to produce warmth where it isn’t. “Just give me a second.” Derek knows he can’t just throw the blanket over Hotch and he works himself up, gets upset just thinking about the mass of awful scars keeping his friend held together. All the old scars are bare for anyone and everyone to see. If Hotch had the presence of mind for it, he’d be upset.

With a gentleness born with great amounts of stress, Derek gently works the lower half of the blanket over Hotch’s leg. He folds the lower half over and hesitates, stares at Hotch, and wonders just how much he’s allowed. Hotch is cold and Derek knows that means his arms too but that crosses their line. They’re never spoken out loud, only shot through glances about trust and touch but Hotch is asleep or maybe lost to his haze of drugs (and Derek’s not really sure if there’s a difference between those two things). So, he picks up Hotch’s hand, swallowing against the uncomfortable swell of his throat when he feels just how cold the other man’s skin is. He tucks Hotch’s hand carefully against his chest.

Hotch’s face twitches, a grimace that makes him jerk his head but he doesn’t move his hand so Derek leaves it. Carefully, still watching and waiting for some explosive reaction but none come. Derek turns the heated blanket up to the highest setting, making sure even Hotch’s shoulders are covered. Tucking the blanket just under his chin.

Hotch groans from the back of his throat, a startling noise that comes with blinding panic. His eyes fly open, darting around the room and to Derek but not seeing. Derek can’t tell if it’s pain or fear but the machine over his shoulder picks up pace, reflecting Hotch’s distress. Hotch swallows thickly, mouth opening and eyes flicking around the room. Twisting, fighting his body in a futile battle where he loses no matter the outcome. Kicking out and dislodging blankets as he’s blinded by his pain.

“Step back Derek.” Derek just stands there, frozen. Savannah grabs him by the arm and pulls him back, allowing other people to come into the room. “He’s okay,” she mumbles, eyes glued to Hotch. He’s fighting blindly, anything and everything. His heart can’t take it, her eyes flick from his bare skin to the monitors. To the staff also taking note. “Derek, we can’t be in here.”

They pull the crash cart close, preparing vials of medicine before their eyes.

“What’re they--” Derek can’t move. He stands there watching them move blankets out of the way. Listening as they pull open a drawer and settle a machine on top and he knows what it is. Doesn’t need to be told what’s happening next. “Savannah.” He stumbles back, shaking his head. The machine wines, a high-pitched squeal that makes Derek’s heart pick up.

He doesn’t see, doesn’t watch.

He’s standing in the hall when the machine fires off. Can close his eyes but can’t unhear the sound of Hotch’s low groan, a punched-out sound but he’s alive. Still pulling in breaths.

“Morgan?”

He was still a baby the last time Morgan saw him. Quickly trying to climb to his father’s height but every bit as graceful as a colt, and angry. Angry with his father for falling into this same repeated history and questioning what he knew. How much of his father’s strength is something else? What does he really know about the man who raised him? Because he got himself a chunk of history, started to understand the man he’d always blindly turned to. His hero. Instead, he got glimpses, stories about the boy his mother knew and he could no longer recognize him.

But standing here now is a whole teenager. Blonde hair grown out and even taller, built unmistakably like his father with all height in his legs and pale.

“Jack.” Morgan stumbles back when Jack collides into him, long arms wrapping around him. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “When the hell did you get so big?” He’s standing there, a whole armful of the kid he used to give piggyback rides to.

Jack pulls away and wipes his eyes, furiously wipes his eyes so that Morgan can unsee the tears streaming down his face. “My-- My dad,” he asks. “Did you see him?” Jack looks at the room, alerted by the sounds coming from within, but Morgan steps in the way. “Morgan is he-- is he in there?” Jack worms his way out of Morgan’s arms, a whole tangle of long limbs.

Hotch would be proud to know Jack is exactly like him, real scrappy. A lot of fight for such a lanky person.

“Jack,” Morgan pulls him away from the door. Despite how much he wants to go to Hotch too, that’s not where Jack should be. That’s not what Jack should see. “Come on, kid. We can’t go in there. Come on.” The fight leaves him easily enough, he’s really just a kid standing there looking for someone to tell him what to do. Anyone to point him where he’s supposed to be.

Jack still wants to turn, as if pulled by strings.

“I called Rossi,” Morgan offers. Something to distract him, something good. “Everyone else? Reid and Garcia and Emily? They’re on their way, okay?” And even with loaded promises Jack can’t find the nerve to respond. Their names used to be a solace. Someone to call when he needs help with his math homework. To show up with books on whatever cool thing he’s into this week. His family.

People he hasn’t seen in forever.

They do come.

Hank’s ambling about, babbling to Morgan as he pulls his father around the waiting room. It’s his excited squeal that alerts them to the other’s arrival. To Reid holding the door open so the others can pass. The pile-up that happens, shocked inhales and silence as they stand there and look at the carnage. At Jack’s tear-stained face and Morgan going where Hank pulls but empty, fearful.

“Uncle Dave?” Jack stands up, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dave smiles, “hey kiddo.” He doesn’t argue against the armful of Jack he gets, just closes him up. “Christ,” Dave whispers. “You’re a giant.”

“What is he feeding you?” Jack turns around and finds Emily and all she can do is laugh as he hugs her too. Finds herself all wrapped up in his long arms. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” she whispers, “letting you get so big.” She squeezes him tight, cups the back of his head.

There’s not much more time for reunions, never much time for anything.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Never get used to this part either. The sitting. The waiting. The calling.

Savannah was right about the tachycardia.

“With your permission - ” and it’s important that detail be added. That Hotch can’t make this decision for himself anymore and it’s resting entirely on the shoulders of Jessica or Dave and Emily alternatively. That doesn’t mean it’s not like a kick to the gut. A cruel taunt. “We would like to prepare him for the surgery now while he’s stable.” Stable? Is that what he is? Laying back there with defibrillator pads on his chest and sedated to the point that Morgan wasn’t sure Hotch could even recognize him.

Jack sniffles, ducking his head and whispering to Emily. Attached to her hip, clinging to her. She shakes her head and brushes his hair back, “it doesn’t work like that, Jack.” Jack’s lower lip trembles and it breaks Emily’s heart so she interrupts the doctors. Despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this isn’t a good idea. Despite the sour twist in her stomach. The way she knows Hotch wouldn’t want this. “I know there are strict rules,” and that alone should be enough to know they’re likely to be shot down. “Is there any chance he can go back before the surgery? This is his son, he’s fifteen. He’ll be sixteen soon. You’re hardly breaking the rules at all.”

Soon is a bit of a stretch. Jack’s an October baby.

The doctor looks at Jack and sighs like this is really putting him off but nods. “Yeah, quickly. Five minutes, do you understand? You can’t be back there long,”

And Jack thinks he’s won something grand. That he’ll be faced with the same mirage Morgan was expecting. His dad will be sitting back there tall and strong, probably just tired like he’s sick. But he takes one step into the room and wishes he hadn’t come. Hadn’t asked.

They haven’t removed the defibrillator pads on his chest just pulled a blanket over his stomach but that only minimally covers the damage. There are still visibly warped bullet wounds and jagged surgical scars to be seen. But Dave has seen all that. He’d been there to watch the blood spray out when the scar on Hotch’s shoulder took place. Shouted as the gunshot sprayed out and Hotch grunted, being sent back into the wall behind him. But that was… God, that was a lifetime ago when Hotch was just a kid.

Dave turns behind him and sees Jack frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jack nods but he can hardly move, can’t force himself to move further into the room. He’s seen his father shirtless, not enough times to really gather anything but he’s seen the damage of years of this job has caused. But this is different. Jack isn’t six, isn’t watching him shave. He’s standing there watching him pull in laborious breaths, struggling to keep living.

“You know,” Rossi sits down in the visitor’s chair. “When you were born he cried so hard that Gideon had to call me.” He looks back at Jack, watching his face for some inclination that he’s going to either come into the room or run away. “Haley was exhausted but… She was beautiful, always was. No matter if she was showing up at the office to haul your father home by the ear in her pajamas or crying her make-up off in the waiting room waiting for your knucklehead father to get out of surgery.”

But he’s missed the point.

He chances a glance to Hotch, watching his pale face twist in discomfort. “You were born at eleven at night and by that point I was already in bed and done for the night by ten kind of guy.” He can still remember sighing and almost ignoring his phone when it had gone off. “I got to the hospital and your dad was sitting on the floor just outside the room, sobbing so hard I thought he’d pass out.” It’s still pretty surprising he didn’t pass out. “Didn’t think he could do it. You were so small, small, and pink and screaming your little head off.”

Jack huffs, smiling as he kicks at the ground. Looking everywhere but his father or Dave.

“But I picked him up,” grabbed him by his shirt and forced him to his feet. Managing the tough love Gideon couldn’t bring himself to enforce. “I don’t think he stopped crying until he fell asleep. Just sitting there with you in his arms crying.” Rossi sighs shakes his head. “Honestly, you were tiny. Had a-- Had a thing with your heart and…” Rossi had held Jack after Hotch and Haley finally managed to catch some sleep. A nurse had figured he or Gideon one had to be a grandfather, why else would they be there? They’d sat there with Jack for about an hour just gushing over how small and cute he was. Trying to keep the baby content so Haley could get some sleep.

Drowsily his voice cuts through the silence, nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “An atrial septal defect.” It’s all he can manage but it’s enough to get their attention. Jack had been born with an atrial septal defect and they knew about it in advance just after Haley’s pregnancy got tricky. It was just a tiny little hole in his atrium, closed before he was a whole year old. That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the hell out of them first. Leave them to check his bassinet every few hours. To make sure he was okay, still breathing.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t play soccer because of it.” Jack manages a few steps and comes to the very end of the bed. His fingers just barely touching the bed frame. “But you let me play anyways.”

Hotch clears his throat, shakes his head. “I didn’t. Jessica did.” He grimaces, shifting uselessly to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “Said-- She said if you were anything like me you’d find a way.” He’s talked himself breathless, gasping and fighting to breathe. “Might as well-- Might as well make it easy on myself. Just let you do it.” So he had. He signed Jack up for soccer despite his own fears and went to every match he could. Every practice. Until he was the only parent paying attention.

He coughs softly, setting off a weight and ache in his lungs. “Jessica--” he cuts himself off, coughing until he holds his breath and fists the sheets in his hand to keep from still.

Jack looks away, fixes his eyes on the floor.

Dave calls it. Hotch won’t admit he’s not okay and Dave would venture Jack has that same stubborn-streak, doesn’t want to think that Hotch isn’t okay.

“Come on,” Dave motions for Jack to follow him. “Times up, better get out of here before they kick us out.” Five or so minutes, that’s all they had and that’s passed. “You’ll be fine,” Dave promises.

He struggles to get his breath, to say something coherent. “Wait,” he grabs Dave’s shirt. Hospitals are so cold, they’re scary and miserable and he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Dave pulls Jack on, can’t leave him behind, and can’t stay any longer.

“What did he mean?” Jack asks. He keeps looking back, looking over his shoulder to the room. “Why’d he say that?” He has to run to keep up with Dave’s pace. “Dave, please. Why’d he say he was sorry?”

Dave stops and just stands for a moment, looking at the hall before them. “He’s scared,” Dave answers, finally. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

He doesn't think he’s going to make it. That’s the horrible ugly truth. That’s why he apologized. Just in case.

“Come on,” Dave holds out his arm. Smiles a smile that doesn't even try to make it to his eyes and wraps an arm around Jack. “It’s going to be okay. You know that?”

Jack looks back over his shoulder once more, to the room. He doesn’t buy it for a second but he nods anyway. “Course,” he answers.

“Good. That’s good.”

[marvelmadam08]

Baby Blues 17/?

Summary: Alex and Chris have their first scare as parents.

Warnings: Blood, emergency hospital visits, slight angst. Fluff.

