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anika-ann · 3 months ago

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Take the Ache - pt.4

Part 4: The Nice in Nice Try

Type: series, slightly canon-divergent, idiots in love with sprinkles of angst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 11,8k (double serving, y'all)

Series masterlist (and summary)

Warnings: canon semi-typical injuries, mentions of temporary death (cardiac arrest, reader) and the use of AED and brief CPR, references to Steve’s sacrifice in CA:TFA, Lo and Steve being idiots, feels

A/N: written for Stella’s Starry Winter Sky challenge, using various prompts; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; the title is, just like chapter titles, taken from The Script’s No Good in Goodbye

A/N 2: No use of Y/N. Main character’s nickname made up by Steve is 'Lo (will be expalined at some point, promise). Thank you for reading so far and enjoy 💕

This feeling – this heavy weight sitting on your chest – felt entirely out of place. It felt so foreign; and seemed so nonsensical, contrasting sharply with the light behind your eyelids.

There was light, undeniably so. The light was cold and warm all at once, pulsing tenderly and steadily with every beat of your heart; or perhaps that was an illusion created by the low periodical beeping reaching your ears as you were lying in all that brightness.

The feeling was a little funny – the more the light consumed you, the warmer it tangled with something deep within you. But with the warmth taking over, so was the weight.

God, the weight. Every cell of your body fought natural laws except for gravity and it felt like it weighted a ton.

As the light consumed you, so did the instinct to smile, as the breathless sound of your name – your nickname really – pulled you further into the inviting light and brought on a memory, tied to a pair of bright blue eyes with a speckle of green making them all the more perfect; a pair of pretty eyes slightly unfocused as they stared at you when you put your foot in your mouth and earned yourself a sweet nickname in the process.

Steve Rogers had no reason to be in the lab that day; he usually didn’t. His visits to your workshop had no other reason than him being the epitome of a caring Captain, checking up on a new addition to the Avengers’ team and the adjacent. You.

He strode in there with what could be considered a regularity at this point. He’d always stand there or paced a little bit, shoulders slightly stiff, his smile genuine but a bit unsure as if he couldn’t quite tell if he was bothering you by his presence. Today was no different. All handsome in the dark blue button-down and charcoal slacks, hair a little messy as if he had been running his hand though it – probably after a stressful meeting with a politician or two – he had come down to your lab to see how you were doing.

You liked his visits, no matter how brief. Steve – well, Captain Rogers, who gently insisted you called him his first name – seemed to genuinely care about the people under his albeit indirect command, and about people in general. It was one of the qualities you appreciated in people, even if your territory was mostly machines and equipment – and Steve seemed to have this feature ingrained in his tender heart. It softened your heart every time, seeing the deep sincerity in his gaze proving what he stood for, truly and not only for show – not only in front of the press, but in a more private setting. It softened your heart to see that the urban legends of his moral compass and sense for justice, even as it sometimes involved violence for the sake of peace and kindness, were not exaggerated. It was his demeanour too; you might be better at reading charts than people, but it was impossible to be blind to Steve Rogers being a brilliant, profoundly good man.

Frankly – though of that you had no proof beyond personal experience – the man made it hard for people not to fall for him; that was a scientific fact. It did not help Steve’ss situation that oftentimes, he seemed to know what people around him needed the most.

He must have, because he brought you coffee on at least three separate occasions, staying a while longer to talk you through your break on days when you needed to lean on someone, anyone, who had an understanding of the nature of your job without actually being in the business himself. Those little talks seemed to leave you not only with caffeine in your bloodstream and more peace in your mind, but also – unless you truly forgot how to be a human being after spending long hours in the world of circuits and codes and charts – in Steve’s as well. During his visits, his smile might sometimes barely be there at all, but it was always sweet – and always appeared a tad wider after your little chat.

And there came another scientific fact; it was literally impossible to not notice and fall for how unfairly pretty his smile was. You supposed one could expect as much on as a man who had literally been genetically improved to be a perfect soldier – but the reason for your heart thumbing soft and wild wasn’t the shape of his lips or their plumpness, as alluring it was. It was something you could not quite put your finger on, but yet again, undeniably existed.

And it always distracted you; like now, when this memory went far beyond how well-shaped his shoulders were, how wonderfully wide in comparison to his waist, or how gentle his hands could be when handing you coffee or tools despite how large they were and how hard they could punch a man.

He wasn’t supposed to be here today and yet he belonged and you could not imagine your workspace being deprived of his presence.

Today, he certainly was a welcoming and perfectly handsome distraction from the discussion you had had with Tony, resulting in him simply leaving one of his prototypes behind for you to take a look at as soon as possible despite you having told him you were busy with your own projects.

Upon pointing out repeatedly that refocusing was not possible at the very second, Tony had left; but he had met with Steve in the doorway. And Steve stayed. Asking how you were settling in, how it felt being here now, after a bit over a month.

The warmth blooming in your chest at him remembering the date even as you were sure he simply liked to keep track of things and people at the AI would haunt your days to come.

“Hey Steve… doing alright. It feels… right to be here,” you said after thinking about it briefly, feeling your shoulders relax, the interaction with Tony not forgotten, but momentarily overshadowed by Steve observing you with a small lopsided smile prompting you to elaborate. “I uhm… the last position, it wasn’t for me.”

“How so?” Steve inquired kindly, a flash of amusement in his eye as his watch vibrated with a message which – as it turned out later – was from Tony and he knew without checking.

God, his smile lit up the damn room when it reached his eyes and the sharp edge of his jaw should be illegal--

“Well, I know it sounds awful, but… I like having a workshop on my own, cooperating with others only when necessary.”

“Others like Tony, your absolute favourite person in the whole world?”

Steve grinned as you couldn’t but grimace slightly, huffing and sipping at the tea he had brought along; and then, because the man in front of you was so damn impossible, you exchanged a conspiratorial smile with him over the edge of the cup. It felt like you could do that; Steve definitely sounded like someone who had a fair share of experience with the man and it wasn’t badmouthing a boss if you only hinted at it.

Not to mention that something about Steve’s demeanour whispered that it was safe to tell the truth and the words spoken would not leave this room unless you wanted to.

“I admit nothing, but maybe he’s in the lower part of my favourite people list right now.”

Steve’s smile widened, almost boyish now, despite the fact you were all too aware that his soul was weighted with past losses and pain no boy should ever experience; and your heart skipped a beat, your thoughts stumbling one over the other, untying your tongue unwisely.

“But uhm… what I meant is that I definitely enjoy not having to be the boss to anyone but myself, you know? I don’t… I really don’t have the qualities of a boss, I think. I’m not… bossy.”

“Oh? Is that the main quality of a leader? Being unbearably bossy?” he asked.

One corner of his lips rose higher, his irises crinkling with laughter, utterly distracting, your already tangled thoughts scattering altogether.

“Hm?”

Steve smile turned downright beaming now – the gorgeous jerk – and it took you embarrassingly long to understand why he seemed to be holding back laughter.

When it did dawn to you, you set your cup down hastily, your whole world exploding in social propriety horror, blood draining from your face as you realized any courteous relationship you two had been building probably shattered and you had most definitely crossed a line.

But before you could somehow apologize for implying that he was obviously that, your colleague and living legend and yes, your boss in a way, he burst out laughing with such pure sincerity – and so damn brightly, the halo of warmth around him calling out to your heart – that you couldn’t but chuckle with him despite the embarrassment piercing as deep as to where your bones were.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Please, don’t, I needed that. Thank you,” Steve chuckled again, the cerulean blue of his eyes, with the cutest droplets of greenery you never failed to notice, crinkling with laughter still. “I’m sure many would agree, Tony most of all. But I’m glad you’re content here. It means you might stay… despite having to deal with some peculiar or bossy people keeping you company-”

“Oh my god-“

You whined, fighting the urge to hide your flushed face or simply walk out of your own workshop and leave him there, the jester, the little shit who was supposed to be and was a gentleman but there he was, having fun at your expense – and yet, you stayed and couldn’t but chuckle again, the joy of sharing a laugh with him mixing with mortification.

What a prime example of how capable you were of putting your foot in your mouth, wasn’t it?

But that was not how you earned your nickname, so sweet and unique to Steve, no.

That only came a few minutes later.

When Tony’s goddamn untested prototype simply decided to explode without as much as a warning beyond a silent click Steve’s supersoldier ears must have picked up on, because as the noise of explosion hit your own ears, you were already tackled down. Pinned to the ground and shielded by a warm weight of a man who didn’t hesitate to use his own body to protect you from harm since his vibranium shield wasn’t at hand.

By the time you began to process what had happened, Steve had rolled you over so he wasn’t crushing you. Your breaths were coming out short as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart a second from beating its way out of your chest from both anger and fright – and concern.

Because that was most definitely blood trickling down Steve’s forehead.

And he was blinking up at you with confusion – as if he didn’t even remember he had been the one to shield you, the instinct simply lacing his soul and DNA alike – as you climbed off of him and coughed away the pressure in your chest. You spent a precious few moments scanning over the mess of your recently new workspace – now a bit sparkly and crispy and definitely messy, but at least with no fire – before your eyes zeroed on Steve again.

“Hey Lo,” he muttered, blinking, looking at your face with curiosity, causing you to frown harder, your pulse skyrocketing further at the nonsensical words coming out of his mouth.

He must have hit his head hard.

You prayed to lords of science that help was already on the way – so you only had to keep Steve talking, to be sure he was not passing out on you. Your eyes ran over his form quickly, apprehensive of seeing blood anywhere else – as if on his face wasn’t enough.

How seriously was he hurt? You could feel a dull echo of pain in your back but none in your head; a distant memory of Steve’s large hand cradling the back of your head tickled your mind. He had not failed to protect your skull from cracking against the floor despite having but milliseconds to get you down. Of course he had. But what about him?

With the frantic melody of your heart loud in your ears, you wanted to punch him and kiss him all at once for his reaction; and the adrenalin coursing your veins, screaming at your throw any attempt at normal behaviour out of the window, was not helping you decide which one of the two you should choose.

Maybe both?

It was the blood, the coppery scent of it and the dark patch in Steve’s light hair, that helped you push either of those urges aside, your hands aimlessly hovering above him, unsure whether you could touch him without hurting him further.

“My god, Steve, you’re blee-- Who’s Lo? Are you okay?” you demanded, laying your hand on his chest when he tried to get up, your mind scrambling for any knowledge about first aid you could possibly provide at site. All you knew was that he should not be moving much, because god knew if his head injury wasn’t connected with a spine injury. “Wha-“

To your utter bewilderment, Steve was smiling a bit in response – just how much of a concussion had he suffered? – appearing distracted as his hand covered yours on his sternum, gentle and warm, mumbling your name.

“Don’t know any Lo. But you have… this halo above your head. Looks nice. Are you okay?”

Huh?

Oh.

Not a Hey Lo. A halo.

That made a lot more sense. Why didn’t you think of that on your own? You should have. It was just a game of light and possibly Steve’s concussion affecting his vision further. It was just physics. And physics was essential for your work. You were good at physics. You were a physicist.

Which would explain why you said what you did next. Any rational person would have chuckled, embarrassed, and said something intelligently dismissive and moved on.

But not you, oh no.

Instead, your stressed-out brain went out of its way to launch into explanations of the natural phenomenon of halos, of the tinniest of crystals in the atmosphere aligning just right, reflecting the electromagnetic radiation into the eye of the beholder, and the dual nature of light as particles and waves.

You were not proud of it – but your lecture certainly kept Steve’s very conscious attention on you until the AI paramedics on duty arrived along with the cleaning crew and took an awfully calm Steve away; but not before he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes, slightly unfocused but still, undeniably focused on you, measuring you head to toe, checking your body for any injuries. Because of course he did.

Less than 24 hours later, he walked into your lab with a new cheeky greeting that only registered after your still shaken brain decided to have you hug him out of sheer relief; settling into that hug felt like it was suddenly the only right thing in the universe, right next to Steve’s soft voice and the new nickname.

“Hey, Lo.”

You wouldn’t admit it at the time, groaning at his teasing instead, but you fell in love with the nickname the very moment he spoke it; and fell a little bit more in love with him too. And when during one of the long nights at which you didn’t feel so great and found solace in the communal living room talking to him, he admitted with a soft smile that the nickname was about more than teasing and more than a memory, you realized you had fallen too deep.

Steve said he simply thought the nickname fit you very well; bright and brilliant, your need for everything to align just right and perfect in your inventions making you shine, sometimes so much it rendered others – or even yourself – blind to that fact that no matter how big your brain was, it was your even bigger heart that made you who you were.

It was the closest thing to calling you an angel and a genius at once and you were speechless.

As sappy as his words might be, it was exactly what you needed to hear at that time: at two a.m. at a long night thinking about how your inventions, while built to help your friends and those on the side of the angels, hurt people. And when spoken with utter sincerity, by a man whom you believed was nothing but good, and with a hand over the back of yours and then over your back when you went to hug Steve close, his words, just like his arms and his light, enveloped you in warmth and safety.

The light you saw behind your eyelids now, the weight still on you, made you wonder if this was what Steve had felt and seen that day in the lab when you were still sprawled over him, seconds after the explosion.

As you were mercilessly pulled towards that light, a soft weight you just become aware had been there the whole time disappeared from your hand, leaving it feeling strangely cold with absence.

“Aaaaand she lives,” a male voice you distantly recognized as Clint stated, the last push to opening and squinting your eyes against the unusual environment and company.

You were lying in bed. Clint stood nearby, a smirk with a shade of pride and worry on his lips. Bucky loomed in the corner of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking grumpy with just a hint of a smile when you met his gaze. Tony at the foot of the bed. And Steve; on the opposite side of the bed to Clint, sitting in a chair by your bedside.

It was quite a crowd; guarding you in what was undeniably one of the AI medical department hospital-like rooms. You knew the space well – you had visited Steve here plenty of times, because he was a protector at heart and a reckless son of a bitch when it came to his own well-being, the memory of that day in your workshop just a cherry of top of all the insane things he was willing to do for others, for what he believed to be greater good.

Now, your roles might be reversed, but Steve still looked a little worn; and still handsome, almost frustratingly so, almost enough to distract you from a more crucial question than whether his slightly pursed lips were as soft as you’d always imagined.

What the hell were you doing in the medical?

You’d put your life savings in on a bet it had everything to do with the pressure on your chest and Tony’s face lightly twisted in worry and outrage.

Which, ouch. Tony actually looked worried. That had to be bad.

You opened your mouth to ask when the memories started floating in, along with the realization that your throat was a bit parched.

Without a word or another hint of a request, Steve brought a cup of water to your lips along with a straw, making you realize you were not, in fact, quite lying down horizontally; the third of the bed closest to the headboard was elevated, thus helping you not to drown when drinking the pleasantly cool liquid.

While grateful for Steve’s assistance, you did not find courage to look at his expression and analyse it like those of the other men; because as the blur of memories creeped in, you were sure Steve would have a lot to say to you and not much of it would be pleasant.

Better to postpone that for as long as possible.

You had fucked up. Somehow, the encounter of the EMP wave and your own device had managed to knock you out. That was far from a cause for glowing reviews; though the uncertainty and the absence of the testing period had led you not to expect any in the first place. In fact, it was the very reason why you had insisted you would be the only one to handle the device.

A solid plan; an uncertain outcome.

“How bad?” you rasped, unwillingly prompting Steve to push the straw back to your lips, even as he still didn’t say a word and sent your heart beating very painfully against your sternum. You resisted the urge to rub on the tender spot.

“You’ll be all fine and peachy,” Tony hummed, earning a mute glare from Steve that would freeze people in spot unless they were Tony Stark. The billionaire ignored it, in turn glaring at you, even if with a lick of pride in his gaze. “Your EMP killer – nice work on the shielding and reversing, by the way – short-circuited under the load of the energy that the EMP, stronger than the last time, emitted. You really went and picked the worst possible second to be still touching it—--ew, that actually sounds dirtier than I wanted for once-”

You gulped, an unvoluntary shiver running down your back as Tony, Tony I-do-whatever-I-want-and-can’t-be-bothered Stark, observed you with something grave in his eye that easily overshadowed the pride and the clear message in his words – that you had helped the team. Immensely. You had not only protected them from the hit, but managed to reverse it, giving Hydra a taste of their own bitter medicine.

And had apparently given the team a scare in the process.

It would track; depending on the voltage, the short-circuit could have burned you or knock you out, neither of those things pleasant. You just hoped it had been worth it.

“Okay. But… you got them, right?” you asked, the flicker of a smirk on Tony’s face as he responded confirming your guess.

“Oh yeah, we got them. Bastards didn’t know what hit them, stood there like idiots for solid five seconds. It was kinda hilarious, you know, you should have seen their faces, just priceless and-“

“Your heart stopped.”

----Tony’s voice fell deadly silent, the room stilling so completely no one even dared to take a breath, least of all you; air stuck in your throat, your lips slightly parting in mute shock.

Steve’s voice wasn’t loud, nor angry; it shouldn’t have interrupted Tony’s so easily. But the quiet authority and the gravity his words carried was enough to shut up even Tony Stark for once.

The room drowned in the sudden silence. The loudest sound was the tremble of your heart, beating fiercely as if in protest to Steve’s statement, echoing in your skull as well as by the heart monitor you were attached to.

Your heart had… stopped?

That was the third option, the third part of your body potentially affected by the electric discharge; your skin, your brain… and your heart.

It was racing now and you felt it in every inch of your body, humming with life, absurdly loud so; but as Steve’s gaze met yours, you sucked in a quick breath as the damning realization slowly sank in.

There was no world in which Steve would ever joke or exaggerated about that; the blue of his irises seemed more watery than usual, speaking of a weight on his shoulders heavier than he’d ever like to carry.

Your heart stopped, he had said, a simple three words that didn’t seem to make sense in a tangible reality, uncomprehensible beyond the coldest shiver of dread running down your spine. Simple, detached words, in a way; and yet, Steve’s eyes whispered of a message far from detached, quite the opposite. Intimate even – and perhaps a little accusatory too.

You died on me. You fucking died and I held you while you did so and that was all I could do.

You remembered as much. Vaguely, in a strange fog surrounded by gentle blue bleeding into indigo and eventually black – and you did remember with startling clarity the sensation of his palms cradling your cheek and of his arms carrying you when you knew your feet wouldn’t be able to. You remembered panic you’d wish to sooth had your lips been able to move. You remembered the heaviness on your chest, preventing you from breathing.

The weight on your chest grew tenfold under Steve’s intent gaze; and made a whole lot more sense now when one thought about what must have been done to you to set your heart back on track.

“It wasn’t for too long, kiddo,” Clint said quietly, drawing your attention to him, his expression warm with almost a fatherly worry – though that might have been the fact he had called you a kid. He could be sweet and caring and responsible like that when he wasn’t up to crazy shenanigans. “But you did give us quite the scare. Arrhythmia, turning so critical your heartbeat became almost undetectable… until it disappeared altogether. You got two discharges and a few chest compressions for your trouble. It was fast and you’re gonna be just fine, but…”

As he trailed off, you gulped, trying to process the information and failing. It simply seemed too surreal of a thought, encountering your death when you were right here now, alive.

But that was the thing about death, wasn’t it? It wasn’t quite you who had encountered your death, not in your conscious sound mind. The others had. Every single person here, having been scared out of their mind; for you.

The overwhelming and perhaps a little bizarre affection that bloomed in spite of the weight sitting on your sternum warmed your bones, spreading through your veins all the way to your fingertips along with the need to say literally anything to make the shadow of gloom on everyone’s faces disappear.

But your mind was coming out blank, your ears ringing a bit.

