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nonasuch · 1 year

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here is a fun little star wars scenario that has been pinging around inside my head like a screensaver:

so let’s say there’s some very zealous, very low-ranking fresh young Imperial officer on duty the day they take the Senator from Alderaan into custody.

and he is very very nervous because a) he’s been here for like a week and b) none of that week required him to be in a room with Darth Vader. which he now is. so he is trying to focus very very hard on Doing Everything Exactly According To Protocol, as a means of not focusing on the seven-foot evil wizard standing fifteen feet away.

and part of the protocol for processing new prisoners is to make a new file for them in the prisoner database, and enter all their biographical details and vital statistics and a gene sample and their known associates and the nature of their terrible crimes against the Empire and so on. which he does! very meticulously!

except the computer keeps throwing an error message. the stupid thing keeps beeping at him, this awful grating little noise that makes his shoulders ratchet up tighter and tighter every time it honks at him, and he can’t fix it and Darth Vader is right over there—

except oh god oh fuck the beeping noise must be annoying Darth Vader, too, because he’s coming over here and our poor junior officer is convinced he’s going to die before he even lives long enough to send his first paycheck home to his poor widowed mother —

he stammers out an apology. Vader just stares at him. he swears he’ll figure out the problem right away, sir, it’s probably a bug in the system, it’s just that for some silly reason it keeps saying this gene sample doesn’t match the one on file for the Senator so he can’t get her logged as a new prisoner just yet —

“Dismissed,” says Vader. the poor kid flees, gratefully.

Vader considers the matter. in fact, his underling was correct: the gene sample, which he saw taken through his very own helmet lenses, does not match the official record of Senator Leia Organa, heir to the throne of Alderaan. so: perhaps the sample on record was falsified. not impossible, but very, very difficult. and ordinarily a crime attempted by the lowly and desperate. he cannot see any need for it, in the daughter of a queen.

another possibility presents itself. Alderaan has no history of using royal doubles, as some worlds do. but Bail Organa has worked closely with royal houses where the practice is long-established. perhaps he was inspired. perhaps the girl they captured is not Leia Organa at all.

Vader runs the gene sample against the ship’s database. it is woefully incomplete, of course, containing only a fraction of the Empire’s billions of citizens: the ship’s own complement, a selection of known criminals and Rebels they might encounter, high-ranking officials whose identity must be confirmed should the Emperor require their presence. unlikely that this girl, whoever she is, would have a record here, or even a partial match—

the computer beeps at him. it’s a cheerful beep, this time, not the error message that stymied the junior officer. the computer reports that the gene sample is a partial match for Pooja Naberrie, the Senator from Naboo. they are, with eighty-nine percent probability, first cousins.

and Vader just. kind of stands there. for a minute.

when he goes to Leia’s cell, there’s no interrogation droid with him. he goes in. he shuts the door behind him. he stands there, silent, for frankly a worryingly long time, until Leia has run through her entire stockpile of “how dare you, I’m a member of the Senate on a humanitarian mission” and “whatever you want, you can’t possibly think I would be of any help” and “well, if you’re going to interrogate me, get on with it already” and “are you even listening to me?” and falls silent herself.

Vader has been listening to her. he has also been listening to the Force, which seems to think that she’s not lying. obviously the humanitarian mission part is bullshit, that goes without saying. but the “I’m Senator Leia Organa” parts and the “I won’t help you” parts? yeah. he searched his feelings. he knows them to be true. the Force is singing in his head, bright and clear, in a way it hasn’t for nearly twenty years.

there’s still Tarkin to deal with, though. Vader turns and leaves the cell without a word.

Tarkin wants to blow up Alderaan. this is unacceptable, obviously, and Vader forbids it on the grounds that the Queen and the Viceroy possess vital intelligence, not disclosed to their daughter, that must be acquired. said intelligence being, not that he’s saying this out loud, how the fuck Bail got his hands on his daughter, and who else knows about it.

“the fate of the galaxy rests on it,” is what he does say out loud. from the way the Force harmonizes with his words, that might even be true.

so the Death Star just. parks there. in an incredibly threatening orbit around the planet. they issue a demand that the Organas surrender themselves, or else, but apparently the happy couple just left for a low-tech weekend retreat in the mountains, what awful timing, they’re sending someone to fetch them right away. Vader shuts himself up in his quarters, to seethe and watch the surveillance feed from Leia’s cell. he’s not really paying attention to much else.

and it’s not like a random freighter getting tractored in for being an incredibly obvious smuggling vessel is the kind of thing you’d alert Darth Vader over, anyway.

so he’s still sitting there, one great big thought filling up his whole entire head, watching Leia take a frustration nap, when her cell door opens.

and a trooper comes in.

and the trooper takes off his helmet.

and he says, “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”

(continued here)

#i have no idea what happens after that but it's definitely not the plot of star wars: a new hope #star wars #not fic

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cntloup · 1 month

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thoughts of miscarriage, mention of torture, injuries and blood

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

You slowly blink awake. But there’s no buzzing of lights and damp oily smells anymore.

It's a clean white room, a hospital as you figure out, mostly from the beeping sound of a machine beside you.

Your vision is still blurry, but you notice the large figure beside your bed.

You slightly tilt your head to see him as your vision gradually goes back to normal.

“Simon...” you rasp out, your throat hoarse and dry, your voice barely above a whisper and he lifts his head from his hands, “Hey, luv... don’t move too much, I'll call the nurse.”

You notice the bandages covering his shoulder that you didn't notice before through the fog encompassing your brain as he gets up to go call the nurse, but the thoughts of your baby overpowers that and you can't help but call for her.

The nurse enters your room, “My baby...” you mumble as she checks your vitals.

“Please! Where's my baby?” you whine and the nurse comes closer to you, “She's fine, love. She's placed in an intensive care nursery since she was born prematurely. But she's ok. A healthy beautiful baby.” she says with a warm smile and you sigh in relief, "You can see her when you get better. You need to rest now." she adds.

Moments pass in pure joy, but that doesn't last long as you remember bits and pieces of what happened to you, “Simon, they... they tortured me...” you let out a sob and Simon rushes to your side, "Shh, you don't have to talk about it, luv." he murmurs, holding you as you cling to him while bawling onto his chest and he coos softly, rubbing your arms and back to calm you down.

"Your shoulder... is it hurt too bad?" you ask, almost apologetic and you don't know why. None of it was your fault. Yet you can't keep the guilt from enfolding your heart.

" 's nothin', luv. Don't worry about it... I've had worse." he reassures you while trying to lighten the mood.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better how?" you ask rhetorically with a scoff.

They give you some morphine so you can rest and he sits beside you while holding your hand, drawing soothing circles on the back of your palm.

And his mind wanders as you sleep, going through all the horrible events that happened until now. How he found no trace of you apart from the pool of blood when he got back home. And how he went through hell and back to find and save you. How his heart shattered into pieces when he found you tortured and broken, streams of blood gushing out of you. How he nearly lost you.

And he makes a silent promise to finally confess his feelings to you and stay by your side every step of the way.

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katelynnwrites · 3 months

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Laura's Honigbiene | Laura Freigang x Baby!Reader

warnings: preemie baby and medical stuff

word count: 546

summary: laura calls you her honeybee

a/n: very much of a short one but we will see where this goes i guess, part of Laura's Honigbiene

You’re born so absolutely tiny that Laura can’t hold you.

She has to watch you lie in an incubator instead. The neonatal intensive care nurse puts a special eye mask on you, to protect your eyes and your Mama can’t stop looking at you.

The doctors tell her that the lights in the incubator will treat your jaundice and the incubator itself will help keep you warm.

They also tell her that it will be weeks before she can take you home because of how early you were born.

Premature is the term the doctors had used because you weren’t supposed to have been born for another two months.

Your Mama sits by your enclosed plastic bassinet and just listens to the beeping of the monitor measuring your vitals.

To Laura, the soft hum of the machines working kind of sounds like the buzzing of a bee. She takes comfort in it, knowing that it means you are going to be okay.

‘My Honigbiene.’ She murmurs fondly, associating the sound and insect with you after that.

She watches you grow in the incubator, watches you squirm around and begin to become more alert.

The overwhelming relief she’d had when your doctors told her that you were now big enough for her to hold you, your Mama doesn’t think she’s ever felt relief like that.

She cries when they put you on her chest, you’re still so small and you kind of wiggle around under her shirt until she puts her hand on your back.

Then you still and blink up at her slowly.

Laura simply cannot tear her gaze away from you, soaking in the feeling of finally being able to hold you. She can feel your breathing against her bare skin as precious little puffs of air.

There are still chest leads, your feeding tube and a pulse ox attached to you but your Mama doesn’t care. She’s holding you close and that’s all that matters.

‘I love you.’ She repeats, over and over again.

Kangaroo care seems to be your thing because you regularly fall asleep on your Mama. Something about the direct skin to skin contact soothes you and Laura falls in love with the way your tiny body feels on her chest.

Her body warmth helps to regulate your body temperature and she makes sure to spend as much time holding you as she can.

******

You are allowed to go home when the doctors are sure that you can bottle feed and breathe reliably on your own. Your body temperature has stabilised and you have gained weight in the time you’ve spent in the hospital’s intensive care nursery.

Bringing you home is a special moment for your Mama. She cradles you gently as she walks you through the front door.

‘Welcome home Honigbiene.’ She softly says.

Your Mama gives you a tour of your home, monologuing to you about anything and everything as she goes.

When she reaches your nursery, she gives you a little kiss on your forehead.

‘And this is your room. I think I’ll need to add some honeybee decorations to make it truly yours. What do you think?’

You make a little grunt, one of your many newborn noises and Laura smiles.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

German Translation:

Honigbiene - Honeybee

#laura freigang #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #gerwnt imagine #gerwnt x reader #dfb frauen imagine #dfb frauen x reader #gerwnt #dfb frauen #eintracht frankfurt frauen #katelynnwrites

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twistedbloodstain · 1 year

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vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: i made you my temple, my mural, my sky now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. | the marquis wants more of what meets the eye.

plot: the one where the marquis has had enough of just a glimpse.

warning: unrequited?,vincent is down bad af, boss-assistant relationship

masterlist

your cries of pain are so soft but so loud in his ears. stupid, stupid girl. what have you done? it frightens him to see you so…helpless. he tries to soothe you from it but to no avail, he can feel the warm thick blood from your torso dripping on his trousers.

but what petrifies him to the bone was your silence. the moment you flutter your eyes shut and the whimpers of pain from your lips dwindle down makes his blood run cold.

what happened next was a blur for him but all he can remember was holding your hand as thomas drove through the thick of the city to bring you to safety. why had you done that? he clasps your hand even tighter when he can feel you take a sharp breath every now and then. it makes him hope. it makes him pray to any god out there to let you live. please…not her..not her. not when she did that for me. not when she just took a bullet for me, it cannot be. he doesn’t know why, but he does. he’ll beg on his knees to every god out there if it meant seeing you safe and alive.

when you're taken from his arms and placed on a stretcher, he can only stand in shock. it still doesn’t make sense to him, were you…not what he thought you were? no, no she was just in the way of it. she probably cursed me to death when she got shot. but she hadn’t said anything, and the way she looked at me. god it was full of fear and dread, she had gripped on him when he’d taken her to his arms, and it was full of the fight left inside her. the way she latched her hand on his wrist felt like the way you would grip a rosary for a prayer to god, he wonders to himself.

the marquis stands still in front of the door. behind the door, are skillful medical professionals working to keep you alive but it doesn’t feel enough. he feels fear pool into his stomach. what if she doesn’t recover? what if she doesn’t live through the night? what if she dies? what would he do?

his mouth sews shut and his throat goes dry. she’ll live. she has to, the marquis reassures himself. he cannot bear the thought of you gone, of you dead on a medical table all because of him.

the gods had been gracious. why? because right now, he’s sitting beside the bedside table on which he has his preferred drink; a pitcher of lemon water. other than that there’s the matter of you.

there you are in the least of your glory. tucked beneath the silk sheets in one of the guest rooms of his estate and your head laid on the large wooly pillows. the doctor managed to stabilize the wound on your torso.

“thankfully, the bullet hadn’t hit any vital organs, the main concern we focused on was the excessive bleeding from it.” the doctor explains to him. there are more he says to him, but he never hears the end of it. all he could focus on was you. your eyes still shut but your breathing was steady, he could hear the beeping of the vitals sign monitor as he gazed at you.

you looked so…innocent. as if you weren’t recovering from an injury but merely sleeping. your guard was down and you seemed so calm. something he never witnessed while you worked for him, not that he’s ungrateful for it but you always seemed rigid and always expected something bad to be thrown on your face all the time, to see you so relaxed and serene felt like a gift.

it felt like a privilege from the gods. oh they truly had been gracious enough to give this sight to him.

he wondered if he would see more of this once you woke up. he hopes he does, your sweet angelic face that was always nervous and alert was more delightful to see when you were peaceful. he wonders what your smile would be like, how the corner of your lips would curve when you were amused from something he said, you’d often hid it from him trying to remain professional when a you heard a jape from someone.

he wonders what your sweet laugh would sound like. that would be lovely to hear. how it could sound like music to his ears when it came from you, how precious it would be just to hear it once. he would be honored if you were ever to bestow that gift to him. lastly, he wonders how to make you happy. how to make you pleased whenever you see him, not that composed structure you give him when you greet him in the morning but something genuine. he wants to tear down the walls you’ve built in front of him so he can see you. what you’re truly like.

now, you’ve shown a glimpse of it to him. he wants more, he prays that when you wake up, you won't shut him out again. when you wake up don’t shove him out of what you’re like. when you wake up don’t hide what you feel for him, not from him, don’t hide it from him. don’t wake him up just to realize it was all a dream. a fantasy he thought that came to its reality. you’re many things but cruelty is not one of them. so don’t break him, for god’s sake don’t.