A/N: So sorry for the delay in posting. I’ve been in a serious downward spiral for a while lately, along with some family drama (I’ll spare the details) but I’m back and will do my best to keep posting regularly.

~~~~~~

11 Weeks ( and 5 Days) Old

Chris was stressed. He was going back and forth between home and work, and when he was home he'd work some more. He would wake up early and drag himself to bed long after both Alex and Ace went to sleep, not that it would make much of a difference. Ace would still cry when Chris would try to hold him or go anywhere near Alex. Now he knew how Dodger felt for the last three months.

Chris quietly shut the front door behind him, knowing that Ace would be in the middle of another nap right about now. He stopped in the doorway of the nursery, it was cooler than usual; the window next to the crib opened just enough to let some fresh air breeze through. Ace was soundly asleep, his tiny fist was halfway in his mouth covered in drool. He made his way down the hall to his own room. Alex was on the bed, Dodger curled up by her side, her focus on the laptop in front of her while she typed away. He took in how she looked, her freshly washed curls were out, which he loved; and she was wearing her ‘lucky’ writing shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Hey babe.” Alex grinned. Chris climbed up on the other side of Alex, draping his arm over her lap and sighing deeply “Rough day?”

“Something like that.” He turned to look at the laptop screen “What are you writing?”

Alex covered his eyes “Nothing.”

“Is it about me?” Chris tickled her side, Alex half shrieked, trying to push his hands away

“Chris, cut it out- you know I don’t show you my chapters until I’m ready.”

“C’mon, I just wanna make sure you’re writing me accurately, as a loving supportive, sexy husband- ‘with eyes that rivaled the bluest of oceans’-”

Alex cringed at the memory of her slurring those words to Chris after an eventful Girls Night Out she had with her old college friends. They were engaged at the time, drunk Alex thought sending Chris a 'sexy' voice message would be the best way to rile him up for when she got home. When she woke up the next morning, with a massive hangover and no solid memory of the rest of the night, Chris was there with aspirin and let her listen to the voice message and watch the video of her trying to sneak back in the house without being caught.

“I told you that in a drunken state!” Alex pulled the pillow from behind her and smacked her laughing husband in the face. “You’re such a jerk.”

"Now you're in trouble." Chris sat up, pushing the laptop off her lap and tickling Alex's sides

"Chris, I didn’t mean it." She said between giggles “Get him Dodge.”

Dodger sat up, ears twitching slightly, before he bounced off the bed and ran out the room all together. 

“Traitor.” Alex pouts

Chris pushed himself up on his knees, his hands grabbing Alex by her legs and pulling her closer. His eyes roamed over her body, one hand rested on her thigh while the other cradled the back of her head; playing with the tiny coils there.

“Chris, you’re gonna mess up my hair.” Alex smirked

“Then put the bonnet on and let me do what I need to do.” he whispered, now leaning in closer to press his lips to hers.

Dodger ran back into the room, whining loudly before barking. 

“Shh, Dodge you’re gonna wake the baby!” Chris shushed. Dodger barked again, with more fervor, Ace cries shortly followed, he ran out once more; still barking and growling. “Dodger, enough!”

Alex huffed before pulling away from Chris. “I’ll get Ace.”

“I can do it.” Chris offered

“No, it’s fine, but do me a favor and grab my bonnet.” she winked slipping out of his grasp in time to keep him from smacking her ass. Chris jumped up from his spot on the bed to rummage through the dresser for the silk bonnet.

"Chris!" Alex shrieked

"Al?" He ran for the nursery, Alex was practically halfway in the crib scrambling to get Ace, Dodger was doing his best to climb inside the crib too "What’s wrong? What happened?"

Something jumped out the crib, Dodger took off after it, giving Chris room to see what was happening. Ace was nearly red in the face, crying and scared; a small series of scratches covered his face and arms.

"There was a squirrel in the crib, it must’ve gotten in through the window." Alex picked Ace up holding onto him closely "Mama's here, it's okay I got you."

"We gotta take him to the hospital." Chris was already grabbing the carrier and nearby baby bag. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Alex gently laid Ace in the carrier and strapped him in, he continued to cry and squirm

***

Ace's cries carried on the whole ride to the hospital. Alex and Chris were talking over each other when the nurse asked what was wrong, thankfully she was able to understand and rushed a doctor over.

They both watched the nurse apply a soothing aloe lotion to the scratches, while they sat on the other side of the room. Ace rested in the incubator, staring back at the nurse, from time to time he would turn his head in the direction of Alex’s voice.

“It’s all my fault, I’m so fucking stupid.” Alex sniffled, rubbing her legs, partly to comfort herself but also because she was cold, not thinking to grab longer pants before leaving the house. 

"No, Al it is not your fault, and you are not stupid." Chris shrugged off his long sleeve flannel, draping it over Alex's legs then wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“I left the window open.”

“You made a mistake, mistakes happens all the time with first time parents.”

“How many first time parents let a wild, rabid squirrel into their newborns room?” Alex huffed “He hasn’t even gotten his second round of shots yet. He could get rabies or typhus, maybe ringworm.”

“He’s going to be fine, the doctor said the cuts weren’t that deep and we got him here in time to catch anything.” Chris kissed the top of her head “He’s gonna be fine, Al. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, we’re all done.” the nurse cooed at Ace, placing mittens on both of his hands to keep him from scratching “The doctor should be back in just a moment to let you know how the tests went.”

“Thank you.” Alex was the first one up, hurrying over to the incubator “Hi baby. Mommy is so sorry for letting that mean old squirrel scratch you up.”

Chris walked over to the other side, smiling down at his son. “Hey bud.” he smirked slightly watching Ace rub his face with the mittens “You know we owe Dodger something special, for scaring that squirrel off.”

“He probably mauled that thing.” Alex stated, then poked out her bottom lip at Ace “Didn’t he, didn’t Dodger attack that nasty little squirrel that scratched up your face.”

“We should get him a treat on the way back.” Chris stuck a hand inside the incubator, stroking Ace’s cheek gently. “And we should probably move Ace’s crib from by the window.”

“Agreed.” Alex looked up when the room door opened again, seeing the doctor walk in “Good news?” 

“Luckily majority of the scratches weren’t that deep, and the ones that were didn’t show signs of any other infections. No traces of rabies or any other diseases in his blood, which is extremely lucky considering he still hasn’t had his second round of vaccines yet.” he doubled checked the clipboard, “I will recommend that if any of the scars start oozing or he shows signs of swelling, that you come back to see me. As well as changing his soaps to ones with Aloe, to keep him from scratching.”

“Of course, thank you.” Chris shook the doctor’s hand “Are we all set to take him home?”

“Absolutely. As soon as you sign the release papers.”

***

Dodger was at the door as soon as it opened, he sniffed at Alex and Chris, looking for Ace; whining softly.

“Ace is alright, Dodge.” Alex assured, Dodger followed after her to the bedroom. She laid Ace down in his bassinet, currently still asleep from the car ride home. 

Dodger padded over to the bassinet, curling up next to it. Alex knelt down to pet him, giving him well deserved belly rubs and ear scratches. "Good boy Bubs."

"Very good boy." Chris came up behind Alex with a hefty bone for Dodger that they picked up on the way home. His ears perked up at the sight and he sat up waiting for Chris to hand it over "Proud of you, Bubba."

Dodger wasted no time gnawing on the bone, remaining in the protective spot next to the bassinet.

“I think this was a quickest he’s gone to sleep.” Chris stated in reference to Ace, a small smirk on his face hearing his son’s soft nasally snores. 

“The aloe lotion and the drive put him right to sleep.” Alex secured the mittens on Ace’s hands. Chris wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer and rested his chin on her shoulder. “He looked so helpless today, so scared. And it was my fault I never have him nap in a different room and the one time I do- this happens.”

“It wasn’t your fault Al, you couldn’t have known.” Chris spoke softly “Do you know how many times my brother and I have sent each other to the hospital?”

“I heard the stories Chris, you practically tortured your poor brother.” Alex sighed “Are you saying that, this is gonna be the first in a long roster of hospital visits?”

“I’m saying, look at him. He’s here, he’s healthy, and he’s going to be okay.” Chris kissed Alex’s cheek “Let’s get to bed.”

Alex half pouts, but allowed Chris to pull her over to the bed. “But I’m not tired.”

“Then you can keep me company, because I’m exhausted.”

They both settled on to their respected sides of the bed, but still drifted to the middle; Alex curled into Chris's side, letting her head rest on his chest and his arm wrapped protectively around her.

“When did you become the voice of reason in this relationship?”

“After all these years, I’m still full of surprises.” Chris kissed her on the forehead “Now go to sleep.”

“You’re bossy.” Alex yawned

Chris woke up again around four in the morning, not that he truly went to sleep, each time he closed his eyes he kept hearing Alex screaming, Ace crying, and something even more rabid or dangerous than a squirrel was in the crib next to him. He acted a lot braver than he let on today, giving Alex positive assurance while his own thoughts were just as frightful for the outcome. 

He slipped out from under Alex without waking her, walking up to the side of the bassinet. Ace stared back at him with sleepy eyes, rubbing his face with his mitten covered hands.

"Hey bud, you're supposed to be sleeping." He whispered, gently picking Ace up in his arms. There was no fussing and no crying this time, Chris held Ace to his chest bouncing from foot to foot to lull him back to sleep. “I’m gonna tell you a little secret, just don’t tell Momma, but I was really scared today, seeing you all scratched up and hurt. It felt like my heart stopped, it probably did a few times.” he kissed the top of Ace’s head “I’m not gonna let anything hurt you again, I promise.”

Alex stirred, feeling the empty space next to her "Chris?" She focused her eyes on her husband standing over the bassinet "What's wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong, we just couldn't sleep."

“Bring him over here.” Alex patted his empty space. Chris laid back in bed, still cradling Ace against his chest, Alex returned to Chris’ side. Dodger hopped up next, pawing at the bed for permission. “You too, let’s go.”

He hopped up, nestling himself between their legs, curling up at the foot of the bed.

“Better?” he asked her

“Much better.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @madbaddic7ed @sweetie20 @kidkool90 @maleekabenjamin @sophiayoongi-hyung @lovelokiqueen @loki8484 @buckysforeverprincess @dezdechild @marantha @lydslikestyds @wakandabiitch2 @across-the-starss @hbh6064th @jaydeee86 @alexabrown7 

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 31

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2069

Warnings:  Pregnancy, labor, surgery, breastfeeding

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 31: The Whole Family

I was in full active labor seven hours after I lay down to nap with Steve.  My water broke at around nine that night, but it was just a small trickle and it took a little while for me to realize it had happened.

It was quite a strange feeling to be in labor while everything was just going on as normal around you.  We were experts at it this time, so babies were being breastfed and given tummy time.  Dinner was served and eaten together.  Riley and Pietro were given their stories and a bath before being put into bed and all the while I was getting these strong, debilitating pains that lasted barely anytime every 20 minutes or so.  There was a rotating roster of people who stuck by my side depending on what needed to be done in the house and when all the kids were down for the night Tony suggested that maybe we should just go down to the Medbay and see how things were going.  Turns out the answer to that question was; ‘not well’.

“Elise, honey,” Doctor Schroeder said, as I lay back on the bed with a bunch of probes attached to me, and one inserted inside me and attached to the crown of the baby’s head.  “The baby is in distress, we really need to do the c-section.”

“What?” I said, the alarms beeping around me as my blood pressure shot up. “No, no, no, no, no.”  Beside me, all the color had drained from Tony’s face and he started fidgeting where he stood.

“It’s going to be fine,” the doctor said.  “But he needs to come out.  We need to put you under as soon as possible.”

“But… I…” I couldn’t think straight.  I didn’t know why he would be in distress now.  I had made plans.  I’d gone into labor, I was supposed to deliver like Wanda and Natasha had.

“El, princess,” Sam said, stepping close to me and crouching down by the bed.  I looked at him, still panicking.  “Honey, I’ll stay with you the whole time.  Okay?  I won’t leave your side for one second.  We’ll get Edwin out and when you wake up, we’ll all have a happy and healthy baby boy.”

I felt tears prick my eyes but I nodded, feeling a little bit more sure about things.  Everyone backed off a little and I was moved onto a surgical bed and set up with an IV and wheeled into surgery.  Everything felt like a blur as I was given an anesthetic and oxygen and talked off to sleep.  I remember the last thing I could focus on was the light above me and Sam’s voice telling me he was right here with me and everything would be okay.

The next thing I was really aware of was my throat hurting and how cold I felt.  “Hey, El,” Sam said, gently.  “You waking up?”

I managed to force my eyes open but they fell closed again right away, I shook my head slowly.

“It’s okay, princess,” Sam said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.  “You can keep sleeping if you want to.  Everyone is fine.  Edwin was crying up a storm as soon as he took a breath.  He’s with the others now.  His feet and hands were a little blue and his pulse was a little high, but everything settled once he got used to being out in the big bad world.  They don’t think he’s going to need to be in intensive care or anything.  Just your blood pressure stressing him out.”

I relaxed as Sam spoke and seemed to doze off for five minutes or so before waking again.  A nurse came over to check me over.  “Do you have any pain, Doctor Cooper?”

I nodded and pointed to my stomach where they had cut.

“Do you want some pain medication?”  She asked.

I nodded again and started crying - though I wasn’t actually sure what was setting it off.

“Hey, El,” Sam soothed.  “It’s okay, honey.  I’m still here.”

“And you’re going to see your baby very soon,” the nurse added as she adjusted something on my IV.  The pain started to back off again, but I couldn’t seem to stop crying.

“What’s upsetting you, princess?”  Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” I cried, my voice raspy.

“Aww, honey,” Sam soothed.  “Having a bad reaction to the GA leaving your system.  It’s alright.  It’ll back off soon.”

I’m not sure how long it took to start feeling more awake but they brought me juice and crackers and checked me over before letting me go to my room where the others were waiting with Baby Edwin.  Sam stayed by my side the whole time, talking me through every little medical thing that they did so I wouldn’t worry.

I was wheeled into the room and was greeted by all the others who were seated around on the various couches and sofa chairs set up.  They all stood at once except for Tony who was holding the little bundle in his arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.  They said it all went fine.  How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“I'm okay.  Feel weird.  I was pregnant and now I'm not anymore,” I said.  “Usually a thing that happens between those points.”

“You had a baby,” Steve assured me.  “He's right there.  Tony’s won’t let anyone else hold him.”

“Hey! You all got a turn,” Tony argued.  “But I helped make him, I’m proud of my good work.”

“Puh-lease, Tones,” Clint snarled.  “You jizzed inside her.  Who hasn't done that?”

“Hey, not in front of the baby!” Tony said, covering Edwin’s ears and looking at Clint with a scandalized expression on his face.

“Alright, alright,” Natasha said. “I think it’s time for Elise and Sam to get their chance holding him.”

Tony got up and carried the little bundle over.  He was wrapped in a blue blanket with just his face showing and he was sleeping peacefully.  He had a fine head of brown hair and a little button nose. “Look at what we made, El,” he said as he put him in my arms.

“I can’t tell who he looks like more,” I said, looking down at him.

“Well he has blue eyes,” Tony said.  “But that could just be because they haven’t settled.”

“He’s perfect either way,” Wanda said.

I smiled down at him and ran my finger over his cheek.  “Hey, Eddie,” I said softly.  “Sorry I missed you being born and stressed you out so much.”

“He’s fine,” Wanda said.  “I promise.”

“A hearty lad,” Thor added.  “You have nothing to fear, my life.”

I smiled and kissed Edwin’s forehead.  “Good,” I said.  “That’s the main thing.”

“Not to hurry you along, El,” Sam said. “But I want a turn too.”

