#Electrical discharge accident | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oftenwantedafton · 8 months

Text

Revival - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Nurse Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

The pain is excruciating.

William Afton has endured this before, under very different circumstances. A springlock failure, an experiment gone awry, but how else was he to know if they worked properly or not, no risk without reward, and his business partner, his friend, had been so convincing of their probable success. Probable being the key operative word.

He’s sitting now in a collapsed heap he’s been unceremoniously dragged and dropped to, tossed like a bag of garbage, left to rot. Every breath is agony. Each constricted slight attempt at movement torture. His fingers flex weakly within their steel confines of the mascot suit. Reaching for salvation he feels will never come. He has just enough energy to remove the headpiece. His skin is the color of parchment, saturated with perspiration. Graying hair clings in wet tendrils to his face. His lips are pale, bloodless. His body is already shutting off supplies to his extremities in an effort to keep the core alive a little while longer. He feels the slow trickle of the blood weeping out of him. The very jagged edges leaking his lifeforce also partially holding it in place. Extending the torment. New wounds ripping open old scars. He cannot hear the ghost children any longer, the final sound a bellowing roar as the spirit within had finally realized the truth of his deception. The ceiling has collapsed in places, the tiles now littering the floor, the fluorescent lighting dangling like grim party streamers.

He’s dying, alone, in the darkness.

In an ironic twist of fate, William Afton is saved by the very people he’s been trying so hard to keep out of his pizzeria. Vagrants. Thieves. Urban explorers. One of these has chosen this night to intrude. Lured inward by whatever motivating factors drive them there. Curiosity. Desperation. Shelter. Wealth. The trespassers find him. For a split second the man in the yellow rabbit suit thinks they will flee, thinking him a ghost. Afraid of being blamed for the ruination of the abandoned restaurant, implicated in his harm and imminent death. But one lingers, hesitating when his voice croaks out a plea. The last bit of air he’s been hoarding. Vocal chords straining. An anonymous 911 call made from an office phone that miraculously still functions.

It’s enough.

***

The man in the ravaged mascot suit lying on a stretcher is wheeled into the ER a little before dawn.

The hospital staff sees a fair amount of action, considering the location is not a busy city institution. An occasional gunshot wound, usually from a child gaining access to a parent’s unsecured firearm. Sometimes a gas station convenience store robbery gone wrong. Car accident victims. Overdoses. Someone who’s been sober for years falling off the wagon, now violent, cursing out staff as they struggle. A variety of situations, but all manageable.

This case though. There is nothing normal or routine about this. It does not take much of an assessment to realize this is beyond the capabilities of the local hospital, and time is not on their side. An immediate transfer up north. The man’s vital signs are weak. High flow supplemental oxygen fed through the mask strapped to his face. Metal glove removed, intravenous line started. The costume takes up so much space in an already cramped area. The helicopter lands. They’ve arrived.

The extrication process is delicate work. His body repositioned multiple times. Traditional tools are insufficient. Laser metal cutting finally frees the injured man. The victim has lost consciousness. A failure of the springlocks to release properly has somehow left many vital organs free of puncture. A failure of a failure. The man might have chuckled bitterly over that if he was still alert. The suit was getting older. Damaged with so much activity. The fight with the Schmidt boy. The electrical discharges. The gunshot from his daughter. It’s a wonder it had any structural integrity left.

He’s not out of the woods yet. The remains of the springlocks, damaged as they are, are unforgiving. They do not pierce through his flesh cleanly. The edges are jagged. Pincers that dig into his body. An Iron Maiden, a second set of ribs, these alloys that curl in a vice grip. Trying to merge and meld with him. An unforgiving embrace.

Blood transfusions. Strong intravenous antibiotics. The suit is not clean. The restaurant hadn’t been either. The risk of infection is extremely high. Tainted metal and foreign bodies. His lungs are the most damaged part of him. Touch and go. Cardiac arrest. Defibrillated, brought back. In the aftermath, the man survives.