“Oh, uhm… well. I guess that explains why it hurts so much,” you muttered.

It earned you two sighs and one sharp intake of breath at your side. On the other side of the room, Bucky shifted his weight, bouncing off of the wall with surprising elegance, and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, no shit. Why don’t we give you guys a minute…”

A brief eye-contact with Steve, meaningful but unreadable; a small beckoning at Tony and Clint, each of the two patting the nearest part of your body in encouragement with a slightly uncomfortable yet supportive smile, and then they were on their way.

Leaving you alone with Steve, who now had his elbows propped up on his thighs, fingers interlaced together to rest his chin against them as he thoughtfully observed you without a single word.

To describe your reluctant staring contest as awkward would be a gross understatement and not quite capturing the complexity of the unreadable emotion behind his blue eyes.

It was instinct, you’d later realize, to have your gaze trail along the immensity of his body, checking for bandages and bruises and the little too much tension; with relief that felt a little funny considering the circumstance, you only found the third thing on the list. Steve body was so stiff and strung it had to be painful.

You fought the urge to reach for his hand, knowing a simple gesture like that usually grounded him.

Right now, Steve seemed torn between being a concerned friend and a raging captain, and you did not believe there was anything at all that really could ground him, let alone something in your power.

“Hey…” you breathed out eventually, swallowing heavily when the trivial greeting made him wince. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with such effort as if he had to fight the same weight that was sitting on yours.

“I… no. I’m not. And no, not really.”

I’m the farthest thing from okay.

You gulped as the unspoken words, your lips twitching. “Did you get checked up by med-“

“Did you know?”

Your voice trailed off in an instant, just like Tony’s had earlier; the quiet intensity to Steve’s voice and the unnerving attention his eyes observed you with making a lump grow in your throat, no doubt in your mind about what he was asking about.

It seemed such an absurd question to ask and yet, you supposed it was a fair one; you just couldn’t quite grasp at the reality of Steve asking it.

“Did I know what?”

Steve didn’t avert your hesitant gaze for a second, his hands falling from his face to the space between his thigs, fingers still interlaced; only now you noticed just how tight he was holding one hand to the other, his knuckled having turned white, the vein running down his forearm bulging.

“Did you know what was gonna happen if you used the device? Because you told us it was too complicated for explanations and I trusted you--- and then it looked like you basically just went and pushed a button,” Steve said slowly, every word painfully articulated, the undertone of fire humming under the composed exterior of a Captain calmly berating those under his command, having seen right through their actions and their motivations.

God, he really was unbearably good at reading people, wasn’t he? Most of the time anyway. His gaze was so piercing you could feel it in your chest, how he practically ruminated through your very soul, no matter how feebly you tried to defend its secrets.

“So I’m asking again: did you know that this was a possibility and was that the reason why you refused to let any of us use that device?”

Did you know it might actually kill you, was the question then, not did you know you might get hurt or did you know the device could malfunction.

Well.

“No.”

Steve shook his head slightly, never releasing you from the now blazing blue of his eyes, a new emotion, harder than the others, flickering over his face, his jaw tensing further if that was even possible as he straightened in his chair and released the tight lock on his hands.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve come to despise me somehow even though I don’t know why, but don’t you dare lie to me about that-“

“I’m not,” you exclaimed firmly, straightening a bit as well as silent outrage at his accusation flushed energy into your veins. It made for a fiery cocktail with the conviction behind your very conscious decisions – unlike the one getting shocked into a damn cardiac arrest. “I didn’t know this was going to happen, Steve. All I knew was that it was an untested prototype. So I made the strategic decision to-“

All blood seemed to drain form his face only to return in a millisecond as he damn well stuttered, a outrage colouring his expression and oh, had he have done it by that-

“A strat-- it is not your place to make strategic decisions-“

“I took a calculated risk, Steve!” you cut him off, trying hard to ignore the way it literally hurt to have your heart beating against you apparently bruised ribcage. It was surprisingly easy thanks to how distracting the level of hypocrisy Steve was exercising at the moment. “What would your decision be? A weapon that could get out of hand – imagine that. If it works, it’s all dandy, isn’t it? But if it doesn’t, you’re screwed. And whether the device works or not, if it ends up hurting the person using it, because there was no time to test it properly, you’re short of one skilled fighter. I am not a skilled fighter, you said so yourself, so I knew I was the best person for the job and I stand by that and would damn well do it all over again, and you can fight me or quote me on that!”

Steve bristled.

His jaw set even tighter, now seemingly sharp enough to cut bulletproof glass – and damn had you not been in a middle of exchanging opinions, would it have distracted you – his hands curled into fists.

But for a moment, he remained silent; no doubt fighting an inner battle, because he knew you would call his bluff if he said he would have done things differently. He wouldn’t. He knew you were right and that you had done the best call possible, even without his explicit approval.

He shook his head, willing his fists to relax for a bit as he took time to inhale and exhale slowly.

“That was not supposed to be your decision. It wasn’t right. Not if this was the price to pay,” he said, continuing before you could interrupt him, his voice levelled carefully. It mollified you; a little. “We don’t trade lives, Lo, it is not your choice to-“

“But it is my choice, Steve,” you opposed, “my choice to protect my friends. And you know the rules. I never let anyone use an untested prototype in the field.”

He huffed bitterly and finally released you from the cage of his gaze, running his hand down his face and nodding along as he heard you state, not for the first time, your most basic rule.

Except his nod was not one of approval, nor quite one of understanding. It was more of a nod of infuriation and helplessness when dealing with a stubborn mule.

Well, there were two of those in this conversation.

“Except you were just fine breaking that rule yourself. And it nearly killed you.”

The shiver that ran down your spine shook you, the bite of fear as old as time ice-cold. It nearly killed you. A primal part of your brain understood that, even as you were still processing that – or rather kept postponing the processing in favour of staying sane.

But the worry, so clear and vulnerable as it revealed itself in the depth of Steve eyes, had your shoulders slump, the fire feeding your argument slowly dying out as you felt something tight in your chest loosen just a bit despite the weight still sitting there.

“I didn’t know that was gonna happen, Steve, I swear. That wasn’t a choice,” you offered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But… you’re near death every day – you all are, you make the choice every damn day-”

“Lo, that’s not-“

“And you, Steve, made a very deliberate choice like that over seventy years ago and on a whole different scale,” you reminded him, only to have to silence him when he opened his mouth to protest. “I didn’t make a conscious choice like that, but even if I did… I’m sorry, but you of all people really wouldn’t get to hold that against me. Because you already have traded your life – and you continue to risk it, every day. And the rest of us, mere mortals? We worry, we hope and we watch, unable to do a single thing, and still, we just suck it up, because that’s what you do-“

“It’s not what YOU DO!”

You flinched at the sudden outburst and the sudden movement of the mass of muscle he was, pushing to his feet and stalking a few feet away, eyes turned to the ceiling, a hand slowly running over his mouth.

You had winced at both the boom of his voice and the movement; but most of all, at his words.

Because those hurt.

It was childish in a way, you supposed; but those words burned through you like a wildfire and left nothing but smouldering ashes behind, a sharp sting at the very centre of your chest.

A razer-sharp reminder of who you were.

And who you weren’t.

Because who you weren’t, despite all you could ever do, was someone good enough.

You could feel Steve’s gaze turning back to you, no doubt drawn by the minute wince when he had noticed when he had snapped; but you refused to look at him. It hurt; and you refused to let him see just how much.

“Lo, I-“

You shook your head, a small gesture of your hand to stop him, pressing your lips in a tight line; and not at all willing to admit it was just so you wouldn’t find words to hurt him back – or to keep the stupid irrational sob in.

You got it. You really did. You had said as much to Sam; but that didn’t mean you were over it in the span of very long, very hard two days.

Steve was right, of course.

He had been right when he had said you didn’t get to make strategic decisions, and you were not able to defend yourself and that you simply weren’t an agent in the first place. Which would have been fine – because you did not want to be an agent.

You just wanted to be something more to Steve.

You used to think that maybe one day what you were – because Sam had also been right, you were irreplaceable as you were and you were pretty damn awesome, you knew that on a good day – could be enough for Steve.

But you wouldn’t. You weren’t. Never had been.

It was clear as day and violent as daylight after staying awake all night.

You licked your lips as you stared at the covers draped over your legs, trying your damn best to keep your voice calm and composed even as your nose stung with unshed tears.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Lo…”

“Was there anything else you needed, Captain?”

The sound pushing past his lips was guttural and painful, making your stomach clench. You squeezed your eyes shut.

It served him right. It served him right, because if you didn’t get to be close to him, he might as well get the hell out of your sight and out of your life. Just because you would never be a partner to him, he didn’t get to shove it to your face and make it hurt, to twist the knife in the still gaping wound. That was not fair of him. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Not even Steve damn Rogers, no matter how much your stupid heart ached for his love.

You hated how clearly you could see him even with your eyes closed; you heard his steps, could imagine the stiffness and rashness of his movements, the way he plumped back into the chair by your bed, the way he was leaning his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward.

His voice closer, a slight crack to it, a visceral note that made you nauseous just a bit with the vulnerability it displayed.

“Don’t… please don’t do this to me.”

It was almost enough. It was almost enough to make you fold and open your eyes and sooth him, but you couldn’t. Not now. You weren’t sure you ever should, if you were planning to stay sane and move on.

You gulped against the lump in your throat, but you persisted, repeating yourself.

“Was there anything else you-“

“Yeah, okay—alright,” he whispered, a rustle of fabric as he moved in his chair; but that was not the most prominent sound. That would be the resignation and barely masked hurt in his voice. “I deserve that. I do. Should I send for Sam?”

The unexpected question made you heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open despite your better judgement. A pair of eyes brimming with bright sadness stared back, an openly desperate yet achingly empty expression on Steve’s face; once more, your hands twitched with the instinctual need to comfort him.

No. Not now.

And he had asked you a question; that was why you had looked at him in the first place. The reminder had your heart skip another two very painful beats – probably literally, because Steve’s eyes flickered to the heart monitor by your bed with a frown.

“…why would you send for Sam? Where is he? Is he okay?” you demanded, mind scrambling for any memory of him being hit during the mission prior to your… intervention.

“No, he’s fine, he’s… he had a small cut on his arm and a few bruises, but he’s okay,” Steve reassured you, quick to do so, even if somewhat dully. “He said he needed to--- to take care of something.”

You breathed in and out, the ache in your ribcage easing except it did not. “Good.”

Steve looked as if he was the one in profound pain. And you broke.

You always broke when it came to him – that was your curse, even as you used to think that in a way, it was a blessing.

Where did that get you?

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, an idea occurring to you as to why he could be in pain even as he wasn’t – as unlikely it was that he would have been sitting by your bedside had it been any truth to it. “Is… Sharon okay?”

Steve’s smile might light up a room, you had often seen it happen; but the one he gave you now was just sad at its edges and did not reach his eyes, boring into yours again – intensely so, but without the previous pressure.

“We’re all just fine, Lo.”

“Good.”

Your voice was barely audible and yet it felt too loud in the sudden calm after the storm, a calm brushing over the rubble it had left behind; heavy stones you didn’t think you had the strength to move now, to build back up, the base of what you and Steve were – or used to be to each other – seemingly too shaky.

You weren’t sure you could ever rebuild it or whether you even should. Some things were better to left behind in order for something new to bloom; and yet, the idea of cutting Steve out of your life left like a hot wire splitting your heart in two.

And yet, Steve lifted the first stone, not to throw it because he was without sin; but to lay it gently into your hand so you could choose whether to throw it at him or choose to start with the restoration.

And like always, you couldn’t refuse an offer like that.

“I… I’m really sorry I yelled at you.”

“I get it, Steve, you were mad and I scared you-“

“That still didn’t give me the right,” he opposed quietly, lips slightly pursed, the sincerity of his regret breaking through the sadness still etched into his expression.

It hadn’t given him the right indeed – but he was only human.

And the volume of his voice wasn’t the problem, nor was him having startled you. You weren’t scared of him.

You were just scared of just how much he could make you feel and hurt and how little you were able to will yourself to do anything to take that power away from him.

“You barely even raised your voice, Steve-“

“And I’m still sorry,” he repeated in earnest. “I shouldn’t have. Yes, what you did, what happened to you--- it scared me, but that’s not an excuse. It definitely isn’t an excuse to blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind and hurt you.”

You gulped, your hand gripping the sheets.

Of course he had noticed the effect of his words. He wasn’t an idiot; most of the time anyway. And when he was an idiot, he was the kindest and the sincerest one. That was why you could never quite just make yourself not to love him.

God, he truly must have been the most infuriating person on the planet-

“I never want to hurt you, Lo. I’m sorry for that and for putting another thing between us even though I’m not sure what happened between us in the first place. I just…” he gulped, the deep, sad pools of blue searching your face you were sure had crumbled at his goddamn I never want to hurt you and the softness lacing your nickname. Your chest deflated a little and it hurt, physically and figuratively, Steve’s regrets about the distance that had been growing between you for weeks now tangible. “I’m sorry we’re this way. But… if I can’t be here for you, if don’t talk to me… fine—well, not fine, but--- what I’m trying to say is that whatever reason you have to hate me, fine, for now. But I know something’s been bothering you and now you nearly died, so you’d better talk to someone-“

“Why was your first thought Sam of all people?”

You couldn’t but notice a flash of hurt when you didn’t deny you hated him for the second time but you’d unpack that later – your heart was already brimming with something sweet and burning and aching.

“He… when you wouldn’t talk to me before, you… you clearly confided him in. You’re… it’s none of my business really, you two, you seem… close, so I thought-“

A sheen of ice-cold sweat covered your skin and had you shiver, your heart stumbling very painfully in your chest, the solid mattress under your body as if disappearing, replaced by a gaping void to which you stared despite the sudden vertigo.

“Hold on, did he--- tell you we talked or something?”

Did he tell you I’m fucking in love with you and jealous as hell?

Steve looked away.

“Steve?” you pressed.

“No. I… you’ve been avoiding me-“

“Oh, that’s rich-“

“And I know I haven’t exactly had a clear schedule, but it’s obvious still!” Steve interrupted your outrage with his own, even as his had earned an edge of an emotion you could not quite place. “And I tried to give you space--- but I also knew that mission where Nat got hurt would get to you too, but I had to leave and then, when I was back, you… you were already talking to Sam and—”

You watched Steve breathe in an out with growing confusion – but also with relief maddeningly mixed with disappointment.

Relief because he did not know. Disappointment for the very same reason.

Only now when you had a painful physical symptom, it dawned to you just how hard it had been to breathe around Steve due to both hope and anxiety.

“He’s a good guy, Lo. I’m… glad you have him, you deserve nothing less.”

An involuntary smile passed your lips, one that – for some reason – had Steve avert your gaze, the corners of his lips turned down just slightly, as if in a sad smile to mirror your own.

…why?

Your confusion was growing by the minute – and so was the heaviness in your limbs, but now was not the time to get tired.

“Yes, that we can agree on- Sam’s is a wonderful frie—wait hat do you mean have him? It’s not like he’s mine, we’re both friends with--- oh.”

The flicker of something on Steve’s face was a dead giveaway as to what he had meant, your brain short-circuiting for a few silent beats.

And you couldn’t but chuckle at the absurd conclusion he had come too, the sound leaving your lips unwittingly even as laughing hurt.

But… Steve thought you and Sam were dating?

Forget your heart having stopped – this was the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Judging by the utter confusion and reluctant relief on Steve’s face, he seemed to think the very thing about your reaction.

“Sam? No. No, Steve, come on, I love Sam, but he’s like a brother to me--- not to mention he’s been gathering courage to ask Jess out for months and it’s been like a week since he did and he’s already a goner. When you said he said he needed to take care of something, he probably meant calling Jess, telling her he’s safe and sound.”

Steve’s lips parted soundlessly, a beat of silence, realization dawning on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you echoed, his face so endearingly scrunched as he chewed on that thought that you couldn’t but chuckle and have mercy on him; how could you be mad at him for just about anything when he had apologized, was concerned for the state of your relationship and looked like that? How could you ever hope to keep him at arm’s length or further just to protect your foolish heart?

You sighed, a seal inside you breaking, your shoulders slumping lower.

“Look, Steve I… as for what’s been bothering me… I told you. I’m just… going through some stuff-“

Like a flash of lightning, Steve’s contemplative expression disappeared, replaced by urgency as he leaned forward again, desperate sincerity lacing his features.

“So why don’t you let me help? What did I do? Why are you avoiding me--- and don’t tell me you aren’t, please, don’t insult me like that-“

“Steve, I just-“ you interrupted him, his gaze hanging on your face like a lifeline, the gears in your head turning madly as to figure out how to tell him the truth without telling him everything. “I just… need some time to come to terms with certain things. With… myself.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, panic glimmering in his eyes for a moment.

“Are you sick?”

You frowned, confused by the question.

“…no?”

Not beyond having had a small cardiac arrest.

“Are you leaving the AI then? Is someone bothering you, giving you a hard time? We can take care of that, I’ll gladly take care of that personally—or-- look, if it’s about the money or the workshop or-“

“Steve, no-“

“Then what?” he breathed out, barely audible, but no less helpless and so unfairly gentle you felt tears sting in your eyes. “Tell me. I’ll try my best to make it better--- we all will. But please stop pushing me away unless you really do hate-”

“I don’t hate you, Jesus, Steve, I---”

The sheer visible relief at hearing that truly spoke of just how badly he had been affected by your mess of feelings and separation. Guilt instantly gnawed at your stomach.

Between all the wallowing about how Steve didn’t feel the same about you, you appeared to have forgotten about how deeply the beautiful man in front of you felt; how deeply he cared.

Of course he had been worried. Of course it had bothered him, no matter how much you tried to lie to yourself that he hadn’t to ease your ache.

His genuine relief was a vicious reminder from the universe of how deeply Steve loved his friends. It made your stomach twist and fill with butterflies all the same. Of course you only loved him for it all the more.

It was another pure viciousness of the universe to give humanity only one Steve Rogers. It was unfair that the one who existed could not be yours.

It was unfair and lovely that he continued to watch you expectantly; he was not going to let the topic go. Obviously. What a surprise, not, to see him stubborn.

You sighed again, licking your lips, unable to hold the weight of his gaze as you tried to look for the right words, fingers toying with the sheets.

“I just… I got too used to being—the girl,” you said.

You could practically hear his frown at that and huffed self-deprecatingly. “God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. What I mean is… the team relied on me, you know? You relied on me, you spent a lot of time with me and… then Sharon showed up, replacing me, rightfully so, and I--- this is my shit to deal with. I know that. It’s just… my stupid feelings, my stupid jealousy. That’s what I’m dealing with and have to deal with on my own… because for a huge part, I’m… ashamed of it.”

“Lo-“

“Wait, I- let me finish please, or I’ll never get it out and I never want to talk about this again, so…. I got used to being your girl--- not your girl!” you swiftly corrected yourself, mortified at the slip-up. “I mean…your girl, and I know it sounds the same but it’s not really--- and I get it. Rationally, I get it, Steve, I really do and I want you to be happy.”

Finally, you found the courage to meet his gaze, vision blurry as you smiled, even if through your tears – because this part you weren’t ashamed of and was achingly certain of.

Chuckling breathlessly, you caught the stray tear that escaped your eye.