“how long until she awakens?” he interrupts the doctor in the middle of his talk, surprisingly still going on.

“i’d give it two to three weeks, sir. if her vitals remain stable.” the doctor answers dutifully,

he hums before replying, “you can go.”

the doctor nods and bows his head a little then obediently obeys his command. right now, it’s just you, him and that monitor.

he stares at your face in uncertainty, two weeks. before it was something that seemed short enough for him but right now it felt like a century. he wanted to speak to you, to talk to you. he had so many questions for you, why you’d taken a bullet from him. if you wanted to resign from your job. why you made him feel like this.

like a lovesick fool.

as if that wasn’t painful enough, the answers he wanted to hear cannot be said. it felt like you told him you loved him then fled, although unintentionally it’s not like you intentionally got yourself shot to avoid confrontation from him…did you?

he shakes that thought out of his mind, the truth can only be provided through you. who is unable to answer that for at least two weeks, it was itching him to know, to know what you’ve done to him. what magic or skill you’ve done to make him latch onto you like a bug.

most of all he wants to know where does that leave the both of you. he wishes you don’t flee from him, that you’ll take him for what he is and more. he doesn’t think he can handle the idea of you out of his reach. out of safety, the only comfort you can only seek in this world is from him.

albeit, ironic considering you’re passed out on a bed because of a bullet meant for him. but when you wake up, he’ll promise. he’ll swear to you, that nothing, nothing would ever get to you ever again. he would protect you with all his power and control over the country just to see you sheltered from harm. what good is his power if he can’t use it to protect you from his enemies? anyone that fucks with you, fucks with me mon amour. i promise. he promises to you and to himself.

he remembers a painting he saw in the louvre. the death of alcestis. a tale about how alcestis willingly dies in place of her husband, admetus. at first, he’d thought the pair, alcestis and admetus were a bunch of fools. why would you eagerly die for someone? if you truly cared for your wife why had you let her die in your place? that’s not love, it’s simply tragedy. not that he has much experience on that matter but he never understood it.

the evening he starts to understand,. alcestis dies for her husband because of love, because she cannot bear the pain of her love absent in this world. she cannot live without her lover. did you think the same when you took a bullet for him? did you think that no pain could compare if he were dead? although for admetus, he could not find a defense for him, ironically he is the admetus to your alcestis but he swears. he swears that will never be the case ever again.

he’ll bring you back from the dead if it meant he would die in your place.

the guilt surges into his guts, mixing with the pool of fear that rushed into his veins last night. he feels sorry, for his failure, for himself but most especially for you. he feels miserable that he’d failed you, that because of him you got hurt.

it’ll never happen again. i won’t let it happen again. he vows to himself. he has to, for your sake and his.

as he stands up to leave, he goes to your bed and gazes into your face once more. he lowers himself to your frame, setting himself on the edge of the bed. you make no sign of disturbance from his movement, still heavily asleep. he takes your hand and strokes the back of it, lovingly.

“i have to go mon amour, but i’ll be back. i’ll be here when you wake up, i’ll be the first person you’ll see the same way i was the last person you saw.” he whispers to your dozing face, he ponders if you could hear him. likely not, but it doesn’t hurt to wonder.

he leans forward and slowly presses a soft kiss to your temple. gentle and nothing harsh, meant to convey his care with how fragile you were right now. he lets his lips linger on the softness of your temple, relishing on the mellow texture of your skin. he wants to stay here, with you. just the two of you like it always was for the past two years, he should’ve urged you to come sit with him in the car on the way to meetings, should’ve spoken to you every chance he had and he should’ve confessed how he felt towards you. no point mourning time that has been spent, even if it meant years that were wasted.

when he pulls away from you it feels like a force urged him to stay and he hopes he could but he can’t. he has a lifetime for that now, and so do you. he lifts your hand to his lips then slowly kisses your wrist, also lingering so long but seems so short for the marquis.

he leisurely stands up, keeping his eyes on your face. he strides towards the door then takes one last glance before opening the door. i’ll be back and she’ll still be safe. i’ll only be gone for only a few hours, he murmurs to himself.

he opens the door and sees a pair of guards by your door, they stand straight and acknowledge him by nodding their head. he sees thomas walking up to him, likely bearing news.

“sir, we’ve carefully taken them. they’re chained up at the edge of the city, we go at your order.” thomas informs him diligently. the marquis simply nods his head, a gesture of affirmation. he turns his head to the pair guarding your room.

“make sure to call for me, the moment she wakes up and keep her here until i say otherwise. understood?” he sternly instructs with the cold tone they’ve known for years. the pair answer obediently with compliance.

the marquis leaves them then walks through the hall towards the exit of the manor with thomas trailing behind him, it was odd to no longer hear the clicking of your heels behind him but right now he had other concerns.

it was time to make the people who hurt you, pay for what they’ve done.

when the news reaches his ears, he’s astounded. almost three weeks after your operation, you were finally awake. it delights him, to finally know you were safe and awake. he immediately stands up from his chair and walks out of his office.

he was overjoyed with what he just heard, although he did everything in his power to not let it show on his face as he trudged through the halls of the manor. the dread and fear was gone, in its stead it was bliss and happiness, he felt lighthearted knowing that the threat of losing you from death was finally extinguished.

two weeks after the incident and you still haven’t woken from your slumber, it had angered him. so he had taken it out on the doctor responsible for your recovery, he had pierced his hand with a knife and his assistant nurse had to help him pry the knife from his hand, from what he heard. it can be said that it was an overreaction and ever since that occurrence everyone walked on eggshells around him.

now it was gone, he felt relieved to know that you’re awake but as he neared your room, he heard a door close, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. soon after, he saw adeline, the senior housekeeper coming from the other direction he was headed. the housekeeper stopped on her feet and acknowledged him by lightly bowing her head. he wondered if adeline just visited your room, it was probable to happen considering she had been one of his spies during his “venture of getting to know you”. he shakes that thought, it wasn’t important but a mysterious feeling remained in his stomach.

when he saw thomas and another of this men guarding your door, he saw the doctor and nurse nearing your door. the doctor greeted him but he made no effort to do the same. the moment he enters through the door he sees you.

awake. alive. safe

he swears his heart could burst just by the sight of you.

he stays silent the entire exchange between you and the medics. he sat on another of the chairs, lounging and waiting for it to end so he way share a word with you. he notices the way you flinch while they rebandage your wound.

he wants to kill that entire family all over again, just for the way you flinch right now.

when the pair of medical professionals leave he gazes at you. it takes all his strength to keep his composure calm and professional when all he wants to do is take you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

he speaks the first word for the both of you, simple courtesies. how were you feeling and the situation of your injury, nothing important. you thank him for the measures he’s done for you to keep you alive. i’ve done more and i’ll do it all over again. he wants to say but doesn’t.

what makes his brain suddenly stop functioning for a moment was when you ask when you tell him you need to go home.

you are home. can’t you see? can’t you see?! he wants to tell you.

it was starting to happen. he was starting to lose you when he just had you. he walks towards the window and faces away from you, trying to remain composure.

“sir?” you call out to him.

i can’t let you leave. i cannot bear the thought of it, i felt like i was being torn apart alive knowing you almost died because of me. how much more knowing you’re alive but not within my reach? don’t be cruel, mon coeur. don’t do this.

“is there something wrong with what i said?” you innocently question to him.

“you cannot.” he finally spits out.

you’re shoving me away just like what i feared. but why? i’ve done good things and unspeakable things for you, you can’t simply abandon me like this. not when you’ve made me feel alive and loved.

“why? is there something wrong with me?” you worried ask him, “sir?” you add when he doesn’t reply to you.

“it’s not…safe.” he states to you, finally facing you. he stares at you, if it was a gift to watch you asleep, it was a pleasure to see you awake again.

“for…who? for you or for them?” you frown, trying to deduce everything he’s said to you.

“it’s not safe for you.” he finally clears it out, glad to have gotten rid of it.

your mouth falls open, “what? it’s you they were aiming for, not me. they wanted to kill you. it was you they wanted to shoot. you were the target. i honestly don’t think they’d go after the assistant to finish the job. right?” you begin to ramble.

tell me something i don’t know, my dear. i’m reminded of that every night i sleep and every breath i draw from this world. no need to rub that in, but i’ve made amends. you have nothing to worry about.

“yes, you’re right. they wouldn’t.” he disclosed to you, “i know that bullet was intended for me, the man was supposed to shoot me. god knows i know.” he whispers.

“and look what happened to you. what they..did to you.” he says as he slowly walks towards you. “you…you weren’t supposed to get hurt. i don’t think i can forgive myself for that.” he says softly as he looks back at you.

suddenly, everything finally sets into your head. he can see your eyes widen while he gazes into your face. the urge to hold you close and kiss you like a starved man to death was strong. especially, right now when you’ve realized the weight of his words.

he doesn’t need to say it out loud that he cares and loves you. when the words he said hinted at what he means to say and the actions he’s done spoke better than his words could ever say but he still tries. he knows that you already know but he wants to make sure.

“you’re right. it was meant for me, but you had it instead. you…you took a bullet for me. who does that for someone? how many people in the world can say that they’ve taken a bullet for me? one. there’s only one. and she’s sitting right in front of me.”

the heaviness on his shoulders feels lighter now, he’s finally said the words however merely a fragment of what he truly feels but he has his entire life to say all of them, he’s in no rush to say his love to her right now. he has his entire life to love her.

“believe it or not, mon amour. you’ve become more precious to me than anything this life has to offer, i want to keep you safe and right now the only way is to keep you here.” with him, he wants to keep you safe here with him, away from all the horror of his work, to stay only with him and to speak the words unspoken for years.

“for a while, until you regain your strength. do you understand, mon coeur?”

the marquis has gone fucking crazy.

first he expressed a confession of love to you, second he was watching you the entire time you were asleep and lastly, he won’t let you leave the estate.

it had almost been an hour ever since your conversation with him after you woke up. soon after, thomas knocked the door and peeped his head in, informing the marquis about a visitor in the drawing room. which you were eternally grateful for because you were speechless with everything your boss just told you.

you were still sat on the same chair ever since, you deduced you’ve been in a trance for about two hours and a half, you felt like your legs would give out of shock if you tried to stand up. you found it hard to process everything.

did the marquis feel something for you? certainly. you could tell his intentions from his words and his tone. oh god, the words were enough to catch you off guard but the way he said it, slowly chokes you alive from how stunned you are.

but it feels out of nowhere. in the two years you’ve worked for him, he has been nothing but cold and crass with you like any other interactions between a boss and assistant so this feels rather confusing rather than touching even with the fragility and regret oozing through his tone.

even more reason to go home. you need space, from your injury, from that night and in addition from him.

you need to process your feelings properly without the marquis hovering around you, especially when he made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere. but how in the world were you going to get out of the room? everyone in this estate would immediately inform the marquis and drag you back to the room the moment they see you outside. although you could make an excuse to see someone then bolt through the manor the moment you’re slightly a few paces ahead of them.

you were at a complete disadvantage though, the guards could easily overpower you with their strength and just like you they’re familiar with the nooks and crannies of the sizable manor. however, if you were lucky and stealthy enough, you could attempt to temporarily hide from some rooms until you manage your way to the back door exit without getting caught.

you trudge towards the door, unsure with the plan in your head but too exhausted to make a fool proof one. you slowly push the door with all your strength, you slowly step out and the guard to your right immediately spots you. that’s expected.

“ma’am? you shouldn’t be up and walking around, the marquis specifically instructed that you stayed in your room.” the guard reprimands to you.

“i need to get to the doctor right away. i need the prescription for these painkillers he gave me. you know, in case i need more,” you lie to him.

“we can call for him, so he may come back. easier that way, no hassle for you.”

“i can’t wait for him, it’s urgent. please, i really need this.” you plead to him.

The guard feigns a look of hesitation from your reply. you hold your breath, praying he falls for your folly. he lets out a sigh then answers to you.

“alright, ma’am. but I’ll have to accompany you.”