I giggled.  “Okay, but only because you stayed with me the whole time.”

Sam grinned and took him from me, and I lay down, closing my eyes.  “Maybe we should leave you to sleep, honey.”

I mumbled something, trying to ignore the pull of sleep, but finding it hard to resist.  “Mishka,” Natasha scolded.  “It’s the middle of the night and you just had major surgery.”

“We’ll be here when you get up, and so will Edwin,” Bruce said. “You should sleep while you can and heal so you can come back home as soon as possible.”

I nodded slowly.  “I’ll stay with her,” Tony said.

“What a shocker,” Clint teased and came over and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  “You did good, El.”

“Thanks, Clint,” I murmured.

The others all came over and kissed me goodnight before leaving.  I dozed a little while Tony fussed around and eventually set himself up to sleep on the foldout next to me.

The following day I woke up to the sound of Edwin crying.  Tony had him cradled in his arms, trying to soothe him as the nurses came and propped my bed up.  I have no idea how long I’d slept for, but the sun was up and the room was filled with flowers and balloons.

“There’s your mama,” Tony said.  “We were starting to think you were going to sleep all day long.”

“Sorry, Tony,” I said.

He shook his head.  “You’re healing.  It’s fine.”

“How’s your pain?”  One of the nurses asked as she fussed around me.

“About a seven,” I said.  “Maybe seven and a half.”

“We’ll get you something.  Are you hungry?”  The nurse asked.

I nodded.  “Very.”

“Okay,” she said.  “I’ll organize that too.  And are you going to breastfeed?”

“I’m going to try,” I said.

“Okay, let’s see if we can do that first,” she said, gesturing Tony over with Edwin.

It took a little bit of doing but we eventually had him latched and suckling.  I knew I wasn’t really producing anything much yet, the surgery would delay my milk production, but it was important to get him to suckle to bring it on.  He suckled with a scowl on his face, staring up at me with his dark blue eyes as he gripped at my breast with one little hand.

The nurse left to go order my breakfast and my pain medication and Tony sat on the side of my bed and started playing with Edwin’s hand.  “You ready to see the others?”  He asked.

“Yeah.  That’ll be good,” I agreed.

“Your mom is here.  Those are from her,” he said, pointing to a large bunch of white roses and blue irises set in a blue box with foil balloons attached that read ‘It’s a boy’.  “You okay seeing her too?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, that’s fine too.”

“FRIDAY, let them know,” Tony said.

By the time the very large group that consisted of my husbands, wives, children and mother came through the door, Edwin had stopped feeding and fallen back to sleep and I was slowly eating my way through a plate of French Toast with fresh berries.

“There she is,” Steve said, kissing me hello.  “You slept for so long.”

“I guess I was tired,” I agreed.  “I’m up now.”

“You otay, mommy?”  Pietro asked, coming over to the bed and putting his chin on the side.

“I have a big cut,” I said, caressing his hair.  “But I’m okay.  I missed you.”

“I misted you too,” he said.

Thor and Bruce lifted both Riley and Pietro up on the side of the bed.  “Be careful of your mother, she has an injury,” Thor said.

“Don’t touch her tummy,” Bruce added.

Riley immediately ignored both of her father’s instructions and gently patted my stomach.  “Tan I see?”

“It’s just a bandage right now,” I said.  “But I can show you when they come and change it if you really want.  It has stitches because they had to sew me back up.”

“Otay,” she said and promptly stole a strawberry off my plate and started eating it.

Pietro’s lip began to quiver.  “Dey sewed you up?”

“It’s okay, honey,” I said, pulling him in close.  “I’m okay and so is your new baby brother.  Did you see him?”

“Yeah, he’s borwing,” Riley said, matter-of-factly making me laugh a little.

My mom stepped forward and kissed my cheek.  “Congratulations, darling,” she said.  “He’s so beautiful.  They all are, but Edwin looks just like you when you were born.”

“Thanks, mom,” I replied.

Everyone settled around the room.  Some cradling babies while others looked over their shoulders.  Everyone was relaxed and happy and completely present as a family.  It was a little melancholy to think how back when I was born, my mother had me, and I looked so much like him, and yet I didn’t have this.  I would grow up not knowing that this deep love and devotion was a real thing.  That I wouldn’t know it until one day when I knocked over an ex-Russian assassin on the way to work and somehow that act would lead her to become fascinated by me.

In the end, it didn’t matter.  Every little thing that happened in my life led to this.  Me here with the people I loved most.  With the people who I had chosen to be a part of my life.  I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant I would lose this.  I might not have known it growing up, but my kids would.  This was my family.

~ END ~

[imaginationintowords]

Folklore [song series]

epiphany

Modern Day AU! Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years

[warnings: death]

word count: 3168

Age: 21 Year: Sep. 2015 Location: Brooklyn, NY

"So I was thinking, godparents," Bucky spoke up. He and Natasha were currently finishing setting up the baby's nursery in their new apartment.

They had found a nice two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, much to Natasha's dismay. Bucky thought it was the perfect place to start their new little family. It was also about a 20 to 30 minutes drive to Bucky's work and University campus. His mom and stepdad had even offered to help them out financially for a bit, just as long as Bucky continued on his path to graduate with his Masters in Music Technology in the Spring.

Bucky had managed to finish his bachelor's and masters program in just the span of 4 years, a whole year earlier than originally planned. He was proud of himself, if there's one thing he hadn't screwed up yet, it was his education. He had fully devoted himself to his education the last four years and it clearly paid off. He had also managed to get a good paying job at a studio as an engineer. He had his whole future all planned out, the pregnancy might've been a curve ball at the beginning but with the help of his family and therapist, he was handling it all so well.

"Oh you don't need to worry about the godparents, I have it all figured out already," Natasha tells him as she folds baby clothes, "I picked Abigail and Dylan."

Natasha on the other hand had decided to put her education on hold. Deciding she wanted to be a stay at home mom, Bucky constantly made sure that that's what she wanted. And she insisted every time that she was "made to be a stay at home mom". So Bucky had to reluctantly allow her to make that decision. 

Which was one of the reasons why his parents had offered to help out for at least the first year or two, they had known their son was already stressing about finances, and trying to respect Natasha's decision. They figured two years would be a good enough time for the couple to build up their savings.

Bucky didn't like the fact that his parents were helping out with money, but he knew him and Nat wouldn't have been able to make it just on is current income alone. At least not until after he graduated, his boss had already promised a raise once he graduated, but that wasn't until May and the baby was due in the next two weeks.  He promised to pay his parents back every cent they gave him, but they told him to just focus on being a good father.

"Abigail and Dylan?" He questioned.

"Yeah," she shrugged her shoulders.

"The same Abigail and Dylan that showed up to the baby shower high, and proceed to get drunk, because and I quote 'babies are so boring'. That Abigail and Dylan?"

"Come on James, they were just joking, plus baby showers aren't necessarily the most fun thing in the world," she rolled her eyes.

"Can we at least each choose one godparent?" He suggested, "You can have Abigail as the Godmother and I can choose The Godfather."

"Like Sam?"

"No, not Sam. Steve," Bucky tells her.

"Oh, then no," she simply said, turning her back to him to continue putting clothes away.

"What's your problem?" Bucky asks annoyed, finally having enough of her attitude, "This entire pregnancy you've been against everything I've suggested."

"Hey, you got to choose Brooklyn," she turned around pointing her finger at him.

"Yeah because I couldn't fucking afford Manhattan Natasha," he stressed, trying not to raise his voice at her, "You didn't want to know the gender of the baby? Fine. You get to name the baby? Fine. You choose the color scheme of the nursery, fine. You choose the hospital. You choose the apartment. God damn Nat, I haven't done a single thing but pay for everything."

"And I thank-you for that," she rolled her eyes.

"But you don't," he shakes his head in disbelief over her reactions, "You haven't thanked me once. I get that you're carrying our child, and I'm appreciative of that. But god damn Natasha, show me some respect. Show my family some respect!

"You didn't thank my mom, Rebecca, or Keith for everything they've done for you. For us. And I can't keep making up excuses to defend you," he raises his voice a little bit.

"If this relationship is ever going to work, you need to be respectful. You need to stop being so selfish. I get this isn't easy for you, but trust me, this isn't easy for me either. But I agreed to do this. I am stepping up. I want to be a part of my child's life. And I want us to be together and be family," he calms down, "But if you continue to act this way. I won't stay in this relationship."

"You're just going to abandon us?" Natasha asks grabbing her belly, suddenly realizing the reality of the situation.

"No, I won't abandon you both. But we won't be together," he explains, "I will always be in my child's life. I will always be there for them. I'm not going to put my child through the same thing I went through growing up. I promised myself I would never do that."

"So if that means that you and I break up, then so be it Natasha, I'll do it," he tells her, "My child will not grow up in a toxic household."

"Okay," she agrees, tears in her eyes, "I promise I will be better."

"Don't promise me Nat, just show me."

Two and a half weeks later Bucky found himself rushing an in-labor Natasha to the hospital, it was a quick k10 minute drive from their apartment. He quickly called his mom as the nurses wheeled Natasha away, with Bucky following.

Bucky's mom arrives within the next 10 minutes, as the nurses begin to prep Natasha in her hospital room.

Bucky sent a quick text to Steve and Sam, letting them know it was showtime and that he'll call them once the baby is here.

"How's Mama doing?" The doctor asked while entering the room, quickly taking her spot at the foot of the bed to examine Natasha.

"It hurts," Nat cried, as Bucky tried to soothe her.

"I know, but unfortunately you were too far dilated when you arrived, that it's too late for the epidural," the doctor softly explains, "But the good news is I feel Baby's head, so it's time to go."

Natasha looked over at Bucky, completely scared.

"It's okay," he assured her, "I'm right here. Everything's going to be okay."

He leaned down an placed a soft kiss to her lips, helping her relax a bit.

"Ready?" The doctor looks up at Natasha.

"Yes," Natasha nodded, grabbing a hold of Bucky and his mom's hands on either side of her.

10 minutes later, a soft cry was heard in the room. Bucky quickly glanced over to where the doctor was had finished pulling the baby out.

"Congrats Mommy and Daddy, it's a girl," she announced.

"A girl?" Bucky whispered in awe, tears filling his eyes. He looked over at Natasha, who looked a lot paler in color.

"Nat?" He called out for her.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her limbs went limp, and all the monitors started to go crazy.

The doctor quickly cut the umbilical chord and handed the baby off to an awaiting nurse.

"What's going on?" Bucky panicky asked.

"Get them out," the doctor told a nurse, ignoring Bucky's question.

A nurse quickly escorted Bucky and his mom out of the room.

"She's going to be okay right?" He asked his mom, tears streaming down his face.

"I don't know honey," she honestly said, wrapping her arms around her son. She never thought the first hug they shared after him becoming a father would be like this.

She continued to hold him, soothing him as she made silent prayers pleading for Natasha's safety.

10 minutes later. The same 10 minutes it took for them to arrive to the hospital. The same 10 minutes it took Natasha to bring their daughter into the world, the door opened.

Bucky quickly pulled apart from his mom to see the doctor walking out of the room.

The doctor's face was filled with sorrow. Bucky's mom immediately put her head down, already knowing the outcome.

"How is she?" Bucky asked.

"Mr. Barnes, Natasha had a postpartum hemorrhage, due to issues with her placenta," the doctor carefully explains, "Unfortunately, there was too much blood loss. We weren't able to save her. She died."

Bucky immediately broke down, his mom quickly caught him. The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his back.

He quickly pulled away after a couple of minutes, "The baby. How's the baby?"

"She's good. They took her to get checked just as a safety procedure," the doctor tells him, "She's on the pediatric floor. Would you like to meet her?"

"Yeah," he says, then pauses, "What about Natasha?"

"We can come get you to say goodbye once we get her cleaned," the doctor tells him.

"Okay, thank you," he says.

The doctor takes him and his mom to the pediatric floor. The walk was silent. No one knowing what to say. Bucky was no longer crying, but he felt numb the entire short walk. The doctor knocked quietly on a door, before opening.

"Doctor Monroe, this is Mr. Barnes, the baby's father," the doctor said, before stepping aside to let Bucky in, "Mr. Barnes, I'll have someone come get you when it's time."

"Okay, thank-you," he nodded his head.

"Are you ready to meet your daughter?" Doctor Monroe asked, Bucky nodded his head.

"Meet your Daddy baby girl," the doctor said, gently handing the baby over to Bucky.

Bucky looked down at the small baby in his arms. He was instantly overcome with so many different emotions. The doctor walked out of the room, while Bucky's mom watched from outside threw the window.

"Hi baby girl," he whispered, sniffling back his tears, "You're so beautiful. I'm your dad. And boy am I lucky that you chose me to be your Dad. I always imagined this day would've turned out a lot differently. But life sure knows how to throw some real curveballs."

"Your mom would've loved you," he paused, letting it all sink in. His daughter will have to grow up without a mother. No little girl should have to be without a mom.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, as the baby was lulled to sleep, "I am so sorry your mom won't be able to physically be here. I am so sorry you'll have to grow up without her. No one should have to grow up without a parent. And trust me, I know what that's like. But lucky for us, I had the greatest pleasure of being raised by the most strongest and kindest mother. She taught me everything I know. Your grandma is the best lady you will ever meet. Lucky for us because god knows we're going to be needing her a lot.

"But you and I are incredibly fortunate that we won't ever be alone. We have so many people who care about us. You'll have all the female leadership you can ever need. We can do this," he strongly said to the sleeping baby, "You and I. We can do this. And I promise you this, that no matter what happens, you will always have me. You're stuck with me for the rest of your life. My love for you is greater than anything, anyone I've ever loved. My love for you will always be easy and unconditional. You'll never have to prove your worth to me. You're worth more to me than you can ever possibly imagine. I love you."

Bucky placed a soft kiss to his daughter's forehead. The first kiss he will ever give her, but definitely not the last.

There was a soft knock at the door, he gently called for the person to come in.

His mom quietly opened and closed the door behind her, stepping to her son's side.

"She's beautiful," she smiled down at the little baby.

"She really is," Bucky beamed. He looked over at his mom and noticed she was holding a clipboard, "What's that?"

"Birth certificate," she tells him, "One of the nurses gave it to me. They said there's no rush to fill it out. You have time."

"Here, I can do that," he said gently holding the baby out for her to take.

"Are you sure?" She asked, switching with him.

"Yeah, I have a name anyways."

"What is it?" She looked over at the name written down:

Poppy James Barnes.

[flashback]

After that talk Bucky had with Natasha, he noticed a serious change in her attitude. She was beginning to be more relaxed and more selfless. Bucky felt a tiny weight lifted off his shoulder. Hoping that these changes in her personality would stay.

"So what do you think about James for a boy?" Natasha asked one night, as she and Bucky made dinner together in their small kitchen.

"For a middle name?" He asked confused.

"No, his first name."

"Oh," he paused, "I actually have never liked the idea of giving a child their parents' name. I feel like it doesn't really give them a chance to be their own person. If their parent is successful then they feel the stress of always having to live up to that. And if their parent is crap then they're forever stuck with that reminder of that person."

"That makes sense," she agreed, understanding where he was coming from,

"Then how about James for the middle name. Whether it's a boy or girl."

"I would actually really like that," he smiled at her, "I would like that a lot."

They gathered up their own plates, and sat at their small round table.

"So what other names have you come up with?" Bucky asked her as he took a bite of his chicken.