“Because, Steve, you deserve to be so happy. For who you are, for what you’ve been through and stand for and Sharon is perfect. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s badass, she’s a Carter, you’re clearly meant to be together and that’s great, so great, but I--- I have feelings too and I just… as happy as I am for you, I just need to digest the fact that I’m not the only female human in your life besides Nat and that romantic partners often come before friends and in a way they should-“

The hand suddenly enveloping yours made your voice crack and fall silent – at least that was what you told yourself. That it was the warm weight of Steve’s touch you craved every damn day, not your heart breaking at wishing Steve well with someone who was not you.

“Hold on-”

“I get it, I just… I just need some space and some time, okay?” you rasped, forcing another smile. You wanted to turn your hand to squeeze his hand reassuringly for a good measure; but he didn’t let you.

As your gaze flickered to your joined hands and back to his face, vision clearing, you were startled by two things. Three. No, make that four.

One, those handsome features of his, because goddammit, did it somehow still took you by surprise just how beautiful Steve was.

Two, his expression – caught somewhere between experiencing shell-shock and visceral need to do something.

Three, his eyes, having turned glassy.

And four and foremost, how everything about him – despite the urgency in his stance, leaning into your space so close your faces were a mere foot from each other – suddenly seemed impossibly tender.

“Whatever you need, Lo…” Steve muttered, his hand flexing over yours and gripping – gently, but very firmly. “But no. I… I truly am sorry. I never meant to neglect you because of this mission, let alone so much you’d feel like this. It… I sometimes get my head lost in the game and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have-“

“And yes,” he cut you off, holding your gaze seriously, “Sharon’s great and she’s been around a lot since we’re cooperating on this one, but… I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t needed or wanted, or god forbid, like you are somehow less than her. You are important to the team, you are our girl, you’re… as a person, as a team member, your inventions, your input – they’re crucial and I’ll never stop marvelling at what you can come up with. …even if it nearly kills you and me in the process--- Lo, I swear, when Friday reported the arrhythmia and then your heart stopped, I nearly had a heart attack and you’d better, in fact, never do that again-”

The broken rasp of his voice was like an ice-cold fist of guilt clutching at your heart and pulling, gently replaced by warm fondness, a few more tears spilling over when you spotted one of his own rolling down his cheek. You could not find your own voice, noting with slight embarrassment that your lower lip was a second from wobbling at the assault of emotion radiating off Steve.

And then his left hand slipped under your hand – now held between both of his – as he took a deep breath, chasing the clouds away, a soft frown twisting his face.

“But I have to ask… what on Earth makes you think me and Sharon are together or that I’m even interested in her as anything else than a fellow agent and a friend?”

You froze mid-inhale, air painfully catching in your bruised chest.

Your mind turned blank in an instant – a complete tabula rasa besides the essential script of your damn heart belonging to the man sitting by your bed, to the gentle giant cradling your hand between both of his, observing you with curiosity and what looked like a silent wonder.

You were wondering too.

You were confused as hell, your whole world tilting aside, your tongue feeling heavy and all kinds of funny as you tried to form words.

“You’re… not?”

“No. …no-“

Admittedly, you were rather unimpressed at the strange expression on his face and his resolute tone, contrasting sharply with how many compliments to Sharon he had just agreed with – but that was the least of your worries.

“I mean…” Steve said, hesitating slightly, “you’re right. Objectively, she’s all you said, but even if I was interested in her, the fact that she is a Carter and I was once in love with her grandaunt would make it rather awkward.”

“Oh.”

That was all you managed to choke out: an oh.

What an eloquent intelligent human being you were.

But in all honesty, your mind was blanking out on all words in English and any other language beyond what the hell and Steve is not interested in Sharon.

What he had said made sense, in a way. You supposed.

It had just never occurred to you.

But it had never also occurred to you just how wrong you could interpret Steve’s behaviour.

This whole time, ever since Sharon perfect Carter had walked in, you had been heartbrokenly sure Steve must have fallen for her. But he claimed that he hadn’t.

It would be great news if it didn’t boggle your mind and if the fact he wasn’t into her automatically meant he could ever be into you. And if all that time you had spent away, avoiding him and a broken heart at seeing him with Sharon in the process… hadn’t been for nothing and hadn’t hurt you both. Steve was clearly bothered that he hadn’t had time for you, for his close friend, and that whole time, he had known for a fact that you had been avoiding him--

God you were such an idiot.

And sure, Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to throw the first stone, not without some blame himself, but—

How could you have misjudged the situation so catastrophically…? How?

Jealousy.

Hurt.

Love.

All easy answers and complicated emotions that had blinded you.

For a rather rational person you liked to think you were, the man sitting with you still, holding your hand gently and firmly, still, sure stoked the fire of feelings so deep within you there had been no escaping that emotional bias.

It would have been wonderful had your feelings been reciprocated and had not Steve been observing you intently, eyes flickering all over your face and drinking in every detail of your face and taking a good, long look into your eyes, staring into your very soul in all its nakedness.

You reciprocated his gaze but for a few seconds until you could not bear it anymore, your heart, while trembling at his attention, speeding up with its every beat, your panic rising, because it was true what Sam had said about Steve.

He might be slow and blind when it came to certain things, but he was one damn brilliant man and you knew it.

And right now, it felt like certain puzzle pieces in his mind were falling into place and-

“You know,” Steve whispered, “Bucky told me I’m dumb like a ton of bricks if I don’t know what’s going on with you, but he wouldn’t tell me, the jerk. I… I think I’m starting to understand why.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, finding his gaze impossibly soft and you gulped, goosebumps rising all over your skin in anticipation.

You weren’t ready. You were not ready at all – to face his judgement. With your confession about jealousy and other feelings you had, with his own brilliance, he must have known now, and he was about to let you down gently, because ‘I never want to hurt you, Lo’ was something he had meant wholeheartedly.

Steve squeezed your hand, taking a deep breath – and in turn, you held your own.

“I’m going to go on a limp here, Lo, but… having established that you’re always gonna be our girl… would you… do you ever think about being my girl?” he asked softly.

Your heart skipped a beat – very, very painfully so, so much you winced and sucked in a startled breath before your body rebooted and your heart started racing again.

And your mind followed.

Your vision blurred a bit, your mouth turning dry.

He--- did he just-

Forget your heart having stopped, forget Steve having thought you were dating or about to date Sam; you had spoken too soon. This was the most definitely going to be the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Because it--- did Steve just asked you out? Was that what he meant?

Well, you supposed that with how loosely you had used the term ‘your girl’, maybe he had-

“When… when you say your girl, you mean-“

One corner of his lips twitched, whether from nerves or a smile you couldn’t tell. His hold on your hand loosened slightly, his thumb running over the back of your hand, the gesture combined with… everything, making for a choked startled sound in the back of your throat, awaking a sparkle in Steve’s eye, his lips curling up further.

“My best girl.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not entirely clear wording-“

“The dame I’d like to take on a date, sweep her off her feet and after she forgives me for acting like an ass, kiss her breathless if she lets me,” he stated in all seriousness.

You swallowed another startled sound, your head suddenly spinning.

Okay, that’s… that’s clearer.

And wonderful.

So, so wonderfully incredible.

You blinked, your brain somehow still processing what your heart instantly understood – and recognized as true.

Steve said was not interested in Sharon.

Steve was clearly interested in you.

Steve cared about you very deeply.

There might even be a slight chance that Steve was – just the tinniest bit at least – in love with you.

There was also a fair chance Steve had actually been jealous of Sam – perhaps the same way you had been of Sharon.

And there was a hundred percent chance you were both utter idiots.

And Steve would like to sweep you off your feet and kiss you breathless.

While he continued to regard with softly, he was also clearly expecting an answer the lack of thereof let uncertainty into his gaze, growing by the second.

You could not have that, because then he might take his words back, taking your silence for rejection; and meanwhile both of his suggestions made you speechless in the best way and gave birth to a fluttery feeling in your stomach, something warm, oh so endlessly warm, spreading in your achy ribcage.

“I’d… really like that,” you breathed out weakly, only now realizing you might have been holding your breath. How could you not? If anything, you were practising for Steve stealing all air from your lungs if he’d kiss you, those soft, undoubtedly soft lips--- your licked yours, your heart stumbling a bit as Steve’s gaze automatically flickered down to your mouth. “That, uhm… that’d be nice.”

Especially the kissing part.

Steve’s eyes snapped back up, relief mixing with amusement.

“Nice?”

Heat flooded your face, indignation, shame and affection all at once.

“Oh go to hell, Steve, my heart had like three hundred joules running through it today and I just learned that you’d like to kiss me which I really approve of, so I don’t have the mental capacity to be Shakespeare right now-“

As you automatically tried to jerk your hand free – despite his teasing being gentle – his hold on you turned into a tender vice, his features twisting with concern.

“Oh I know, doll, no need to remind me,” he muttered, sighing deeply, your mind instantly latching onto the new endearment, your face flushing further. With another sigh, Steve turned your hand to rest in his palm, his left index carefully following your lifeline “That’s one more vivid nightmare to haunt me. I… probably shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, as happy as I am that you said yes. It’s a date, though.”

A sweet, boyish smile passed his lips.

“But I should let you rest. You had a very long day.”

And wasn’t that the understatement of the goddamn year. You felt exhaustion settling into your bones despite joy still humming in your veins; you were not quite ready to let Steve go. Not now. Not ever.

After the briefest thought of telling him that perhaps the long day had earned you a goodnight kiss then, you covered his hand still drawing on your palm with yours, stilling his movements.

“So did you,” you pointed out, earning a noncommittal sound of agreement. “And uhm… sometimes we deal with a long day together, right? I miss that.”

He lifted his gaze, his smile, while not quite lighting up his face, warm like the sunshine itself and you couldn’t reciprocate, your heart finally free to thumb-thumb wildly in your chest in a rhythm of a lovesong you had been trying to silence for quite the while.

“Yeah, me too. I missed you, Lo.”

“I missed you too… plus, you just asked me out on a date, it would be rude to just leave.”

“That is true,” he said, a sparkle in his eye at last. “But I do think you should get some sleep. I’ll be here if you want me… fending off your nightmares at least.”

God knows I have enough nightmares for a lifetime, you read in his gaze. And one of them is losing you to something much worse than rejection and carrying another regret greater than life for the rest of my days.

You hummed, eyes stinging at the vulnerability of the words that might have not be pushed past his lips, but were written in his warm, sad smile.

“I’d like that, Steve… stay with me?”

He smiled a little wider, scooting his chair closer, one of his hands escaping the complicated tangle by your side in favour of pressing carefully to your shoulder to lie down into the cushions fully, brushing over your jaw lightly, tender fingers continuing up to smoothen your hair.

Despite how heavy your body was feeling by the minute – had been for a while – your heartbeat picked up at the sweet gesture, Steve’s eyes on you intently as if to look for any sign of discomfort, pain, or protest.

He found none.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lo…” he promised, squeezing your hand, fingers wavering by your cheek before he moved to cradle your jaw, leaning in. “But you should know that neither are you. I don’t care how many gadgets you and Tony come up with, how much protective gear you can get – I’m never letting you in the field again.”

“Hey-“

Before you indignation could flare up at his very bossy decision or the fact he just had to bring it up now, the little shit, the fire was put out, replaced by warmth spreading from where Steve’s lips brushed your forehead in a tender kiss, all the way to your fingertips and toes.

“But that’s a problem for another day… rest, Lo. I’ll be right here.”

Your mouth opened, any retort or protest overruled by your body literally melting under his affection.

“You’re playing dirty…” you muttered, no power behind your words. “Please continue.”

Steve’s breath tickled your hairline as he chuckled and kissed your forehead again, your eyes slipping shut, an unvoluntary but welcomed smile spreading on your lips, softening when Steve’s fingertips caressed along your jaw.

You could fall asleep to such tenderness. Every night. Especially after having quite a long day.

“Rest so I can woo you as soon as possible, Lo,” Steve whispered, kissing you one more time, this time on your cheek, before retreating back to his chair. Both his hands took one of yours again, keeping it warm, safe and his.

Just like you.

“That’s an order I can get behind, ‘ptain… Thank ya’ for being here.”

“Trust me… there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And he meant it; every word. Of that you were sure of, even as you mind welcomed the soft darkness of a peaceful sleep, watched over by the fiercest, kindest protector you’d ever know.

As sleep led you away from him, Steve took several steadying breaths, letting the emotions of the indeed long day wash over him, closing is eyes just for a moment, wincing at the first image appearing in his mind being your terrifyingly still form.

He had not spoken a single lie to you, having been scared out of his mind – he had only kept certain truths from you. Like the truth that kept tugging at the corners of his lips up despite you being in a hospital bed.

He loved you.

And he was going to sweep you off your feet over and over to prove it, to let you feel just how much light was expanding in his chest whenever he could see you, talk to you, hold you; and feel that you cared about him too, more than he had ever hoped.

When he opened his eyes, it was almost as if you could hear his thoughts; while in the dreamland, bruised and exhausted beyond life, there was a small relaxed smile in your lips, one that drew Steve’s gaze like a magnet.

That was how Sam found him; that was what greeted Steve too. A telling, dopey grin on both of their faces.

Sam might have said Steve was far from blind and was quite brilliant, but the man himself was right up there with him, instantly understanding something had changed between you and Steve. When Steve asked him about a certain Jessica, Sam’s grin only widened; and Steve only wondered how he had missed it all before.

Love truly could be blind, couldn’t it? You would know, too; how you had never realized how he had felt for you was beyond him.

But the important thing was that he’d show you, now; and you agreed to let him.

As if Sam could hear his thoughts, he patted Steve’s shoulder, not staying longer than was necessary to learn how you were doing and to tell Steve to tell you he stopped by.

As he left, Sam took Steve’s gloomy thoughts of the day with him, leaving only contentment settling deep into Steve’s ribcage. As he still held onto you, he allowed to the sound of your regular breathing be a balm to his soul, the feeling on your hand in his be a balm for his heart.

Next chapter (Epilogue) // Series masterlist

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading, loves! Thoughts, encouragements and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

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Hello dear readers! I wanted to get to this chapter much sooner, but life has been happening and muse was protesting against the length of this… so it might have taken a while, but you got a double-length serving AND feels... yay!?🥰

With this chapter, I’m also crossing the 2 mil. word count on AO3. Might have been sooner with the blurbs I posted here on tumblr, but that is not the point… I just want to thank you if you’ve been here with me for some of those words and supported my writing. Thank you 💕

May your days be filled with love 💕

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #fanfiction #take the ache #anika ann

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lil-bitty-lubdubs · 3 months ago

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The Basement Series:Fraya pt.2

After a while she started coming out of the haze looking around. The first thing Freya noticed was the sterile cold air inflating her lungs automatically when she tired to take a breath. She opened her eyes all the way and looked down at her self. She realized she was naked and in a strange room. Leads were attached to her chest and fed into a heart monitor a few feet in front of her. She felt something larger than a lead and picked her head up slightly to get a better look. They were AED pads, one fit just on her collarbone and the other under her left breast. Her heart rate started increasing and the monitor beeped out loud keeping to her rhythm. “Welcome back Freya.” Cal walked into the light. She panicked when she saw him clearly remembering him. She tried getting up to run before realizing she was bound to the table and forgetting she was intubated. She struggled weakly but to no avail. Besides her chest ached something fierce and fear was feeding her jelly like strength. “I promised you lots of fun and lots we shall have still. You wanna see it?” he turned a camera to her so she could watch the screen. That’s when she noticed another one mounted just next to her heart monitor, recoding light ablaze. She wished she could beat this Cal over the head with it.

She wanted nothing to do with seeing her own rape, but curiosity got the best of her and her eyes remained glued to the screen. To her horror, she realized he wasn’t here for sex. It was far worse. As she watched she felt bile rising despite the tube in her throat breathing rhythmically for her, as Cal resuscitated her out of flatline.

“You see Freya I want to know you. I want to know everything about you. I want to know how your heart beats in a normal rhythm. I want to know how you react to being injected with…oh I don’t know…potassium. Or being given a stimulant. How long can your little heart hold out say… against a dose of heroin. Or how about drowing. Water inflating your lungs forcing the precious oxygen out of you as you take in the thick water instead, or maybe gassed with a special mix … I mean the fun we are going to have is endless. He grinned.

That’s when she knew she was in trouble. He was sick. Mentally sick. Not hormonal raging sick with a side of losing control. He was literally a lunatic living in his own fantasy reality and he was going to kill her. Not just once but over and over until he couldn’t bring her back again. Despite his acute handsome features, she wanted to vomit, she felt adrenaline flood into her body as the fear took over. She struggled harder. He smiled.

‘That’s it sweetheart. Panic. Yield that little heart to me.” he grabbed the side of her head and held it down to the side a needle in his hand. She screamed against the tube in her throat as he injected her straight in the carotid artery. He was using not just drugs but her own body against her, she realized. That’s’ why he’d waited for her to wake. He was using her fear to send her heart faster into death.

She felt heat spread from the injection site and burn as it went. It reached her heart in seconds, sending it soaring. 120 beats a minute. 140 the monitor was crying out in warning, her eyes stated rolling back into her head as she saw fireworks. 180 and it climbed still. Cal stood beside her watching her writhe and struggled to breath until finally all her little muscle could do was quiver ineffectively at 230 beets a minute.

“That’s it little heart.” He placed his hand directly over her sternum, “shake and let me pump you back into sinus.” he smiled as she flatlined. He came then, unable to hold out anymore, groaning and thrusting next to his newest beauty. When he finished, he used a wipe and then jumped on top of Freya, his hips over her abdomen as he dethatched the breathing machine. He decided to forgo the ambu bag and tuned to look straight into the camera smiling knowingly as one eyebrow shot up. He went for the tube jutting out of her throat sealing his lips around the hole making sure he was watching the camera and started shoving air down her trachea as her breasts rose with her inflated lungs. He did it three more times before being satisfied she was oxygenated. He slid a bag out from under her bed that read Lucas Heart Thumper and undid her arm restrains. Sliding the small board behind her to the spot right underneath her heart, he locked in the top over her sternum and used the tip of his middle and fourth finger to landmark the right position just above her sternal notch.

The machine came to life as he began setting the dials to begin pumping her heart. Cal continued breathing for her while whispering reassuringly into her ear. “In case you’re worried Freya, I won’t stop until your heart is beating again…even if that takes hours. You see the beauty of this machine: the Lucas Heart Thumper, is that it will be perfectly deep and effective each time no matter how long it takes for your heart to beat on its own. And it’s gonna do exactly what it says sweetie – it’s gonna thump your heart back to beating.” he patted her chest just below the Thumper where her ribs met. “You ready?” He hit the on button and the handle depressed 2 inches into her chest. Thump. The first one was just a tester. The machine paused there 2 seconds and then started pumping. Over and over it hammered her heart between her sternum and her spine relentlessly, mercilessly. For 20 minutes it worked her helpless body, while Cal used the ambu bag to fill her lungs all the while whispering sensually in her ear, until he got what he wanted, sinus rhythm. He stopped the assault on her chest but continued to breath into her with the bag running his hand over her nipples. “Hello again sweetheart, welcome back my sweetest heart.”

#cpr #cpr female #dark resus #chest compressions #resus #dark cardiophilia #cpr and aed #thumper

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spookypete-94 · 1 year ago

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Difficult Gratitude

GhoapxFem!Reader

Story I've had in my head for awhile now, and just needed to press it out finally.

Reader is female medic. Takes place during the mission of Soap getting shot. Implied established relationship between Soap and Ghost already. Reader very good friends with Soap, and Ghost still learning how to accept it. More then likely medical inaccuracies. Its fan-fiction after all. Will be a longer read, I didn't want to split it into a series (since in the process of writing one already) so strap yourself in. Trigger warning for smut towards the end. Language used as well. I started this about 345 this afternoon and just finished right around 10 pm, so I hope you like it lol..