There is still a long road of recovery ahead of him.

***

The man who’d been trapped in the mascot suit is transferred from the ICU to a medical surgical floor. Stable. Awake again. And somehow, miraculously, still absolved of any guilt.

The pizzeria had been searched. The most recent casualties found. He himself an assumed victim in a string of unexplained disappearances. The baby sitter and her brother, the former decapitated and the latter shoved inside of an animatronic suit. Their two accomplices, their bodies mangled. All of them found in the service workroom. Now this social worker, who, when he’s recovered enough to speak, insists he was going there on a site visit to check on the new hire. Whatever Mike tells them seems to fall on deaf ears and he doesn’t press the matter, perhaps just grateful he and his sister are safe. The man’s own daughter is still in a coma. He knows she’ll keep silent, going along with whatever story he concocts, covering for him. She always does.

So his real identity is still concealed. Steve Raglan remains a trusted alias. There are cards and flowers from his coworkers. A news story marveling over his recovery. How brave he was to confront this killer, the owner, William Afton. The man behind the slaughter.

If they only knew.

***

You flip through the patient’s chart in front of you. So many notes. Physician orders. What a journey this patient has had. One that began in spring. Now it’s fall.

Your patient load is light this evening. There isn’t much for you to do for the man at this stage. He’ll be discharged soon. He’ll still need more rehabilitation to regain his strength and recover from the deconditioning his body has undergone due to his long hospital stay.

You sling your stethoscope around your neck and knock before entering the room.

It’s the last one at the end of the hallway. The illuminated landing pad for the medi flight helicopter is visible from here, the blinds open and raised over the bottom third of the windows. Television off. The wall light on the lowest setting. The man’s eyes are closed. His breathing is regular. Sometimes his lungs struggle a bit and he requires a bronchodilator, either a nebulizer or an inhaler. Probably something he’ll require for the rest of his life. He has a likely susceptibility to respiratory illnesses as well now. The damage had been severe, his exposure to contaminants unforgiving.

His graying hair and beard have grown out, making him look rather unkempt. You can see he’s long overdue for a trim. You gently set your stethoscope on his chest to listen to his heart and lungs. His eyes open. Pale. Intense. You freeze.

“Sorry to disturb you, I’m just doing my assessments.” You hate having to wake people up so late at night. “I’ll be fast, I promise.”

“It’s alright, I’m used to it. Do what you have to do.” His voice is coarse but pleasant. You find yourself staring at his features and become distracted from listening to his apical pulse and respirations. Early fifties his chart had said. Skin in good shape. Light crows feet at the corners of those wide set piercing eyes. The untidy hair makes your fingers itch to try to tame it.

Without any guidance he withdraws his arm from beneath the sheet draped over him. Cuing you to take his blood pressure, startling you from your reverie. Your cheeks flush. You notice the scars on his arms immediately. Such strange markings. Rings and slashes. You can’t even imagine how frightening that must have been. Shoved inside an animatronic by some maniac serial killer. Amazing he had survived. You press your fingers against his wrist, your eyes on the clock on the wall as you calculate his pulse. His skin is very warm.

The manual cuff fits easily over the bearded man’s upper arm. He’s lost weight since he’s been in the hospital, but you think he was probably lean to begin with. “This is going to get tight. Still better than the machines. And more accurate.” You’re old school. You prefer obtaining vital signs manually yourself. The aides have enough work to do. You press the stethoscope to the antecubital space, tucking it slightly underneath the cuff, fingers curling around his elbow to help hold it in place. You tighten the grooved metal air release valve and begin squeezing the bulb. Your eyes lock on the gauge. You’ve done this long enough now that you can see the changes as the systolic and diastolic readings register, the audible portion just confirmation of what you’re visualizing when the needle beats along in accompaniment before being reduced to a smooth sweep. The velcro parts with a harsh rasp of sound as you remove the cuff, replacing it into the storage bin behind the bed.