"Truthfully, I haven't found any good names. All the girls keep making suggestions and they're way too out there," she tells him, "I don't want them to have a name that's too hard to pronounce or spell."

Natasha's phone started to ring, Bucky got up to grab it for her from the living room. By the time he handed it over to her it stopped ringing.

"What kind of flower is that?" He asked her, noticing her phone's Lock Screen background.

"The California Poppy," she tells him.

"Why do you have that as your background?"

"Well my mom was actually from California," she says, "She met my Dad when they both went to Harvard. They fell in love, so she decided to stay out here on the East Coast.

"The only clear memory I have from her was all the stories she used to tell me about poppy season. How the color just made everything so lively. Her parents would take her every season. I remember seeing all the photos of her as a child surrounded by all the flowers. We looked a like as children," she fondly smiled,

"She always talked about taking me to go see them, but she and Dad were always so busy. Then she got sick and there just wasn't a way for us to go. My grandparents tried to get some out here but it was too late. I never did get to see the poppies."

Natasha was silent for a moment, letting what she said sink in. She's never told anyone that story before, the memory would always make her sad. But now sitting here with Bucky, pregnant with their child, for the first time in her life her mother's death didn't bring her such sadness. She could smile at the memory and know she had the utmost best time with her mother, even if it was short lived, she knew her mother loved her. And she can't wait to shower that love onto the baby inside of her, once they were out.

"We should go," Bucky says, "Once the baby is here we should go when it's poppy season. Plus it'd be nice seeing Steve and Liz's life out west."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," her eyes teared up, seeing how generous this man was in front of her, "I'd really love that."

"Poppy, that's cute," Winifred smiled.

"Yeah, Nat would've loved it."

"They said if you were ready, you can say your goodbyes," she carefully said.

"Okay, you're good with her?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to go with you? The nurses can watch Poppy."

"No. I'd feel much better if she was with family," he tells her, "I'll be fine mom. I can do this."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room.

"Take all the time you need," the nurse told Bucky, as she led him to the room Natasha's body was in.

"Thank you," he quietly said.

She opened the door for him, and he carefully stepped inside.

He walked closer to the body on the bed. He immediately started crying at the sight of her lifeless body.

"God Nat," he cried, "I am so sorry. We never even discussed the possibility of this ever happening. I never even thought of this happening. God I don't know how I am going to ever do this alone. I never imagined myself ever raising a child alone."

He takes a moment to catch his breath.

"She's beautiful Nat, so incredibly beautiful," he tells her, "I wish you would've been able to see her. Hold her. I'm going to make sure she knows everything about you. There's not going to be a day where she doesn't know about her mother."

"When poppy season arrives I'm going to make sure to take her. Every year," he wipes away a tear, "Oh, I also named her Poppy. For you. For your mom. I promise I won't let you down. She's going to have the best life ever. I'll make sure of that. Thank-you for everything you've given me. I truly did love you. Goodbye Natasha." _________________ Age: 22

Location: CA

Year: May 2016

The car comes to a stop, parking in a spot next to a bunch of other cars. Bucky, Liz, and Steve get out of the car. Steve and Liz grab a few things from the trunk, while Bucky gets the smiley baby out of the car seat. Bucky places the baby into the stroller, Steve had gotten out. The three of them began to walk towards the field of poppies.

"Wow, there's a lot this year," Liz says, "Do you want to take her out?"

"Yeah, I'll grab her," Bucky says grabbing Poppy.

He walked ahead of Liz and Steve, taking in the moment with his daughter.

"Look at all the poppies," he whispers to the almost eight month old. She had a huge smile on her face taking in the sight around her.

She was making some babbling sounds, as if to agree with her dad.

The weather was perfect. The sun shining down on them, it wasn't too hot or too cold. Bucky just stared at the flowers, with a peaceful feeling washing over him. The last few months haven't been the easiest, but he was making it. They both were making it. Being here, gave him the reassurance that he was doing good. He could feel Natasha's presence with him there. As if she was silently saying how proud she was of him.

"We're going to be fine," he said to Poppy, placing a kiss on her head.

[prfctethereal]

no body, no crime. | marauders

pairing: platonic!james potter x reader, platonic!sirius black x reader, platonic!remus lupin x reader, platonic!peter pettigrew x reader

wordcount: 3,608

warnings: this whole thing is about murder, blood, swearing, alcohol use

a/n: so i accidentally listen to no body, no crime all afternoon and felt inspired to write this. it was supposed to be shorter but oh well. let me know if i should write a part two - kennedy

***

I need your help. Come quick.

I scrawled the message onto three different spare pieces of parchment and hurried into the kitchen, opening the nearest window. The rush of fresh air could’ve been clarity for me but what was done was done. There was no changing the past, but changing the future was still on my plate.

Waving my arm in the night sky, I signalled my owl, Stefan, calling him over to the window. He hooted excitedly, eager to be put to use in the cold winter season. As he landed on my arm, a dusting of snow ruffled from his feather, onto my blood splattered torso, bouncing onto the kitchen counter. Looking down at my appearance, the severity of the situation settled in. There was a dead body in my living room and I had no idea what to do.

“Stefan, I need you to send these letters to the marauders. Go to James and Lily’s house first; it’s the closest, but whatever you do, don’t let Lily see it. Then, go to Remus’ house. Sirius is staying with him as well. They can both see the letter. Lastly, go to Peter’s house and make sure he comes. Keep pecking him on his hand if he chickens out. Can you do that for me?”

Stefan hooted loudly, which I instantly shushed, taking note of the time of day. I didn’t want to wake any of the neighbours. Once Stefan understood the instructions, I let him fly away. A comfortable silence was left in my house as I paced through the kitchen, not even thinking about what to do next.

“I need a drink.” I hummed softly for myself, swinging open the cupboard and taking out a bottle of red wine. After pouring a glass, I waited, sipping to calm my nerves.

It wasn’t long before I heard the distinguished snap of someone apparating, followed by a small squeal. James had arrived first, right into the crime scene. He called out my name, which I responded to, and he trudged into the kitchen, unable to make a coherent sentence.

What he saw was one of his best friends sitting on the ground, blood staining their shirt, a glass of wine firm in their grips, eyes glassy and dazed over.

“Are you going to explain this or…?” James trailed off, realising that he wasn’t going to get an answer quite yet.

“Wait until the others get here.” I responded monotonously, finishing the glass of wine with a single gulp. Mindlessly, I reached upwards to the kitchen counter, patting around for the bottle, before it was snatched away by none other than James Potter himself.

“Darling, if we’re going to be covering up a murder tonight, I think it would be best for you to be as sober as possible.” He cheeked, a cocky smirk on his face. It was soon wiped away by the sound of someone else crashing into the living room, followed by a high pitch yelp; a similar reaction to James’.

“[Y/N]? Did you kill someone?” It was the distinct voice of Peter Pettigrew who followed the quiet murmurings of James and I into the kitchen. When he walked through the door, he seemed to be nursing his right hand, which looked like it had been pecked over and over by an owl, most likely Stefan.

“Take a guess.” I muttered, unusually grumping as I desperately wanted to refill my glass of wine and drown out the sorrows and voices in my head. Oh no, I didn’t feel guilty for killing the man in the living room. I felt guilty for not even having any sort of conscience.

Peter joined us, sitting down on the other side of me. His eyes lit up as he noticed the bottle of wine in James’ hand, muttering a quick “thank you” before taking a swig of the burning liquid.

“The other two should be here by now.” I deadpanned. James and Peter hummed in agreement but it wasn’t long before the rest of them arrived. A knock at the front door signified that Remus and Sirius had arrived, as Remus always felt it was much more polite to apparate outside of someone’s home, instead of directly inside it.

Begrudgingly, I went to stand up, before toppling over into Peter’s lap. I hadn’t realised that the alcohol had already affected me so much, my fist clenching to my temples as I moaned in frustration. It was common knowledge that I was a lightweight. I should’ve thought of that before I let my gluttony become me.

“How about I get the door?” James suggested, standing up instead. “Besides, what if it’s not the other two? What if it’s the police? Can’t have someone covered in blood answer the door.”

As James walked off to the front door, I stayed curled up in Peter’s lap, his hand slowly stroking my shaking arm in an attempt to sooth me. New flash: it wasn’t working.

Two more screeches emerged from the living room which meant that Remus and Sirius had finally showed up. Still shaking, I finally rose from my seating position, with the help of Peter, and made my way into the living room.

It was the first time I had seen the mess I had made with a clear head, or a head that wasn’t plagued with wrath and hatred. Blood was all up the walls, coating too many surfaces to count. The body was lying face down on the carpet, fresh blood still leaking out of his corpse. A putrid smell filled the room, coming from the gas build up in the man’s body. Gagging at the sight, I held my ground, fighting the need to run away and throw up in my bathroom.

“Okay, Remus and Sirius are here now. Can you please tell us what happened?” James begged, his eyes filled with fear. I couldn’t blame him. Finding out one of his best friends had murdered someone must have been horrifying, but it was no time to ponder about the drastic change in our relationship. I needed to explain.

“Do you remember Este, the hufflepuff in our year? She was in our herbology class year seven. She was also in our potions class up until year six.” I started, looking at my friend’s around me, who were all listening intently. “Well, we’ve been friends since year one I guess. We were friends for many years. Even after we left Hogwarts, I still caught up with her. Every Tuesday night, we’d have dinner together and chat, you know, gossip about what’s going on. Anyway, one night, she was talking about her husband-”

“Husband?” Sirius interjected, completely confused. “Este never dated anyone during the entirety of Hogwarts. We’ve only been out for less than a year. How did she find someone to date and marry in that timeframe?”

“Well, they met the day after graduation, at a ministry party. Este was starting in the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department and met Jason Bulstrode. They must’ve hit it off because a month later they were married. I went to their wedding in August; it was quite pleasant.”

“Okay, continue with the story.” Remus hurried me along, getting quite fidgety with the body behind him. He was anxiously looking behind him, as if the body was going to start moving.

“Oh right, anyway, one night, she was talking about Jason. She was getting nervous because she thought he was cheating on her. She kept talking about how Jason had been spending money on jewellery that wasn’t hers and how he has been coming home from work later and later, smelling like cheap perfume and merlot. I convinced her to confront him about it. A week later, we were supposed to meet for our weekly dinner but she never showed up. I went down to this bar that Jason always went to to see if he knew anything. He was drunk, going on about how she went missing. I didn’t believe it for one second.”

I paused, taking a deep breath. Peter had started drinking out of the wine bottle once more. Remus was fiddling nervously with his digits, as Sirius tried to calm him down, while listening in to every word I was saying.

“Another week goes by and a woman moves into Este and Jason’s house. You’ll never guess who. It was Lucinda Greengrass. I thought it was strange to see Jason move on so quickly because Este could’ve still shown up, but then it hit me. Este was never going to show up. Jason had murdered her. So, I did the only logical thing I could think of. I confronted him once again at the bar. He seemed a lot more sober though this time. When I brought up the fact that he killed his wife, he lunged at me. I thought I could apparate away to protect myself but he had already grabbed onto me. He was trying to kill me first, so technically it was self defence. I grabbed a framed picture from my mantle and smashed it on the ground. I used one of the broken pieces of glass and used it to protect myself. Then, I wrote a letter to you four and got you to come over. I think we’ve caught up.”

I was out of breath by the time I had finished talking, expecting to be bombarded with hundreds of questions. Except, they all seemed quite silent, their own plans formulating over in their heads. I stayed quiet, letting them think, biting my own nails at what was going on. Remus was the one who spoke up first.

“Did anyone see you leave the bar with Jason?” Remus asked, hurrying out of the kitchen into the living room. He seemed to be looking for something, but what?

“No.” I put simply, watching as Sirius’ face lit up, understanding what Remus was getting at. James and Peter made eye contact and with that, it seemed like everyone was on the same page except me.

“Then his last known location was the bar. He could’ve gone missing at the bar.” James muttered, following Remus. Except, James headed for the laundry, hurriedly looking for cleaning supplies.

“Missing?” I called, frantically trying to follow them, but they all seemed to be in a mind of their own, understanding what had to be done. James emerged from the laundry with a mop and a bucket of bleach. Peter came from the direction of the kitchen holding a massive black garbage back, gloves decorating his hands.

“No one knows you killed him, [Y/N], and we intend on keeping it that way. He’ll stay a missing man.” Peter finished off the thought, carefully trodding over to Jason’s bloody corpse on the ground. “Besides, Este is also classified as missing. It could be played off that they ran off together or something.”

I was rooted to the spot as I watched what was going on around me. Peter had put Jason’s body in a weird contortion to fit in the garbage bag and tied a knot. Quickly, he grabbed another to double line the bag, making sure there were no leakages. Once it was secure, Peter placed the bag outside to air out, making sure the smell wouldn’t linger much longer in the house.

Sirius was quick to clean the linen. He picked up the rug from the ground and hurried it off into the laundry so it could clean itself the muggle way. The next task was trying to remember the cleaning spells from year three and being able to execute them at such a high quality that it can get rid of even the strongest of stains, like blood.

“Can you help me with this, love?” Sirius cooed, motioning for me to help him with the stains on the couches. Muttering the incantation, we watched the stain fade ever so slightly. Cursing under his breath, Sirius tried again, whispering the spell once more. The blood splotch faded once more but only slightly. “At this rate, we’ll be here for hours.”

At this moment, Remus came back into the room, holding up what he was looking for before. My old boat keys. Being a half blood with a muggle father meant that he had taught me a few things about the muggle world. He had also taught me how to drive a boat, helping me get my boating license at only fifteen years old. It was perplexing though; why would Remus care about my boat? It wasn’t going to help us now.

“Where do you dock your boat?” Remus said calmly, spinning the keys around in his fingers effortlessly. By now, he had caught the attention of the rest of the marauders. Sirius poked his head out from behind the couch, James looked up from where he was mopping the floors, and Peter walked back into the living room from checking on the bag in the backyard.

“Uh, all the way back in my hometown, miles away from here. Old Muster Lake.” I stuttered out. With that, Remus opened up more of my drawers, searching for a map. When he had found it, he motioned for me to follow him into the dining room where he splayed the map out on the table.

“Show me.” Remus stated firmly, brushing his fingers over the dirty map. Hesitantly, I pointed my fingers about a hundred miles north of here. Remus bit his lip, thinking about what to do next. His breathing was shallow and I could feel his nervousness from here. All I hoped was that his plan would work out.

“Can you still drive the boat?” Remus said after a while, looking me in the eyes. I nodded slowly and Remus looked content, grabbing the map from the table and motioned for Peter to come to him. “We’re going to the lake to dump the body. You’re coming.”

“What? No.” Peter spluttered, his heart racing quickening. “I get terrible motion sickness. Oi! James!” Peter called James over who was focused on his task at hand, scrubbing the floor with the mop. “I’ll take over your job and you can go to the lake with these two.”