MNDI!

Blood. Working with it every day made it seem not as grotesque to you as it used to be. The mass amount of it surrounding Johnny however, made your heart stop and breath hitch. He was lying in a large pool of it. You could smell the iron and wasn't even on top of it yet. Even with your nervous system short circuiting, your legs carried you as fast as you could to him. Sent with a different group of soldiers and TAC agents, you were kicking yourself in the ass for not urging Price for you to go with him and Johnny.

Kneeling over you saw a gunshot wound to his temple.

"Fuck," you hissed out pulling on the straps of his vest trying to get it off.

"He's gone." Ghost grumbled next to, as he had already been kneeling over Johnny. Ignoring him, you continued, laying your head on his chest trying to hear a familiar thump-thump.

Nothing.

You began to cut his t-shirt pulling an AED out of your bag.

"He's gone." Ghost said louder, next to trying to swat your hands away.

"I have to know I fuckin' tried." You snarled up at him matching his tone. Your eyes narrowed and teeth still bared at him. Fully looking feral.

The reaction from you makes Ghost scoot back, allowing you to do as you wished. Sure, you had worked with them for years now, but you've always been cheery and sweet. Sickeningly sweet, Ghost had thought. You wouldn't say you were close with Ghost, but Soap had always tried to make sure you knew you mattered to him. Out of all the unfortunate work you had to do, he was the beacon of light out of it all.

Ghost sat back, looking at Price who had approached finally. As the AED went to work, shocking Soap every so often after your set of chest compressions. Taking the time to start wrapping his head wound while it would scan him again before sending another shocking volt. Ghost finally looked up to Price, a silent plea to make it all stop. He couldn't handle watching his lover's body jolt one more time on the ground. After about 5 minutes total, you felt arms pick you up around the shoulders dragging you away.

"Thatsa' enough," Price grumbled into your ear.

"No!" you yelled, arms and legs flailing. "'M not done yet!"

"You've done all you can." He said arms on your shoulders as you put you back on the ground still holding you back. Looking at you like a father would after they had lost their beloved pet. Your eyes searched Price's as they welled with hot tears. The silence was broken however, as the AED machine made a beeping noise still connected to Soap... A faint noise and a line matched a heartbeat being read.

Pushing Price out of the way, you grumbled to him, a voice now full of gravel as you fought back the tears. "Call for a fuckin' bird." Kneeling back next to Soap, you could feel eyes burning into you. Refusing to look up you knew they belonged to Ghost. But you would be damned to meet him as you prepped Soap to be able to fly. Pulling an IV and a blood bag, you started hooking them in, all while watching the faint green line praying the cadence continued.

**********************************************

The flight back was rocky at best. You stayed with Soap, other paramedics now with you helping in all the ways they could. Task Force 141 not too far off as they watched their struggling brother.

A curtain was drawn splitting them off as a vent was used. Your worry came true as you watched the green line grow fainter.

"Losing him," someone said as they began to bag his airway until the vent was ready. You stood next to him at the side ready to start compressions again if needed, until another strong arm pulled you away again.

"Let them, you've done plenty." Gaz said soothingly trying to hold you to his side.

"I'm so fuckin' tired of you guys," you snapped fighting back once more.

"As your Captain you need to step back. Your nerves are shot. Compressions have taken it out of you." Price said pulling you back further away while on the bird. "Sit your ass down." Forcefully he pushed you down as he ran the belts to contain you in your seat. "I know this is hard for you, but you need ta' remember this is hard on all o' us righ' now. The entire medical team is back there, sit your fuckin' ass down." Accent getting thicker as he commanded you to sit still, all while trying to control his anger at your behavior.

And you couldn't help it. You slouched forward on your knees as the tears finally spilled over. "He's my best friend. The best one out of all of you." You said, your tone wanting to inflict pain back at them for pulling you off the resuscitation team. And the part that made you feel guilty was that none of them argued because they couldn't.

"He is," Price said agreeing with you, kneeling at your level, brushing your hair to the side of your face before doing the same motion again. "What will be will be now... You've done more then enough." You held your face in your hands, keeping the sobs at bay, refusing to fall all the way apart at the seams.

Ghost standing back and watching it all, heart in his throat feeling as if it was going to leap out his mouth and to his feet the entire time. Unable to say or do anything.

**********************************************

Everything else was a blur once landed. Peeking through your fingers, you watched as Soap was rolled out on the gurney. Ghost not too far away in tow, following the man he loved be rolled away towards the surgery room. Price unbuckled you once they were fully out and in the building. Was he worried you were going to chase after? If he hadn’t forced you to sit and calm down, you'd of been the one rolling the bed itself.

Seeing Gaz's hand reach out you to take it, standing up and letting him pull you into a hug.

"Proud of you." He said squeezing you, thankful you had fought back against Ghost and Price to save his friend.

Finally, you broke off the hug, heading towards the building and the surgical bay. Your footsteps felt heavy, but honestly you walked so quietly. Like if you made a singular noise, God would find you strike you down with lighting for fighting off the Reaper who was supposed to take your friend.

Having to take this walk many times with other patients you knew where to go. And to no shock to you, Ghost sat in the same hallway outside of the surgical bay already. Picking a seat across from him, you sat down and interlocked your fingers together and placed your head within it again. It pounded and hurt, fatigue finally settling in after your adrenaline rush.

Feeling the same sensation of the eyes burning holes into you again, but you refused to look up.

Ghost sat there in turmoil. He wanted to say something, to say anything. His tongue too heavy, as if it was made with the same lead that had struck Soap. Instead, he sat across from you, and searched you for any sort of emotion. Is that sleeping feral beast still in you? Would you snap at him again for trying to stop you? Or was that sickeningly sweet girl back...

Gaz and Price, both joined you both not too long after that. Both quiet.

Your knee now bounced with anxiety.

**********************************************

Somehow you had fallen asleep, head rolled back and leaned onto the edge of the chair. Blaming it on the adrenaline dump, you would never have been able to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position and piece of furniture if you could call it that.

A light squeeze of your knee from Price as the OR DR. came walking through the doors to speak with you all.

"Bullets out and breathing with a vent for the time being." Ears perking up as he told you all. You shifted up higher in your seat, ready to pay full attention and ask questions where needed.

"Is he awake?"

"No, he will be in a medical induced coma for a bit until swelling goes down in his brain. Sleep will be the best method right now, and better pain management."

"Do we have a recovery window?"

A silent shake of his head, "No I'm sorry miss, this was an extremely evasive surgery and time will only tell with this."

"Can we see him?" Ghost asked, standing up ready to follow.

"Yes, you can see him. He won't be able to acknowledge you are there, but part of him will know."

The Dr. turned back to you, arm now on your shoulder.

"You should be proud of yourself. Your efforts are what saved him. No doubt a medal should be given in your honor."

The last statement inflicting rage. "You think I did this for a fucking medal??"

Oh, the feral beast in you was definitely sleeping and not dead. Ghost thought, as Price stepped in-between and you and the Dr. blocking your path from mauling the medical professional.

"Thank you, Dr., We will find him back there." Words rushed as he tried to send the Dr. on his way.

Gaz and Ghost slipped past the doors, waiting on the other side as Price tried to have a calming conversation with you.

"You gotta' keep it together. He just saved Soap." He said trying to comfort that angry monster lashing at its enclosure.

"Did you hear him?? I would give anything for Soap to be bullet free. Didn't do this for honor, I did it because he’s, my friend." you hissed back to Price in an angry whisper.

"I know, I know. Was something a muppet would say, but try to keep it intact yeah? I know what you mean and why you're angry, but none of us thought we would even get this far."

And how you wanted to correct him, none of them thought you would get this far, but you bit your tongue. No need to be spiteful. Soap was still on this side of the earth.

Walking in and seeing Soap in this condition was almost as hard as seeing him in his own blood. His head was fully shaved down, proud mohawk gone. Face was so pale from the loss of blood, but his chest raising and lowering even if it wasn't directly on his own will, made you feel at ease.

All picking a corner of the bed, and pulling up a chair, you sat up at Soap's upper left. You scanned his face for anything but knew that wouldn't come for a while. It stayed like this for a while before Gaz spoke up.

"Remember that time he broke the course record for clearing a building?"

"Was thinking about the time he did it and accidentally stepped in a small trash can and continued with it stuck to his foot." Answered Price laughing lightly, pulling his hat down over his eyes. You all knew he was hiding the descending tears.

"How he always calls us "Goat Heads", across the radio." You said lightly laughing, wiping your face. It was a stupid joke used in the place for "Go Ahead" meaning go with you radio traffic.

"The time he told me he could fix my problems if I took my mask off. How I knew I liked him." Ghost said, his hand running back and forth across Johnny's tenderly. You blinked looking away from the action, feeling as though you should never see something so delicate come from both men.

It continued like this for a while, telling small things that you remembered about Soap that had struck you. Until it was finally late in the night. You rubbed your eyes that were sore and raw from emotions that had racked up throughout the day, almost into the next.

"We should get some sleep. Ghost, I'll have them bring in a cot for you." Price said getting up extending his hand for you to take. Not wanting to be rude you took it, letting him pull you up. You gave Johnny a slight rub to his shoulder. Ghost might have been up and staring at you intimidatingly at you had it not been for the new fresh salty tears that pin pricked your eyes again.

"Night," you finally muttered to them all before stepping out and heading to your room. Your heart panged and beat against its cage. Once in your room, you stripped of your blood covered clothes and lay on the bed, turning and wailing into a pillow. You needed Soap to pull through.

**********************************************

Every day you took the time to visit Soap. Spending hours upon hours there with him. Taking in a radio so he could listen to his favorite music, sometimes rotating that to his favorite movies on a tablet. Ghost had come to figure out you knew a lot about Soap. It made him wonder how close you really are, if anything causing a spark of jealousy.

Ghost was angry, wanted to tell you that Soap's quality of life was your fault. Wanted to tell you that because of you, who knew if he would wake up from this coma. The Dr. had advised that they had stopped giving the medication to make him sleep 2 days ago... and he still hadn't woken up. Oh, how he wanted to say it was your fault that he was lying in this bed, unable to speak and move... but the alternative of his Johnny laying in the ground 6 feet deep, still unable to speak or move factures his heart more, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he holds on the small piece of hope that eventually Soap will open his eyes again.

It was hard for Ghost. Day in and day out he had watched as you did Soap's physical therapy. Instead of being out in the field as a working medic, you stayed back as his primary nurse. No one argued with you. Not even when Price left to continue his hunt for Markarov. Price had benched Ghost and you worried your emotions would get the best of both of you. In fact, if Ghost would of said all of those mean, hurtful things about it being your fault Johnny was bed bound, Ghost wondered if the dragon in you would wake again. He hadn't seen it since that day but knew better to question its status of it still being there. It would burn him alive if given the opportunity, and devour him whole. Ghost could feel the anger seep off you sometimes and wondered if you were thinking back to that unfortunate, bloody day. Did you hate him?

He sat in the chair next to the bed watching and listening to you talk to his Johnny. Raising his arm up and down to stretch the muscles so when he did wake, they weren't as stiff.

"I miss you stealing my pudding off my food tray. Wouldn't complain if you swiped it ever again, would just give it to you."

What else would you give him? Ghost thought darkly. There was no doubt that Ghost thought you were in love with Soap. Listening to all the stories you had, sometimes your favorite ones over and over. Now you were over at his right arm, picking it up, setting it back down.

"Thought about the time you were trying to help me pick a dress for the military ball, and said I would never take fashion advice from someone with a mohawk..." You said a whispering laugh afterwards. Honestly that made Ghost smile as well, but he would never tell. Thank God for this mask. The thought washing over and over in his mind.

"Soap?" The way you had said it made Ghost perk up. Looking up finally seeing your face change. It was full of curiosity. Your eyes flashed to Ghost's locking with his telling him something was for sure up.

"Soap, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand again." Ghost watched as the shells to his blue eyes fluttered, trying to open.

"Oh my god, Ghost," you said quietly, extending Soap's hand to him to take.

He took it from you, quickly.

"Johnny?" And he felt it too. A slight squeeze. "Johnny," Ghost cooed to Soap, causing the hand to squeeze over and over. A rhythm. Squeezing Ghost's arm, you slipped past him, running out the door asking for Dr.

Finally, blue eyes faced the world and locked with brown ones.

"Mornin' Si." Johnny croaked out squeezing his hand even harder.

**********************************************

Soap's recovery was lengthy to describe at best. The Dr. finally learned the extent of the damage to Johnny's brain from the bullet. Thankfully, most of it was only physical. Soap had to relearn how to walk and only struggled with words periodically. Ghost would work with him on his speech therapy, and you helped him with his physical therapy still.

Soap was persistent spending 2 hours with you every day. Ghost sitting back and playing overwatch, he had to watch the 2 of you interact. Your sweetness fully back. He watched as Soap would place his hands on your hips goofily smiling as you would pull them off and place them on the bars instead of the railing so he could support himself- you know like he should be instead. Something had happened to his Soap. He would lean in and smell your hair affectionally. He never did that before. Ghost knew Johnny still had eyes for him, still loved him. It was one of the things Johnny made Ghost practice saying first. Somehow Ghost couldn't help but wonder if this injury had rewired his brain, or maybe because he had almost died, he wanted all the things he could have out of life. It still hurt him to watch.

Your anger with everyone had mostly died off once Johnny had woken up. Johnny was all the good things out of this job, he was what made it worth it. If he had died, a large piece of you would have been buried with him. Maybe that was your fault for not being as close as you should be with some of the others... putting Ghost into a different light for you now.

Giving it a shot, you asked Johnny about things about him and Ghost. A way to bond and a way to test his memory. Where was their first date, his favorite thing to do with Ghost. And every time, Johnny answered with calling him Simon. He never once called him Ghost because that's how Johnny knew him. In away Ghost got to learn about you, interacting with Johnny, and you got to learn about Ghost. Johnny told you were his best friend because you were fierce and protective. So was Ghost. You stood up for what you believed in... and guess what so did Ghost.

**********************************************

"Didya' hear tha news, bonnie?" Johnny asked looking down on you as you helped him to the rails. He could do it on his own, but it was your part in PT to make sure he got there and didn't fall down. Policy.

"No, what news?" Your voice is light, airy, still a stark contrast to Ghost who sat in a chair not too far off.

"Makaraov is bagged and tagged." He said proudly, grinning. "Price and his team got him yesterday afternoon.

"No kiddin'?" Your world spinning off its axis for a moment.

Johnny gave a slight nod, hands bracing your hips again and pulling you into him giving a hug. His head placed on top of yours.

"What a fucking relief," you punctuated out, sighing heavily. The urge to cry hit you again but you fought it off. Instead, finally locking with the brown coals of Ghost's across the room. The first time you felt like he wasn't trying to set you on fire with a glance.

"Cannae hurt us again." He said into your hair.

"Thank God." you said the hot droplets finally falling down your face.

It stayed like this for a moment before you took a step back, hands bracing Johnny while you looked up at him and over at Ghost.

"Got news for you both too." Ghost stood up and approached to better join the conversation.

"I bought a piece of land, bought a tiny house, and I'm stepping out."

"You're leavin'?" Ghost asked crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I can't do this anymore..." you explained feeling like you were being torn apart underneath a microscope. "What happened to you Johnny, changed me. I don't think I can do the job anymore... I have nightmares still." you admitted. Ghost's body language softening, shoulders rolling down, hands resting next to Johnny's who still gripped the rail. He didn't even think of the mental affect that it had on you too. Another thing you unknowingly had in common.

"Ya' cannae leave..." Johnny said hurt in his voice.

"You still got me, can't get rid of me that easily. I'll stay in contact. And you're doing great, I'd say you'll be fully recovered in no time."

"I'm comin' with ya'. Visit for a bit until I'm fully released."

"Johnny..." your voice light.

"No, yer ma' nurse. Cannae leave me. Si?" He said looking over at Ghost. Johnny knew Ghost would give him the world and never say no.

"Would be nice ta' get outta here, until he's ready to go." Head turning back down to you.

You sighed. "Fine, way to invite yourself, Johnny." You teased, smiling and shaking your head.

The happy blue eyes and toothy grin was worth it... even if you felt like space was being forcefully invaded.

You are glancing over, entranced with Ghost's smoldering brown eyes next.

**********************************************

The piece of land you had bought was in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by tall pine trees, a clear vessel of water cut through it. Mountains towered in the back, ironically 4 of them. You had named them Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. Feeling like it fits all of them somehow. Even though you were stepping away from it all, it was comforting to know you had something like them with you still. The air was crisp and clean, something you have not had in so long. No smell of a medical room, no smell of tar and tang from firearms. No smell of blood.

It was a good change... peaceful. Something you needed. You arrived at your new home first, readying it for your 2 guests. You decided it was best to put them in the master bedroom. A king size bed for 2 large men. How ironic that you bought it for you, and it won't even be used for you on the first night you have access to it. Once that bed was dressed for them, you made the guest bed. Finding the joke funny you were a guest in your home. Honestly, you were excited to have this transition with someone sure... but you knew things were off with you and Ghost. But if Johnny was here it had to be ok. You would make it work.

They arrived before noon. You went out to assist, but Ghost stopped you at the front of the truck. He opened Johnny's door, standing there to help him if he needed it, but Johnny climbed down on his own and teetered out with a cane.

He grinned his notorious smile at you. Large white pearls, blue eyes squinting with glee.

"Look at you," you said proud of him.

"All on my own." he crooned.

Stepping inside, you showed them around your tiny house. Not a whole lot to show them but wanted them to see where they would be sleeping and where the bathroom was less. The bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house. Theirs to the right when they walked in and through the kitchen. Yours just to left.

"Pretty close to the door... and far from us." Ghost said in the direction to your room.

"Don't think anyone will be looking or finding us out here."

A light rumble leaving his chest as he looked back down at you. It made your stomach burn. What kind of noise is that?

"If she gets lonely, she can just come join us, Si." Johnny said over his shoulder peeking into your room.

It left you baffled. Sure, there was some touching from Johnny, but you had always brushed it off to how he was altered from his injury.

Your face looking from Johnny, back to Ghost. Staring back at you and not saying anything. Strange behavior.

"Your guy's room will be over here." You said, leading them through the kitchen and into the master.

"Nice size room for a tiny house," Ghost concluded looking around.

"Nice size bed for us too," Johnny said. Not wanting another weird comment, you stepped away for a bit. Grabbing 3 glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

"Why did you get a tiny house?" Ghost asked, "All this land, coulda had a big ol’ house."

"Always just pictured it as me. Don't need a lot of space."

Again, Ghost stood leaning against the door frame realizing you were more alike than you thought. You plan on being alone... just like he had until he met Johnny.

You watched an arm of Johnny's sneak around Ghost's waist, and you once more diverted your eyes. Did physical touch really bother you all that much? He wondered.

**********************************************

The night eased its way in. You spent most of the day still trying to get settled into your new home. You all were outside now underneath the stary sky.

For dinner you grilled steaks with an assortment of vegetables and mashed potatoes.

"Bett'r cook then yer' a medic." Johnny said in-between bites. "An' 'ats sayin' sumthin."

"Don't talk with yer mouth full." Ghost scolded. He had taken off his mask earlier in the day. You had seen him without it before, but it was hard not to look at him. His angled jaw, a broken nose from who knows when or what, a scar that runs over his mouth... but he was beautiful to you. It was your turn to burn holes in him.

He knew you were looking at him but took a page out of your book refusing to meet your eyes, trying to let you feel comfortable with him... for Johnny's sake.