“Okay, good. Temperature next.” You slide the probe cover on and his lips part so you can tuck the thermometer under his tongue. A very prominent tongue. Agile. Curling. You know you’re blushing again and you stare hard at the digital display. Afebrile. You withdraw the probe and depress the button to drop the cover in the small wastebin beside the bed. Pulse oximetry next. Saturation in the low 90s. Not ideal, but decent all things considered. He’s got lovely hands. Long, slender fingers. “Any trouble breathing?”

“I still cough when I take a deep breath sometimes but otherwise okay. And no, not coughing up anything. Nonproductive.”

“You have been here awhile, huh? We could probably put you to work. Train the new grads.” The turnover rate at the hospital is high. A lot of temporary agency staff. Recent graduates that put in six months or a year for a reference and then move on to whatever specialty they decide on. You like med surge. You enjoy the reward of seeing people get better and go home. “You must be dying to get out of here. Where are you from again? Hurricane, was it?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t have time to go through your whole chart and it’s obviously more than can be given in any detail on report, but. Yeah. You’ve clearly been through a lot. I’m sure your family will be glad to have you back.”

“I don’t know about that. My daughter and I have…our differences.”

“Does she live with you?”

“No, she’s grown. Long out of the nest. I live alone now.”

“Oh.” You return your stethoscope to its drape over the nape of your neck. “Well, glad to be out of here, in any case. I need to check your chest. From what I got on report everything is healing well. Any pain?”

“I’m alright.” He shifts, lifting the blue diamond patterned hospital gown.

You almost gasp, managing to stifle it at the last moment. Keep it professional.

The damage is so, so much worse here. So many deep scars. Nothing like the fainter ones marring his upper extremities. Puckered gouges. Taut, shiny dark red lines bordered by dots where the surgical staples that had held his wounds closed had been. More irregular patterns you cannot discern the origin of. What had been inside that suit?

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst—”

“Zero. I’m fine, honestly.”

You sense he’s not being entirely truthful despite his reassurances. You notice the slight wince when he moves. Still tender.

“If you need something—”

“—I don’t need pain medication.”

You blink, slowly removing your stethoscope again. Stubborn. Well, you’ll leave it for now. “I’m going to check your abdomen. I’m sorry, my hands are always cold.” You listen, then percuss and press in each quadrant. The faintest silver stretch marks on his belly near the umbilicus. He was much heavier, once. You note a faint happy trail that disappears into navy blue boxer briefs and quickly shove that from your thoughts. “Any tenderness?”

“No.” His eyes have not left your face since you’ve begun examining him.

“Okay. Would you mind sitting up for me so I can listen to your lungs and check your skin?”

He complies. There is a knot at the top of the johnny. The rest is open. You don’t even have to instruct him to breathe deeply. He really is familiar with the routine. The scars are not as pronounced here. The majority of the damage looks like it was on the front of his torso.

You flip the sheet back to check his lower extremities once he’s settled again. No edema. Color good. Well perfused. The same light patterns as on his upper extremities. His legs are so long. He’s well over six feet, you think. His feet have to rest on either side of the footboard with the bed adjustment controls.

You readjust the sheet so it’s draped neatly over your patient’s frame once more. “Okay, we’re all set. Everything looks good.” You tap on the call button hung over the side rail. “You call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll check on you later, Mr. Raglan.”

“Steve, please.” He smiles. Such even white teeth. Dimples. The creases at the corners of his eyes deepening. Butterflies in your stomach. He really is quite attractive. He’s also your patient. Be professional.

“Goodnight, Steve.” You hear him pull the string to switch the light off as you leave the room.

He does not call for assistance. When you peek in later, the room is dimly lit by the nightlight set in the wall. He seems to be sleeping. Your shift ends.

***

Steve’s back on your assignment two nights later.

“Have you always worked third shift?”