“thank you.”

the both of you began to walk towards the medic’s office, thankfully the back door was close to the office. silence ensues the walk towards the destination, as you walk you plot your escape. as soon as you make a left, you bolt and run. the pathway to the medic’s was a bit of a maze, hopefully it would confuse the guard and either make the wrong turns or slow down from catching up on you.

several minutes and paces pass by and you finally see the opening to your escape. as soon you made the turn, you ran. a grunt of shock exits the guard’s mouth before scurrying to go after you. then you encounter the turns required for your escape. you move around hastily and once you look back you see that the guard was no longer on your tail. but you couldn’t afford to slow down, sooner or later he might catch up to you or worse another guard captures you.

you could hear bouts of masculine shouts throughout the manor as it bounced off the walls. it filled your stomach with dread and veins pumped full of adrenaline as your heart beat with trepidation. anxious that perhaps the marquis was informed of your ongoing escape.

finally you see the lavish curtain adorned with elegant designs, you shove the curtain aside and search for the door with your hands. for a second, you thought you’d arrived at the wrong place until a soft click entered your ears and your insides warm from happiness. the door was just as heavy as the others and with all your strength you pushed it open half way. you turn to properly fix the curtain making sure no trace of your escape was visible then shut the door as it creaked loudly, cementing the success of your breakout.

you burst open through your door, quickly shutting and locking it. adrenaline and paranoia filled your senses, afraid that you’d been followed to your home and that soon someone was banging on your door until it fell down. you press your back against the door and sink to the floor and sigh in relief.

you take a deep breath and slowly close your eyes for a while, relishing in the comfort of your apartment. you look around glad to see the familiar sight of your home and the sudden purring of your cat. you glance as you see him making his way towards you, a small smile curves your mouth.

ah..one of the burdens are coming to comfort me.

as he nears, you scoop him into your arms and nestle him on your chest. you wish it could stay like this for a while, that you weren’t actively avoiding your slightly deranged boss (that is in love with you?) but merely coming home from a long day to seek comfort from your cat. the ball of fur purrs and vibrations are felt through his body.

you pull away from your cat and get on your feet, making your way to your room for a well earned rest from doing a five mile marathon trying not to get caught. the adrenaline and paranoia was finally long gone.

you needed this. you need to hide out for a while before you face the awkward and confusing truth of reality. the comforting sensation home has given you brought you to sanity. you need to leave.

the guards open the door for him as per usual. although, he can sense fear radiating from them, and due to the intensity of the previous occurrence they were walking eggshells around him again. he enters the room, your room specifically. a few hours ago, the both of you were here and now you were gone, again.

vincent was annoyed. the very people he instructed to keep you in this room failed to obey the task but also lost you as you ran from your escort. not only did you leave this room but you also escaped the estate. how in the world did that happen?

he had no idea you’d be this slippery even with the strict bodyguards instructed to protect and detain keep you in the room. he expected verbal resistance not bloody remus john lupin. isn’t this so sweet? you. the gift that keeps giving.

he doesn’t let his men continue the search, after all there was only one place you could’ve been. in that apartment you live in for the past years, he knows where it is and what floor you are due to the investigation he’d imposed upon you a few years ago. so no worries, he only has his men posted around the structure to make sure you don’t leave. it’s much more strict and controlled than before, this time if they saw you exit the building they’d immediately grab you and bring you back to the estate. so win-win.

although, he prefers to have you here right now, he tries to understand that you’re probably overwhelmed with the surge of events that happened ever since that night. so he lets it pass. as much it insults his pride but he’s not in a hurry to have you stay with him for the rest of your days now that you’re awake. you’ve kept all what you felt from hidden because of his power,his intimidation and his pride. he doesn’t want to lose you again because of it. so he lets it happen, a few hours without you was a price worth paying for a lifetime loving you.

after all love does odd things to people that even the normal human cannot comprehend, love has its mysterious ways and that he can understand for you, even if it wasn’t all going according to what he wanted, he can swallow that down for you. you’ll be all worth it.

he can imagine waking up next to you in the early mornings, grazing your soft palm then slowly kissing your pulse while you sat next to him during dinner and the sweet kisses the both of you would share in the privacy of his room. he can fantasize the sweet dreams and the sinful acts he can do to you when you are finally his.

he inhales the air inside the room, the scent of you evident in the room, like a bloody handprint in a crime scene, attempting to calm himself with the remnants of your presence.

oh..he really misses you.

why do you have to be so stubborn? why do you feel the need to resist him and his love? he’s simply doing this for your best, for your safety. why can’t you just let him do this for you?

this moment should be joyous and exciting between the two of you, because you’ve both found a chance at love. how often does that happen? especially in a workplace, how often does someone find the love of their life within close proximity with them? little to none. he wants to beg you to stay, to journey through the uncharted territory together. don’t leave him, don’t.

he’s finally realized that he loves you, let him show it. let that love melt all that fear you hold in your heart. because it’s all right now, he’s here, let him love you, let him protect you, let him yearn for you.

something vibrates in his pocket, it snaps him out of his trance. a notification beeps through his phone and he leisurely opens it knowing it’s probably a reminder for a meeting. he’s found it hard to arrive at his events on time even with a temporary assistant assigned to him. the latest one wasn’t as sharp and attentive as you, which he found irritating. he really misses you.

the message that laid before his eyes almost made his heart drop.

EMAIL 8:35 PM

SUBJECT: RESIGNATION LETTER

author’s note: this was long…plus i recycled some dialogue bc school’s kicking me in the ass and i couldn’t form coherent stuff for that. i will compensate for that…with another fic…

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re @davvydobrik @ilunapb @hesvoid3434 @heartrot666

part one part two part three part five

#bill skarsgard imagine #vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard gif #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard icons #john wick #oneshot #john wick four #john wick fic #keanu reeves #yandere #obsessive #yandere x reader #yearning

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nburkhardt · 1 year

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March 27th 1986, if you ask Eddie Munson, sucks. It blows, the worst of the worst (it’s technically the day he ‘died’.)

It will always be known around Hawkins that Eddie Munson died. That a few days before he supposedly killed Chrissy Cunningham, that he ran from her body because he didn’t know what else to do. So to Hawkins, March 27th is a day that cult leader, murderer Eddie Munson died.

March 27th, 1986

Everything hurts, he can feel so many fangs biting into him. He’s pretty sure he’s screaming but his body is buzzing from the pain and his eyes are tightly shut. Hopefully his death is worth it, that him being demo-bat bait is enough time for the rest to defeat Vecna. It’s one of his only thoughts in his head, the other? He’s thinking about how disappointed he is that he didn’t get to make Harrington flush a pretty red down his chest, it’s not important but he saw the man’s face when ‘Big Boy’ came out of his mouth.

He doesn’t know how long the bats attack him, doesn’t know when the pain stopped. Doesn’t know if he passed out or actually died. All he knows currently is pain.

“-st keep it quiet in here, ok? We do have other patients in the rooms next door. Now, visiting hours is until seven and only one person can spend the night here.” A woman’s voice wakes him up and he doesn’t know who it is, “I’ll be back later to check vitals, please remember to keep it down”

There’s a few quiet ‘sorry ma’am’s and ‘won’t happen again’s and a door closing before he’s listening to voices get louder and definitely bickering. Then someone saying ‘shh’ over and over, “come on shithead, my head hurts and the doctors said Eddie needs rest and your voice is so annoying”

He wants to laugh, thinks he makes some sort of sound because the room falls silent.

“Eddie? Are you- are you awake?”

His eyes feel heavy but he manages to blink them open. Vision is blurry and he groans, blinking more and then the room is more in focus. The first thing he notices is the fact that he’s in a hospital room. There’s a beeping he didn’t notice, there’s an IV hooked to his arm and he doesn’t have to see to know everyone in the room is staring at him. The first person he notices is undoubtedly his Uncle Wayne, who’s tearing up and moves closer to the bed. “Ed, ya really scared me”

“I’m sorry, Wayne” he mumbles out immediately tearing up, he didn’t mean to upset his uncle. Just wanted to help, to make up for not saving Chrissy. Can’t get those words out, they’re stuck in his throat and he accepts the hug from Wayne within seconds. “Didn’t mean too, swear.”

Wayne huffs a laugh and tightens his arm, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

The moment doesn’t last long and next thing he knows, there’s Henderson looking both guilty and pissed off. “Dude! You didn’t need to do that!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even pretend to think about anything to reply back, instead he looks around the room and notices Wheeler, Buckley and then his eyes find Harrington siting next to him. He’s actually the only one sitting down, looking exhausted and in pain.

Now’s not the time but hey, he almost died and a little high from the drugs and the fact that he’s fucking alive right now. He’s shooting his shot.

“Hey, Steve, wasn’t planning on asking you, but it appeared to me that life is short. Will you marry me?”

The rest of the room goes silent and he doesn’t care, not much anyway. He just found out that Hell is real and underneath him, he’s allowed to ask another man to marry him. Doesn’t want to miss his chance now, because life is short and Harrington- Steve is someone he’d like to marry, even if they haven’t had many conversations. (He’s blaming his crush for this, he’s high okay?)

Steve looks like a deer in headlights, wide eyed with his mouth open and much to Eddie’s delight, a very nice blush is making its way up his face.

Minutes go by, and the silence is starting to get to him. He’s about ready to take it back but right as he opens his mouth, Steve is moving. Shifting the chair to face him better and closer, then a hand is sliding under his own and squeezes. His gaze flickers to the now entwined hands before looking at Steve, his face is a beautiful shade of red now.

“Let’s do dinner first?”

His smile is wide, he doesn’t even hear the immediate confusion and surprise from everyone else in the room. His focus is all on Steve and sees a smile bloom, “Hell yeah, beautiful”

~~~~

March 27th, 1987

While Hawkins celebrates a “death” there’s a small group of family and friends in a backyard listening to vows being traded. Smiles, tears and laughter is heard all around.

In front of everyone is Eddie and Steve, both wearing matching suits, sunflowers pinned on their jackets. Holding hands and smiling, eyes staring to water from words of protection and laughter, happiness and love.

Cheers start when the rings are traded and lips pressed together in a kiss to seal the deal.

Maybe someday in the future they can do this officially. For now, they’re happy with this. The matching rings sit on their fingers and a promise to love each other is all they need.

March 27th, 1987, if you ask Eddie Munson, is amazing, his favorite day. The best of the best and a beautiful day. He’ll forever remember it as the day he got to marry Steve Harrington. (And if he cries in their new bedroom a few weeks later when Steve shows him paper work of a name change, well, that’s between him and his husband)

~~~~

I wanted to write something with Eddie asking Steve to marry him. Had to include the date of course lol. I’m not going to explain any specifics on why Hawkins believes Eddie’s dead but it’s fine, they move away anyway. Eddie eventually makes it big with Corroded Coffin and Steve eventually becomes a teacher 🥰

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things fic #nburkhardt writes #Steve definitely changes his name to Steven Munson #and they do make it official in the future 😌 ALSO on March 27th #btw if you see any mistakes…no you don’t

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heartofwritiing · 10 months

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What am I supposed to do, if theres no you?

paring: wilbur soot x fem!reader

authors note: I was listening to soon you’ll get better by taylor swift. I couldn’t get the imagery of this song out of my head and I needed to write some sort of vent. also inspired by a fic that @starsyoubreaklikesugardust wrote called whats it like on the other side of us that utterly destroyed me and I needed a happier version... This is super self-indulgent as hell but I hope you guys like it!

warnings: angst, mentions of an illness, hospitals, heavy topics, mentions of death, reader doesn’t have a specific illness, fluff, hurt comfort, me not knowing about medical terms or hospitals so excuse me lol, unedited!

The hospital bed feels warmer when Wilbur lies beside you, the only sound in the small room is the beeping of the machine monitoring your vitals.

On most days, everything is fine. However, when he's around, it's easy to forget the inevitable fate that awaits.

When he has to leave, he goes home to sleep in an empty bed and never does sleep. In those moments of solitude, he cries until he can't anymore. He tries to distract himself by painting the kitchen yellow, fixing up the garden, going to the studio to record, and hanging out with friends. But he feels guilty he’s not beside you.

The next time you see him he looks horrible. Like he got hit by a bus and you’re wondering if you should be the one in here or him. Wilbur Voice horse, circles under his eyes and red you know is from his tears. That’s when you pull him by the arm so he can curl up next to you so he can finally get some rest.

Stoking your fingers through his hair as he snores softly into your collarbone. You think about how Wilbur would ever function without you. How is he gonna take care of himself -when-if you are gone one day. That pit is building in your stomach along with the small lump in your throat. The burning of your eyes as you silently cry while you hold him close to your body.

Because that was what your life was full of, what ifs, whens, uncertainty, and dread. He didn’t deserve that. The arguments you used to get into when you first got sick. Begging him to leave you because you knew, in the long run, this wouldn’t work out. You could spend the rest of your life in and out of hospitals while he wasted away with you.

Wilbur swore repeatedly up and down that he would never leave you. No matter how much you tried to drive him away or how hard matters got.

Wilbur was constantly worried about your well-being, but he held onto hope that you would recover. This was especially true after the first time he brought you home.

You were happy to leave the uncomfortable hospital bed and small room reeking of antiseptic. You slow danced with him in the living room to Elton John playing from his phone speaker, listened to him write new songs, and slept in because you missed waking up in your shared bed. You felt like your old self again and he loved seeing you that way.

When things got worse again, the bright light in your eyes would soon fade, like water extinguishing a flame, as you had to leave your home and return to that sterile, white-washed room.

When you are back in that hospital bed, with the scratchy sheets and the fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes you’re back to being a shell of a human. The depression hits you harder and Wilbur does all he can to help. make you as comfterble as possible despite the weight of the situation.

You know he’s only trying to provide solstice. The small room fills with his soft voice as he reads your favorite stories. Telling you bad jokes he’s heard from Tommy that get you to at least crack a smile. He feels proud he was the one to grant you some form of happiness.

His hand holds your shaking, cold one as the IV pumps treatment into your veins. He leans over in his chair to be closer to you, lips against your knuckles. Your eyes meet in a longing stare that says 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' You gently squeeze his hand.

“Wil?” You asked hoarsely.

“Yes, darling?” His voice is intimate, making you feel like there are people around even though it's just the two of you. The nickname always makes your tummy flutter with delight.

You want to capture the way he looks at you in a picture. He tentatively waits for your next words, his doe eyes filled with concern. You clear your throat and exhale softly.

“I was thinking... maybe we should find a house in the country,” you say. Wilbur remains silent. "Somewhere quiet, with big fields where we can see the sky, and watch the sunset on the porch."

You've mentioned how you'd love to live out in the country. A cottage large enough for you both to have separate areas. A streaming room for him, and a bedroom and den for you to store all your books and painting supplies.

A place where you can finally be free from confinement. Despite Wilbur's jokes about you being an old soul, you were in touch with life through knitting, painting, reading, and walks. That's what he wanted to give you again.