“Alright.” James huffed, passing the mop over to Peter. When they were ready, Remus, James and I walked outside into the night, walking over to the garbage bag where Jason’s body was already rotting. Even in the darkness of the night, I could tell that the bag hadn’t leaked, which was a good sign. With a nod of Remus and James’ head, I knew they were ready, so I held onto the bag while they held onto my arms and I apparated away into the night.

As we arrived at Old Muster Lake, a wave of post apparition nausea washed over me, nearly toppling me over if it hadn’t been for James holding me up. When I got myself sorted, I looked out onto the lake where I hadn’t been for years.

The whole lake looked deserted at this time of year. A faint mist was rising off of the lake, reflecting in the moonlight of the crescent moon. Big trees breathed in the like breeze, swaying softly in the wind. A hooting owl and the rustle of tree branches were the only noises that could be heard between the three of them.

Remus was the first to break the silence, stepping forward, his feet crunching onto the leafy ground. The dead leaves cracked underneath his shoes, giving away his position. He paused, listening out for anyone, sniffing the air slightly, before continuing to walk up to the docks. Thinking it was safe, James and I followed after him until we reached the end of the dock. The planks of the dock were old and unkempt, seeming like they might break underneath our feet. Carefully, we walked across the together, before the dock finished beneath us. I could see my boat a bit away from the dock, but it was too far away. There was no way of reaching the boat, until I had an idea.

“Remus, give me my key.”

“What?”

“I can swim over to the boat and bring it around. Give me my keys.” I repeated, holding my hand out to him. Obliging, he placed the keys on my palm and watched as I looped my digits around the key ring tight so it wouldn’t escape me.

I hadn’t swam in years. As I dived off the dock and into the freezing water, I remembered the rush of it. Resurfacing, I gasped for air, shivering in the winter water. My clothes hung uncomfortably by my side, sticking to my cold figure. My teeth chattered unconsciously, reminding me to get a move on before I froze in the temperature. We didn’t want two dead bodies in the lake now, did we?

Free styling in the lake, I stroked my arms by my side, swimming towards my boat in the ocean. It was about a seventy meter swim which was an okay length, but the warmth of the water made it feel like an eternity. When I finally reached the boat, I climbed up the ladder at the back and clambered into the boat. A chilly gush of wind hit my skin, sending goosebumps up my spine. I was too cold but I persisted, fumbling with the key in my hand and struggling to put it in the key hole. When it finally went in, I turned the engine on, letting a roar come out of the exhaust. Luckily, there was still half a tank of fuel in the tank from the summers ago when my family had come to the lake. Back then, it brought such happy memories. Now, not at all.

I brought the boat around to the dock, letting James and Remus pile in, pulling the heavy bag over the side of the ship. When we were ready, I sped off into the middle of the lake, where it was deepest, the perfect spot to dump a body.

“The next open season will be summer. By the time it comes, the body should’ve decomposed a lot more.” I spluttered out, my cold body shivering, making the words come out of my mouth in an unsteady stream.

“Here. Take this. You look freezing.” Remus said quietly, placing his jacket over my shoulders, which I gratefully accepted. Immediately, I started feeling much warmer, continuing on with our mission.

Once we reached the middle of the lake, there weren’t a lot of words said between the three of us. Instantly, James started untying the knot on the garbage bag, opening it up to the world. It reeked worse than before but there was nothing we could do about it now. With all three of our strengths combined, we managed to hold onto the bag and tip the corpse into the lake with a splash. Wordlessly, we headed back to the dock, as I dropped the two boys back off.

Again, I turned the engine off, tying the boat back up at the buoy. Holding onto the keys, I dived back into the chilling lake, though the cold didn’t affect as much as last time. Swimming back to the dock, I relished in everything we had done, remembering the body that was now decomposing in the lake. I felt dirty as I swam through the contaminated water.

Reaching the dock, I pulled myself out via the ladder and laid down on the planks, catching my breath. That’s when everything caught up to me. Tears were ebbing in the corners of my eyes, spilling onto my reddening cheeks. My lip quivered as quiet sobs spilled past my lips. Closing my eyes, I let the darkness consume me for a few moments, until I felt two strong arms hoisting me back up into a standing position. Stroking my arms, they both tried to soothe me from my breakdown. Minutes ticked by as I let my tears run down my cheeks. I was openly sobbing now. All I needed was a sleep.

“You wanna go now?” James muttered to which I nodded. Holding onto the deflated bag, James apparated us away, back into my unrecognisable house.

Peter and Sirius had done a fantastic job. There wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere in the living room; everything looked spotless. The rug that was drenched with blood had gone through the washing machine and was now back in its usual spot. The couches looked brand new, meaning that Sirius must have figured out how to do the spell properly. An aroma of fresh flowers flooded the room, overpowering the smell of rotting flesh. It was perfect.

“How did it go?” Sirius asked, appearing from the kitchen with Peter.

“It’s been taken care of.” I mustered up the courage to say. “Now, if anyone asks, and I doubt they will, but just in case, we had a dinner party tonight.”

The four of them nodded in agreement, heading for the doorway to leave, but I stopped them.

“And you stayed the night. Everyone had had a little too much to drink. That means no one would have slipped off to kill anyone, okay?”

With that, they all followed me up the staircase into the hallway of spare rooms for them to sleep in. I thought I was alone as I stayed out in the hallway, turning the lights out. I cried again.

I cried for a while.

Until I felt a reassuring hand on my back, calming me down. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry, love. No body, no crime, right?”

[obae-me]

A Taste of His Own Medicine- Asmo

Word Count: 3012

Medication Warning: These stories might contain strange demon medicines, but always make sure that you take the regulated dose. Don’t think like Asmo! Taking more will not make you feel any better. Keep the dangers in the fictional world, and as always, read with safety, thank you! 

Time as Levi’s nurse passed fairly quickly. After two days of constant attention, most of the symptoms had faded. He was still weaker than anyone would enjoy, but he was back in front of his screens in no time. Although, every so often he’d give you a side glance and rattle his body with a loud cough, causing you to roll your eyes a bit but smile and give him some more attention. Aside from the pseudo-symptoms, at last, it was all over. Surely, tonight you’d finally let your sore exhausted body get some rest with the relief in knowing that whatever demon illness had been plaguing the brothers was finally gone…

That was, until everyone in the House of Lamentation was awoken one night to a blood-curdling scream. You awoke in a sweat, nerves standing up on end. Before you could comprehend anything, you dashed out to the hallway, apparently the last to join the stunned members of the household. Mammon was still attempting to find balance on his feet, cursing about one of his legs being asleep. Levi rubbed his eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was supposed to be regaining his strength. Satan looked more intrigued than anything. Beel was ready for action, but, surprisingly enough, Belphie looked more awake than anyone before you. These were his hours, you supposed. Lucifer was a strange combination of furious due to having his rest be interrupted--he barely gets enough as it is--and concerned. 

“MC!--Oh, thank the stars,” he sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead, thankful you weren’t the cause of the haunting wail. “We’ve got…” His irises almost went cross-eyed for a moment as he started calling out everyone’s names. The realization hit you at the same moment it hit him. “Asmo.” No one hesitated in dashing to his room, the adrenaline pumping in you more as the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood reached your ears. Worry clamped your lungs shut, not daring to breathe until you arrived at your location. 

Mammon was the first to reach the door, immediately kicking the wood in. The entrance hit the floor with a loud bang, and you attempted to peer in, but were abruptly yanked backwards by Lucifer. Just in time too, for just at that moment, an entire dresser launched itself from the bedroom, smacking against Mammon, pinning him against the back wall of the hallway. Everything in you screamed to run to him, but the demon of pride had you held tightly against his body. Mammon got up off the floor, shaking his head, but not visibly injured, barely even bothered, just frustrated. 

“For the love of sin, Asmo!” He growled, and another shriek echoed through the halls, shaking the windows. You brought your hands up to cover your ears, and Lucifer quickly handed you off to Levi.  

“What’s happening?” The strength of your legs began to waver, and, for a split second, the eldest’s eyes grew wide at your distress. Of course you wouldn’t know, how could you? Sometimes he forgets you’re only a human. 

Placing a gentle hand on your head--his best attempt at assurance--he let out another sleep-deprived groan, pinching the bridge of his nose whilst his siblings dashed into the chaos. “It’s what we all feared. Asmo has fallen ill. It happens one every few centuries. Stay with Levi. We’ll work on calming him down.” With that, he turned and swiftly joined the fray. A swirl of blue magic surrounded the door, lifting it from it’s position, settling back against the frame while shouts and bangs rattled the ground. All you could do was blink in frightful awe and flinch at every awful sound. 

“C-come on, it’s best if we go...N-now, like, right now,” Levi breathed, his voice shaking with terror. You raised an eyebrow, trying to piece together why he sounded as if he was in danger.

You didn’t have the time to question why. The wall separating the room from the hallway nearly crumbled, bricks and rubble coating the floor. Peachy eyes glowed harshly against the dark of night. “Levi…” The figure growled maliciously as the dust settled. “You did this to me...you all did this to me!” It struck you who it was and why even Levi himself was nearly petrified with fear. Of course you didn’t know, why would you? Sometimes you forgot you were surrounded by demons. 

“Oi!” 

In a swirl of motion, demons rushed to tackle him down, but not before the person behind the destruction began to lunge in yours and Levi’s direction. The third-born twisted his body, beginning to pull you behind him to shield you, but your body moved almost on its own. Tugging yourself out of his grip, you moved forward with an outstretched arm. “Asmo!” The palm of your hand came into contact with his chest, and as soon as it did, everything seemed to stop all at once. The rampage put itself at pause as Asmo looked at you with wide eyes, his hands still raised, claws nearly brushing against your skin. With your hand on his chest, you could tell that he’d stopped breathing. You took this moment to observe his face. Nose red, eyes puffy from angry tears, overall looking drained, missing vibrancy, much different than the Asmo you were so acquainted with. 

The demon of lust took one last moment to recollect his thoughts, gathering back his composure before giving a loud horrified gasp of a breath before his knees gave out, his body collapsing to the floor. 

* * *

“Absolutely, positively, one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made!” You’d beg to differ, but now was definitely not the time for that. “Did you even think?!” You tried to open your mouth but were cut short. “Don’t answer that.” Lucifer looked beyond frazzled, and as you watched him pace back and forth in front of you, you wondered if those were new grey strands in the fringes of his hair or if it was simply your imagination. He’d been stepping back and forth for so long, you’d almost gotten dizzy from the motion. 

But Lucifer wasn’t the only one here to...critique your...survival response--or questionable lack thereof. “What do you do when you see an angry demon? Hm?” Satan’s eyebrow was twitching, but he was doing his utmost best to stay calm unlike his older brothers. 

You lowered your head. “You run.” 

“What do we not do?” 

“...Confront them.” The blonde nodded, leaving it at that for the time being. With a quick scan around the room, he tilted his head and sat in a chair, biting back one of his usual retorts. Typically, he wouldn’t hesitate to be snippy, especially considering his sibling’s current behaviors, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not right now when he was focusing hard on suppressing the bubbling rage of what he’d just observed. Levi was a dazed mess, sulking at his failed job as a bodyguard, slung over Beel’s shoulder, muttering endlessly. The demon of gluttony himself had yet to peel his sight from you since you’d been dragged back to your room. Had he even blinked? It was as if he was wary that, should he look away, even for a moment, you’d do something reckless again. To be fair, logically, what you’d done had been a rather idiotic move. In your defense, it was also dipping well past the early hours of the morning, they couldn’t hold it against you for not being at your peak at this time...But, they were right. Had Asmo not been able to stop himself, who knows what the outcome would’ve been. You still weren’t quite sure of everything that had happened, but something had moved you, convinced you that if you just...reached out to him...Turning your head to the side, you brushed your hand over the bump in the blankets where his arm was. As soon as he’d collapsed, both you and Asmo were briskly brought to your room. You’d been able to assist in tucking him under your covers for only a moment before being scolded. Belphie placed a fresh cold rag over Asmo’s forehead, meeting your eyes for just a second before snapping his head to look away from you with the slightest hint of a disappointed pout in his lips. Even the self-proclaimed apathetic demon of sloth was upset? And Mammon...Mammon was...dead silent, still as a stone, back turned to you as he pressed his face against the wall. If anything, that upset you the most. 

Speaking loudly as to regain their attention, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I know it was dumb of me, but…” Asmo’s eyebrows scrunched, a painful moan rumbling in his throat. You adjusted your seated spot on the bed, sitting closer to his body, settled by his thigh. Placing your hand over the comforter covering his chest, you stroked up and down in a slow soothing rhythm. His head moved to find a cooler, more comfortable spot on the pillow, and with the comforting motion against his body, he went still with rest again. “He sounded heartbroken.” 

The room fell silent, Lucifer stopped his pacing. Everyone’s shoulders slumped, and then finally Mammon spoke up. “He’s just being dramatic over his dumb face! Losing control like that...almost hurting you because he doesn’t look pretty...He’s not worth getting yourself killed over!” You shot him a dirty warning look, and he scoffed, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. You just gotta be more careful, okay?” 

“Okay, I get it. But you all know I can take care of myself too, right?” None of them would look you in the eyes for that question, and you made a mental note to confront them about that later, but for now… “Enough worrying about me, you should be worried for your brother.” The fire of conflict was quickly snuffed out by your shining eyes and Asmo’s little whimpers. 

Lucifer rolled his head around his shoulders and then rubbed away the little pang behind his temples. “I’ll go let Diavolo know of the situation. I’m sure he won’t be surprised…” He grumbled something under his breath one last time before he left the room, D.D.D. in hand. 

“I suppose I can do my best to help clean Asmo’s room. He might recover quicker in a familiar environment.” Satan got to his feet, stretching, cracking an eye open to look at Mammon before grabbing him by the back of his shirt. “And you’re going to help me.” 

“O-oi! Why me?! Hold on! I haven’t said what I needed to yet!” But his cries were ignored as the demon of wrath dragged him down the hallway. 

Now you were left with the afflicted, the twins, and a still sorrowful Levi. “Beel, can you please take Levi to his room? And Belphie can you please make sure he goes to sleep?” The lighter-haired sibling nodded, shifting his older brother to his other shoulder. Belphie still had his head turned away from you. Your heart fell a bit. “Pretty please?” 

He made the mistake of getting a quick peek of your pleading face. “You have to come with us.” 

“But, we can’t just leave him.” You brushed the back of your hand against Asmo’s cheek, reeling back as the heat from him almost burnt you. 

This only convinced Belphie to squint harder. “He’s dangerous.” 

“You’re all dangerous and yet apparently it doesn’t seem to phase me anymore.” At times like these, you found standing your ground and just being stubborn was enough to win you plenty of debates with these eternal beings. Belphie especially was much too tired to try to win you over. 

“Fine, but you owe me.” 