“Since I became a nurse, yes. I’m a night owl. I don’t know how you do it. Getting up early five days a week. I’d rather stay up then get up. I didn’t last long in the hairdresser business.”

“You get used to it.”

“I guess. Open, please.” You slip the thermometer under his tongue. No fever, but he still feels impossibly warm. You realize that’s just his baseline.

“Since you mentioned it, I wonder if I might ask a favor of you. If your assignment isn’t too heavy. The day shift aides seem very occupied and the nurses much the same.”

“We actually discharged four people earlier tonight. I only have you and one other patient. Nursing home. Sweet lady. So yes, I’ll have down time. What’s up?”

“How would you feel about cutting my hair? This mess is absolutely driving me mad.” He rakes a hand through his graying locks.

“Oh, sure, I can do that, provided I find some decent scissors. If you trust me over someone in the salon. I think they’re short on help, like every other department. How short do you want it?”

“I trust your judgment and I’m tired of waiting. Would my driver’s license picture help?”

“Oh, yeah, good idea.”

“Top drawer of the bedside table.”

You find a weathered looking leather billfold inside. Deep creases. You remove the card from the vinyl window sleeve so you can see his picture more clearly. Side part. Layered. Facial hair much more neatly trimmed. And gold framed aviators. “You wear glasses?”

“Sometimes. Mainly for driving. I’m near sighted.”

“Oh. Well, I can manage this, no problem.” You tuck the license back inside the slot and fold the wallet, setting it back in the drawer. “You can lock this drawer, you know. I mean, I think all of our staff is trustworthy, but you never know.”

“There’s really nothing valuable left. In there.”

A definite pause. You wonder what’s buried in those words. Your eyes fall on the pile of greeting cards from well wishers. “Have you heard from your daughter?” You’d heard she’d been stabbed and had been in a coma for quite some time. Recovered now. A police officer.

“No, and I don’t expect to. We’re accustomed to long pauses without speaking.”

You see the man tense up and decide to shelve the topic. “It’ll be easier to cut your hair if it’s wet.”

“I’ll take a shower.”

“I’ll bring you some towels.”

He’s out of bed, standing beside it when you return. Very tall, as you’d predicted. “I put them in the bathroom. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will.”

You close the door softly behind you.

***

“You’re in luck. The security guard I’m friendly with is on tonight. I invaded the hair salon.”

“Friendly, hmm?” He settles into the hardbacked chair you’ve pulled out from against the wall and you tuck a towel around his neck.

“Well, not that friendly.” You comb your fingers through the damp tresses, trying to decide where to begin.

“That feels nice.”

You let your hands scrape his scalp a little and he hums appreciatively. You’re so accustomed to quick in and outs, doing your assessments, administering medication, moving on to the next patient, repeating the process until it’s time for documentation. It’s nice to be doing something more leisurely for a change. Meeting other needs.

“You have really nice hair.” The texture of it. The coloring. You like the mixture of shades. Combing with an actual plastic tool now. Dragging everything even. Fingers marking off a swathe. You begin.

Muscle memory. You’d done enough trims in your previous profession. Men are so much easier to style than women. Pieces fall to the floor, catch on the towel. He needs a lot of layering. The soft sound of the shears snipping, a whisk of metal blades. Working near his ears. At his neck now. A thick neck, something else you’d noticed right away during your assessment. His eyes on you when you move to stand in front of him. Pressing close. The furniture seems so absurdly small. His knee bumping into you. Pajama pants on. Still the hospital gown on top. This one’s tie at the neck is ripped, instead fastened mid spine. Some of the buttons on the sleeves not snapped. Your fingers touch his face, adjusting his head so you can view his hairstyle from different angles. The scent of the baby shampoo the hospital supplies. Antibacterial soap.

“Not too shabby if I do say so myself. Maybe go have a look in the bathroom mirror?” You carefully gather the towel to minimize the mess and he rises. So tall. You keep forgetting. Looming beside you. Older tree and young sapling.