Your voice is quieter now, creating a moment just for you. The heaviness in your voice made your eyes well up. You could feel his thumb caressing your knuckles. Like a silent ‘take your time’. Your throat closes up as you keep talking. Your breath is shaking, primarily due to the cold temperature of the room and the medicine making you feel woozy. But you and Wilbur knew it was the emotional weight you tried to carry with your words.

Somewhere we can grow old together.

The sentence sits heavily in your mind. You'd like to say it to him. You wanted to share it with him so badly, but it felt painful to have cross your mind.

Wilbur already knows by the look in your eyes. He leans over you, lovingly presses a kiss to your forehead, and wipes away a single tear before it can roll down your cheek. Slowly he moves down, then presses another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Whatever you want, my love.” he squeezes your hand back.

Wilbur spent weeks searching through countless home-selling websites for your dream house, but none were to his liking or within your budget. A month later, while sitting uncomfortably in a hospital chair with his long legs curled up to his chest, he scrolled through his phone and stumbled upon a house that seemed too good to be true.

He scheduled numerous appointments to see the house, ensuring everything was in order before making a final decision. Moving his belongings with the help of friends and bandmates was hectic.

He spent weeks preparing for your homecoming, buying new furniture, and arranging your books to your liking, making everything perfect only then he would finally surprise you.

He's there to take you to his car the day you leave the hospital. He takes care of you in the passenger seat, buckling you in and ensuring you're ready to leave before setting off.

As Wilbur drives past your shared apartment, soft indie tunes play through the car's speakers, and you lean back against the headrest, watching the scenery pass by. You realize you passed the turn to your house and Wilbur's hand takes yours.

Wilbur turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and says, "We're not going home just yet." A faint smile is on his lips as if he's hiding something from you. He then drives in a different direction, and you can't help but feel excited about what he has planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask. As you speak, he can hear your worry.

"If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise," he says.

He knows you're antsy in your seat but it'll be worth it. After driving through winding roads and trees, he pulls up to a house with an arched doorway and slanted roof, almost like the one you dreamed of growing up.

Wilbur turns off the ignition, rushes to your side, opens the car door, and with a grin offers his hand to help you out. Wilbur leads you to the front door, unlocks it with a small key, and picks you up to carry you over the threshold.

"Welcome home darling," he says.

You are led through the house, to the hallway to the cozy living room. taking everything in slowly.

The soft pillows on the sofa, your paintings on the walls, your books on the shelf, and Wilbur's record player and vinyl set up. His acoustic guitar set against the wall caused your eyes to well up.

"Wilbur," you began, but tears rolled down your face as the emotions overwhelmed you. Why was he going through all this trouble for a silly dream?

Wilbur frowned as he tried to place you on the recliner, but you clung to him, so he sat down with you in his lap. Speaking softly into your ear with tender words to calm you.

You drew away from him, noticing the worry in his gaze as you locked eyes with Wilbur, he searched your expression frantically, attempting to figure out the cause of your distressed state.

"Are you okay?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know it's a lot to take all at once, but I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry for being secretive."

You shake your head, in slight remorse for making him assume he upset you or pushed things too far.

"I'm just so happy." you beamed tearily.

Ease washed over him, and a sigh escapes his lips. Tears well in his eyes. He gently takes the back of your head and brings you to meet him for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm as they enveloped yours passionately. You reciprocated his kiss, bringing your hands to thread in his hair. Your noses brushed as you pulled away to catch your breath.

While holding each other, you remained in that position. Your breathing was slow and unsteady, and tears streamed down your face as you cried onto Wilbur's shoulder. Everything, for the first time in a long time, felt perfect.

Everything you had ever wanted was with Wilbur, and you were never going to want anything else.

Wilbur knew in his heart, soon you would get bette, because you just had to.

End.

tagging: @merakiwi @trashcanduck @addxms @ax-y10

#wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader #neither c! nor cc! wilbur but my own character of him.#fanfiction #x reader #hospital tw #cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader #c!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #wilbur x reader #fluff #myct #wilbur soot

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xoxomoonlightxoxo · 4 months

Text

Somewhere Between Hello and Goodbye | Ch. 1: The Infinity Necklace

“I love you too, Koo,” a faint whisper comes out of my parted lips as Jungkook’s eyes slowly close from the anesthesia spreading through his system, blocking any remaining signals of consciousness. Just an hour ago, this room was filled with our laughter as his teasing request to ruin our friendship bounced off the four walls, fueling the flush rising up my cheeks. Now, the same room is still, as if time itself has stopped, the walls, echoing merely the beeps of the heart monitor.

As my body becomes numb to the cold floor, I lose track of time, dissociating into the far abyss. And as my eyes rest shut, it’s as if I can still feel his warm embrace, the way his grip tightens around my waist with every restless move I try to make. While hundreds of souls pass by my lifeless form under the dim lights of the main hallway, nothing but the scent of Jungkook’s vanilla musk lingers in the cold air. Koo, please tell me this isn’t real.

"Mira, honey, wake up,” whispers of a familiar voice bring me back to reality as I feel a hand on my shivering shoulders.

“Koo?” I reply momentarily, red, puffy eyes looking up in search of his being. One that was certainly no longer there, as my helpless hope ceased to exist upon seeing Tae’s worried face. Feeling my eyes swell with tears, his arms encompass my distressed self as my fatigued body gives into his warm embrace. Stroking my curls, his touch is gentle, cautious even.

“It’s going to be okay Mira. Jungkook is a tough guy, he will be fine, alright?” he assures, wiping the tears rolling down my face, before turning his attention to Jimin's out-of-breath state as he rushes towards us.

“Sorry, the traffic was really bad,” Jimin explains to Tae before looking past his form as his eyes search my crouched body.

“Mira, how are you? Do you want some water? I can grab you something from the cafeteria …” he goes on as the head surgeon and their team of staff exit Jungkook's room. Hearing the door close behind them, my eyes shoot up, slight hope regenerating within those tired orbs.

“How is he? Can I see him? Please,” my voice was faint and shaky. Before proceeding with the prognosis the doctor clears her throat, looking over Jungkook's records.

“The head injury experienced by Mr. Jeon has resulted in trauma that escalated dramatically, leaving him in a temporary coma. It is important to note that prior to our operation, the effects of the incident were seen in his inability to access the short-term memory in his brain. Despite meeting us just a few hours ago, Mr. Jeon was in visible distress, alarmed at the sight of “unrecognizable” doctors and nurses,” she explains, maintaining eye contact with all three of us, anticipating the potential inquiries that could come up.

“Fortunately, his vitals are good, which means that Mr. Jeon’s recovery shouldn't take longer than, I reckon, a week or two,”

“What about his memory? Will he be able to recover it?” Jimin buds in, eyes still monitoring my state. Which to be truthful, was in complete shock. My body was experiencing everything and nothing all at once. At that moment, I could cry, hyperventilate, scream, yell, curse, and all of the above. But I didn't, instead, my eyes were trying to sneak even the slightest glimpse of Jungkook through the little window.

“Doctor, could I please see him?” I plead, looking back at Tae and Jimin for their mutual help.

“I'm sorry miss, but visitations are not allowed until the following day,” she says firmly, before being interrupted by Tae’s attempt at negotiation.

“Please, doctor, could we stay just for tonight? We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. His family is all in Busan,” he explains.

Looking back at the staff, the doctor clears her throat again before turning her gaze back on me with slightly furrowed brows.

“Alright, but just for tonight. Please, do not disturb him,” her tone is strict and sharp.

As my chest heaves up, I can feel my breathing speed up, throat tightening in the process. Eyes swelled up with tears, I pushed past the group of nurses and doctors and rushed toward Jungkook’s still body. His skin was pale and cold to the touch. Eyes closed, he looked completely helpless, form, small and fragile under the hospital lights.

“Koo,” I whisper, before dropping beside him, intertwining my hand with his. Placing a gentle kiss on his soft skin, I wipe the teardrops rolling down my face before glancing back at Tae and Jimin, who stood still by the door frame. It’s their best friend, their brother, the baby of the group. Eyes scattering his form, they try to hold back their own tears, before coming in to comfort me again.

As the night went on the room filled with silence, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each passing hour. Jimin went out to get us some food, while Tae stayed with me, gently caressing my hair as my head rested beside Jungkook’s. I didn’t mean to but I guess, my body couldn’t resist any longer, giving in to the fatigue as my eyes slowly shut. Falling asleep, I could feel Jimin covering my seated form with his jacket, as their voices became increasingly distant.

“I can sleep on the floor, it's fine,” Jimin suggests.

“Are you insane? It’s cold and dirty, let’s just share the couch,” Tae says, before plopping his aching body on the soft cushion. Doing the same, Jimin exhales deeply, shaking his head trying to comprehend the aftermath of the situation. His analysis, however, was short-lived, as the two succumbed to their own fatigue, falling asleep rather quickly. And, as the beeping sound of the heart machine filled the atmosphere, I sneaked a quick glance at the couch, smiling upon seeing both friends covered under Tae’s jacket.

- -

Staying true to our word, we were gone by the morning but as I looked back at Jungkook’s pale face the aching feeling in my heart grew stronger.

“I’ll be back Koo, I promise,” I whisper into his ear, tearful gaze focused on his closed eyes. With hopes of receiving even the slightest sign of his consciousness, I wait just a little longer before covering his still body with the soft blanket.

The following days were filled with visits from Jungkook’s faculty friends and work acquaintances, who brought anything and everything that once made him laugh. Eventually, as the room filled with his memories, the dim lights under which Jungkook slept became brighter, fueling back the life he was once so full of.

“I hope you like it, baby,” I say softly, looking at the silver necklace around his neck. An infinity necklace. A symbol of never-ending love pillared on an unending bond between two people.

“Koo, you promised you wouldn’t leave. But, I guess, it’s my turn to wait for you now. I’ll wait for infinity if I have to. Just please come back to me,” my words mutter into the soft kiss on his forehead, as tears roll down my face. Leaning closer, I rest my head on his as we sit in the deafening silence. I miss his laugh and the little nose crunch that followed right after. I miss his bunny teeth and the way his doe eyes sparkled. I just miss … him.

- -

Laughter and chatter fill the lecture hall as the professor dismisses the class upon wishing everyone a restful winter break. Glancing at Tae, we exchange soft smiles before heading out. Although my body desperately needs this break, my mind and heart are just simply not at ease, so it’s hard to truly appreciate the free time. Especially, without the one person I was meant to spend it with.

“I’m going to try out the bakery that just opened by our dormitory, do you want me to grab you something?” Tae asks with a boxy smile, eyes searching mine.

“No, thanks Tae. I’m gonna drop by Jungkook, and see how he’s doing,” I say softly. Even though, we both know how he is doing. Unconscious and lonely. Nonetheless, I promised him I wouldn’t leave, so I tried to visit every day, becoming a familiar face to the receptionists working at the front. And, although Tae knows this isn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms, he doesn’t have the heart to snap me out of it, so instead, he pulls me into a warm hug before we wave each other goodbye.

- -

Stopping by the flower shop, I grab a bouquet of tiger lilies which were Koo’s favourite, before heading to the hospital. As the winter season progressed, the days became colder and darker. But, nothing could stop me, especially not when even the mere thought of being beside Jungkook warmed my aching heart. So, there I was, rushing towards his embrace before being abruptly stopped in my tracks upon seeing the empty room. Nothing, and I mean nothing is left of Jungkook’s presence. Feeling my breathing increase, I double-check the room number, even though I’ve now memorized every inch of his premises.

“Sorry, but where is the patient residing in room 9223?” I ask one of the nurses passing by.

“Oh, Mr. Jeon has been discharged,” she replies calmly, her smile slowly fading upon seeing the way my eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Discharged? By who? How? I was here yesterday, and he was still unconscious,” I exclaim, voice now shaky.

“Mr. Jeon was discharged early in the morning by his parents,” the nurse continued before excusing herself as the ringing of her pager filled the silence between us. And, as my eyes swell with tears, I dial Jimin’s phone number, hoping he would know where Jungkook is.

“Mira?”

“Jimin? Jiminah, is Jungkook with you?” I stutter nervously, tears rolling down my flushed face.

“No, I was just going to call you. His room is empty, what’s going on?” Jimin explains, sounding just as confused.

“I don’t know, apparently, his parents came to pick him up,” I shake my head, trying to regain my composure as my hands begin to tremble. Jungkook wouldn’t leave without telling me. Right?

Next l Index

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resuswhore · 11 months

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I want to be in control, complete control, of my sickly lover whose heart is to weak and lungs to tired, their body over all being just far to fragile. I don't want to control them in your stock standard idea of control and domination that typically leans into darker elements like deprivation/punishment/etc. (cause while its not terrible, it just doesn't float my boat). no, I want to control them in a soft and caring manner; I want to control them because I want to keep them safe, to protect them from the world, to keep anyone from hurting them or tainting their already sick body.

I want to keep them tucked away somewhere, where the outside world can't hurt them, where I can be the only one their floaty eyes lay themselves on, where I am I the only one who sees their soft smiles and hears their gentle voice.

I want to keep him in a hospital-esque room, to keep him laid up in a hospital bed and in those pretty, baby blue hospital gowns, dwarfed by layers of thin blankets and soft white sheets. I want him entangled in lines and wires, constantly hooked up to a monitor, the soft beeping of the EKG filling the room. I want to be able to monitor every part of his being, I want to know about every beat of his heart, every breath his takes, everything.