Johnny started talking to Ghost about what they could do during their visit, leaving you to get up and take the dishes inside. Stealing a moment for yourself, you ran hot water and washed the dishes. You heard the door open, but knowing it was one of them you continued.

It wasn't until a large hand brushed your hair to the side exposing your neck. That was what made you turn around to look but was stopped feeling 2 arms pin you against the sink before pushing you back into it, leaving you stationary. Lowering their head down to the side of yours watching your shirt get tugged to the side exposing a shoulder. A warm kiss graced your shoulder before their mouth came back up to the side of your ear.

"I've never thanked you for it all," Ghost's voice rumbled in your ear, making you look up and out the window seeing Johnny at the table looking up at the stars. Your heart jumped and fluttered. Any much longer you were going to need the same AFib you had saved Johnny with.

"I'm grateful for you and all that ya've done. He loves you... And think I'm startin' to."

Thump-thump was what you were looking for Johnny's chest about 3 months ago. If someone were to stop and listen to yours it would sound like a double drum. He kissed your neck, before pulling your shirt back up on your shoulder and giving your shoulder a slight squeeze.

You didn't look back up at him as he slipped back outside sitting next to Johnny wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Standing there dumbfounded for a minute, you grabbed 3 new fresh glasses and a tumbler of good whiskey for the occasion, not sure if you were going to be brave enough to step outside. So, you took a couple shots from it yourself to make sure you would have the courage to join them again

**********************************************

It was here you found yourself laid bare in front of them in the warmth of the fire.

Johnny made the first move, pulling you into his lap after his 2nd glass of whiskey not being able to drink from his injury making him more brazen from the amber liquid. His hands had worked their way into your pants leaving you a squirming mess, Ghost sitting now turned facing you.

It made you uncomfortable, his eyes the same color of the whiskey you noticed. His hand leaning against his fist, face unreadable as he watched.

"Relax Bonnnnn," Johnny purred into your ear. "We've already spoke abou' this." 3 fingers of his rubbing against you through your panties. "Both wan' this. Both wan' you. Least we can do ta thank ya'." Making your body at ease.

"Both want this?" You asked, head turning against his.

"Mmmmm." Ghost rumbled. There's that fucking noise again you thought still not sure how to take it.

"We do." Johnny said still whispering into you, his other hand pulling your pants down.

Ghost leaned down, tugging them down further helping them off your legs and over your feet. Instead of taking your panties down, he kneeled in further, tonging you over your cunt. A large gasp leaving you, the sensation still overwhelming. Johnny removed his hands from there moving up your shirt where he slipped under your bra, lightly pinching your nipples. Friction makes you roll yourself against them. Ghost had picked up either of your legs, placing them on either side of his head and neck. Not even bothering to take your panties off, he impulsively pushed them to the side holding them with a finger. His tongue slipped past your folds and rubbed up through you making your gasp shriller this time.

“Ghost,” you hissed out.

“Call ‘im Simon, Love,” Johnny said rubbing your nipples again, making a whimper leave you.

Simon did the same thing, hoping for a different outcome from your mouth, and you called out to him. “Simon…” Fingers slipping into his strands of dark blonde hair.

“There ya’ go.”

Simon made you ride his face while you were sitting down essentially. Making your hips grind up into his mouth where he greedily licked through you over and over. Once he decided you were wet enough, he slipped one of his large fingers in you, leaning back up to watch you. Your head was rolled up onto Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny having slipped your shirt up along with your bra, leaving your chest exposed.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he grumbled slipping in another finger, your head now rolling up further to look at him. The fire only made his eyes burn more. “Savin’ the love of my life pretty girl. Realizing how stupid I was…” he said pumping his fingers a few times before slipping in a 3rd.

“Siiiimon,” you whined squirming harder. Simon leaned forward, kissing you, before breaking it off quickly. Looking up he said to Johnny, “She’s ready, you ready?”

Johnny nodded vigorously. Simon gently helped you off his lap and onto the picnic table, pushing you back softly so your back was against it, turning you so your legs dangled off the side without a bench.

He leant down over you again, kissing you once more. It was just as much tongue as he had used on your cunt, still hungry. His fingers lifted your shirt up over your head and behind you on the table. He took his off as well and placed it under yours. You realized he was saving you from getting splinters off the table.

While he pulled back, you stopped him, hand behind his neck. Your movement confused him until he realized you stopped him so you could kiss him this time.

“Oh bonnie,” Johnny said finally unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock stroking it a few times.

“Makin’ this hard love, want him to go first so he properly thanks ya’… then you go and have to do something like that,” Simon says dry humping into you. The friction is almost too much at first making you groan.

“Get in there Johnny,” Simon said stepping aside, allowing him through and have access to between your legs. He was slow at first a little wobbly, this something he hasn’t done for awhile clearly. You used your legs and wrapped around his waist, helping him to align with you before pushing in. It made your head roll back, your hair bunching up behind your head, a loud filthy moan leaving your lips.

“Yeah,” Johnny said moving out and back in. Looking down, you saw Simon’s hands holding his waist giving him assistance in fucking you.

The sight was definitely alluring and attractive to you. Simon helping Johnny. Maybe this is what it was like for Simon watching you help Johnny, and you had it wrong the whole time. Maybe he wasn’t jealous… he was envious. It didn’t take long for you to come. Your legs gripping on Johnny trying to slow him, but he just pushed into you harder and faster. Simon holding his core. Your warm walls finally squeezing him and slowing him down. Your cunt fluttering so hard, all you could do was constrict on to him.

“Jesus,” Johnny hissed out finally leaning forward laying on your abdomen for a bit. Your hands rested on his shoulders smoothing out his hair, letting him lax on to you while he caught his breath.

Simon stood behind him before finally helping Johnny sit next to you on one of the benches at the table.

“My turn,” he said standing back up and taking position over you. His fuck wasn’t like Johnny’s, it was rough. Instantly ramming into you over and over, lifting your legs up to his shoulders again using his raw power. Something Johnny would have to work up to. Johnny leaned forward kissing you, talking you through it.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it so well, lass,” again tweaking a nipple and holding a breast as they bounced from Simon's pounding.

This went on for a while, and even then, Simon wasn’t done. He turned you over and propped you up on your knees, thrusting into you from behind, watching you come undone on him this time. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him in a way that didn’t feel human… but it sure curbed that feral dragon in you. And that’s all he wanted.

**********************************************

Simon carried you inside and into the master bedroom before going out to help Johnny in. He had pulled the blankets back and set you inside them. You pulled the blankets back on the other side, making room for Johnny. Simon had an arm under him helping him walk into your bed. Simon then slipped in behind you, arm over your waist as he pulled you back into him.

Johnny rolled over to his side sandwiching you between him and Simon, hand in your hair stroking it.

“Did well, bonnie, good physical therapy,” he joked, thumb stroking your cheek.

You gave a small laugh, laughing harder once you realized you were in your bed tonight and not a guest in your home in the other room.

“Gonna need something bigger than a tiny house,” Simon matched back “gonna have little ones before too long.” His hand already over your womb, mouth on your neck again already.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

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tangocardiaca · 2 months ago

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Makoto Niijima, sister of prosecutor Sae Niijima was walking back home from school. When she entered her house, she was surprised that Sae did not respond to her welcoming. They had an argument a few days ago, where Sae called Makoto "useless". This really hurt Makoto, but she supported Sae with all her heart. Yeah, heart. Because at that moment Sae's heart was not beating at all. Makoto was shocked to see her older sister lying on the floor unconscious with her empty eyes open, but in a moment she regained her focus and started checking Sae. She shook her shoulders and asked if she was okay, but no response. Younger sister checked her breathing and pulse on Sae's neck. None of them were present. Makoto almost started crying for her sis to wake up. She called an ambulance and started doing CPR. Two breaths lifted Sae's gorgeous chest. Then 30 chest compressions done by Makoto kept Sae's blood flowing through her veins and arteries. Tears were flowing on Makoto's cheeks, but she did not give up. The ambulance arrived and paramedics entered the room Makoto was fighting for Sae's life. Sae black shirt was open revealing her black bra and AED pads were placed on her chest. The reading was critical, ventricular fibrillation. She had to be shocked immediately. The machine was charged to 100 Joules and shock has been delivered. Sae's chest jumped and fell down with impact. No reading of sinus rhythm. Still VF. Paramedics continued CPR with rescue breaths, chest compressions and applied one dose of epinephrine. Second analysis showed that Sae was still in V-Fib. 200 Joules were charged and shocked her heart. Her chest jumped once again and fell with the same impact. Luckily her heart went back into normal sinus rhythm. Pulse was also back. Paramedics took Sae on stretcher to an ambulance and allowed Makoto to go with them to a hospital. Makoto was still in fear of her sister's life. She was so in fear that she was silent the whole time they were going to hospital. In hospital Sae was hooked up to 12 lead ekg and she was still monitored in case another cardiac arrest kicks in. She was still unconscious. Makoto was waiting in reception room. She felt she was no longer "useless". Sae was exhausted with the whole case of mental shutdowns and psychotic breakdowns and that stress caused her heart to stop, but it was Makoto, her little sister, who kept her alive.

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thewinter-eden · 2 months ago

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Blood Sugar Virus (29)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suggestive content

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

< last chapter | masterlist | next chapter >

Namjoon sits next to Jimin on the couch, reaching out a hand to pat his arm companionably. “Still hanging on, Chim?”

The younger man sports an easy grin, and even you can see the color returning to his cheeks. “My leg feels like it’s been put through a wood chipper, but the burn in my chest is finally starting to fade.”

Namjoon looks at you. “How did you come up with hitting him with a defibrillator?” He glances to the very same AED machine, which you had left near the axes.

You frown, still too concerned about the pain you caused and the potential harm you caused Jimin to be overly comfortable with your idea yet. “I don’t know. I just saw the AED and all I could think about was the bug zapper in the hallway of my apartment. I thought maybe sending a shock through his body might kill the parasites in him.”

“And it worked, right? I mean that was like an hour ago.” Hongjoong is still sitting with his back against the couch, his head near Jimin’s shoulder.

“I’m not a zombie.” Jimin says brightly. “I’d say it worked.”

“Have you looked at your leg?” Namjoon asks. “To see if the parasites made it farther after the shock? I don’t want to suggest that maybe you knocked them unconscious or something, but what if?”

You’re too amused by the thought to be worried about it. “I don’t think you can knock a parasite unconscious.”

“Nonetheless, anybody who wants to take my pants off is welcome to check.” Jimin winks at Namjoon. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse?”

Your co-captain rolls his eyes and slaps the man’s good hip. “Shut the hell up and roll over.”

Jimin shrugs and rolls onto his good side, which puts his posterior on the side of the room where you’re all sitting.

“While I’m sure we’re all excited by the prospect of earning a peep show in the middle of the worst night of our lives, if every one of you assholes doesn’t turn around I’m serving fat lips for dinner.” Rosé proclaims, reaching over her head to grab Mingi’s face in both hands and turn it towards the wall.

“I’ve already seen it anyway.” You quip, but you scoot yourself around with the rest of Ateez to face the other direction while Namjoon pulls at the waistband of Jimin’s high school costume.

“Ooo, you’ve seen it already?” Of course it’s Wooyoung.

When you glance toward him, you see a comical contrast between his teasing expression and Yeosang’s disturbed frown. The latter shoots you a side eye that has you giggling with evil intensity.

“Hey Jimin, remember when that dog bit you in the ass that time we were on a lunch run?” You call over your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking remind me.” His voice is muffled by the couch cushions.

You turn your grin back to the guys. “This crazy little purse dog jumped down from someone’s table outside this sandwich shop that we were getting everyone’s lunch orders from and fully latched onto Jimin’s butt. Ya boy was freaking out, like, ants-in-his-pants freaking, and he dragged me into the men’s restroom and dropped his pants without warning so I could make sure he didn’t get rabies or some shit.”

San nearly falls over, laughing so hard. “Oh my god.”

“Dog bites are serious!” Jimin whines.

“Yeah so is sexual harassment.” You fire back. “I could have had you blacklisted.”

“He was crying too hard for it to be sexual harassment.” Namjoon argues simply. “Though we did make him buy Sugar’s lunches for the next two weeks.” There’s the sound of rustling fabric. “Alright, Jimin, happy to report that your annoyingly perfect ass is intact. Looks like the fuckers didn’t make it past your upper thigh, but your leg is pretty bad.”

“Yeah no shit.” Jimin grumbles. “And the bite hurt. You guys would have been crying too.”

“I don’t cry.” Jongho returns flatly.

“You guys can turn back around.” Namjoon says, and your group returns to sitting in the circle around the snacks.

For the next few minutes, the room continues to fill with chatter as Namjoon, Seonghwa, and Jongho rest and refuel after their trip up to the third floor.

“So now that we know the AED works, we at least have a defense against getting infested.” Namjoon nods to you, offering props for thinking to grab the device and bring it back with you. “We should have grabbed the ones from all three floors, but it’s better than nothing.”

Or maybe not props so much as a subtle jab that you should have brought it up when you first split off for the axes.

Dammit.

“I have a taser in my purse.” Rosé offers softly.

“Hell yeah.” San grins at her as Mingi’s eyes go wide with delight.

“Best damn thing I’ve heard all day.” He says, squeezing Rosé proudly. “Fuck yeah, you have a taser in your purse.”

Yunho turns to you. “Do you have a taser in your purse?”

You shake your head. “It didn’t fit with my gun in there.”

Wooyoung’s and San’s jaws both drop at the same time. “You have a gun in your purse?”

Yeosang has already identified the sarcasm in your voice by the time you level them both with a dry stare. “She’s kidding, you numb nuts.”

“It’s South Korea, of course I don’t have a fucking gun in my purse.”

While they groan in disappointment at the lost opportunity to turn this night into a zombie shooting video game, Yeosang turns to you. “But you have a taser, right?”

You give him a sheepish smile that’s more of an ugly grimace. “I kept meaning to get one. But I never had time, and they’re so expensive!”

“I offered to buy you one.” Jimin refutes. “You just kept pushing it off.”

You shrug. “I’ve never needed it.”

Yeosang’s eyes are saucers. “What do you mean you’ve never needed it?”

“The taser conversation didn’t happen until after that incident. And what am I supposed to do, just carry it everywhere? Stuff it under my costumes?”

“Ideally, yes.” He returns, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “After this, we’re getting you a taser.”

“Sure thing.” You bluff, not at all willing to fight the ‘after this’ statement right now. “But some of my costumes don’t have enough fabric to conceal it.”

He just stares at you.

“I’m kidding.”

“Damn, I was gonna re-up our contract.” Wooyoung mutters. When San slaps him upside the head, he backtracks immediately. “I was also kidding! Jesus, it was a joke.”

“It’s okay, they’re our more popular programs.” Rosé says, happily adding fuel to the fire. “And besides, your siren costume has that strappy leg thing, we could just make it cyberpunk or something.”

Yeosang looks physically pained. “Is that another joke?”

She just snickers at him, and you don’t say anything, just watching him struggle to get his face under control. You can’t tell if he’s trying not to imagine the costume or if he’s disturbed by your more racy program options, but you let him figure that out on his own.

You do have a number of more scant costumes for certain jobs, but they’re all paired with your scariest storylines to make up for the sensuality suggested by your wardrobe department.

“I don’t really know what to believe right now, but I just want to say that your job scares me.” San says seriously. “Like, before this zombie stuff actually started, our program was awesome. It was intense and frightening and really cool, but to hear about some of your experiences?” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “I would be scared to do what you do with some of the clients that you’ve had. And now, knowing you, knowing the risks, I’d be so worried about you guys every time you go to do a job.”

“That’s why we do the program prep with clients now.” You tell him reassuringly. “It helps you get to know us and immerse yourself better when the program starts, but it also gives us a chance to get a feel for you. We’ve been able to catch some odd vibes and cancel contracts with some clients because of it.”

He looks relieved, but still concerned. “I’m still gonna be worried. Some of us could come with you, you know? Hang out outside while you work, so we can be nearby if you need us.”

His care for your team after only a week and one hellish experience is endearing and incredibly heartwarming.

“That’s a good thought, San, but we won’t have programs after this.” Namjoon says carefully. He bears the weight of everyone’s saddened looks with quiet anguish. “Our team is gone. If we survive this, it’s done. It’s over.”

“Don’t say that.” Rosé pleads. “Honestly, Joon, why did you have to say that? Why couldn’t you just let us have a few good moments?”

He turns to her, eyes tracing the sorrow on her face before examining every inch of Mingi’s body pressed against hers. His jaw tightens. “Our friends are gone.” He says again. “My best friend took a chunk out of Sugar’s shoulder. I can’t just pretend this isn’t happening, and I can’t pretend things are just gonna go back to normal after this.”

Her eyes harden bitterly. “Nobody’s pretending anything.”

“Guys.” Jimin coughs weakly, a deep frown signaling his obvious discomfort with the argument. “We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to—” San starts, but you cut him off.

“You didn’t. It’s okay. We thought about hiring extra security, but our company didn’t have the budget for it.” And you couldn’t afford to cover it.

“They had the funds.” Namjoon mutters, backing off from Rosé. “They just didn’t have the fucks to give.”

Hongjoong pulls one foot up to rest his elbow on his knee. “Well, in the spirit of saying fuck you to your company, if you guys ever decide to go back into the business, in any capacity, I’ll get you some security.”

Rosé smiles at him. “We can’t let you do that, but it’s so sweet of you to offer.”

“Oh I wasn’t offering.” He informs her.

You’re smiling at the exchange. You don’t throw in your own two cents, because it doesn’t involve you, but you’re grateful to hear his protective support all the same.

“You don’t have to foot any bills for us just because we’re trying to get you out of this mess.” Namjoon adds, but he nods appreciatively.

“It’s not a thank you. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all indebted to you guys for risking your asses for us, especially Sugar—”

“Leave my ass out of this.” You quip, and Yeosang snorts into his own water bottle.

“—Alright, respective asses notwithstanding, I’ll be hiring a security company because we’re all friends now and I’ll be damned if I’m letting any of you worry about asshole clients anymore.” Hongjoong finishes, shooting you a playful sneer. “You guys should have had security from the start.”

“Hell yeah,” Seonghwa agrees. “We could start a company for security guards to get trained for stunts and acting and shit. We could make it so you don’t even have to leave them out in the parking lot, because our van crews weren’t exactly effective as oversight.”

“Hyung, that’s fucking brilliant.” Sam exclaims. “Dude, we’re so starting a company. Look at us—entrepreneurs.”

“And this is how Ateez takes over the world, by starting a private military of armed actors.” You remark, grinning when he points at you like you’ve inspired him.

“I’m so in.” Wooyoung agrees. “It’s gonna be badass.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Jimin says. “We could take real fight training now.”

Namjoon lets them continue to brainstorm for a few minutes, and then crunches his soda can and throws it into the trash pile. “Alright, back to work.” He stands and unfolds the floor plan again. “We’re gonna hit the barricade at the southeast corner, in these two classrooms and the bottom of the corner stairwell. Everybody’s coming this time, so we need someone to help with Jimin. I’ve got one of the axes, who else wants the other two?”

“San and Yeo are the strongest, but Mingi and I can step in if we need to take turns.” Yunho says.

“Me too, I’ve got you, hyung.” Hongjoong says to your co-captain.

Namjoon is momentarily stunned by the honorific, biting his cheek to stop a flattered smile. “Alright, sounds good. I also want people with free hands to watch out for each of us with axes. Zombie watch and also keeping an eye out for signs of fatigue so someone else can step in and start chopping. Sugar, Seonghwa, Rosé, I like you for the job.”

You hook a thumb at Yeosang. “He’s mine.”