You beamed, coaxing a touch of pink in his cheeks. “Thank you!” He slinked away, his brother following after him. A frown stretched over your face. With the added noise gone, Asmo’s shallow wheezing breaths were all too apparent. You got to your feet, flipping the rag draped across his head to the other side, then padded over to the cupboard settled against the far side of the room. It opened with a slight squeak, causing you to wince as you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure your patient was still sleeping. Luckily, he didn’t stir, although for this to work, he might have to. You gripped the medicine bottle in your hand, giving it a slight shake. There was enough for perhaps one or two more administrations. Hopefully whatever this was wasn’t too expensive, seeing as how the whole family had gone through the whole thing in a few weeks. Before you dealt with that issue, you quickly went to turn off the overhead light in your room, simply turning on a side lamp, a soft glow illuminating what you needed it to. Your eyes thanked you for the lessened strain. As you turned on the pads of your feet, you noticed Asmo was now on his side, facing away from you. With a few quiet steps, you were back at the bedside. “Asmo?” 

Your fingers outstretched, reaching for his shoulder, but he would not let you near him. “Don’t look at me!” The voice was strong enough to push you back, falling back onto the floor. A high pitched noise caught your attention. The glass in your hand as well as your mirror on the other side of the room had a new thin crack in it. 

The heart in your chest was pounding, but you tried to shake out of it. “Asmo, fighting me is taking up your strength.” Cradling the medicine bottle against your chest, you got back to your feet. 

Asmo pulled the covers up over his head. “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me!” You’d shifted your stance beforehand to keep your balance, the wave of magic wobbling you, but not knocking you over. The lights flickered, and with it, you caught an idea. 

“What if I turn the lights off? I won’t look at you, okay? I just want to help you feel better.” Keeping your sight on him, you walked backwards. As your hip met the furniture, you swiveled to turn the lamp off. It just so happened to be cloudy tonight, the dark clouds coating the moon, again, much like the night Belphie had sleepwalked into your room. Blanketed in complete darkness, only now you were the one stumbling towards the figure in the bed. You walked forward slowly until your knees came into contact with the mattress. Even here you could feel the rolling waves of heat come off of him. “I cannot see a thing, not even my own hand in front of my face,” you whispered to him, your arm waving in the air till you found his body. He was letting you touch him, that was a good sign. It took a moment before you found his shoulder, gently guiding him to lay on his back. You trailed your touch up to his neck before coming up to lightly touch his face. Hot moisture coated your fingertips. For a second, you thought it was sweat, but then you heard the demon take a shaky inhale as his body hitched. Panic struck your body all the sudden, your thumb brushing just under his eyes. “Are you crying? Asmo, no, no no no, it’s okay.” 

He whimpered, leaning into your touch. “I-I-I-I’m sick and-and-and unsightly--”

“Hey, hey,” you cooed. “Take a deep breath.” He followed your advice, his chest shuddering. “I’m sorry you’re sick...but we can’t change that now. We just have to focus on getting you well again.” Reaching around to support the back of his head, you helped him up into a slouched position. Although, you struggled to find his hand. When you did, his fingers instinctively went to curl around yours. You hated to disappoint him by replacing your grasp with the medicine bottle. “This should help. I’d, uh, take about half of it.” He took it away from you, and you assumed that he’d brought it to his lips. It was a few seconds before the smooth glass touched your skin again. Taking it back in your possession, you discovered it was a lot lighter than you expected. Moving it around in your hand, you felt no liquid slosh inside. “I said half, Asmo!”

“There was hardly anything in there and I need what I can to go back to my beautiful self!” 

“That’s not how--” You sighed, letting the empty bottle settle on the floor. “No one is pretty when they’re sick, but that’s okay. It’s alright to be unsightly sometimes.” The mattress bobbed as Asmo laid back down, getting as close as he could against your body. “But even so, you’re pretty all the same” 

His hand smacked against your knee as he tried to find you, his touch searching for yours. “I can’t be both...am I beautiful or ugly?” He really couldn’t understand what you were trying to say. Maybe one day you’d be able to convey your thoughts properly. 

As soon as you touched his wrist, he slid his fingers up to weave through yours. “You’re always beautiful, Asmo. Always. A little sickness won't stop you. But for now, your beautiful body needs some beauty sleep.” You squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right by your side.” The medicine seemed to already be working, and you pinned it in the back of your mind to tell Lucifer about his mishap later. He curled into a tighter ball, snuggling up against your legs. 

“It’s not...fair,” he whined, voice almost slurring with sleep. “I don’t...deserve this...I wish I was...as beautiful...as you.” Your chest tightened, but you kept your mouth closed. His grip had already slackened, and you could hear the deeper slower breaths as you came to the conclusion that he had fallen back asleep. 

Feel better, Asmo. I’ll be here till you do. 

                 ______________________________________

@cinnamon-bisquit​

[winterscaptain]

emergency.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

a/n: credit for this awesome idea goes to snow (@agenthotchner original post linked here)! 

warnings: there’s some description of a decent-sized cut across the palm of the hand and the treatment of said cut in an emergency room, as well as some swearing rating/word count: t / 2096

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“Really, I’m alright,” you assured your (very well-meaning) neighbor. She was dead-set on getting you checked in at the emergency room, even though you insisted you could stitch yourself up at home. You brought your medical packet with you – including all the intake forms, copies of your credentials, and your emergency contact information. Your go bag was at your side, packed and ready with three days’ worth of clothes.

Your neighbor stayed with you until she was sure you wouldn’t bolt, leaving you as soon as someone called you to the back.

Another Tuesday night, another kitchen accident. You’d sliced your hand open while cutting an avocado for a late-night snack. Fortunately, it was your non-dominant hand. Unfortunately, your neighbor caught you as you scuttled to your car for your first aid kit.

So here you were, sitting on the edge of a bed in one of the private emergency rooms while a nurse flushed the wound and prepared it for stitches.

+++

“Hotchner.” Aaron sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Am I speaking to Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”

As he listened to the emergency room admin tell him about your incident, he threw on a pair of jeans and a black v-neck from the drawer. He called Jessica as soon as the nurse finished relaying the address to the ER closest to your home. Jess was in the neighborhood, coming from a girl’s night with friends, thank God.

With a kiss to his sister-in-law’s cheek and an earnest “Thank you,” he was in the car and on the way.

+++

There was some kind of commotion right outside your door, but you were busy watching the nurse as she applied local anesthetic to your hand and wrist. The bleeding had slowed enough for the nurse to maintain it with a few swipes every minute or so, and you could see the extent of the damage.

You’re a fucking moron, you know that?

You rolled your eyes at yourself and was only a little startled when the door flew open.

“Hotch?”

He checked in with the nurse, who smiled and nodded at him over your hand. Suddenly, he was sitting right next to you, looking over your intake paperwork. “They called me. I got here as fast as I could.”

Shit. “God, I’m so sorry. I forget you’re the first on my emergency contact list.” You bit your lip. “I really should make it Emily or Penelope or someone who doesn’t have kids.” You said it more to yourself than him.

To your surprise, he laughed. “No, it’s okay. Jess was in town, and Jack is still sleeping. I’m glad I can be here for you.”

+++

When they pulled out the suturing material, you paled and blindly reached for Hotch’s hand. Instead of just taking it, he tucked your head into his chest, holding you there with one hand while he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your free hand with his thumb.

You probably looked silly, tucked into your friend’s chest while your arm was fully extended to your side, under a blindingly bright light. You couldn’t feel the stitches, but it still squicked you out.

Hotch’s voice rumbled through you as he spoke close to your ear. “You’re okay. Breathe with me.”

“Hotch...” It came out as a bit of a panicked whine as you heard the doctor shuffle some tools around.

“Aaron.” He squeezed your hand. “Aaron’s just fine. It’ll be over soon. Just a little while longer.”

You took a few shaky breaths in time with his, but your hand was still a vice grip around his. He smelled really good. You knew that already, having sat next to him on the plane more than once, but it was different without the professional boundaries.

And without the suit.

“You’re doing great. Squeeze as hard as you can and keep breathing with me.” His voice was gentle and constant. It was sufficiently distracting.

Oh, right. He’s coached someone through literal childbirth before.

God, you’re such a baby.

“I’m sorry I’m such a baby.”

He laughed, taking care not to jostle you. “We’re all babies over something.”

“You’re not a baby over anything.” It came out as a grouchy gripe, your humor not strong enough to get past the tightness of your jaw.

After a moment, he shrugged around you. “Spiders. I hate them.”

You lifted your head, keeping your arm steady. The hand holding you to him dropped to your waist, where his protective grip kept you centered. “Really?”

Brown eyes smiled down at you. “Really. Jack takes after his mother and thinks it’s hilarious. ”

A shaky smile crossed your face, and you heard the telltale rasp of ripping gauze.

“All done,” the nurse said. “You’re good to go. Change the dressings daily and take care not to rip the stitches. They will dissolve on their own in about a week.”

+++

“Hotch, I can really manage on my own.”

“You have your go bag, and I know for a fact you’ll rip the stitches in your haste to grab something on your way out the door tomorrow morning.”

You couldn’t argue with him there. He pulled into his driveway and helped you out of the car.

When you were safely inside with Jessica headed home, you took your pain meds while Aaron locked his gun away.

“Oh shit,” you said, checking your bag. “I don’t have my gun. It’s in my safe at home.”

“You can use my second. I know you prefer the Glock 26, but my 17 is about the same weight in the trigger.” He handed you a mug of tea and plopped down on the couch. “I can have Anderson grab yours during the day tomorrow if we get called out on a case.”

“Thanks.” The gesture didn’t go unnoticed – offering his second gun was like offering his right arm. You settled down beside him, tucking your feet under you. “I can make up the couch, so you can head to bed. I’ve kept you up long enough.”

“You know where the linens are?” He asked, one eyebrow aloft.

“I have built many a fort with Jack, and I pay enough attention to get around.” At his dubious glance, you continued. “Second hall closet, third shelf. Blankets, sheets, and an extra pillow.” You smiled at him over your mug.

“You know...” he swallowed and seemed to struggle with his words. “You don’t have to make up the couch if you’d be more comfortable in my room.”

“Trying to get me in bed, Hotchner?”

He floundered for a moment, and you laughed softly.

“I’m kidding.” You set your mug on the coffee table and brushed his hair back with your good hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on it.”

“I definitely don’t mind.” He leaned into your touch like a cat.

He’s adorable.

“Thank you for staying with me tonight.” Your hand fell to his jaw, where your thumb brushed back and forth on his cheekbone.

Careful, don’t want to cut your other hand on that.

His eyes closed as you took more of his weight into your hand. “Of course.” He turned his head and kissed your palm.

Your heart jumped into your throat. He gently picked up your injured hand in his and pressed a kiss to your gauze covered knuckles. That particular act didn’t do anything to lower your heart rate. He released your hands, soft and gentle, and led the way down the hallway toward his room.

Jack’s door was open, and you saw his little sleeping form by the glow of his nightlight, curled in a ball. You wondered if the Hotchner boys slept the same way.

You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?

Jesus.

“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Hotch said, closing the door quietly behind you, “since yours is...” He gestured to your t-shirt, and you note the blood down the front of it.

“Damn. I liked this one.”

Hotch smiled with one side of his mouth. “I’ll soak it overnight. We’ll probably be able to save it.” He turned and shuffled through his drawer, pulling out what looked to be a worn-in FBI Academy shirt and some flannel pajama pants. “These should cinch enough for you.”

You took them from him with your good hand. “Thanks, Aaron.”

His hands lingered over yours under the soft fabric. “Bathroom’s through that door – take your time. There are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Make yourself at home.”

You settled into the en suite bathroom as he padded down the hall. You changed quickly, brushed your teeth (twice), and draped your bloodied shirt and pants on the edge of the sink.

Hotch was pulling back the covers and checking his email when you walked back out. He looked up and smiled at you.

When he brushed past you to soak your clothes in the sink, your heart caught in your throat again.

You slipped into bed, your back to the bathroom door. You closed your eyes and tried in vain to fall asleep before he returned.

You failed.

The lights in the room went out, leaving the blue cast of moonlight in front of your eyelids. You felt the bed dip as Hotch tucked in beside you.

“You’re terrible at pretending to sleep,” he whispered.

You could tell he was close to you, but when you opened your eyes you saw how close. His face was peaceful in the dark, his mouth and brow relaxed (for once).

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“Mhmm. Sure.”

You rolled your eyes and shut them again, insistent this time. “I’m ignoring you, Hotch.”

“Oh, so it’s Hotch now?”

“It is when it's nearly two in the morning and we have to leave for work in six hours,” you grumbled.

He chuckled, and his minty breath fanned over your face. You could feel him sober, and you opened your eyes. His face was pensive, and you were caught off guard by how open and expressive he was at home. You could read everything on his face as if it was printed out and handed to you.

“I don’t-“ he stopped, and his mouth pressed into a thin line for a moment. “I know we’re both adults who can share a bed without anything going on.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, doing your best to hide your amusement.

“What I mean is, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or –“

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Aaron, shh.” You let your smile shine through for a moment. “I’m here because I want to be, and I’m next to you because I want to be, okay?”

He nodded, still watching you carefully. You removed your finger from his mouth, ignoring the thrill it sent through you.

Adults. Adults who can share a bed without anything going on.

You rolled over and got comfortable, smooshing the pillow underneath your head. With your good hand, you reached behind you and searched until you found Aaron’s shirt.

“C’mere.”

He huffed a laugh and curled up behind you, snug from shoulders to calves. His arm hovered over your waist for a moment. You squished it to you, lacing your fingers with his over your belly.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

He hummed and tucked his face into your shoulder. “Anytime.”

“If you want...” you trailed off, your bravery evaporating when you actually processed what was about to come out of your mouth.

“If I want...” he echoed. You could hear the smile.

“You could – You could kiss me if you wanted to.”

Well, there it was.

You felt lips press to the soft fabric over your shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive skin near the collar.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and you suddenly felt fully and pleasantly warm.

When you turned your head, he was waiting for you. Yes, the angle was awkward and it was dark, but maybe laughing into each other’s mouths wasn’t as embarrassing as it seemed.

He kissed you once, twice, three times. There was a sweetness, a chasteness about it. You’d both waited a long time, and it wasn’t like you didn’t want to jump his bones, but now was decidedly not the time.

You turned back around and pressed back against him as to not miss out on a single millimeter of contact.

Your sleep took you quickly, and you nearly forgot about the nine stitches in your palm.

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @happyhotchner @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts

[avengershumanresources]

blood 2 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 1 - part 3 

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

2 - a night at the pub