I want to practically pounce on him every time his heart gets a little to so slow for my liking, straddling his bony hips (gonna make a post about how horny straddling makes me too), forcing a fraction of my weight into his brittle chest, locking my eyes on his as he gives into my care, head resting limply back on the pillow, his tired gaze cast through his lashes, as I control his most vital organ. I want to beg him to stay with me as I force his heart to beat faster and faster. I want to pump him full of morphine I dig more and more weight into his chest. I want him to offer me his lungs, letting me shove an airway down my throat, because as I much as I love to control and pleasure, he likes to give up and receive, letting me fill his lungs with my air, kissing his plump, pretty lips between each one.

I want to put him into long periods of bed rest where I have to do everything for him. I want to spend long days cuddling, listening to his heart, letting my hands rest over the small dip in his waist, feeling his ribs shift with each breath. I want to have to carry him around anywhere and everywhere he goes, even within his own room.

I want to use drugs to keep him at different degrees of haziness when his hearts too weak to support his consciousness, I want to use pacers when it refuses to pick up the pace, I want to keep him on oxygen so I know his lungs are getting all the air they can get. I want to hold his hands and promise him that I love him. I want to promise him that he's ok, because I'm here and I'm never gonna let him go.

I want to make him feel good on his good days, making his lashes flutter, alongside his heart, and pull sweet moans from his pretty chest. I want to repay him for how good he makes me feel. I want to fuck him until he can't think straight, till his heart can't take it, just so I can take care of him again.

all the while I want to be able to offer him time to have visitors, to leave the tranquil space I've created for him, and for him to not take up those offers, to want to stay with me and me only, to want to show me off, to show off how protective and loving I am on those rare occasions we do break from the norm. I want him to always have this gentle look in his eyes, to be in a constant state of submission, because he knows he doesn't have to fight for himself, that I'll do it for him, that I'll do all the hard work, his just has to lay there and look pretty, a knowing smile on his soft, kiss swollen lips.

I want that my life goal, my livelihood, my purpose; to take care of him, to keep him alive and happy and safe, to be his protector, to keep his heart beating no matter how badly it wants to stop. that would be the absolute dream.

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carlos55inz · 3 months

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charlos au anon here again ( because apparently my brain didn’t get through all the unhinged thoughts ) but … my thought was that basically, carlos previously worked not at one of the well-known shatterdomes, but one of the other research facilities near a smaller city, where they tested some of the more extreme or absurd ideas for jaegers and kaiju research. and it’s all fine and well, he’s very good, providing design support for other shatterdomes scattered across the globe, the elusive engineer known only really by a moniker resulting from a horrible audio connection, chili.

the thought had been that away from the shatterdomes, perhaps they wouldn’t be under constant threat of attack and could conduct their research in peace. which was true for years, and the area was not as heavily armed — until at some point, the kaiju somehow broke through & discovered their location. at that point in time, there only people around were the engineers, facility staff and a few jaegar pilots on leave for recovery purposes, among which is nico hülkenberg.

so when the kaiju attack, they have nothing to defend themselves with except a distress signal and jaegers prototypes. desperate situations breed desperate plans, tens of thousands of unwitting innocents a stone’s throw away, and so, nico, despite his poor health, volunteers to pilot one of the prototypes ( one of carlos’, at that ). and though carlos is internally terrified for his friend, he reluctantly agrees to serve as ground support because otherwise they will all end up dead before any support can come in. this part, he remembers it all with horrifying clarity, two sentences to string together a send-off, hours spent monitoring in agony, watching the jaegar he designed fall apart alongside the kaiju it fought — until the best of what he can engineer can’t hold up anymore and through the pixels, he spots the wreckage of the jaegar goes crashing into the sea alongside the mangled corpse of the kaiju. ( there’s no screaming, only people lurched back and forth by the waves as they frantically try to reach the two pilots, and the corpses of the others who didn’t make it. )

nico is the one frantically pulled in for medical treatment. and carlos is the one left pacing in front of the door while the vital signs beep on and on and the people who enter and exit get their scrubs stained with red. there’s two days of calm, and he’s praying for a miracle — until the siren sounds are deafening and they’re left with the fact help is still nowhere near and no one left knows how to drift, much less pilot. ( because if they did, they wouldn’t be here. ) they’re engineers, not pilots — build systems and run damage control, not the ones pushing them beyond their limits.

these are the things he doesn’t remember. looking at papers, calculating the odds in his mind. memories of max’s face, remembering how easy it was to pull away from a hand outstretched. drifting, the endless landscapes flying past his vision. the frantic discussions and palpable despair of his fellow engineers, their grim determination to try and fend the kaiju off because if they flee, it’ll be the people in the city dead in their place. climbing into the conn-pod in the dark, before anyone can notice. the dim glow of the lights in the distance, the glint of water over the sea. it’s almost too easy, to slip into his mind again — an endless burning, a permanent ache. ( solo-piloting is strictly forbidden these days. it’s like having a death wish, or so they say. he doesn’t know if he has a wish, though as his mind barely keeps itself together and the killing becomes mechanical, frantically trying to keep the kaiju abay even as the jaegar breaks into infinite pieces — the water is warm this time of year, he remembers, and it’s far too easy to slip into it, whispering i’m sorry, over and over until there’s nothing. )

( what they call a miracle, he’ll only remember as a long, long nightmare and apology offered up far too late. )

when carlos wakes up days later, they’ll tell him the city survived, but the research base did not, and he’ll wait until they leave the room before he lets himself fall apart again. in time, people will analyse and re-analyse what went wrong, but it won’t change the guilt, the grief that swallows him alive sometimes. they give him exactly two months to knit himself back together — until zak brown comes knocking at breakfast and carlos walks out on him before being forcibly pulled back in. ( there are timelines. people waiting. because apparently solo piloting has made him some sort of commodity. because there’s someone shiny waiting in the wings, and the mclaren unit want to snatch carlos up before anyone gets any ideas. even if he can barely sleep without hearing himself say those two sentences to nico again and again and waking up screaming or talk without shutting down or eat without throwing up, or spends all his time in the pool, diving from the platform again and again and holding his breath until someone jumps in, terrified that he’s drowned. )

zak brown slides the papers ( so old fashioned, but maybe these held a permanence their screens and holograms don’t ) across the desk, and he knows it’s not a choice. you could have anything you want, he says, like glory or fame could soften or tempt him now. carlos closes his eyes, tilts his head, and spits out six words — i want you to erase everything. ( to make a blank slate out of it all, to redact the files and erase his history, to make sure that if anyone came looking — they couldn’t find the person he was before, to know that the only thing that plays is an eternal loop of watery or burning graves and mangled metal, to know that in his sleep, all he does is fall into the water and for a moment, wish he could let go. to know that in the end, he couldn’t do anything. )

charles knows that carlos is someone who laughs often, who can smile so easily. he knows that most jaegar pilots are not so close to the engineers, content to let their work play out in the background, but his co-pilot has a strange ease around them, reads their displays and data so effortlessly that it’s almost daunting to match the pace he casually tosses questions and suggestions for improvements. charles also knows, dimly, he jokes once — in another life, carlos, you could’ve been an engineer. ( he wonders why that time, carlos looked like someone had called for him from beyond the grave. )

god idk why this is so long and why i sound insane i am so sorry

hello again charlos au anon, you are right now my favorite person. i wish i could live inside your head like a little neuron, just to watch as this thoughts and ideas are being formed. it must be insanely good in there. anyway.

“the elusive engineer known only really by a moniker resulting from a horrible audio connection, chili.” i literally went, out loud, oooh that’s good.

“until the best of what he can engineer can’t hold up anymore and through the pixels, he spots the wreckage of the jaegar goes crashing into the sea alongside the mangled corpse of the kaiju” GOD TOOK YOUR HAND AND WROTE THIS. oh my fucking god. oh my god. i’m at the edge of my seat staring at this with nothing but awe. and a need to keep going.

“remembering how easy it was to pull away from a hand outstretched.” OH BOY. OH MAN. i need a minute, excuse me.

slipping into the hero part, and that’s what they will call, a miracle. a hero. it won’t be spoken about, everything carlos had to offer to be able to make it there, everything that was drained from him, how his mind will never be the same again. forever stained. they won’t talk about that.

(charles who was begging to solo pilot just because he wants, no, he needs to be out there. and carlos can’t help but hate him a little for it. just a little because no matter how many reasons he finds to, he never seems to be able to really hate charles. there’s something there. he won’t think about it. but the naiveness, the need to be out there, to be seen as a savior, the people need someone to look up to he knows that, but he doesn’t like how easily charles gives up everything else to fit into that role. how easy he makes it looks.)

(it’s not easy. charles is just very good at pretending and very determined to give back what was entrusted to him. but carlos doesn’t know that. not now anyway. maybe later when they both open their doors and he sees that charles isn’t his machine, he isn’t the saint, he is just a man.)

“even if he can barely sleep without hearing himself say those two sentences to nico again and again and waking up screaming or talk without shutting down or eat without throwing up, or spends all his time in the pool, diving from the platform again and again and holding his breath until someone jumps in, terrified that he’s drowned.” i was talking about, even made a post about it, how i wish more people would explore the aspect of grief from carlos side of the deal. charles has it too, no one can deny it, but carlos. oh carlos. and i don’t see it getting explored a lot, at least not in the works i have read. and you did it. you did it so beautifully. you encapsulated grief in its core. to have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. we manage to function. the feelings are deep and real. shouldn’t they paralyze us? how is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? or do we share the same secret without knowing it? wear the same disguise.

“zak brown slides the papers ( so old fashioned, but maybe these held a permanence their screens and holograms don’t ) across the desk, and he knows it’s not a choice.” the theatrics of a choice without really offering one. yeah. you are making me feel real emotions here. my chest is hurting right now. “tilts his head, and spits out six words — i want you to erase everything.” charlos au anon, please take me to the back and shoot me in the head and leave me to bleed out. it will hurt less, i’m sure of that.

“( to make a blank slate out of it all, to redact the files and erase his history, to make sure that if anyone came looking — they couldn’t find the person he was before, to know that the only thing that plays is an eternal loop of watery or burning graves and mangled metal, to know that in his sleep, all he does is fall into the water and for a moment, wish he could let go. to know that in the end, he couldn’t do anything. )” this is singlehanded one of the most beautiful things i have ever read. i’m staring at my phone and i don’t even know what to say. i don’t even know how to go on from this.

it reminded me slightly of something i read here on tumblr (credit to pencap): “i left home a child and came back to trumpeting heralds and parades in my name and historybooks with my face on the front cover–– a hero. i left home a child and came back a hero but no one seems to see that a hero is a warrior and a warrior must first be born of war. and i see too many children chasing after my footprints with joy wearing armour like blankets and helmets like crowns laughing with eyes bright as the faraway glint of sniper scopes. and i do not want to leave a legacy of bloodstains and bruised knuckles and teeth clenched around burning bullets. and i do not want anyone else to leave home a child and come back a hero tasting blood on every passing wind and regret on every shaking breath. but i left home a child and came back a hero and only a hero–– ––not the historian who writes the legends or the god who writes the stars and i do not have it in me to stop the next warrior who leaves home a child and comes back a hero.”

carlos sainz who took a whim decision to stop the thing that would destroy many innocent lives that never signed up for this. he didn’t either, but he kind of did, it was kind of a risk he took when he become a engineer, he argues. and whatever of carlos that survived that encounter with the kind of terror no one should be made to comprehend, is kept being made to face evil again. and again. and they keep get younger, the people they put into jaegar and send out there to fight for their lives. for other’s lives. to have this burden to carry. and by the time you’ve lost your mind to cramped metals wall of a jaegar and to the hell of the open waters infected with kaijus of all kind, that wont matter much. they might send you home. but someone else will go to that hell for the rest of their life. and another pilot will take your place. so it might as well be you, at least for a while. if it’s you out there, then it isn’t nico. then it isn’t daniil. and someday he will be able to step aside and be forgotten. he won’t be able to sleep at night, or to eat his friends favorite food without thinking of them with remorse, but he will be far away from anything that envolves This. and that’s what matter. but for now, he does it.

(this gives depth to lando, very young and very eager, and carlos, who knows how this will chew you up and spit you out without second thoughts. another heaviness to carry on his shoulder, to be a mentor of sorts.)

AND CARLOS SMILES AND JOKES AND THE FEAR AND GRIEF SHOULD PARALYZE HIM BUT IT DOESNT. HE MAKES PEOPLE LAUGH. HE IS ALWAYS MAKING IT ABOUT OTHERS, EVERYTHING, PEOPLE GO TO HIM WHEN THEY HAVE PROBLEMS BECAUSE CARLOS LISTENS. and they don’t know how heavy it is for him. and he doesn’t want to let them know.

(and damn when he gets hit by the determination force that is charles leclerc. charles will have NONE of that, charles wants to see him as he is.)

“jokes once — in another life, carlos, you could’ve been an engineer. (he wonders why that time, carlos looked like someone had called for him from beyond the grave.)”

give me an hour or two to sit down. i need to sit down and stare at the blank wall of my room and just. think. this is beautiful, this is a work of art, you don’t sound insane at all. i feel like i woke up in the middle of the night and you are in my room, like an angel sent from god, and said be not afraid i come to offer the most heartbreaking, complex, intriguing, grief loaded, amazing, spectacular, unique, beautiful, gut wrenching, piece of work in the form of a charlos pacif rim au. you literally did that. you typed the most beautiful thing in the form of a tumblr ask, and i’m so glad i was the one you chose to deliver this to.

please, know that my inbox my messages anything is always open for you and your ideas. i will devour them. this is amazing. i wont stop talking about this for WEEKS.