His head snaps to you, eyes wide, cheeks reddening as he gives a flustered chortle.

You hear your words then, also hearing the hoots of teasing laughter from the others as you drop your head to your chest and groan. “I meant I’ll take Yeo. Dammit, shut up Wooyoung, I meant I’ll keep an eye on Yeosang. God dammit. Shut up, Yunho.” You’ve sunk yourself. Damn your tired brain.

Yeosang is grinning. “Alright, I’m hers. Who’s my second?”

You and Namjoon facepalm simultaneously.

“Oh I’m definitely sticking around for this.” Yunho volunteers. “I’ll step in for you, Yeo.” He winks at you.

“Kill me now.” You grumble into your hands.

“Maybe later.” Yeosang quiets you with a satisfied little smirk that makes you want to throttle him.

“Okay, pivoting from that weirdness, I volunteer to watch San’s muscles for signs of fatigue. I’ll watch ‘em like a hawk.” Rosé promises.

“Oh hell no.” Mingi grumbles as Rosé cackles. “I’m San’s second.”

No room for argument, not like there were any other options.

Namjoon groans. “Oh my god, I’m surrounded by horny teenagers. Seonghwa, that leaves you with me. You fine with that or do you have a crush on one of the muscle boys too?”

“No, I’m good.” Seonghwa’s laughing, giggling with Hongjoong at the matching blushes on San, Mingi, and Yeosang’s faces.

“Wooyoung, can you be on Jimin duty?” Namjoon questions.

“Why am I a duty?”

“Because you’re a three legged dog and you’re gonna let Wooyoung carry you.”

Wooyoung, meanwhile, seems pleased by the appointment. He salutes Namjoon. “I’ve got him, hyung.”

Namjoon fights another tiny smile. “I want you guys with Sugar’s team. She’s stronger than Rosé, and she doesn’t complain about how much Jimin smells.”

“Hey!” Rosé.

“Fuck you, I smell like roses.” Jimin.

“Jongho, you’re our overwatch/backup. Our teams will be working in different rooms, so I want you moving between the three of us as a line of communication.”

“Happy to warm the bench, hyung.”

Honorary big brother Namjoon looks suddenly overwhelmed by the abrupt cohesion of the remainder of your team and the entirety of Ateez. “Alright. Good. Let’s get going.”

Jimin’s grunting, struggling to push himself up. “Fuck, I can’t get off this couch.”

Wooyoung instantly jumps to his feet, hurrying to assist. “I can get you off.”

“I’m sure you can, darling, but our friends are still here.” Jimin returns without a second’s hesitation.

The room erupts again and Namjoon rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “God help me.”

The troops are readying for battle. San lands a few practice swings into the big desk, making Rosé shriek with surprise as wood chips fly at her. Mingi shields her with the breadth of his body and glares at San, who keeps practicing.

Namjoon is consulting with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, softly going over plans that you can’t hear about facing the military on the other side of the barricade.

Wooyoung has Jimin braced against his hip, standing with you as you watch Yeosang shrug off his dirty white button down and stretch his arms in preparation.

When he’s just in a tight undershirt, you are not at all prepared to see the obvious evidence of Wooyoung’s earlier claim about him being a gym junkie. “I am no longer thinking professional thoughts.”

Wooyoung cackles and almost falls into you, laughing so hard as Yeosang gapes at you.

“Oh my god.” You just fucking said that out loud. “Oh fuck me.” If you could just go ahead and use Rosé’s taser on your own brain, you’d solve so many issues.

“Oo, me—I volunteer!” Wooyoung chortles at you, barely managing to hold Jimin up when Yeosang scowls at him.

“I think that’s a bad idea, bud.” Jimin grumbles, face already pale at the stress on his leg.

“Do not make me axe my own head off right now.” You mumble, turning away from your stupidly self-appointed team and hiding your face in the corner. You think you hear Yeosang’s soft laughter behind you, but it’s entirely drowned out by Wooyoung continuing to mock you for completely losing your brain to mouth filter.

You cannot get yourself eaten by a zombie soon enough.

Anything is better than this.

“Would you idiots keep it in your pants and strategize or something? There are fucking zombies out there.” Namjoon shouts over the din.

The noise lessens immediately, the members of your team finally settling back into the situation you’re about to face.

“Woo, can you help me adjust my weight? I feel like my leg is going to fall off.” Jimin mumbles, and you turn back to them in time to see Wooyoung’s expression shift into solemn focus, hurrying to lean Jimin against the splintered remains of the desk.

“Why don’t you get on the side of his bad leg,” you suggest, moving over to help.

Wooyoung follows your instructions perfectly, planting his hip right beneath Jimin’s.

You guide Jimin’s arm over the younger man’s shoulder, and help Wooyoung ease the entire weight of his bad side over onto himself.

Jimin settles on his good leg with a sigh of relief. “Much better. Thanks.”

“When we get to our classroom, you can sit down again.” You promise, ruffling his hair. “Are you okay right now?”

He smiles shakily at you. “I might throw up the four bags of Doritos that I ate, but I’ll try to give you a warning.”

“That would be appreciated, hyung, thanks.” Wooyoung utters smartly. “Seriously though, just let me know if you need to rest. We can borrow Jongho if you need a piggyback ride.”

“That’s definitely on your list of good ideas.” Jimin wheezes weakly. “I’ll let you know.”

You step back from them, satisfied that they’re ready to go, and bend down to collect four water bottles that had been passed over for the sodas. You shove them into your duffel bag, along with the defibrillator box, and sling it across your back, wincing at the sting of your cuts.

When you straighten, you find yourself next to Yunho. He’s also warming up his upper body in preparation to eventually take over swinging the axe for Yeosang, but he smiles down at you as you approach.

This could be it.

This could be your last quiet moment with him before it’s all over. You can’t keep seeing the traces of guilt in his eyes when he looks at you. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” He asks you. “Can I help with anything? Want me to take your bag?”

You shake your head with a smile. “No, I’ve got it. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He stops swinging his arms, halting the windmill movements you’ve done a million times to warm up for your programs. “Sugar, about earlier, when I—”

You put up a hand to silence him. “Yes, about that. We’re good, Yunho. I still owe you my regret for stopping you from helping Yeosang and Mingi with Jungkook, but on the count of the other thing, we’re good.”

He looks down, mouth tightening. “That wasn’t the same. You made a good call with Jungkook. I stand by that. But the other thing, what I did to you—Sugar, I abandoned you to die. After you swooped in like a fucking answered prayer and tackled those zombies, after they had you pinned, I left you to die. I pulled Yeosang away, and he was trying to help you.”

“You fucking what?” Namjoon.

This is the first he’s hearing of the incident, and pissed doesn’t even begin to describe him.

Yunho blanches, stumbling back a few steps as your co-captain is suddenly in his face, stammering in a struggle to figure out if he should explain himself or just take whatever abuse he’s about to get.

You’re not willing to let it get that far. Shoving yourself between them in a move that makes your entire body seize with pain at your hip, you grip one hand in Namjoon’s shirt and rest the other more comfortingly on Yunho’s arm. “Stop. Back up.” You’re talking to Namjoon, but he doesn’t even look at you.

“Is that true?” He’s seething, speaking to you without meeting your eyes. “Did he let you save his ass and leave you to die?”

“Namjoon, I said get back.”

The room goes quiet at your snarl, all eyes turning to the three of you.

“I sent you out with her. I sent you to get the axe and you didn’t think to fucking mention that you don’t care if she lives or dies?” Namjoon lunges forward, shoving you back into Yunho, and you just barely get your footing back in time to push him back again.

The others are tense, concerned, hesitant to jump in while you’re still managing to hold off a physical altercation. They can’t defend Yunho for his panicked choice against you, but none of them look pleased about your friend trying to jump down his throat.

“I do care. I fucked up and I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I do care.” Yunho argues, his voice brimming with anger. “Don’t talk to me like I wouldn’t do anything to make that right, and don’t fucking talk to me like I don’t care.”

You’re seconds away from kicking Namjoon in the balls just to make him look at you, but you need him to be able to swing an axe in a minute or two, so you just settle for digging your nails into the muscle of his chest and forcing him back with all of your strength. “Hey.” You snap, and his eyes finally flicker down to you. He’s fuming, beet-red with rage, shoulders trembling furiously. “You walked up in the middle of a conversation between me and him. You need to take a step back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I need to know when someone in my group is putting you in danger—don’t touch her, asshole, I’ll fucking break you.” Namjoon’s arm jumps up as Yunho puts a hand on your shoulder to protest you trying to defend him.

“Hey!” You punch the heels of your hands into his chest. “Joon, we’ve dealt with this. This is old news, it’s handled, it was a mistake. It doesn’t concern you.”

He’s wide-eyed, gawking at you. “Doesn’t concern me? You almost died—you were almost killed. You spend all of your time and energy trying to protect people and they turn around and throw you to the wolves? Goddammit, Sugar—”

“Hey, don’t turn this on her.” Yunho snaps, no longer apologetic. “She’s the reason we’re all here, she’s the reason you even had your acting team in the first place. Why don’t you try trusting her with the job that she obviously does better than you?”

This is no longer helpful.

“No, stop.” You’re holding them both back now. “Stop, none of this is valid, or constructive. Yunho has been locked in. He’s had our backs—he’s had my back. And this team would be nothing without Namjoon, so just take a minute, please.”

Namjoon hasn’t cooled off even a little bit. “No, this is bullshit. I’m not sending him out there with you again, he can fuck off and find the zombies for all I care.”

Before you can center yourself, he puts a hand to your shoulder and pushes you out from between them. Your weight lurches, body folding over on your hip, and you give an involuntary cry as the raw flesh pinches itself in the movement. Namjoon freezes, watching you stagger.

It’s Yunho who catches you, Yeosang suddenly close enough to take your arm as well, both of them glaring at your co-captain.

You don’t want this.

It was so wonderful, so beautiful the way you had all come together to decompress and joke and embarrass yourselves among friends, and you can’t stand to watch it all fall apart before your eyes.

You can’t leave them like this.

“Please stop.” Eyes brimming with tears at the sting still burning through your hip, you stumble in Yunho’s grasp and feel him brace you with an arm around your waist. “Please, Namjoon, please stop. I trust him, okay? We’re good.”

He’s still frozen, face splashed with horror at the pain he caused you, and he’s finally listening.

“When I came up with the AED idea for Jimin, he was the one who delivered the charge. He wouldn’t let me do it. We thought—” Your voice breaks, tears slipping. It’s such a miserable memory, such a viscerally terrifying moment that still has its claws in you, that you can barely say the words. “We thought it might kill Jimin, or hurt him irreparably, and he wouldn’t let me be the one to do it. He saved me from that, Joon. He cares. I trust him.”

Namjoon swallows, eyes flashing between you and the man who is stabilizing you after his own actions harmed caused you harm. “I don’t want him on your team. He can swap with Mingi.”

“No.” You sniffle and glare at him. “I want Yunho. Don’t touch my team.”

“Sugar, I need to know that you’re safe—”

“Don’t touch my team.” You pull yourself upright, letting Yunho’s arm release you, and approach Namjoon with as little limping as you can manage. You lower your voice until only he can hear you. “I get that you’re scared. I get that you’re worried about me and Rose and Jimin. But you haven’t been through what I’ve been through with these guys. And if you don’t get your head out of your ass and remember all of the things that they have done for us tonight, you’re going to make yourself the enemy. I trust them. Trust me.”

He’s quiet, jaw clenching, cheeks hollowing.

At long last, he nods. “You cleared things up with him? You feel safe?” He’s terrified. He’s fucking terrified that he’s going to lose you, or worse, lose all of you and walk out of here alone.

You can never even hint to him that your own safety is no longer your concern. “I feel safe.”

He glances over your head at Yunho. There are a few seconds of tortured silence before he closes his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug that sets your body on fire all over again. “I love you. I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Please be careful.”

“They’ve got me, Joon.”

“Okay.” He lets you go. Stepping around you, he extends his hand to Yunho and waits upon the grace of the man who is well within his rights to withhold every ounce of courtesy and respect. He doesn’t say anything—he won’t apologize for acting to defend you, and he won’t offer a blanket declaration of trust, but he’s willing to rebuild the bridge.

Yunho shakes his hand. “I am sorry. I always will be. But it will never happen that way again.”

You don’t let Namjoon answer. Instead, you turn back to Yunho, where he stands next to Yeosang, both of them watching you with hooded expressions. Bypassing Yeosang for the moment, but not ignoring the realization that he had stepped in for you, you prop yourself up on your tiptoes (and it still doesn’t make you tall enough) and throw your arms around Yunho’s neck. It’s a gesture of goodwill, a return to your conversation before Namjoon derailed it, and an act of friendship that you hadn’t thought you’d ever reach with him.

If it’s the last time you get to broach this subject with him, you want to take his burden with you. “We’re good, Yunho.”

He hugs you back, and you hear conversation start to pick up around the room again as tensions ease once more. “I’m so sorry, Sugar. I never realized how scared you must have been, so I’m…I’m just really sorry.”

You ease back on your heels, letting him go. “No more apologizing. I mean it.”

He nods, and manages a small smile. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

You roll your eyes. But you’re serious when you say, “I won’t forget what you did for Jimin. For me. Thank you, Yunho.”

He’s grinning now. “Scariest thing I’ve ever done, but there he is.”

You both turn to where Jimin is still leaning heavily against Wooyoung, laughing at something you can’t hear. “Yeah. There he is.”

Warmth has returned to the room; Hongjoong has found Namjoon’s side again, softly helping to ease his fears about the incident that had been sprung on him without warning.

In the other corner of the room, you hear San teasing Rose, still holding his axe. “Do you sit on everyone’s laps or are you just partial to Mingi’s?”

“Bite me, Choi San.”

“Is that an open invitation or just for him?”

“Shut up, Mingi.”

Yeosang draws your attention away from them, stepping in close to your side. “Are you okay?” His fingers reach for your hip, his eyes flicking up to search your face.

“He just needs a minute.” You smile shakily. “He’s not a bad guy, he just carries a lot on his shoulders.”

“Are you okay?” He asks again.

You meet his eyes, caught by the solemnity in his gaze. “I’m okay.”

He gives a nod, but he lingers. Eyes soft, lips parted, he’s looking at you like he wants to say something, his fingers lifting from your hip to brush the backs of yours with a feather-light touch before his hand drops to his side. Blinking at the floor for a second, an eternity passes before he looks up at you again with the slightest smirk. “So, you like what you see, huh?”

“God, just kill me now.”

< last chapter | masterlist | next chapter >

tag list : @mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @noukstmblr

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its-my-whump · 9 days ago

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Scissors 8

Two paramedics were fighting for the young man on the brink of death. Sepsis had entered his bloodstream. His vitals were all over the room and his chances slim to none.

His heart had stopped beating 2 minutes ago. The slack form was only moved by the man's weight being pushed into his chest. Multiple rips already broken under the strain of bending his chest in.

A little plastic tube sneaked out if the corner of his half open mouth. An ambu bag attached to it, hanging down and slightly pulling at his bluish lips.

Dark lashes were in big contrast to his ghostly white skin.

A femal medic just announced. "Pushing epi." She grabbed for a prefilled syringe and got to work. Her indexfinger and thumb found hold on the limp left arm, holding the port in the crook of his arm to let the needle enter. She was fast and professional pushing the plunger, emptying its contense

Meanwhile her colleague was doing cpr, counting the numbers.

The thin limp body was violently shaken by the procedure. His arms and legs made little jumps whenever his chest was craved in. His head rolled to the side and his eyelids kind of fluttered.

The male paramedic leaned back on his hunches and threw a desperate look to the aed. But nothing had changed. There was only a stubborn line crawling over the monitor.

The medic was breathing hard and sweat was glistening on his forehead. "Change." He more ordered than asked and his colleague let go of the ambu bag and took over. She straightened her arms, interlocked her fingers and put them on the middle of the nakes chest. The wet shirt was cut of and hanging right and left from his body. There was already a purple spot showing her targer on his sternum.

She has fresh energy and eagerly put her weight into every push, starting to count. "1, 2, 3..."

Half way through, he ordered: "Vital check." She stopped in her movement and leaned back, panting. The machine suddenly announced many bouncing sparks. "He's in vfib." The femal breathed out. The pads were already put on the man's chest, so all they needed to do, was push the button on the aed.

"Stand back." The male medic ordered and shocked.

The body jolted into the air. Hands and feet looked like he was reaching to the sky for a brief second. His head lolled to the other side, the tube awkwardly pulling at his mouth.

Then gravity got the upper hand again and all what went up fell back with a dull thud.

Nothing moved.

The medic had his stethoscope in hand and already aimed for the cool chest. His colleague was picking up the ambu bag again, while she focused on the monitor of the aed.

A single spike came out of nowhere. Her heart also jumped and her colleague gave her an encouraging smile. "Good job." He had his professional face again and was already reaching for stabilising meds from the medbag.

The femal paramedic was eagerly watching spike after spike magically appearing on the monitor turning into a steady rhythm, while she was pumping the ambu bag constantly.

Tbc

Scissors all parts

Masterlist

#whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #whumperless whump #whump whump whump #cpr resus #male cpr #cpr #resus #resuscitation #whumblr

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miniminttea · 4 months ago

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I headcanon all the ninja have basic first aid training. Like how Lliyd was able to make a sling from the map in SoG with Harumi's help or how Wu was able to tell he had no pulse in MotO

Like someone has a heart attack and Cole just happens to be patroling in the area and to everyone's suprise this big muscle ninja is comforting the guy and telling someone to get an AED and call an ambulance.

Jay is dealing with a low level threat and afterwards he sees one of the civilians caught in the chaos has a cut so he pulls out some bandages and actually wraps it pretty well.

Nya sees someone collapse on her way to dance class with Jay and she manages to do CPR well enough that the paramedics are kinda impressed.

And then Zane and Pixal are litteraly perfect at it. Who needs a LUCAS device when you ARE a CPR machine.

Kai puts a bandage on someone and everyone cheers, he wasn't really paying attention during the less "they're gonna die" sections of the course.

#ninjago #lloyd montgomery garmadon #Jay Walker #nya ninjago #zane julien #pixal borg #cole ninjago #kai ninjago

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severedfromthesource · 5 months ago

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Bite Back

Part 2/3

Original concept from @delicious-beats.

Features F resus, multiple rescuers, mild gore, LUCAS thumper, ambu bag, AED, trying to resuscitate a zombie.

Nearly twenty minutes in arrest. Elijah scrubbed a hand over his head, weighing his options. He had just given her epi, and the LUCAS was circulating it through her body as he watched the love of his life writhing under the mechanical compressions. He eyed the device for a moment before pausing for another pulse check. Finally, something. The line her heart made on the monitor fluttered in v-fib.

“There we go, baby,” he muttered more to himself, and held her head still in one arm. He considered a moment; then he forced her jaw still and wrenched the intubation tube out as quickly as he could. Luffy gagged, coughing up fluid and blood as it came loose. It wasn’t doing her any good. He’d need both hands for this, and there was no way to really secure her airway in this state. “Sorry, Lu,” he said. He rubbed her throat in apology and quickly stepped back, narrowly avoiding her teeth.

He tore off the backing on the AED and slapped one of the pads against her ribcage, just under her breast. The other he awkwardly threaded through the LUCAS’s underside, between the pumper and body of the machine, and adhered to her collarbone above the other breast. She rolled her head forward and clicked her jaw just as he pulled away. His fingers had been only a few inches from her slavering maw. Then he attached the wires to the body of the machine and charged it.