You parted from Stephen the moment you saw Natalia and James in the crowd at the pub. They were sipping from large beer steins, listening to a bard sing a sorrowful song about the death of the great Iron Defender. 

When the music ended and the pub applauded, the entertainer switched to something more upbeat to soothe the mood.

“A bit sentimental for you two, isn’t it?” you asked, pulling back your cloak. Stephen had transfigured your overbearing mourning garb into something that would better fit in the village.

“How on earth did you slip out tonight?” James asked in surprise, brows raised to his hairline. “I would’ve though t they’d have had you under lock and key.”

“Everyone’s a bit... distracted, believe it or not,” you replied coolly, taking a seat at their table toward the back of the room. 

“So we hear,” Natalia leaned in. “Any news of the next king? I have a wager with the barkeep’s wife.”

“Anthony has an uncle who still lives,” Stephen supplied, taking a seat at your side. “Or so my companions informed me. Until Peter is of age, he would be the presumptive heir.”

“What do we know about him?” Natalia asked quietly, lowering her head conspiratorially. 

“Nothing,” you replied with a long sigh. “He’s been at the winter palace my whole life.”

“Nothing suspicious about that,” James shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “Nat, what do ya think about Asgard this time of year?”

“Stop up James,” the redhead nudged her companion and returned her attention to you and Stephen. “And if he doesn’t give up the job in six months?” 

“He is removed,” Stephen replied bluntly.

“Yikes, you’re scary, did you know that?” James murmured. 

“I’ve been told,” the sorcerer grunted, flagging down a barmaid for a drink. He could already tell it was going to be a long night. 

“Don’t forget, you owe me,” you reminded him.  

“Lose a bet?” Natalia asked in amusement, eye rating between the duo.

“I caught him enchanting my tea without permission,” you replied. 

“Uh oh, broke the one rule,” Natalia mused, watching Strange for a reaction. 

“It was a protection spell, hardly worth mentioning, I cast them over the princess all the time,” he snorted under his breath. 

“All the time?” James asked in a voice low enough that only Stephen could hear. 

“That’s dangerous conjecture, Barnes,” Stephen warned. “My responsibilities include keeping my student, who happens to be the princess, safe.”

“If we were being honest, if I were kidnapped or traded away, it wouldn’t do much to the kingdom,” you reasoned, eagerly grabbing the first mug of ale before Stephen could take a sip. He waved a hand over the drink, ensuring it hadn’t been poisoned, before you took a long swallow. “Peter is the one who has to stay safe. Who knows where we’d be without a true heir?”

“You know that’s ridiculous,” Nat snorted. “Gods, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”

“My father’s funeral was today, give me a little sympathy,” you huffed in response, taking another swig of your drink. 

“To King Anthony,” James stood up, his voice bellowing through the pub. You ducked your head down into Stephen’s shoulder while onlookers cheered and joined in the toast. “May he rest in peace!”

The pub shouted in response, with steins clinking against one another and another song starting up. 

“We’re trying to draw attention away from the princess, you oaf,” Natalia muttered tersely toward James. 

“Who would be looking for her here?” the brunette assassin shrugged. “Besides, no one would be able to slip past the three of us.”

Stephen snorted under his breath, giving the room a quick glance to ensure any unwanted attention hadn’t been drawn toward them. James did have a point. Someone in hiding would seldom encourage a room to drink. 

Besides, he looked over at you laughing over something Natalia had said, you were genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. The risk was worth a little relief.

He nursed at his drink while you signaled for another round for yourself and your friends. Stephen did well to avoid becoming drunk in your presence, mostly for your protection, but also as a means of avoiding embarrassing himself in front of you. 

The last thing he needed was you armed with an artillery of teasing that he couldn’t even recall.

As the booze flowed and the music picked up, James grabbed your hand and pulled you to the center of the room, dancing with some of the villagers to the upbeat song. 

Stephen watched, almost transfixed by the way you spun and twirled so lightheartedly to the sounds. As if you hadn’t a care in the world, and your life was back to the simpler time when he’d first met you.

“You’re drooling a little,” Natalia chuckled over his shoulder. 

Stephen’s head whipped around, unconsciously wiping at his mouth before scowling at the nosy redhead. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, doing his best to keep his composure under her hard gaze. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed of,” she hummed, eyes falling where you and James continued your antics. “You’ve seen the man I’ve dedicated myself to.”

“You know the oaths I have to take,” he murmured. 

“Aren’t you the one in charge of said oaths?” she challenged coyly. “I’d never understood your antiquated ways. I would argue that loving another gives you more reason to stay dedicated to your craft.”

She had a point, Stephen reasoned to himself. The ways he’d worked to ensure your protection, the kingdom’s protection, and the advancement of his knowledge at your urging was beyond any work he’d done on his own at Kamar-Tai. 

Still, the distractions. The liabilities. 

By the Vishanti, if an enemy were to ever get their hands on you… oaths be damned. He’d burn the world to the ground to ensure your safety, and that was the problem.

“She’s going to marry a prince, and have kings and queens as babies,” Stephen replied coolly. "We have our roles and our duties.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving her a few babies,” Natalia smirked up at him, laughing when his face went as scarlet as her hair. 

“Regardless,” his voice cracked slightly, adding even more to the embarrassment when Natalia quirked a brow. “I would need permission from the king to consider breaking my oaths and wedding a princess.”

“Oh, you’d marry her? That’s a new development,” she replied, eyes falling behind him while you and James returned. 

“I’m going to need another ale,” you complained, staring down the empty mug after chugging down your second drink.

“You’re going to need to watch how much you drink,” Stephen replied. “Remember last time. The hungover elixir only works so well.”

“You have a hangover elixir?” James asked. “Gods, I’d murder a man for one of those. Maybe it’s time I go to Kamar-Taj. Find my true purpose.”

“Don’t look at me,” Stephen held up a hand. “Wong is the one who brews it. He claims it’s an old family recipe.”

“Might have to pay Master Wong a visit tonight,” James stated, sliding a pair of fresh ales toward you and Natalia. “This one’s on me.”

“Are you going to tell me which lord you stole the coin from?” you asked, sipping at the drink before Stephen could check its contents. 

“It’s the one with the wart on his nose,” James snickered behind his drink. “I picked him specifically because you mentioned he beats his wife.”

“He’s getting another visit from the Widow in a few nights,” Natalia added with a wicked grin.

“I don’t pity the man-,” you started coughing, trying to clear your throat. “-Ah, excuse me-!” 

Caught in a fit of coughs, Stephen’s focus became you. You couldn’t catch a breath, even when he tapped your back, and you hadn’t had anything to eat- the ale. A wave of his hand confirmed the liquid had been tampered with. 

“Find out who served that ale,” he demanded the assassins, grabbing your arm and hauling you outside of the pub. 

You gasped for air, clutching at your throat while he drew up a portal back to the observatory. If this was what was happening with the protection enchantment in your system, he hesitated to think of the alternative. 

Scooping you up, he stepped through and situated you on one of the chaise’s strewn throughout the room. 

He thumbed through his collection of vials before finding a generic antidote and opening your mouth to pour the liquid in. 

It worked- kind of. You were able to take a few shallow breaths, but your eyes rolled back and you collapsed, falling back against the chaise. 

This was literally his worse case scenario. Everything he’d been afraid of, because he’d let you convince him to go out, and because he’d distracted himself with his conversation with Natalia. 

He summoned a spell book, fingers finding the page he recalled from his apprentice days. It was written to purge someone of any toxic entities within them, be it poison or dark magic. Moving his hands through the air and reciting the runes, your body was overtaken by a wisp of winding yellow light. 

It threaded itself through you, eventually hitting the source of the poison in your chest and pulling the toxic liquid free in a cloud of rancid black smoke. That was peculiar. Generally such a reaction was associated with dark magic rather than a consumed poison. 

Poison was usually a dark red or green. 

You stirred the moment the spell had finished its work. Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you looked to Stephen in wide-eyed horror.

“I was wrong,” you stated, hand to your chest.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m not dying,” you answered quickly. “Stephen, I am so sorry… I underestimated my… wait, Peter.” 

Stephen understood your meaning immediately. He instructed you to stay within the safety of the observatory and opened a portal to the outside of the prince’s chambers. 

The knights on guard jumped at the sudden appearance of the sorcerer, who took no time for pleasantries.

“An attempt was made on the princess’ life,” he informed the duo. “Have you heard any disturbance from the prince?”

“No one has been in or out since the prince retired,” Sir Samuel informed him, looking to Sir Clinton with a shrug. “He hasn’t made a noise.”

Just as Samuel finished his sentence, there was a loud crash from within the room. 

The guards charged in, finding the prince in a struggle with a masked man. The prince was doing his best to fight off the dagger brandishing assassin, kicking him in the chest when he was distracted by the entrance of the guards.

When the assassin realized he was outnumbered, Stephen saw his hands move rapidly to open a portal, and before anyone could intervene, he was gone. 

“Your highness!” Samuel rushed to the prince’s side while Stephen ignited the candles in the room with a snap of his fingers. “Are you injured?” 

“Sir Clinton, get to the queen and Princess Morgan,” Peter ordered after catching his breath. He looked to Stephen. “And the older princess?” 

“Safe,” came the sorcerer’s response. 

“You said an attempt was made on her life,” Samuel retorted. 

“A what?” Peter glared up at the sorcerer. 

“I took care of it, she is safe,” Stephen assured him. “Are you injured, your highness?”

“I’m fine,” he brushed off the two men and stood up. “I want the guard awoken and informed of what has happened.”

He turned to Stephen.

“I want the wards reconstructed around the castle,” he continued. “I don’t trust the foundations of previous Masters. If you must call in sorcerers from Kamar-Taj, we will provide what they need.”

“Sir, your great uncle is due to arrive in a fortnight,” Samuel reminded him. “Shall we inform the convoy of the attempts on the royal family?”

Peter looked to Stephen with a frown. One of the young king’s first major decisions. 

“Let’s address the question in the morning,” he decided. “I want to know my family is safe.”

As if on cue, Queen Virginia and Princess Morgan were led into the room by Sir Clinton and Sir Steven. 

“Peter,” the queen pulled the prince into a relieved embrace. “Clint told us what had happened.”

“I recommend we reconvene in the throne room,” Steven suggested with a nervous glance around the chambers. 

“The wards are strongest there,” Stephen agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll go retrieve the princess.”

He returned to the observatory and found you sitting, staring down at the floor in deep thought. 

“Princess?” he called softly. You leapt up at his voice, hurrying over.

“Are they safe?”

“Peter was attacked, but he fought the assassin off,” Stephen informed her. 

“And mother? And Morgan?” you bit your bottom lip anxiously.

“Safe,” he confirmed. 

You let out a relieved sigh, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

“Sir Steven suggested we go to the throne room to discuss our next options,” he offered his arm and she took it gratefully. 

He hoped she didn’t feel his own tremors. His own panic at the thought of losing her. The aftershocks of their new reality and his worst nightmare.

“I won’t allow this to happen again,” he promised her quietly. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you assured him, your voice was shaky. “I was hurting, and whoever did this, acted on our vulnerabilities. I’d been selfish to hide in the village when I should have been by my family.”

“You slipped up once,” he countered, slowing his pace down the hall. He could have easily drawn a portal to the room, but he figured you both needed some time to manage your emotions. “You’re human. We make mistakes. It just happened we both made a mistake at the same time tonight. I wouldn’t have allowed you to go if I hadn’t been confident in my judgement of the situation.”

Your hand trailed down to his and you gave it a squeeze. 

“Thank you Stephen,” you murmured, holding on a moment longer before replacing it on his arm. 

He felt his heart give a small throb at the minute action, his fingers left tingling, and not from the damage from the accident.

“Always at your pleasure, your highness.”

(---)

3 - a new day

TAG LIST (Message to be added to this fic or my general tag list!):

@ayamenimthiriel @drstrangely-strange-deactivated @ladynothing @im-a-bi-disaster-help​ @idkwhatthisislol​ 

[iamdeku]

Broken Ribs and Whole Hearts

Description: A Deku x Reader where the reader is a nurse who finds an unexpected guest in her emergency room. A continuation of this post.

Warnings: Descriptions of injury/some light gore. Talk of painkillers administered by a medical professional. Fluff.

It was safe to say that when you woke up this morning you weren’t expecting to find the life of the number one hero in your hands.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t worked with heroes before. You had plenty of experience with them, since they had a way of getting themselves hurt. That being said, you’d never worked with this particular hero before, and you were a little bit starstruck.

You wouldn’t call yourself a fan of Deku, but you weren’t not a fan. You saw him on the news all the time, but that was virtually impossible to avoid since he seemed to find his way onto every crime scene. If there was someone who needed help, Deku was there.

Right now though, he was here, bleeding out.

You had heard about the fight from your coworkers. It was hard to avoid hearing about a battle on that scale when you worked in a hospital. You had already been getting civilians in for treatment, but the heroes came last and were, naturally, priority since their injuries tended to be far more severe. Deku was no exception to this rule, and when he was rushed through the doors you were quick to fill your empty hands, not even realizing who he was until you went to assess the patient.

You jolted back a little bit in surprise, seeing the shock of green hair and bleary green eyes peering up at you. In your moment of surprise leaning over him, he cracked a blood-smeared smile.

“Are you an angel?” He asked softly.

“He’s delirious from the blood loss,” you declared, quickly getting to work surveying the rest of the damage. “Several cracked ribs, and I think he may have punctured a lung.”

As you continued to rattle off instructions and commentary, Deku continued staring at you. You, unwittingly, had become his lifeline. He kept his eyes open out of sheer desire not to look away from you. You were so capable, not faltering once after your initial shock. He was in awe of you.

Eventually, Deku was rushed into the operating room, and then he had no choice but to go under. When he woke up though, lo and behold, it was you there, checking his vitals and adjusting some things.

He opened his dry mouth, preparing his cracked voice to speak. “Well if it isn’t the prettiest nurse in all of Musutafu.” 

You jump slightly, not having expected him to wake up. You fidget with your hands, a nervous habit.

“Oh, hello Deku. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.” Deku would have shrugged, but he knew from experience that would make things worse.

He turned his eyes to the rest of the hospital room, taking a look around. He was in a standard hospital gown, which he joked was his “back-up uniform”. An IV fed drugs into his arm as necessary, and he knew he must be on some pretty good pain killers if the slightly hazy feeling in his head and the warm confidence in his chest were any indication. 

“So, any chance you’ll go out on a date with me?” he asked.

You stiffen in surprise, but then grin teasingly at him. “Wow, the morphine is talking pretty loud today, huh? Who knew the number one hero was such a light-weight? Maybe I should lower your dosage.”

Deku winced. “Please don’t. I have a high pain tolerance, but not that high.”

Your beautiful smile turned to a look of concern.

“Are you in any pain right now?”

Deku quickly shook his head, which actually did cause him some pain from the force of the movement. 

“I’m fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working great.” He smiled encouragingly at you.

You visibly relaxed from where you stood by his bedside.

“Okay, well just let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m sure you know the drill, but you can just press this button right here for help.” You showed him where it was.