#ceu asks #charlos au anon #charlos pacific rim au #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #charlos #charlos fic #formula 1 rpf

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hope-to-hell · 1 year

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Winter’s bite. Helmut Zemo x Reader. Smut, bondage, s/m dynamics, brief wounds/broken bones, post-unsnapping. This is a conversation, a persuasion, an attack on dignity and a breaking-open of the hollows left inside those who were gone-then-not. Zemo has some trouble dealing with loss.

—-

Hey, yeah, listen. I know it’s been a while, and I guess maybe you’re not so thrilled to see me but here we are and you said talk, so I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen; maybe you’ll find those little tells you’re hoping for. There’s been all this running and hiding and yeah, sure, a little bit of dying— but don’t hold it against me. It’s like this: here one minute and gone the next, which doesn’t matter much because if you’re nothing then you’ve got nothing to worry about, ya dig?

Well. Until everyone and their dog gets unsnapped and suddenly you’re looking at your own shinbones all wet and sticky because you were thirty feet up the side of a building that doesn’t exist anymore. Listen, I didn’t want to see my own marrow and I know you don’t want to hear about it either, but I’m one of the lucky ones. Lot of people were falling out of the sky, you know. They came back but their airplanes didn’t. And there’s others, too: so many of us were in the wrong place all of a sudden, part of the miraculous rebirth for less than a heartbeat before dying in some stupid way or other.

Maybe we just should’ve stayed gone. Maybe then there’d be at least an ending even if there was never any closure, but like. Coming back has been this weird no-man’s-land where I’m legally dead, physically alive, and mentally still five years in the past. So yeah. Maybe bringing us back was a mistake. Z doesn’t agree, but then again he’s real close with loss; he wears it on his chest in bloody ribbons and he’ll tell you no no, nothing personal, don’t take it so hard when he’s stepping on your neck. ‘Course it’s personal, though. It always is with him: he’ll take your eye for a slight, and for losing a loved one? Christ, he’ll burn the world. Don’t make him angry, and for fucksake don’t take from him, because he’s got a long memory and a hell of a lot of imagination in the whole pain-and-suffering department.

So anyway. I’m laying there with pins in my legs and my ears all full of beep beep beep every time my vitals go a little wacky, and this motherfucker comes strolling in with a face like he’s filing taxes— you know, that neutral if I must with just a tinge of murder underneath— and all he says is hmm. No hi how are you, no thank the stars you’re safe, just that look. He’s gonna take whatever’s in his head and let it eat at him until it all comes pouring out, and when it does— oh, it’s really gonna be something.

Like now.

Do you know why you’re here? he’s asking, but it’s not a question, not really. It’s a trap. Not like there’s anything to do but see this through; he’s real fucking good with rope and he’s made sure to get the knots right over the most painful pressure points. And it’s cold; everything he says hangs solid in the air, like he could grab hold of his you were gone, you left and drive it deep, past bone and meat right down to where my heart’s beating hard enough to crack ribs, and listen. Listen. Fuck. I know maybe this part makes you feel all icky but you’re gonna hear it anyway. And hell, maybe it’ll get you feeling all antsy. Maybe you’ll be jerking off to this in the middle of the night. I don’t mind.

I just wanna make sure you know he waited til all my bones were knitted together, all those strands of shredded muscle repaired and revitalized— and I don’t want to see another treadmill as long as I live; I walked backwards on that fucking thing for hours— he waited with the patience of a thousand fallen saints so he could wake me up one midnight with his gloved hand heavy over my mouth and and his breath carrying ice into my ear. You are well, he said, like he was talking about the weather, but you know it’s always winter wherever he goes. You are well, you are whole, but through all those years there was a rift in the world in the shape of your flesh.

So, anyway. Buckle up, big guy; I know you’re desperate to know where he’s gone, and I know it’s more than anger, more than vengeance; you think I can’t see it but it’s all over your face. You’re not as good a liar as you ought to be after— well. Don’t let me get off track here, not when I’m about to get to the juicy part. Now, where was I? Right.

So there I am buck-ass naked— ha— with my knees going all pitted from kneeling on concrete, tied up tighter than anything, and he’s even got mirrors all around because you know how Z is. You know he wants you to see exactly what he’s doing to you from every angle but it’s more than that: this way he can see the effect of every little thing he does, every tiny detail he adds to make sure he’s got you exactly where he wants you to be. If I could move enough to look down, I bet I’d see rice all over the floor, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was thousands of tiny garnets. Like I said, details. If he’s gonna make it hurt, you can bet he’ll do it beautifully.

Have you ever been fingered by a man in leather gloves? Listen. It’s— it’s a lot, especially when he’s crouched down right there with me, one hand wrapped around the ropes at my back and the other one two fingers deep and thrusting hard. No warmup, no preamble, just the sound of his boots, then that nasty spit-slicked do you understand grief? Have you felt the bile that chokes, or the bruises that bloom across your ribcage from the inside?

Five years. Maybe I can’t fathom it, but fuck can I ever feel it; the next time he moves that hand there’s another finger and he’s got to be spreading them wide as he can because between that and the leather I’m gonna split apart. Five years. Can you picture it? God, I hope you can. I hope you think about it later, when you’re alone and needing to get off so bad. Maybe I’ll think about you thinking about me and him, touching myself and feeling your eyes on me even from another room. Would you like that? Or would you like it better if I was bound, squirming and helpless, desperate for what I can’t have?

Either way, I want this right at the front of your mind: Zemo with his punishing hands, composure in shreds, pulling me apart from the inside and neither of us has any words left, just these snarls and whimpers all mixed together til it doesn’t matter who they’re coming from anymore. He made me come, of course he did; he ripped it right out of me with a twist and shove, every bruise tied together with this bright-burning silver thread.

You know I couldn’t help leaving; we’re alike in that regard, but has anyone ever given you what you’ve needed so badly since you came back? No. I can see it: you’re so full of guilt you haven’t earned, and sorrows you haven’t let yourself begin to feel. But you can take that rawness and put it to work; you’re a good man who got a bad deal and you have to know that. I see it; he sees it.

He’s on his way; any minute now those doors will open and he’ll be there with that half-smile, the one that says I’ve got a little secret; for all your efforts, you can’t find him until he wants to be found. You’ll see him dressed for the cold, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of his left hand. It’ll look artless, casual, but you know what it’ll mean. He’ll make you an offer— and you really, really oughta take it. After all, I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t worthwhile. And yeah, I know you were expecting to have to pry it out of me, maybe reach down deep for those parts of you that you wish you’d burned away, the parts of you that get answers out of tight lips, but here we are. Everything is on the table— well, not everything; there’s got to be something left for later, but I think you’ll find it in your favor— and everything I’ve said tonight is true.

It still aches, even now. I can still feel the stitching along the sides of his fingers, not to mention all those tiny pocked bruises on my knees, all those knots pressed deep, his coat buttons imprinted on my spine from where he fell against my back and let his words fall wetly on me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you here. You mustn’t doubt that. And I believe him, James. I really do.

#daniel brühl #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo fic #baron zemo smut #helmut zemo fic #helmut zemo smut #zemo fic #zemo smut #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo x you #tfatws

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boob-gremlin · 2 days

Text

s&co fic! (No spoilers for any of the episodes)

@edwardallenpoe @howmanyholesinswisscheese you guys seemed interested :) (This was on ao3, explaination in comments) also Mariana uses a Spanish phrase to express exasperation, let me know if I got that wrong. I googled it, but the internet isn’t always 100% correct

_____

*TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTION OF SUICIDE, MENTION BEING DRUNK, A PANIC ATTACK, AND DEATH (nobody dies, but it’s mentioned)* _____ enjoy!!!!

“Be careful what you wish for, John Watson.”

“Sherlock, wait I—“

“No. Goodbye.”

Fuck. I hear a door creak open, and Mariana’s soft steps coming over to me. I slide down to the floor. My shoulders shake with sobs. She sits down, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m here, John. I’m here.”

[6 MONTHS LATER]

I scoop Archie’s food into his bowl. The food makes “that incessant clinking noise” as Sherlock used to call it. I pad over to the kitchen and Mariana hands me a bowl of Weetabix. “Thanks, Mariana.” I sigh. “You need to get out of the house.” she replies. I nod. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… hard without him.” I can feel my eyes starting to well up. I clear my throat and blink a few times. “Do we have any milk?” She opens the fridge. “Uhhh… it’s expired, but yes.”

“How long ago?”

She inhales through her teeth. “Two weeks.”

“Ugh. We need to go shopping.”

After we finish shopping, I settle onto the couch, and switch on the TV. After clicking through a few channels, the daily news report pops up. The camera shows a man standing atop a large building, seemingly poised to jump. I squint. He looks familiar. “Mariana!” I call. She comes into the sitting room. “Is that Sherlock?” she asks. “I think so.” I stand up. “I’m heading out.”

“John, the police can handle this.”

“No, they can’t. He’s my friend. Was my friend. I have to go.”

“¡Híjole! Fine, go. Be safe.”

I arrive at the scene. Police surround the building, as does a large crowd. My heart beats intensely in my chest as I search for a way around the mass of people. I finally make my way to the front. He’s moving closer to the edge. I can’t lose him.

I find a way up to the roof. “SHERLOCK!” I yell. He turns. “Watson. Go home.”

“I can’t.”

“And why is that?”

“I…I need you, Sherlock.” I choke out.

He stares at me like a deer in headlights. “I need you more than you’ll ever know. More than anything.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying, Sherlock. Please.”

He turns away from me and steps closer and closer to the edge, peering down. I run to him. Never. Stopping. He steps off. I grab him, and suddenly we’re both falling. I cling to him like my life depends on it. We’re both going to die. “I love you.” I whisper. Thud. Wehit the ground. It all goes dark.

Beep. Beep. Beep. A familiar voice echoes around me. “I hope they’ll be okay.” Mariana. I shift slightly. Pain shoots through my body. I grunt. “John? John are you awake? Please be awake.” I nod slightly. She looks at me, eyes full of worry. “I thought I’d lost you both.”

“Is Sherlock okay? Can I see him?”

“He’s okay, don’t worry.”

I sigh, relieved. “Can I see him?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to the nurse.”

Right on cue, the nurse walks in. “Hello, Mr. Watson. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, fine. Can I see Sherlock?”

“Not yet. We still need to check your vitals.”

They check my pulse, heartbeat, and such, then write something down on a clipboard. “I’m going to help you stand, okay?” I nod. I take the sheets off and sit at the edge of the bed. My head is spinning, but I need to see him. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Ah—yeah. Fine. Just a bit dizzy, s’all.”

“Take as much time as you need. Let me know when you’re ready.” I look at the nurse. “Ready.” They pull my arm over their shoulder, and help me to stand. My legs feel wobbly. I take a small step. Then another. Then another. I’ve successfully made it to the bathroom with the help of the nurse. “You’re doing great,” they say, reassuring me. “I’ll probably still get you a wheelchair to visit him, though.” They walk me back to the bed. “I’ll be back with the wheelchair. Wait here.” I can’t wait to see him. Why am I even thinking that? He probably hates me. Not probably. Definitely. He’d rather kill himself than listen to me.

My train of thought is interrupted by the delightful nurse. They bring the chair to my bedside and help me into it. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, really.”

We wheel out the door.

“So, boyfriend?”

“Sorry?”

“Sherlock. Are you two…”

“Oh! Uh…No.” My face flushes.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

The rest of the walk is filled with an awkward silence.

We arrive at his room. The nurse knocks. “Yes?”

“It’s the nurse. You have a visitor.”

“Come in.”

He stares at me. Sadness, anger, and worry flicker across his face in a matter of seconds. “W-Watson.”

“Yeah…?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Then leave.”

The nurse is standing awkwardly next to the door. “Do you two need a minute?”

“Yes, thank you.” I reply.

“You do know.”

“You’re right.”

“Why, then?”

“I was worried. About you.”

He looks shocked. “Oh.”

“Is this too stressful? Do you still want me to leave? I can leave if—“

“No. Stay. Please, stay.”

I cough uncomfortably. “Why did you say that?” he asks.

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

“No, actually I don’t.”

“When we were falling you said that you loved me.”

I stare at him, unsure of how to feel or respond. “I…don’t…Uh…How do you remember that?”

“The building was only 20 feet tall.”

“Oh. Then…why did you…uh. Never mind.”

“Why did I jump?”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s fine. I was drunk, and wanted to feel something.”

“O-oh.”

[MONTHS LATER]

Sherlock is sitting at the dining room table, sifting through paperwork. I’m in the kitchen, making dinner. Penne pasta, his favorite. I’m making homemade tomato sauce, of course. I hear him walk into the kitchen. Without looking up from the pot of sauce, I ask, “What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“You still haven’t answered the question I asked you.”

“Which question?”

“Stop dodging. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He’s right. I do. “You’re an amazing detective. You can figure it out.”

“As good as I might be at detective work, this is much too difficult.”

“You wouldn’t like the reason.”

“Try me.”

I finish the sauce and turn to face him. “I thought we were going to die.”

“And?”

“I needed you to know, even if it were in your last moments.”

“Oh.”

I sigh. “Why did you want to know so badly?”

He shrugs.

He steps closer to me. I’m backed against the counter. His hands are on either side of me. “What are you—“ He presses his lips against mine. We pull apart, much to my dismay. I look at him. His face is flushed, and his breath is heavy. “Shit.” I murmur. He kisses me again.

“Shit!” I exclaim. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. “No, the pasta!”

I scramble to turn off the burner and strain the noodles. He walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and setting his head on my shoulder. He kisses just under my ear. A chill runs through my body, and it’s taking everything in me not to slam him against the wall. I take a deep breath to maintain my composure. “Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath hitting my neck. Another shiver shoots through me. “Uh. Yeah.” I say shakily.