“Couple more minutes to the hospital,” Jonas called from upfront. “I’ve got minor electrical activity,” Elijah called back. “I’m gonna shock her.” “Christ, Christ above…”

The machine charged to 200 joules. He pressed the discharge button. Luffy cried out in something between a yelp of pain and a growl of anger, her back forcibly jerking up against the plunger. Her fingers flexed against the restraints, the snap of Velcro giving way filling the ambulance. Her heart still fibrillated. Elijah shoved the machine onto the bed and surged for the straps, pinning her wrist so he could tighten them again. Her hand swiped at him, fingers bending painfully to grasp at his hands. She managed to capture his hand before he could pull away.

Elijah’s breathing picked up. She wouldn’t let go. Her grip was crushing, and she was snarling and thrashing again, trying to free her other hand. Her nails dug hard into the back of his hand, clawing bloody crescents into his knuckles and tearing at the skin. He felt like he’d been trapped between the jaws of some wild animal and nearly began to panic, until the defib unit chimed that it was charged. He clicked the shock button again and her muscles involuntarily contracted and released. Like hitting a reset button, her grip seized open and he wrenched himself back. His fingers were numb from the zap, and she had clawed swaths out of the back of his hand, but she hadn’t broken it. That was all he could ask for.

He had to stay out of her range. She still wasn’t quite smart enough to work the straps, but she could contort in ways that seemed impossible and painful. He wrapped a quick length of gauze around the freshly bleeding wounds, then went for a pulse check in her inner thigh. Glancing up at the monitor, he confirmed she had gone back into asystole after the shocks. “Goddamnit,” he growled, and once more clicked the LUCAS on. Her chest was bruised terribly, a purple and black ring in the center of her chest where the thing thumped into her.

Now came the matter of oxygen. Her chances were better with oxygenated blood going through her veins, and intubation hadn’t worked. He rummaged for the ambu bag. “How’re we doing back there?” Jonas asked. “Not good,” Elijah confessed, “I don’t know if it’s the virus keeping her heart from beating, but I’m not getting anything. She’s in complete cardiac arrest, she’s hardly been out of asystole. I can’t even-“ Anger bubbled up and he kicked the wall of the ambulance. “-fucking shock her.” He felt like he was progressing rapidly through the stages of grief. He had already bargained, denied, angered, and depressed. He refuse to accept this, though. He wasn’t giving up on her. Not until his own heart gave out.

“Almost there, we’re almost there. We’ll get a cure and we’ll get her back,” said Jonas. Elijah couldn’t respond. He clicked the bag onto the mask and looked over at Luffy’s face. Her head was turned towards him, her mouth a wide O as she growled and gurgled at him. He took a few breaths to steel himself; then he slammed the mask hard over her nose and mouth. It was hard enough to bruise, and she made startled snarling noises, muffled behind the thick plastic. He held her jaw in place so the mask had a decent seal. It felt less like he was giving her air she so badly needed, and more like he was smothering her. Still, he pumped the bag, pushing air into her mouth, even as she tried to shake her head and shove him off. “Breathe,” he muttered under his breath, “Breathe for me, baby.” She thrashed and tried to free her face, groaning unevenly as her cheeks were forced to puff out and her lungs were forced to breathe.

This was torture. Forcing air on her like this, and shocking her, and beating her chest in. Terrorist detention centers probably used less brutality. He’d always known resuscitation efforts were harsh, but having her moving, making noises, conscious for all intents and purposes, it was tearing him up inside. Tears were consistently blinding him by this point, but he couldn’t wipe them away.

They had finally reached a stretch of road mostly free of cars and picked up speed. Buildings began to zip by through the back window, and every turn, Elijah had to brace himself to keep from slamming in the wall. Equipment and sterilized supplies clattered to the floor. He kept pumping air into Luffy’s lungs, eying her monitor.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he heard from the driver cabin. “Eli hold-!” Then the ambulance slammed into something. Or something slammed into it. Everything tilted as it went up on the right wheels and there was a sick, weightless feeling for a moment as his head banged off the wall closest. He instinctively grabbed for Luffy and tried to protect her head with his body. The vehicle slammed back down on all four wheels and rocked up and down on its suspension; he felt the sharp, stabbing pain in his upper arm.

Breaths heaving and vision narrowing with dread, he looked down. The mask had slipped from Luffy’s face. Her teeth were buried in his forearm. He was too stunned to feel the pain at first. Then she tore away a chunk of his bicep and he screamed, “Fuck!!” as he fell back, clutching the crater taken out of his flesh.

“Some asshole rammed us,” Jonas grunted, having been thrown into the driver side door by the impact. He pushed himself back up and glanced back into the bay, “You alright?”

No. No I’m not alright. My girlfriend just sentenced me to a terrible, thrashing death. Elijah swallowed, doubled over at the side of the gurney. Blood oozed between his fingers where they clamped over the wound. “I’m… I’m alright,” he managed to get out. The throbbing pain shot down from his shoulder and into the tips of his fingers, running up against and outpacing the distant pain he’d felt where she’d clawed him open. He scrambled for a roll of gauze and stuffed the hole with a folded square of bandage, then bound up the whole thing with a few loops. He snatched his jacket from the cubby where he’d stashed it when the weather turned and held his breath, teeth gritting as he slid his arms into it. The muscles moving pulled at the fresh wound, and his arm felt stiff and wooden.

He’d always thought the asshole who hid a zombie bite in the movies was a special kind of awful. That they were dooming their friends and endangering the ones they loved out of cowardice or idiocy. Now he was the one putting everyone else in danger, but he hardly cared. They could blow him away, just so long as they saved Luffy first. He noted the time. 1:03.

He had twenty minutes before he died.

Jonas threw open the doors, grabbing Luffy’s gurney as they began easing her out. The side of the ambulance had been dented pretty hard by the collision, and another ambulance sat beside them, smoldering from the engine in thick gray plumes. The driver sat with his partner, bleeding and dazed from a shallow head wound. They weren’t the only folks scrambling for their patients in the chaos the city had descended into.

People were waiting to receive them. A team of nurses and staff ushered them into the trauma bay, orders shouted over the loud mechanics of the LUCAS. Someone with thick leather mittens, like the kind used for training attack dogs- That’s all she is now. Just some dangerous, drooling animal- grabbed Luffy on either side of her head while two others quickly affixed a neck brace to keep her somewhat still. A leather belt of sorts with a metal ring, welded with small bars like a muzzle, was affixed to her mouth, forcing her jaw apart so she couldn’t bite down. All of it served to make her look no better than a wild animal. The muscles in her jaw strained against the bit and again an ambu bag was sealed over her nose and mouth.

“You’re gonna be okay, babe,” he told her quietly, squeezing her shoulder as it jerked under the rhythm of mechanical compressions. The trauma team was a well oiled machine. They swiftly ferried her into a room in the ICU and locked the door behind them just in case.

“We ran out of isolation rooms,” one of the nurses told Elijah as she began snipping through the cuffs of Luffy’s jeans. “After the first few infected arrived. Before we knew what we were really dealing with.” She shook her head, the shears having reached Luffy’s pelvis. “They’re bloodbaths in there.” He had no reply. He could only watch as they peeled away his girlfriend’s sweat stained clothing, revealing her ashen body. He touched one of her bare legs, felt the ripples of force from the LUCAS down to her toes. She was so cold, he almost broke down into tears again.

Any other patient he would have called by now. But it was an impossibility with her. Never mind the infection, or the chance at a cure, she was his everything. The person who held him when the job got tough, the only one who could make him laugh after days or weeks of unavoidable deaths and tragedies. “Lu,” he rasped under his breath, “Come back to me… please, Lu…”

Jonas came up by his side, squeezing his shoulder in a display of sympathy that only served to light the bite wound on fire. Elijah held back a hiss of pain, fingers tightening around Luffy’s leg to keep from crying out. His physical agony was easily disguised as emotional turmoil, and his partner seemed to take it that way.

“Pause compressions, we’re gonna deliver the antiphagi and do a pulse check,” the head doctor announced, “And let’s get another shot of adrenaline prepped.” As the trauma team moved into position, Luffy thrashed at anyone near. Her shoulder bucked up against the machine, her head rolling towards the nurse giving her air through the ambu, though the neck brace mostly held her in place. He could see the muscles in her jaw flex as she tried to bite down against the metal bit.

The antidote was administered directly into the crook of her elbow. The LUCAS was stopped a moment later as hands all descended at once on her pulse points. Two fingers at her carotid artery, two in the dip of her pelvis to check her femoral, and the one brave soul who wore the protective mittens unhooked her wrist so someone could check her radial pulse while he held her in place. The team lead pressed his stethoscope to her bruised sternum, dotting under her breasts and ribs with the diaphragm in search of a heartbeat. In search of hope. In the quiet of the concentration that befell the team, Luffy’s growls and gurgles were too prominent. It felt like they filled the whole room. She writhed slowly now, like the fight had gradually gone out of her as she was subjected to the torture of resuscitation. Her hand, freed from the LUCAS, made a weak claw and tried to tear free, but her body was flagging. It was like she was dying all over again.

The team lead looked up at the monitor as he drew the steth away from her ribcage. “Looks like weak v-fib. Let’s try and shock her.” Luffy gave a pathetic whine, as if she understood what came next. The sound tore at something in Elijah’s chest. Her jaw worked and her eyes rolled, lashes fluttering. Was it the antidote working? Or was it her body finally shutting down for good?

The AED charged and everyone stepped back. The armored nurse stepped away last, throwing an arm out to protect the woman beside her as Luffy struck out, narrowly missing clawing a chunk out of them. “Charged to 200, everyone clear!” Then her body seized, her chest twitching and the arm loose from its straps flailing with the stab of electricity. It fell limp off the gurney. Then she was still. Utterly still.

Elijah’s stomach dropped. Once the shock faded, she simply laid there, lifeless in a way he hadn’t seen since she first arrested. Her eyes were open, staring off towards the people she had nearly struck a moment ago. Her arm dangled, and the monitor screamed a flatline. She was dead again.

“The antiphagi is kicking in. Let’s circulate the adrenaline for another couple minutes,” the lead called out, “And epinephrine, we need to get her heart beating before we start celebrating.”

They unhooked the muzzle from her teeth, a string of bloodied saliva connecting it to her mouth for a moment before it splat back against her lips. Once more, breaths were shoved into her lungs, rounding her stomach. The LUCAS kicked back into gear, only now she was like a rag doll under it. Her head bobbed, her arm swinging a bit off the gurney as it struck blow after blow against the perfectly circular bruise it had made between her breasts. Elijah slid into a spot between the trauma team and held her by the wrist, feeling the blood swell in her pulse point. He brought her limp hand up and ran the back of her cold knuckles against his cheek.

“Lu,” he rasped. “Please… God, just come back.” Tears once more slid down his cheeks, spilling against her and warming her with his grief. It had been over a half hour since she arrested, they were nearing forty five minutes now.

“V-fib,” called the team lead, “Let’s shock her. Charge to 360, I need everyone off.” Elijah pressed a kiss to her hand and gently lowered it to the gurney at her side. “Alright, clear!” The electricity discharged, forcing her muscles to convulse. Her back arched up against the LUCAS and fell back again, the kinetic force rocking her down to her toes.

It was only then that he really took in how fragile she looked like this. Laid out in a room full of strangers, completely naked, kept alive by machines. He reached out and rubbed her chilly thigh as if he had any hopes of warming her alone.

“Let’s go again at 360,” he heard distantly. “Everyone clear!” Again she bucked under the jolt, her hand twitching so it rested on her stomach. Elijah took it and once more strapped her into the LUCAS, lingering a moment with his fingers curled into her palm.

There were voices, and he thought maybe they were talking about her heart, but they felt suddenly distant. She was trying to come back, he knew that much. But it was hard. He knew it had to have been. She was fighting for him, like she always did. His fingers absently slid from her wrist in the strap down her arm. They’d resumed the automatic compressions, which he knew in some dim corner meant her heart had stopped again.

The room tilted in a kaleidoscope of colors, a brief flash before it righted itself. He checked his watch, the screen oddly bright in a room that suddenly felt unfocused. There was something there, he knew. Something important. But he couldn’t remember. His back hit something hard with a loud, metallic clatter, and he looked down at the surgical implements he’d scattered on the floor at his feet. He felt suddenly hot, sweating under his jacket. Something warm trickled down his arm and slid against his fingertips. His heart thundered in his ears, the blood swelling in a drumbeat against his eardrums.

“-li? El- hey-“ Sounds came in, but it was like his head was underwater. “Eli-at’s wron-“ He looked up to see Jonas, holding him by the shoulders to keep him upright.

“Luffy,” he croaked, his gaze sliding to her. “Help… help her-“ Then the world spun. The drumbeat in his ears seized to a sudden halt as he went into cardiac arrest. The infection had reached his heart.

#ive had this written for ages idk why i havent posted lol #resus community #resus #cpr #chest compressions #female resus #resus writing #aed #defibrillation #lucas thumper

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reasoningdaily · 2 years ago

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NEWBERN, Ala. — There’s a power struggle in Newbern, Alabama, and the rural town’s first Black mayor is at war with the previous administration who he says locked him out of Town Hall.

After years of racist harassment and intimidation, Patrick Braxton is fed up, and in a federal civil rights lawsuit he is accusing town officials of conspiring to deny his civil rights and his position because of his race.

“When I first became mayor, [a white woman told me] the town was not ready for a Black mayor,” Braxton recalls.

The town is 85% Black, and 29% of Black people here live below the poverty line.

“What did she mean by the town wasn’t ready for a Black mayor? They, meaning white people?” Capital B asked.

“Yes. No change,” Braxton says.

Decades removed from a seemingly Jim Crow South, white people continue to thwart Black political progress by refusing to allow them to govern themselves or participate in the country’s democracy, several residents told Capital B. While litigation may take months or years to resolve, Braxton and community members are working to organize voter education, registration, and transportation ahead of the 2024 general election.

But the tension has been brewing for years.

Two years ago, Braxton says he was the only volunteer firefighter in his department to respond to a tree fire near a Black person’s home in the town of 275 people. As Braxton, 57, actively worked to put out the fire, he says, one of his white colleagues tried to take the keys to his fire truck to keep him from using it.

In another incident, Braxton, who was off duty at the time, overheard an emergency dispatch call for a Black woman experiencing a heart attack. He drove to the fire station to retrieve the automated external defibrillator, or AED machine, but the locks were changed, so he couldn’t get into the facility. He raced back to his house, grabbed his personal machine, and drove over to the house, but he didn’t make it in time to save her. Braxton wasn’t able to gain access to the building or equipment until the Hale County Emergency Management Agency director intervened, the lawsuit said.

“I have been on several house fires by myself,” Braxton says. “They hear the radio and wouldn’t come. I know they hear it because I called dispatch, and dispatch set the tone call three or four times for Newbern because we got a certain tone.”

Not only has he been locked out of the town hall and fought fires alone, but he’s been followed by a drone and unable to retrieve the town’s mail and financial accounts, he says. Rather than concede, Haywood “Woody” Stokes III, the former white mayor, along with his council members, reappointed themselves to their positions after ordering a special election that no one knew about.

Braxton is suing them, the People’s Bank of Greensboro, and the postmaster at the U.S. Post Office.

For at least 60 years, there’s never been an election in the town. Instead, the mantle has been treated as a “hand me down” by the small percentage of white residents, according to several residents Capital B interviewed. After being the only one to submit qualifying paperwork and statement of economic interests, Braxton became the mayor.

Stokes and his council — which consists of three white people (Gary Broussard, Jesse Leverett, Willie Tucker) and one Black person (Voncille Brown Thomas) — deny any wrongdoing in their response to the amended complaint filed on April 17. They also claim qualified immunity, which protects state and local officials from individual liability from civil lawsuits.

The attorneys for all parties, including the previous town council, the bank, and Lynn Thiebe, the postmaster at the post office, did not respond to requests for comment.

The town where voting never was

Over the past 50 years, Newbern has held a majority Black population. The town was incorporated in 1854 and became known as a farm town. The Great Depression and the mechanization of the cotton industry contributed to Newbern’s economic and population decline, according to the Encyclopedia of Alabama.

Today, across Newbern’s 1.2 square miles sits the town hall and volunteer fire department constructed by Auburn’s students, an aging library, U.S. Post Office, and Mercantile, the only store there, which Black people seldom frequent because of high prices and a lack of variety of products, Braxton says.

“They want to know why Black [people] don’t shop with them. You don’t have nothin’ the Black [people] want or need,” he says. “No gasoline. … They used to sell country-time bacon and cheese and souse meat. They stopped selling that because they say they didn’t like how it feel on their hands when they cuttin’ the meat.”

To help unify the town, Braxton began hosting annual Halloween parties for the children, and game day for the senior citizens. But his efforts haven’t been enough to stop some people from moving for better jobs, industry, and quality of life.

Residents say the white town leaders have done little to help the predominantly Black area thrive over the years. They question how the town has spent its finances, as Black residents continue to struggle. Under the American Rescue Plan Act, Newbern received $30,000, according to an estimated funding sheet by Alabama Democratic U.S. Rep. Terri Sewell, but residents say they can’t see where it has gone.

At the First Baptist Church of Newbern, Braxton, three of his selected council members — Janice Quarles, 72, Barbara Patrick, 78, and James Ballard, 76 — and the Rev. James Williams, 77, could only remember two former mayors: Robert Walthall, who served as mayor for 44 years, and Paul Owens, who served on the council for 33 years and mayor for 11.

“At one point, we didn’t even know who the mayor was,” Ballard recalls. “If you knew somebody and you was white, and your grandfather was in office when he died or got sick, he passed it on down to the grandson or son, and it’s been that way throughout the history of Newbern.”

Quarles agreed, adding: “It took me a while to know that Mr. Owens was the mayor. I just thought he was just a little man cleaning up on the side of the road, sometimes picking up paper. I didn’t know until I was told that ‘Well, he’s the mayor now.’”

Braxton mentioned he heard of a Black man named Mr. Hicks who previously sought office years ago.

“This was before my time, but I heard Mr. Hicks had won the mayor seat and they took it from him the next day [or] the next night,” Braxton said. “It was another Black guy, had won years ago, and they took it from.”

“I hadn’t heard that one,” Ballard chimes in, sitting a few seats away from Braxton.

“How does someone take the seat from him, if he won?” Capital B asked.

“The same way they’re trying to do now with Mayor Braxton,” Quarles chuckled. “Maybe at that time — I know if it was Mr. Hicks — he really had nobody else to stand up with him.”

Despite the rumor, what they did know for sure: There was never an election, and Stokes had been in office since 2008.

The costs to challenging the white power structure

After years of disinvestment, Braxton’s frustrations mounted at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when he says Stokes refused to commemorate state holidays or hang up American flags. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the majority-white council failed to provide supplies such as disinfectant, masks, and humidifiers to residents to mitigate the risks of contracting the virus.

Instead of waiting, Braxton made several trips to neighboring Greensboro, about 10 miles away, to get food and other items to distribute to Black and white residents. He also placed signs around town about vaccination. He later found his signs had been destroyed and put in “a burn pile,” he said.

After years of unmet needs of the community, Braxton decided to qualify for mayor. Only one Black person — Brown Thomas, who served with Stokes —has ever been named to the council. After Braxton told Stokes, the acting mayor, his intention to run, the conspiracy began, the lawsuit states.

According to the lawsuit, Stokes gave Braxton the wrong information on how to qualify for mayor. Braxton then consulted with the Alabama Conference of Black Mayors, and the organization told him to file his statement of candidacy and statement of the economic interests with the circuit clerk of Hale County and online with the state, the lawsuit states. Vickie Moore, the organization’s executive director, said it also guided Braxton on how to prepare for his first meeting and other mayoral duties.