“Any chance I can get your number before you go?” He asked hopefully, unwittingly throwing you into cardiac arrest.

“I will take away your painkillers, Mr. Midoriya,” you threatened over your shoulder as you walked out.

Little did either of you know it, but Izuku was going to be spending a lot more time with you. His tendency to get injured on your shifts almost made you believe he was doing it on purpose. You asked him once when he was drugged up, but he would admit to nothing, only giving you a slightly loopy smile before falling asleep.

Once he was settled into his hospital rooms though, he made no secret of it. He would blatantly request you, or rather, “the prettiest nurse in Musutafu.”

“You know I have a name right?” you asked, looking at his chart like you didn’t have it basically memorized.

“Yes, I just happen to think this more fitting. I can stop if it bothers you though.” 

Suddenly your confident hero had turned into a Christmas tree, whole face from the neck up turning red as a cherry. Feeling a desperate need to sooth him, you hurriedly corrected yourself.

“No, this is fine! I mean, I can’t really complain, can I?”

“Pretty sure you just did,” he teased.

You two continued on in this way until you would nearly consider yourself friends with the hero. In fact, you had started a routine of eating lunch with each other after an incident where you had both been in the hospital cafeteria at the same time and had sat together. Since then you had repeated the encounter a few times, though never exactly on purpose. You had even gone to dinner with him once, just as friends, to some fancy new restaurant he claimed to need a date to, since eating alone was ‘boring’. You had grown into a comfortable rhythm with him over time, and then it happened.

It was the first rain of the season, and you had your window open to let in the smell. You were peacefully making some soup in your kitchen on your night off. Your gray sweats clung to your hips, comfy t-shirt wrapping you up under the warm lighting of your cozy kitchen. The cheerful paint of the walls beamed at you as you swayed softly, humming along to the song on the radio.

All of your peace was shattered the moment Deku fell through your window, hand clutching his side, at the exact same moment your tea kettle screamed at you. You quickly moved it off the heat, nearly sloshing water onto your usually steady hands before rushing across the room to your fallen hero.

“Izuku!” you gasped, turning him over on the floor.

He smiled up at you, not looking nearly as concerned as he should be.

“Hi.”

“Why are you here? You should be in a hospital.”

“I just wanted to see you.” He reached up to cup your cheek in his warm, broken hand.

“You can’t be here Izuku. You’re hurt.”

“You’re my nurse. You’ll take care of me.”

He smiled at you with so much faith it cracked something in your chest. An overflowing font of affection for this man, this hero, welled up in you, begging to be let out. You thought of every time you had seen him broken, the implicit trust he had in you to piece him back together. To take care of him. 

You swallowed down your tears, mirroring the smile on his face, trying to be as brave as he was. “You have a stab wound in your side. It doesn’t look too deep, but you still need serious medical attention.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

He was staring at you, those deep green eyes brushing up against your soul, flirting with your deepest secrets, dancing around the unspoken truths weighing down your tongue, things you both knew. Things neither of you could say, as far as you were concerned, but Izuku Midoriya had always had an open heart and a loose tongue, and so he said them slow and easy, honey slipping through his teeth and coating his cracked lips.

“Kiss me.” 

“That...that wouldn’t be very ethical of me.” Despite your words you are leaning in, nose brushing his.

It is not a demand, not a question, not a request. It is a gasping, haunting, wavering plea, he is begging and you are teetering on the edge of a cliff you wouldn’t admit existed until you were borderline tumbling off of it.

"Can I...?"

This time it is a question, and you find yourself drawn into him. He is the Jupiter to your Io, and you are lost to a constellation, entwined in your own milky way. Your shadow blends into his, pressed flat against the grain of your wood floors, as your lips whisper against his. It is barely a touch, just a taste of what is to come, but it is all the permission he needs.

He surges forward to kiss you, and it is something foreign, something incomprehensible as he catches you with his chapped lips. He tastes of bitter, salty blood as the rush of his breath fills you, slipping down your throat and curling through your lungs. You have never done this before, never felt whatever is warping the planes of your chest and the contours of your heart. It is as though you have met yourself in him.

It is a ravaging sort of feeling, even though the kiss itself is achingly soft, heartbreakingly slow. He is so gentle with you, as though you are the breakable one here, when in fact you have had to put him back together too many times to count. You allow it though, you allow it because you have seen firsthand how Izuku Midoriya’s large, scarred hero hands touch everything with this sort of gentle kindness, a piece of his heart slipping through the spaces between his knuckles and digging into the pads of his fingertips. 

When you pull away it is slowly, reluctantly, a smile taking over your face. Izuku's smile matches yours, his eyes sparkling as he reaches up to brush a thumb across your lip, a light laugh escaping him. It is this action that brings you back to yourself, snaps you out of your haze as his thumb streaks blood across the swell of your mouth. Your body jerks back away from him suddenly, and worry flickers over his face.

"Izuku Midoriya! How dare you distract me like that! Did you think I wouldn't take you to the hospital if you kissed me?"

He has the nerve to look a little guilty.

"I don't need to go, really. It will just inconvenience them."

You grind your teeth. "We. Are. Going."

And over time, Izuku learns that eventually, all roads lead to the hospital. Because all roads lead to you.

[sugarakis-p2]

Shigaraki's Muse Ch 11

Tomura Shigaraki has gone full yandere and is not letting Ember go. Ember may have a hard time accepting her new home but it's happening. SFW

Warning: Kidnapping mature content.

Chapter 10

Chapter 11: Yandere

The first few days were rough, filled with tears and misery. Ember falling into his arms was short-lived. She was in shock and went along with whatever Tomura wanted. When it looked like Tomura was guiding her to her own bedroom, when in truth, Ember ended up in his room.

He helped her ice her face and laid her down in his bed. He was even kind enough not to crawl into bed with her the first night. He was content at just watching her sleep fitfully, using two of his fingers to brush her hair aside so he can better admire her long lashes. He never thought it could be painful being this close and forcing himself not to touch her. Several times he reached out only to pull back his trembling hand.

The morning was confusing for her. Ember woke up in a strange bed, her eye aching, her work clothes covered in blood and dust.

She screamed for a person called Cyrus twice before ripping the scrubs from herself, flailing and panicking to the floor. Ember made strange keening noises as she tried to claw the blood and dust plastered to her nude skin.

She really started panicking when Ember understood she was wearing Suka. Tomura tried to calm her down and he could see in her big golden eyes she was terrified of everything, he wasn't even sure she recognized him.

At first, she bolted from Tomura's touch when he tried to soothe her, hiding under his desk gulping for air. It took him ten minutes to coax her out. Ember was such a mess she let him guide her nude bleeding dusty form to the shower. She was more like her old self when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel; argumentative and stubborn.

He really didn't understand. Wasn't she a nurse in a hospice? Didn't she see death all the time? When she took a shower, Tomura got rid of the evidence in her apartment and started moving her in with him. He left her clothes that she was resistive in wearing, causing an argument, which led to more crying.

Tomura fusses over her black eye, cursing and trying not to overflow with anger. When he first entered the apartment, he was enraged some bastard was touching his Ember. Now he wishes he held back, could have used the piece of shit and then give him a more fitting punishment.

"I don't understand why I can't go home and get my own clothes." She cried "Heroes will be all over it soon. Plenty of people saw you drive off with that Smurf. If you don't get blamed for his disappearance, they will catch you for the pharmacy of drugs in your closet. It's safer if you let me handle it. Look what they did to you; you have a black eye. I promised to never let them lay a hand on you. I'm keeping my word. You're safe here with me. They will never touch my Ember. I don't understand what the issue is?"

"The issue is these aren't my clothes. It's a strippers uniform. What about Loverboy? What about my job? What about my apartment? How long are you keeping me here?" "I have other clothes if you want to choose something else. The cat is on an automatic feeder and water. They just need to be refilled once a week. I made arrangements with your landlord to feed the cat and your apartment. Both will be waiting for you when it's safe. As for your job, I had Dabi handle that. They are not expecting you back for a while."

When it was safe was a vague time frame, he kept repeating until she fully grasped how fucked she was. She didn't know what he had done, but she was sure he wasn't ever going to let her go back home, so she cried. Soon she understood that he wasn't shy about leering or touching with her trapped in his room. He came and went only through the warp gate. He brought back anything she asked for within reason, after she bargained for it.

A deal needed to be made beforehand, like she could only have one-half of her body covered if he brought her a comfy outfit. She could wear the pants, but only a bra for the top, and all the bras were medieval torture devices of lace, wire, and see-through fabric. Ember wore a lot of long shirts. This rule would not change, no matter how much she begged.

This was Tomura being on his best behavior, compromising for what he wanted. Ember is teaching him patience. Tomura liked the cat for more than one reason.

He understood after that first date. The cat wasn't just a signal she could love him. It was a lesson in patience. Ember is his wild kitten, sure she will bite and scratch at first, but with enough time and patience, she will be his Lovergirl.

Two days later, Tomura lied to her about going home. She knew it was probably untrue, but what choice did she have? Her first hint was she was given a fancy dress to wear and told to look "pretty." How the hell was she suppose to look pretty with a black eye?

Tomura was a nervously excited mess, coaching her on how to behave and what to say. Another hint. He had 'Father' on his face, and he was still acting nervous. "But I'm just going home, right?" She asked with no real hope.

"Of course, this is special, though; we have to make a stop first." He lightly scratched his neck and avoided her eyes. She grabbed his hand; he blushed and led her through the black vortex.

Instead of home, she ended up in front of the most terrifying man she has met yet. He wore a strange mask with life support just to meet her. He was cordial and pulled out a seat for her at a table set up with elegant tea and treats. The Master made polite talk about tea while Tomura fidgeted, avoiding her glare.

"My successor is quite enamored with you." "You don't have to describe it like that," Tomura mumbled. "You are stunning, but I'm more interested in your quirk at the moment. Please tell me about it." She was more than a little surprised this guy could see anything much less tell she's 'stunning.' "It's beneficial, and she's proven she's instrumental without it," Tomura quickly says. She shoots Tomura a questioning look, just how much danger was in right now? Why did she have to impress this guy that much? Oh shit, what would happen if she didn't?

"It's nothing special," She says shyly. "I know it's fire immunity, but tell me about the other part. The absorption of fire, how does that work?" "Well, I can absorb fire and expel it from my mouth." "See useful," Tomura interrupts. Itching his neck again, she gently touches the back of his hand, compelling him to put it down. He gives her an annoyed look which quickly turns to pity. It sets off more alarms. Master is giving her a hand gesture to continue.

"I have to expel it within seconds; otherwise, my body turns it to energy, it doesn't amplify it. Hypothetically I could survive on fire instead of food, but I've never tried too hard. Fire doesn't taste great, and there is a limit. When I start to feel too full, it won't turn into energy. I get sick and must expel it; no choice. It's not just fire I'm immune to. It's all heat. I fell into a volcano once," she gives him a nervous laugh and wishes she was in that volcano now. "Yes, I've seen her eat lava. Here show him," Tomura waves Kurogiri over. She shoots him another quizzical look as Kurogiri pours her a cup of boiling tea. From eating actual fire, she knows water is not as hot, but as an example, it would do. She shows everyone like she's performing a parlor trick before downing it. The roiling of the water tickles as it goes down.

She bites into a cookie as a great excuse to not have to talk to these creepy people. The Master is impossible to read, but he's clearly thinking. Tomura is scratching his neck with one hand and loading her plate with tiny cakes with the other. "I'm going to ask you a series of moral dilemma questions. Please answer truthfully." Ember shudders. She doesn't want to know what will happen if he doesn't like her answers or lies. Miserable, she nods yes; she drinks her tea to wet her too-dry mouth.

"A villain and a hero are hurt; who do you help first?" "Whoever has the most serious injury." "What if both are equally injured." "Whoever is A. closer B. having an injury I know I can treat." "What if you are threatened if you treat the other injured individual?" "I will still help," She squeaks, pausing to take a sip and see if he will kill her over this truthful answer. Tomura pipes up again. "She will. I've seen her threatened and still treats them. She's pure," he mutters, decaying a half-eaten cookie. The knife mark still in bright contrast to the ragged nail marks. "Do you like children?" "Love kids," She really does.

"How many would you like? Minimum to a maximum number, please." At this, she coughs and sputters; she doesn't like where any of this is heading. Everybody in the room waits patiently for her answer. "That's a bit complicated. I love the idea of two, but what if it turns out one is more than enough for me to handle. Then there are finances, quality of life, my partner to consider, my own health. Just a lot of variables." "The maximum amount, please." "Four, I guess…..but," he cuts her off. "Would you stay with the father for the child's sake?" "Depends if they are abusive." "What would you do if they are abusive to the child?" "I would intervene."

"Even if you could get hurt or killed?" She looks at Tomura, who is frantically scraping at his neck and eyes now. She can see angry red welts with blood welling up; he's wheezing loudly when she grabs his hand again. This time she keeps it there until he calms down.

"I would die for any child, all life is precious, and the youth is our legacy. If I saw a stranger hitting a strange kid, I would intervene," She says sternly. "You're playing a magic kingdom simulation; how would you conquer the neighboring realm's society? There are no limits as to what you can do," he states. This question ironically made her relax a little; game questions were so much easier. She looks in the steaming teacup, thinking.

"I would poison their wells and spread propaganda to influence the civilians. I would replace their ruler with a puppet, then bribe or threaten all the official representatives. If anyone is left to fight, they will be too weak and opposed by the civilians to doing anything about it." "See, she's perfect," Tomura is vibrating. She can't tell if it's excitement or fear. He looks manic. Ember can't read the Master's expression but he did seem to approve. His fingers are steeple as he leans back to evaluate her. "Very impressive, yes, this will do nicely. Kurogiri pour Ms.Ember the special cocktail. Don't worry, it won't hurt the baby."

"Excuse me? What baby?" "Please drink Ember." Kurogiri whispers in her ear, no one is going to answer her, and Kurogiri's words implied this was a favor to her. She gives Tomura a pleading look, but he is giving her a cold hard stare. The drink tastes salty from her tears, but she drinks it all; Kurogiri catches her before she blacks out.

Ember wakes up tangled in Tomura's limbs, she jolted, for a moment she thought she saw his hand near her face. She doesn't know how, but there is a loss, she can feel it in her, some part of her is now missing. Tomura's eyes open lazily, his limbs tightening and coiling around her like a python. He pressed her to his bare chest, her lips touching his scabbed neck, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine and goosebumps on his flesh.

"You're safe; I have you. No one is ever going to take you from me. Go back to sleep," He whispers. She couldn't tell him that scared her more. "This isn't my home Tomura," she whimpers.

"Of course, it is. This is your home forever." He captured her head under her chin, planting three kisses on top before going back to sleep. She checked and saw that his hands did have gloves on.

Even in his sleep, he held her in a death grip, unwilling to let her squirm away.

Chapter 12