“But you’re not.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Sherlock.”

“I do.”

This is the last straw for me. I can’t keep it together. “Goddammit, Sherlock.”

“What?” he practically purrs.

“You little shit.”

I kiss him, hard. He lifts me onto the countertop, so that I’m leaning down on him. I cup his face with my hands and he pulls me closer by my hips. He lifts me off of the counter, and we stumble to his room.

He pushes me onto the bed. I panic. Fuck, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to. I don’t… “Stop! Stopstopstopstop!” I exclaim, on the verge of tears. My voice is shaking. He gets off of me, and sits on the edge of the bed. “Watson, are you alright?” It feels like I can’t breathe. Tears stream down my face, and I wipe them away quickly. “Breathe with me.” Sherlock says in a calm, level voice. We take a breath in. Then a breath out. Then in. Then out. “Th-thanks.”

“You’re welcome. What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“Do you want a hug?”

I nod. He pulls me in, squeezing me gently. “Thank you.” We pull apart. I lay on the bed. His bed. Sherlock lays beside me. “I love you too, John.” he whispers.

#mouse murmurs #cricket’s creations #s&co #fanfic #fanfiction #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #fanfic writing #writing #my writing #fanifc #my fic writing #my fic #my fic post #drabble #s&co drabble

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whumpsmith-participates · 11 days

Text

Medwhump May 2024

Day 3 - "Squeeze my hand" / Flatline

TW: background character death, death threats, gore, surgery, assault mention, verbal abuse

@medwhumpmay

Death wasn't uncommon in the illegal organ trade. Victims were either harvested for all they were worth, or they went under the knife voluntarily in unsanitary conditions and died of complications after the fact. Bodies of recently deceased were stolen and never found again, or a John or Jane Doe was claimed by sketchy individuals with false papers.

Or, if your name was Fetch, you would steal a kidney or a piece of liver as a side hustle while waiting for ransom money to be delivered.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

Fetch was glad to be working with some equipment again. He felt much less pressed for time when he could actually see the victim's vitals, instead of having to move as fast as possible to ensure at least some chance of survival.

His clients were cheap and tried to underpay him, so since he wasn't required to keep the hostage in one piece, he decided to make up for the difference by selling one of his kidneys.

It had pretty much become a routine surgery for him. He knew exactly what to do and what to look out for, and he still worked fast, even if he could technically take it easier.

Erick was enjoying the experience a little less. He'd been in a mood since they arrived at the hideout, but Fetch couldn't bring himself to care too much. He knew the teen had several bad memories of this place, but the surgical suite built underneath the barn was too good to pass up on. So what if Erick got bitten by rats, nearly assaulted by someone, and buried his first body here, only to later dig up a half-decomposed corpse so they could stage his death.

Frankly, Fetch thought the teen was overreacting. The rats were only in the basement in the farmhouse, the man who tried to assault him died the same day, and the corpse had been burned to a crisp a year ago. But despite how he felt about it, Fetch had decided to give Erick some leniency and let him hang out in the secret room underneath the barn, even if he was visibly uncomfortable at the whole surgery part.

"Erick, I need ice."

"Ugh..."

Fetch glared at the teen as he reluctantly came out of his corner that was the furthest away from the surgical table and opened the freezer to scoop out some ice with a bowl. Then he reluctantly came closer, reaching out his arm to give him the ice, but Fetch didn't take it.

"You know that's not how it goes," he said, "you know what to do with that ice."

"I haven't washed my hands," Erick argued.

"I'll tell him to get antibiotics when I let him go, now ice him!" Fetch ordered.

Erick had the nerve to groan, before reluctantly stepping even closer and beginning to carefully place the ice around the kidney, when suddenly the monitor started beeping rapidly in alarm.

"What did you do?" Fetch asked.

"Nothing?" Erick said, "I mean, I'm just putting the ice in like you told me."

"Don't talk back to me!" Fetch snapped, "take the ice out, maybe he's bleeding somewhere."

Erick groaned again, barely having the stomach to even look at the wound, let alone to dig around in it for slippery ice cubes covered in blood and other fluids.

Beeeeeeeeeep...

"Ah fuck," Fetch said, promptly taking his gloves off and stepping away. Erick looked over at the monitor, recognising the flatline. Then he looked back at Fetch, who didn't even react.

"A-aren't you going to revive him?"

"He's asystolic, the fuck am I supposed to do?" Fetch said, "his heart stopped. He's not worth the trouble to even try to revive."

"W-won't your client be angry?" Erick asked.

"It's literally easier to just hide from them than to try and revive him," Fetch said, "can't even use his fuckin' kidney to afford it. Probably had an underlying condition that makes it no good... Get the shovel. This is your fault, so you can clean it up."

"How is it my fault?" Erick asked.

"You distracted me with your whining!" Fetch said, "now do as I say or I'll make you dig your own grave too!"

The real whump is Erick's discomfort about this whole situation, but tbh I don't feel like I described it well enough, but w/e it's something! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Feel free to imagine the ass-whoopin' he got afterwards. I'll try to come up with something more emotional on other prompts to rlly tug on the heartstrings.

Masterlist Main account

#medwhump may #Day 3 #VV #fetch #erick #discomfort whump #if that's a thing #idk #organ theft #surgical whump #background character death #the whump is hidden between the lines

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sentimental-idiot25 · 7 months

Text

tw: child death Sakura's office door swung open abruptly, startling her from her deep concentration on the paper before her. She raised her head in alarm, her emerald eyes locking onto the nurse who had just burst in, clearly out of breath from the hurried journey up two flights of stairs from the third operating room.

"We have an emergency," the nurse gasped, the urgency in her voice evident.

Sakura didn't hesitate for a second. She pushed the paper aside and sprang into action, following the nurse back to the operating room. There, she laid eyes on the young patient lying on the operating table, a girl not much older than Sakura's own child, who was a mere four and a half years old.

Sakura had always been known for her unwavering professionalism and the ability to compartmentalize her emotions, but this time it was different – it was a child in desperate need. She swiftly began sanitizing her hands and prepping to enter the operating room. As she got ready, the monitor displaying the child's vital signs suddenly began to emit an alarming series of beeps.

Sakura entered the operating room, her heart racing as she used her medical jutsu to attempt to heal the child. However, it was as if the young girl's body was actively repelling the treatment, defying all of Sakura's efforts.

"Damn it," Sakura muttered under her medical mask, frustration and desperation evident in her voice, while the monitor displayed no signs of improvement in the patient's condition.

An attendant, watching the situation unfold, couldn't help but voice their concerns. "Why isn't the medical jutsu helping?"

Sakura, her brow furrowed in concentration, responded through strained breaths, "It is. It's just not doing enough." She continued administering the jutsu, unwavering in her determination.

Finally, the child's vital signs stabilized, a moment of relief washing over the room. A nurse spoke up, "Thank God, you did it, Dr. Uchiha."

Sakura, however, had a pained expression on her face, and she muttered under her breath, "Her body was rejecting the healing. She's not going to last past tonight." It was a harsh reality she had to accept, and her shoulders slumped with the weight of it.

"Let's close up the operation and contact her family," Sakura decided, her voice heavy with the burden of delivering the grim news. She removed her gloves and medical mask and left the operating room for the prep room, with a nurse following closely.

"Should I deliver the news to the mother?" the nurse asked, her voice filled with empathy.

Sakura turned and looked at the medical staff on the other side of the window, her eyes glistening with a mixture of emotions. "I will do it," she replied, her voice resolute, as she prepared herself to deliver the most heartbreaking news a mother could hear.

Half an hour passed, and Sakura finally entered the patient's room, where the dimmed lights cast a somber atmosphere. The child was connected to a ventilator, and Sakura's gaze shifted from the young girl to the mother, who held her daughter's hand tightly. In her other hand, the mother clutched a tissue, using it to wipe away her tears.

"Dr. Uchiha?" the mother called out, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face as she looked to Sakura for answers.

Sakura hesitated, her gaze averted as she attempted to check the monitor for even the slightest glimmer of hope. Unfortunately, there was none.

"How did it go? How's my daughter?" the mother inquired, her voice trembling with fear.

Sakura finally met the mother's gaze but couldn't bring herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, her voice filled with regret. "I did everything I could, but she was brought in too late. She's slipping away."

The mother's face contorted with pain, her tears flowing freely. "You need to hold her as she goes," Sakura urged gently, her voice quivering as she moved aside, giving the mother access to her daughter one last time.

The mother's wails filled the room as she clung to her child, hugging her gently to avoid disturbing the breathing tube. Sakura put her hand on the mother's shoulder, offering a fragile sense of comfort in a moment when comfort felt elusive. The mother's anguished cries filled the room, echoing the pain that seemed to envelop them all. "She's all I have left... she can't leave like this," she wailed, her voice breaking with each word. Sakura's hand found its place on the mother's trembling shoulder, offering a small, comforting touch in the midst of a moment that felt devoid of solace.

As the mother continued to speak to her daughter, Sakura's trained eyes noticed a slight movement in the child's arm. The mother, sensing the change, gently eased back from her child's body, addressing her with tender words of reassurance.

"Hi baby. Darling, it's gonna be okay; your mommy is here with you," the mother whispered, her voice filled with love and sorrow. Her daughter, in response, gazed at her with blinking eyes that gradually slowed.

"It's okay, you can go, baby. It's okay," the mother murmured, comforting her child as she released her from the pain and suffering she had endured. Then, she turned to Sakura, her voice barely more than a hushed plea. "Can you unhook the monitor? I don't want to hear her go."

Sakura nodded silently, her eyes filled with empathy, and she gently powered down the monitor. In the ensuing moments, the child's blinking gradually ceased, and a profound stillness settled over the room. The mother's silent sobs became audible once more, her grief nearly overwhelming.

Recognizing the need for additional support, Sakura stepped aside and opened the door, allowing the grief counselor to enter and offer solace to the mourning mother. As the door swung shut behind her, Sakura was left standing alone in the hallway.

The weight of that moment clung to her, the anguish of losing a life in her hospital a burden she would carry with her forever. Despite her years of medical experience, nothing could have prepared her for the emotional toll of that particular loss.

It was the first time she lost a life in her hospital.

~ Sakura walked home very late that night, tears would remain in her eyes, distorting her vision but they never fell for the entirety of the walk. She walked the streets of the village late at night, hardly anyone was out on a weekday night. The street lights were illuminating her path home. She tried to shake the feeling away but she couldn’t. Not when she herself has a daughter just a few years younger than the one she wasn’t able to save today.

She arrived home and didn’t bother turning on the lights. Sarada was too young to take care of herself so Sakura entrusted Ino for the last two days to watch over her daughter as the hospital seemed to be particularly busy this time of year.

Sakura walked into the bathroom and turned on the light for a brief moment before closing it again. There was enough exterior light coming from both the moon and streetlights to illuminate her bathroom. She slowly stripped herself of her clothes and entered the shower. She let out a sigh before turning the nozzle to release hot water onto her body. It was cold enough outside to make her skin still below room temperature even though she had been in her house for a few minutes. The hot water would hit her head and reach the ends of her legs cold.

Once she was out of the shower she slipped into a nightgown. She walked over to her bed and sat down on her side and pulled the cover over her crossed legs. She took in a large inhale and released her breath. She repeated this action but the next time she breathed out, it came out shaky and uneven. Her closed eyes began to twitch and she dropped her head into her hands, covering her eyes. Her elbows rested on her knees. And she just sat there in her darkness, solitude, and quietness.

She lifted her head from her palms and tears began to fall from her eyes. She thought about how she let a fragile life slip through her fingers. She wishes she would’ve attended to the child sooner, and wished someone had brought her in sooner. She just hoped that something would have gone differently in order for her to save the little girl’s life.

Sakura, after all, was the world’s most renowned medical shinobi… How could she have let her patient die in front of her? Within her care? And the look on the mother’s face…. Sakura’s eyes began to water once more but hardly enough to make her eyes blurry. And then suddenly— nothing. She sighed as she turned her head to the window of her bedroom, the moonlight was seeping in. Enough to illuminate the light on the other side of the bed which was painfully empty. She grazed the empty side of the bed and bit the inside of her upper lip.

It wasn’t the first time she had felt like this, this deep feeling of sadness. Of feeling helpless and hopeless

She got out of her bed and threw on a cardigan that reached to her knees and left her home.

It was the middle of the night. The streets were quiet, any sensible person would have already been asleep at this hour. The hum of the streetlight provided some white noise on Sakura’s impromptu walk.

Sakura walked with her arms crossed against her chest. She didn’t have a particular reason or destination for this walk. But she found herself seated at a familiar bench near the edge of the village. When we sat down on the smooth stone bench her head fell into her hands and she began to cry again. Self deprecating thoughts began to fill her mind: she wasn’t good enough of a doctor. She wasn’t a good mother by letting another child die. She wasn’t strong enough to handle the hospital. She still had too much to learn if she let a life slip from her hands. The incident at the hospital had left a deep scar on her heart, and it was a constant reminder of the fragility of life. She couldn't help but question her own abilities and decisions, and the doubts seemed to multiply with each passing moment.

Since becoming a mother, Sakura's maternal instincts had grown stronger, as though a newfound well of love and protectiveness had opened up within her. She wanted to save every life she encountered at the hospital, not just because it was her duty as a doctor but also because she understood the pain and loss that every family faced when a loved one was taken away too soon.

She knew eventually, and unfortunately, someone would die in front of her at her hospital. But she ran her hospital to ensure that she wouldn’t have to see someone die in front of her so long they were within the walls of her hospital. She was left wondering where she went wrong. What she did wrong. What error she made that led to the events earlier that day.