Moore, an Alabama native and former mayor of Slocomb, said she has never heard of other cases across the state where elected officials who have never been elected are able to serve. This case with Braxton is “racism,” she said.

“The true value of a person can’t be judged by the color of their skin, and that’s what’s happening in this case here, and it’s the worst racism I’ve ever seen,” Moore said. “We have fought so hard for simple rights. It’s one of the most discouraging but encouraging things because it encourages us to continue to move forward … and continue to fight.”

Political and legal experts say what’s happening in Newbern is rare, but the tactics to suppress Black power aren’t, especially across the South. From tampering with ballot boxes to restricting reading material, “the South has been resistant to all types of changes” said Emmitt Riley III, associate professor of political science and Africana Studies at The University of the South.

“This is a clear case of white [people] attempting to seize and maintain political power in the face of someone who went through the appropriate steps to qualify and to run for office and by default wins because no one else qualified,” Riley added. “This raises a number of questions about democracy and a free and fair system of governance.”

Riley mentioned a different, but similar case in rural Greenwood, Mississippi. Sheriel Perkins, a longtime City Council member, became the first Black female mayor in 2006, serving for only two years. She ran again in 2013 and lost by 206 votes to incumbent Carolyn McAdams, who is white. Perkins contested the results, alleging voter fraud. White people allegedly paid other white people to live in the city in order to participate in the election and cast a legal vote, Riley said. In that case, the state Supreme Court dismissed the case and “found Perkins presented no evidence” that anyone voted illegally in a precinct, but rather it was the election materials that ended up in the wrong precincts.

“It was also on record that one white woman got on the witness stand and said, ‘I came back to vote because I was contacted to vote by X person.’ I think you see these tactics happening all across the South in local elections, in particular,” Riley said. “It becomes really difficult for people to really litigate these cases because in many cases it goes before the state courts, and state courts have not been really welcoming to overturning elections and ordering new elections.”

Another example: Camilla, Georgia.

In 2015, Rufus Davis was elected as the first Black male mayor of rural, predominantly Black Camilla. In 2017, the six-person City Council — half Black and half white — voted to deny him a set of keys to City Hall, which includes his office. Davis claimed the white city manager, Bennett Adams, had been keeping him from carrying out his mayoral duties.

The next year, Davis, along with Black City Council member Venterra Pollard, boycotted the city’s meetings because of “discrimination within the city government,” he told a local news outlet. Some of the claims included the absence of Black officers in the police department, and the city’s segregated cemetery, where Black people cannot be buried next to white people. (The wire fence that divided the cemetery was taken down in 2018). In 2018, some citizens of the small town of about 5,000 people wanted to remove Davis from office and circulated a petition that garnered about 200 signatures. In 2019, he did not seek re-election for office.

“You’re not the mayor”

After being the only person to qualify and submit proper paperwork for any municipal office, Braxton became mayor-elect and the first Black mayor in Newbern’s history on July 22, 2020.

Following the announcement, Braxton appointed members to join his council, consistent with the practice of previous leadership. He asked both white and Black people to serve, he said, but the white people told him they didn’t want to get involved.

The next month, Stokes and the former council members, Broussard, Leverett, Brown Thomas, and Tucker, called a secret meeting to adopt an ordinance to conduct a special election on Oct. 6 because they “allegedly forgot to qualify as candidates,” according to the lawsuit, which also alleges the meeting was not publicized. The defendants deny this claim, but admit to filing statements of candidacy to be elected at the special election, according to their response to an amended complaint filed on their behalf.

Because Stokes and his council were the only ones to qualify for the Oct. 6 election, they reappointed themselves as the town council. On Nov. 2, 2020, Braxton and his council members were sworn into office and filed an oath of office with the county probate judge’s office. Ten days later, the city attorney’s office executed an oath of office for Stokes and his council.

After Braxton held his first town meeting in November, Stokes changed the locks to Town Hall to keep him and his council from accessing the building. For months, the two went back and forth on changing the locks until Braxton could no longer gain access. At some point, Braxton says he discovered all official town records had been removed or destroyed, except for a few boxes containing meeting minutes and other documents.

Braxton also was prevented from accessing the town’s financial records with the People’s Bank of Greensboro and the city clerk, and obtaining mail from the town’s post office. At every turn, he was met with a familiar answer: “You’re not the mayor.” Separately, he’s had drones following him to his home and mother’s home and had a white guy almost run him off the road, he says.

Braxton asserts he’s experienced these levels of harassment and intimidation to keep him from being the mayor, he said.

“Not having the Lord on your side, you woulda’ gave up,” he told Capital B.

‘Ready to fire away’

In the midst of the obstacles, Braxton kept pushing. He partnered with LaQuenna Lewis, founder of Love Is What Love Does, a Selma-based nonprofit focused on enriching the lives of disadvantaged people in Dallas, Perry, and Hale counties through such means as food distribution, youth programming, and help with utility bills. While meeting with Braxton, Lewis learned more about his case and became an investigator with her friend Leslie Sebastian, a former advocacy attorney based in California.

The three began reviewing thousands of documents from the few boxes Braxton found in Town Hall, reaching out to several lawyers and state lawmakers such as Sen. Bobby Singleton and organizations such as the Southern Poverty Law Center. No one wanted to help.

When the white residents learned Lewis was helping Braxton, she, too, began receiving threats early last year. She received handwritten notes in the mail with swastikas and derogatory names such as the n-word and b-word. One of theletters had a drawing of her and Braxton being lynched.

Another letter said they had been watching her at the food distribution site and hoped she and Braxton died. They also made reference to her children, she said. Lewis provided photos of the letters, but Capital B will not publish them. In October, Lewis and her children found their house burned to the ground. The cause was undetermined, but she thinks it may have been connected.

Lewis, Sebastian, and Braxton continued to look for attorneys that would take the case. Braxton filed a complaint in Alabama’s circuit court last November, but his attorney at the time stopped answering his calls. In January, they found a new attorney, Richard Rouco, who filed an amended complaint in federal court.

“He went through a total of five attorneys prior to me meeting them last year, and they pretty much took his money. We ran into some big law firms who were supposed to help and they kind of misled him,” Lewis says.

Right now, the lawsuit is in the early stages, Rouco says, and the two central issues of the case center on whether the previous council with Stokes were elected as they claim and if they gave proper notice.

Braxton and his team say they are committed to still doing the work in light of the lawsuit. Despite the obstacles, Braxton is running for mayor again in 2025. Through AlabamaLove.org, the group is raising money to provide voter education and registration, and address food security and youth programming. Additionally, they all hope they can finally bring their vision of a new Newbern to life.

For Braxton, it’s bringing grocery and convenience stores to the town. Quarles wants an educational and recreational center for children. Williams, the First Baptist Church minister, wants to build partnerships to secure grants in hopes of getting internet and more stores.

“I believe we done put a spark to the rocket, and it’s going [to get ready] to fire away,” Williams says at his church. “This rocket ready to fire away, and it’s been hovering too long.”

Correction: In Newbern, Alabama, 29% of the Black population lives below the poverty line. An earlier version of this story misstated the percentage

#alabama #Newbern Alabama #A Black Man Was Elected Mayor in Rural Alabama #but the White Town Leaders Won’t Let Him Serve #Patrick Braxton #AlabamaLove.org #black lives matter

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thedrdefib · 4 months ago

Text

Time Called - Angela

The sirens of an ambulance filled the night air, drawing emergency room doctor Jason's attention to the back doors where a team rushed in with 25-year old Angela. His eyes instantly locked onto her form as they rolled her in on the gurney. Her pale skin shimmered with a thin layer of sweat under the harsh hospital lights, her large breasts and small cute feet swaying slightly with the jostling of the gurney. The floral tattoos on her thighs were a striking contrast to her milky white complexion, drawing his gaze up their colorful length to her neatly trimmed mound. Jason's cock twitched within his scrubs at the sight.

As he donned gloves and examined Angela's naked body, he couldn't help but drink in her striking physical attributes. Her 5'7" frame was a perfect combination of medium build and curvaceousness, which was further accentuated by her pale, soft skin. Her chest was currently adorned with with 10 large white electrodes, half of them clustered around her left breast, as if framing it for presentation. He could make out two small pools of residue where an AED had been attached.

He addressed the lead paramedic, a red-headed woman by the name of Doreen with whom he was intimately familiar, "What do we have Doreen?". "25-year old female, called 911 from home after experiencing syncope and weakness. Was already unconscious when we arrived. Pulse was weak, rapid, and thready, given initial complaint we opted to get a 12-lead in the field. Initial rhythm was an irregular Junctional Tachycardia, no ST elevations. As we got her ready for transport she converted to V-fib. She's had two shocks and one of Epi en route, no change." He started to go over the treatable causes of what he heard and began formulating his code plan.

After ordering rapid labs to rule out treatable causes of unstable junctional rhythm like drug interactions and electrolyte imbalance, he focused on the more immediate issue and started performing CPR, thrusting his hands into the center of her chest with a rapid rhythm as his team prepared the defibrillator. With each downward push, Angela's chest caved inward, her large breasts flowing down the new incline towards his hands, her small bright pink nipples following suit and pointing inward towards Jason's hands, almost as if to beckon him to touch them, before then fleeing back out when he released the pressure. It would seem almost a playful, flirtatious taunt were it not for the gravity of the situation surrounding it.

After a thirty count, one of the nurses handed him the defibrillator paddles. He pressed the paddles, laden thickly with conductive gel, onto her chest and pushed the button. The machine made that satisfying "Ka-Thunk" sound he always found oddly arousing. He watched intently as Angela arched her back in response to the defibrillation, the motion further highlighting the supple swell of her breasts as they were pushed forward before falling gently back into place, the ripple through the flesh of her breasts and belly like a small wave crashing against the shore. The defibrillator left two large pools of glistening gel on her chest, one high center mass and the other on her ribs beside her heart. Though they were there to help conduct electricity across her skin and into her heart, he couldn't help but think of their lubricant properties as he stared at the glistening pools.

His musings were interrupted by he sound of the EKG alarming frantically as it re-registered her rhythm following the shock, Angela was still in V-fib. "Alright, that's three, she's officially in refractory V-fib" Jason thought to himself. He never liked to think about the odds in a code, as they were never good, but he knew that after 3 shocks, the odds of resolving this code positively just went down tremendously. He called for a round of Epi and compressions before he grabbed the paddles once more and delivered another shock. The room grew silent as Angela's body jolted in response, causing her to convulse slightly, the soles of her small feet scrunching and then relaxing before her body falling limp once again. V-fib still....

As he continued his attempts at resuscitation for what seemed like forever, Jason found himself becoming discouraged and sought refuge in imagination. The repeated shocks and long compressions causing Angela's beautiful body to ripple, sway, and thrust had turned a slight tinge of attraction into heat that had his cock starting to push against the inside of his underwear. A fantasy began to form in Jason's mind. He did this sometimes, though no one knew. This job was hard, you saw too much you shouldn't have to and too often you worked way too hard only to be reminded that you failed more often than succeeded. The statistics on successful resuscitations reminded you that you were fighting an uphill battle that a staunch majority of times you lost. The fantasies were inappropriate, he knew, but they kept him from downing a bottle of pills with a bottle of Jack and being the next one on the table in front of him, so he allowed himself the vice.

In his mind, he saw himself standing before her in the ER, the sound of the EKG filling the room beeping merrily to the rhythm of her now beating heart, as he traced a finger down her chest, past her defibrillator gel covered tits, along her soft supple belly, past her belly button and further still until he reached the floral tattoo on her thigh. The tip of his finger teased the edge of the vibrant petals, then traveled over to her moist cunt. He could feel the heat radiating from her pussy as he slid a finger inside, feeling her clench around him, her legs trembling and her breath catching as he entered her. He started to thrust with his middle finger while his thumb rubbed up and down her clit, at first slow but then faster and faster, increasing his speed as her heart increased it's own rate. Her heart rate continued to climb on the monitor in sync with her arousal until at last she shuddered, curled her toes, and let out a soft gasp, followed by a not so soft moan. Angela's orgasm erupted, sending waves of pleasure through her quivering frame. Her heart raced even faster, its frenzied beats echoing the intensity of her ecstasy. In response, Jason's own arousal reached its full potential.

In reality though, Angela's life still dangled precariously over the cliff of death while Jason delivered another shot of epinephrine into her intravenous line. Jason snapped out of his escapism long enough to note the time on the code clock (31:18) and the rhythm on the monitor (still fucking V-fib). As he finished the count of his compressions, he called out for the defibrillator to be charged, it was time for another shock. This would be her sixth. He placed the paddles firmly against her chest and pressed the button. Once more, her chest rose off the table and came crashing back down. This time her legs kicked just a bit too much and her left leg fell from the table, splaying open her legs in an almost spread eagle fashion, and opening her as if presenting herself to him, inviting him. He bent down to grab her leg and put it back on the table, noted the rhythm on the monitor post-shock, and went back to CPR and his fantasy to escape the feeling of dread that was continuing to grow in him.

The fantasy progressed. Angela was still recovering her breath from her first orgasm when Jason spread her legs wide, her left falling off the table, revealing her moist pussy, slick from arousal. He lowered his head into that warm place, flicking his tongue against her clit in teasing circles as she moaned with delight. The EKG began to emit a series of rapid tones, mirroring the frenzied beat of Angela's heart. Her breathing grew yet heavier with each lick, and Jason could almost feel her pussy contracting around his tongue as another orgasm soon washed over her. This one was stronger than the first, so good it made her kick her leg and jerk her torso gently a few times as it rolled over her in waves. The sight of Angela's body writhing in pleasure was a heady mix for Jason. The EKG monitor screamed out a frenzied rhythm in response to the orgasmic surge, and he couldn't help but turned on by this primal display of ecstasy. He imagined how her heart would race in rhythm with his when he finally stopped teasing her—a living, pulsing testament to their passion. His erection pushed so hard against his pants he worried it would break free in reality. It throbbed with a yearning, not only for this woman's flesh but to save her life.

Yet in reality, her heart was not racing, it was flailing uselessly. Jason placed the paddles on her chest for the tenth time, preparing to deliver another shock. He briefly considered if he should even bother at this point or if he should call it... but god damn it, he'd lost his last three patients and needed a win desperately, he wasn't willing to give up on this young, healthy, beautiful woman one second before he was forced to. He wanted to save this woman so much, it created a pent up pressure in him that demanded to be let out in the same way the throbbing in his pants did and he wouldn't be denied his release if he could help it.. .

"Ka-Thunk". Once more Angela leaped form the table. As she came to rest, Jason looked away from her supine form and glanced at the monitor. He could see the wavy line of V-fib give way to a sharp spike that went up off the screen, fell back below it, and now as it rose back up he looked eagerly for it to show him something other than that wavy line. What he saw next made him reconsider that wish. The monitor line traced out a sinus like rhythm, though this one was too long and too slow, like someone had put it on putty and then pulled from both ends. You could almost feel the air leave the room collectively as Jason announced "She's converted into Agonal Rhythm, resume CPR and push another Epi".

Three cycles of CPR and cardiac drugs later (maxing her out on basically everything) and Jason glanced at the code clock, which now read "58:21". Angela was still in an Agonal rhythm with a rate of about 16bpm. He went over the code in his head, looking for something, anything he had missed that he might be able to correct to change the outcome. Ultimately, he could not and was forced to say aloud "Anyone have any other ideas? Anyone opposed to ending the code here?" As he waited for objections he knew would not come, his compressions began to slow and soften, until he stopped altogether. As he removed his hands from Angela's chest, he heard one of his colleages yell "Code Blue" from another bay and his team looked at him. "You all go help, I need a breather, I'll stay here and wait for asystole to get ToD". They all left and he stood next to Angela, her damaged heart refusing to give up, still desperately trying to beat even as Jason sat in silent defeat next to her. As Jason stood there waiting, he realized that something else had not given up either.. the throbbing in his trousers was somehow more pronounced now, as his mind no longer had anything else to focus on.

Rather than stand here and watch the grim scene unfolding before him, he allowed himself his escape and closed his eyes. As he floated back into fantasy, he once more heard the beep of sinus rhythm on the ECG and opened his eyes to see Angela in front of him, bent over the gurney as he entered her from behind. The smooth curve of her ass was as gorgeous as the rest of her and those fantastic breasts hung before him, swaying in rhythm to his thrusts, which he in turn gave in rhythm to her heartbeat. He reached forward and grabbed her breasts, using his fore fingers to draw circles around her areolas and flick her nipples as they fucked. Her heart rate climbed steadily as they moved together, building towards another climax.

But Jason wasn't ready for this to end, as if keeping this fantasy from ending would somehow keep her end from coming. He knew that was foolish, a fact that the slowing agonal rhythm on the monitor in reality reminded him all too directly but he decided he wasn't ready to give up here in the fantasy yet. He gripped Angela by the waist, pulled out and flipped her over onto her back in the bed. She let out a little gasp of pleased surprise and smiled up at him as he climbed on top of her. He lifted Angela's legs high, placing them near his head as he moved to enter her once more. Angela braced one foot against his cheek to stabilize herself as he slid inside her and they began rocking once more, harder and faster than any other time. Her other foot hovered in front of him. Her soft soles just another beautiful aspect of her perfect body. He gently kissed the sole of her foot, glancing down at her to see how she was doing...

This fantasy Jason had created became a poignant mirror world image of the reality he faced. In one, two people embraced in the ultimate celebration of life, even as in the other he sat vigil while a life was ending. As their passions grew, as their motions picked up and the beat of Angela's heart raced in the fantasy, in reality Jason sat sadly by the side of a motionless Angela, the slow Agonal rhythm now a crawl, down to a mere 8bpm. The faster things moved in the fantasy, the slower her rhythm got in reality. 7bpm.... 5bpm... 3bpm...

As their encounter in the fantasy reached its climax, Angela's fantasy heart raced, she gasped and she let out a loud cry of ecstasy as her whole body convulsed in pleasure. In reality though, Angela's body was still, her heart now letting out it's final attempts to beat, having not successfully done so in over an hour. But in the fantasy, Jason need not face his sadness and anger at that. He bent down to suck ferociously on one of her pert nipples. As he rolled her nipple around with his tongue, Jason felt an intense wave hit him, a sudden release as he came in the fantasy, an eruptive and voluminous ejaculation like he hadn't felt in a long time. He filled her with his hot seed and she moaned in appreciation as the feeling of his warm cum splashing inside her pushed her over the edge of this final orgasm herself. Her back arched high, a perfect snapshot of a defib, only this time he was inside her and every muscle in her body was clamped down on his manhood in sheer, unbridled ecstacy.

The fantasy ended as Jason felt a warm splash against his thigh and at that same moment the ECG screen registered asystole, it's flat line punctuating the end. He shook off the euphoria and realized that he had cum in his pants and that Angela was gone. This irritated him immensely, that the only part of his fantasy he could make reality was making a mess of himself and not extending the life and heat of this young woman.. Instead this was the quiet end to Angela's life, and Jason angrily pronounced time of death, 2:17 PM. Gently, he removed her EKG leads, leaving the electrodes and defibrillator gel in place on her chest, like a macabre memento of their fleeting intimacy. He stood up and walked away from his patient, leaving her in an eerie silence that contrasted so heavily with the chaos of the living around her and went to seek new pants and possibly a new escape, into the bottom of a bottle.

#resus #cpr #defib #defibrillation #resuscitation #dark cardiophilia #ekg #female patient #resus writing #cardiophile thoughts #time called #smut

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