Her thoughts kept returning to the child she had lost that day, and it cut deeper than just a professional failure. That child was more than a patient; they were a child to their mother. The grief and pain of the mother were etched in Sakura's memory, and she felt a profound sense of responsibility for their loss.

As Sakura's mind spiraled into the depths of despair, she couldn't help but imagine the unthinkable – losing her own beloved daughter, Sarada. The mere thought sent shivers down her spine. She knew that with both Sasuke and herself as parents, Sarada would undoubtedly want to follow in their shinobi footsteps. The legacy of their clan was strong, and their influence on Sarada was undeniable.”

But Sakura couldn't help but wish that her daughter would choose a different path, one that would guarantee her safety in a world filled with danger. The prospect of Sarada becoming a shinobi brought both pride and fear. While she would always support her daughter's choices, the nagging worry of a mother would always linger, a constant shadow on her heart. The fear of losing her own flesh and blood was a burden that weighed heavily on her.

The absence of Sasuke was a gaping void in Sakura's life, one that seemed to grow with each passing day. He had been gone for months, and the uncertainty of his return weighed heavily on her heart. They maintained what communication they could through messenger hawks, but it was a poor substitute for his physical presence.

She missed him more than anything. In her imagination, she pictured Sasuke wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. He would speak softly and reassuringly, his words a soothing balm to her troubled soul. His fingers would gently brush the tears from her face, and he'd press a tender kiss to her forehead. In those quiet moments, he would look deeply into her eyes, and the love and understanding in his gaze would instantly ease her pain and anxiety

But he wasn't here, and the reality was harsh. Sakura felt lost without him, not knowing when they would be reunited. The uncertainty of his return gnawed at her, and she yearned for the day when she would finally see him again. It was a longing that went beyond words, a profound ache in her heart that only he could mend.

Loss was a recurring theme throughout her day. She began to spiral thinking of the family she had built for herself. She thought about what she would do if she lost either her daughter or husband.

The weight of these thoughts began to pull her deeper into a spiral of fear and anxiety. She contemplated the family she had built for herself with Sasuke and their daughter, Sarada. Each one of them held an irreplaceable place in her heart, and the mere idea of losing either of them was a heavy burden she could hardly bear.

She envisioned a life without her husband, Sasuke. It was a life filled with silence and emptiness, devoid of his strong presence, his unwavering support, and his love. The thought of not seeing his familiar face, hearing his voice, or feeling his touch was almost unbearable. It was as if a part of her very soul would be torn away, leaving her incomplete and adrift.

Then her mind wandered to the possibility of losing Sarada, their beloved daughter. The thought of a future without her laughter, her dreams, and her growing personality was a wound that cut deeper than anything else. Sarada was the living embodiment of their love, and Sakura couldn't fathom a world where her bright and spirited presence was absent.

Sakura's emotions overwhelmed her, and as she sat on the bench in solitude, tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. The weight of her thoughts and the depth of her feelings had finally breached the dam of her composure. With a heavy sigh, the first teardrop broke free, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

Soon, her tears flowed freely, cascading down her face like a silent waterfall. She couldn't hold back the torrent of her emotions any longer. The heat of her flushed face and the moist trails left by her tears painted a vivid picture of her pain and vulnerability.

As the sobs began to wrack her body, Sakura felt her shoulders heaving up and down with each convulsive breath. It was a physical manifestation of the emotional tempest raging within her.

She brought her hands to cover her face as she sobbed into them.

A sudden gust of wind rushed past Sakura as she sat alone on the bench, the world around her a blur of desolation. Then, out of the blue, a hand, so achingly familiar, touched the right side of her body, and she felt the strong arm encircle her, pulling her gently but firmly towards a body she hadn't been able to hold for months.

The touch and the scent of his presence overwhelmed her, causing her tears to flow even harder. In that moment, she found refuge in his embrace. With her face buried in his chest, Sakura wrapped her arms around him, as if trying to meld their bodies into one. She held onto him with a desperate need, a fear of letting go and losing him all over again.

"I'm here now," his voice whispered softly into her hair, the words a soothing balm to her wounded heart.

"Please don't leave me," Sakura muttered into his chest, her sobs intensifying as the relief of his return mixed with the fear of him slipping away once more.

"I won't," he reassured her, his grip tightening around her, his own pain evident in his eyes. He despised seeing his wife in such a state of despair, and the weight of his absence weighed heavily on his conscience.

"Sasuke," she uttered his name, her voice cracking, conveying a depth of longing and vulnerability that only he could truly understand. She pulled away her face from his chest but kept her arms around him. He slowly reached out to her face and wiped the tears from her face. Once he wiped the tears from her cheeks he planted a kiss on her forehead.

Sasuke's heart ached as he witnessed his wife's pain. He couldn't hide the concern etched on his face, and his own lips curved into a downturned expression, “Let’s go home,” He said softly. Sakura nodded as they both rose from the familiar bench near the village’s exit.

As they both rose from the bench, Sakura couldn't resist the urge to hold Sasuke in another tight embrace. She clung to him as if afraid that if she let go, he might vanish once more. Her arms encircled him, and she pressed herself against his chest, seeking comfort in his presence.

Sasuke, with his sole hand, gently and affectionately rubbed the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. It was a tender gesture, a way to reassure her that he was indeed there, that he was not going anywhere

#sentimental idiot25 #sakura #sasuke #sad sasusaku #sasusaku #pro sasusaku #depression #tw: child death

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honeybeedewdrops · 2 years

Text

G-Loc | P. Mitchell

Summary: You're helping Maverick with an exercise and it doesn’t go to plan.

Warnings: Going down in an aircraft.

A/N: Hey guys I'm back and so I hope you like this. I also am putting the fishing touches on my first ever request. I'll be posting that later this week once I think its perfect as always thank you.

-Honey Bee

__________________________________________

You sat on yours and Maverick's bed reading a book before bed. You set your book down the minute Maverick came in ready for bed as well.

He looked deep in thought as he laid looking up at the ceiling "what's on your mind" "Lot's of things" "anything I can help with?" You ask leaning on your elbow. "No, but I would like your help tomorrow in an exercise" you nod "ok and what is this exercise" "pulling G's" you nod. You hated pulling hard G's but for Maverick you'd do anything. You both fell asleep tomorrow on your minds.

The next day you both got to the base and walk into the classroom. "Good Morning, Many of you know Admiral Y/N "Y/CS" Mitchell they will be helping me today" You nod to the class before Maverick goes on. "We have 10 days until the uranium enrichment plant is stocked. The plant is at the base of two mountains. Your target is 3 meters tall and 3 Meters wide" Maverick starts. He explains the part before the steep climb thats when you really start to listen. You knew the plan of the mission but this was a good refresher. "You will have a steep climb up the second mountain and the g's are pulled so hard that 1600 pounds of force is imposing on your lungs"

"How many g's are we going to pull?"

"9 minimum" and Maverick smiled walking out you close behind.

Most of the time you had watched giving pointers but Maverick had you fly close behind a couple as if you were a fighter jet after them.

You were on your last round and Your body was starting to get tired you had pulled so many G's but this was the last one so you pulled through.

As you were going up your vision started to get blurry and you couldn't see you then feel something drip down your nose. You lift your hand up and pull it away seeing blood. "I-I-I think--" you say as it started going black.

It was super scary you could hear the voices yelling but it was faint you knew it was bad hear Maverick's panicking voice. You feel your vision coming back and you had just enough strength to pull the ejection handles as everything went black again.

You woke up to beeping and someone's hand in yours. You groan hearing the beeping speed up everything hurt. You open your eyes and hear snoring you look to your left seeing Maverick in the chair sound asleep. You snort at how dumb he looked. You look up seeing a nurse come in "oh good you're awake. You took quite a fall you have two bruise ribs, a concussion, and a fractured ankle." she says checking your vitals. You nod now knowing how serious this was.

You jump as Maverick shoots up out of his chair clearly having a nightmare. He looks to you and sees you awake. "Y/N thank god you're awake I thought I lost you" He says pulling you into a hug making you hiss in pain. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry" You give him a pained smile. "it's ok. i'm fine and I'm not going anywhere" Maverick smiles at that and gives you a kiss. "Y/N I'm sorry I should have known making you do that many G's at a time would do a toll" "Maverick Honey look it's not your fault I should have known. I should have said I wasn't feeling good enough for that last one what's done is done" "but--" "no but's Maverick I am higher rank than you so as your boss and your partner I want you to stop blaming yourself" He sighs but obeys.

The nurse leaves and says to call if you're in too much pain and she'll see what she can do. The rest of the night was spent cuddling and spending as much time together before falling asleep in each others arms.

A few days later you were released and made a speedy recovery.

#top gun maverick #maverick x reader #top gun #tom cruise #pete mitchell x y/n #pete maverick mitchell #maverick imagine #top gun x reader

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barnesafterglow · 2 years

Text

blind date

summary: your best friend sets you up on a blind date with the last person you expect

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

word count: 963

warnings: slightly awkward but peter is adorable, gwen is a great wing woman, so much dialogue i'm so sorry

a/n: here is day 9 of my writing challenge with the prompt getting set up together by mutual friends. sorry it is once again late but i think i overestimated myself a little with this writing challenge rip . thank you very much to @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare for reassuring me that this is not terrible <;/3

main masterlist ─ challenge masterlist i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on post notifications to get fic updates! 🤍

You stopped short just as you rounded the block towards the coffee shop, causing an older woman to slam into your back. You mumbled an apology to her as you stepped onto a doorstep, phone still pressed to your ear, and had to fight a laugh as she flipped you off before continuing on her way.

“Sorry, I’m meeting who?” you repeated, not quite believing what you were hearing.

“Peter,” Gwen responded.

“Peter? As in, Peter Parker? As in, your ex-boyfriend, Peter Parker?”

“The one and only.”

“What the fuck.” Your best friend was certifiably insane. Peter had only had eyes for Gwen for two years, and just because they had an amicable break up didn’t make it any less weird for her to be setting the two of you up on a blind date.

“You know, just because you and Felicia are all happy and in love doesn’t mean I’m not content to be alone,” you griped, but nevertheless slipped back into the foot traffic.

“I know, but you don’t have to be.” She paused, and you heard a rustle in the background. “I gotta go, but if it goes as terribly as you think it will - which it won’t, by the way - I’ll buy you your favorite bottle of wine as an apology. Swear.”

��Fine.” You could see Peter was already sitting at a table in the corner.

“Awesome, love you, bye.”

“Love -” Your phone cut off with a beep, signaling Gwen had hung up, and you shoved it in your bag with a huff. Then, you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

His eyes snapped to you as soon as you walked in, even without the usual bell ringing overhead, almost like he could sense your presence. Your eyes locked and he did an - admittedly adorable - awkward little wave. You tried to force a smile, but could feel your hands sweating with each step closer to him.

The thing was, you had always had a crush on Peter. Long before he did everything in his power to wow Gwen, you had held a burning torch that you let diminish once Gwen showed interest back. You never told her, but a best friend always knew.

It didn’t hurt when they started dating. You held no grudges; you had always just wanted both of them to be happy. Even when they broke up - which it had been almost a year - you didn’t hold onto any hope for a relationship with him. It felt like breaking girl code, but obviously Gwen didn’t see it that way.

When you finally slid into the chair across from Peter, you noticed there was already a cup there with your name on it.

“It’s chai.” Peter sounded nervous. “Gwen said it was your favorite.”

“It is. Thank you, Peter.” You reached across the table and laid your hand atop his, stopping him from fiddling with the napkin in front of him. “So, uh -”

“I’m sorry she didn’t tell you. I asked her not to. I didn’t think you would come if you knew you were meeting me.”

“Wait, you knew that she was setting us up?” You had assumed he was just as clueless to Gwen and her scheming, but apparently you were wrong.

He blinked, slowly, and you felt like you were missing something vital to the conversation.

“You.. She didn’t tell you?” Yeah, you were definitely missing something.

“Tell me what?”

“I asked her to set us up.” You were in no way expecting that. Peter wanted to go on a date with you? Why hadn’t Gwen told you? There were too many questions that you weren’t sure you were ready to hear the answers to.

“I am very confused right now, Peter.”

“Would you have come if you had known?”

“Well -”

“Exactly. You always kept me at arm’s length and I never knew why and I just wanted a chance to -”

“Peter,” you interrupted him. “Calm down, okay?”

You realized your hand was still resting on top of his and started to pull away, but with lightning quick reflexes, he stopped you. Your eyes locked and you could tell he was freaking out just as much as you were, yet neither of you could look away. With a little smile on your face, you let him clasp your hand between his, and you continued.

“I always kept you at a distance,” you tried to do air quotes with the one free hand you had, “because I had a crush on you, and you always wanted Gwen. Which was fine, and I dealt with it, but I never wanted to step on any toes. So, yeah, that’s the distance and I’m sure Gwen didn’t tell you because, like, girl code or whatever and that would be totally uncool of her.”

All of a sudden he was laughing, near hysterics, clutching your hand to his chest as he hunched over in his chair. You eyed him in shock, waiting for him to calm down, and his laughter finally died off. He wiped a stray tear from his eye as he looked at you again.

“She really is a schemer, huh? She’s been listening to it from both sides, and she decided a blind date was the easiest way to get us together. She’s smart, but we already knew that.”

She really was, and you couldn’t believe she had played you both so well. But that was Gwen for you.

“I guess it worked out, though.” Your eyes met Peter’s and you smiled at each other, the first real smile you had managed, the anxiety of this date leaving your body.

“Yeah, I guess it did.” He squeezed your hand - the one he was still holding - and took a sip of his coffee. “It really did.”

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