Departs. Returns. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it. Want me to do your beard too?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

You don’t. It seems silly not to. Like leaving a job unfinished. The beard trimming feels more intimate. His eyes always on you. You finish. A near replica of how he’d looked previously, disregarding the weight loss.

“What do you miss the most, being in here for so long?” As if he is confined in a prison. It is a sort of holding cell, in a way. Trapped until the physician determines he’s able to return home. Or insurance runs out. Or unless he leaves AMA.

He hums thoughtfully. “I would kill for a cheeseburger and a cold beer. And a cigarette,” he adds with a heavy sigh of longing.

You blink in surprise. “You smoke?” You’re fairly certain it had said he was a non smoker in his chart.

“Not for years. Longer than you’ve been alive.”

You blush at this reminder of your age gap. “You want me to smuggle in some contraband?”

“Would you?”

“Yes. Tomorrow night. Tell me what you want specifically, brands and such, and I’ll try my best to get it for you.”

“How kind of you. Yet devious.” He grins again.

You’re starting to enjoy this dark smile of his.

***

You lead Steve up the stairs onto the hospital roof.

Clear autumn sky. Harvest moon. Air brisk. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt and blue flannel pajama pants and slippers that don’t look like they quite fit right. You’ve got a cardigan on over your scrubs. Your companion sounds a little winded. Still adjusting to exercise. Therapy said he’d been progressing well. They’d done a home visit to assess what he’d have to manage physically independently. His discharge paperwork was now underway.

“If I thought we could get away with smoking in your room, I’d have just cracked the window, but there’s no way the alarm wouldn’t go off.” You hand him the pack and a lighter you’d tucked into your pocket. “You shouldn’t make a habit of this, though. I’m worried about your breathing.”

“I’ll be alright.” A flame illuminates his features. “It’ll take more than one cigarette to do me in.” He inhales shallowly, testing that theory. A sighed exhale. A little cough at the end that he’s trying to stifle.

“Steve,” you say warningly.

He waves the hand holding the cigarette. “I’m fine. I appreciate all of your efforts, really. The cheeseburger was divine. The beer the same. This is exactly what I needed.” He takes another drag. No coughing this time.

You fold your arms across your chest, leaning back against the small brick structure that houses the roof access.

“Do you ever treat yourself to something you enjoy? I imagine being a caregiver is rather draining.”

“I enjoy my days off. It’s a good schedule. I can’t really complain.”

“When’s the last time you went on vacation?”

You frown. “I have no idea. It’s been years.”

“Maybe it’s time you took one.”

“I don’t even know where I’d go.”

Raglan flicks the end of the cigarette. “You could visit Hurricane.” So casually said. Your breath hitches.

“You mean visit you?”

“I would hope you’d stop by if you were in the area.” He blows a stream of smoke.

“I would.”

“You would or you will?” Another drag, followed by a cough. Longer this time.

You move closer, touching his sleeve. “You should stop, Steve. I’m really worried.”

The man sighs, letting the cigarette drop from his fingers and grinding it beneath the sole of his shoe. “Maybe you’re right.” He tucks the lighter and the pack back into the pocket of your cardigan. “Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you come to me, in Hurricane?” The wind lifts a stray strand of your hair and he tucks it back behind your ear. The casual touch lingers, evolving, his thumb now stroking deliberately along your jaw. You have just enough time to answer affirmatively before his lips dust across yours.

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

85 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 7 months

Text

An Illicit Affair

Part 15: Domestic Violence

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity, Mention of Domestic Abuse

After Danielle departed in order to do some shopping, you took upon yourself to talk to Cillian about his lie to you and the other medical staff, confronting him gently about the issue at hand.

Your gaze lingered on him as you entered the room at around 11 o'clock that morning and, right after you closed the door behind you, Cillian put his book aside and smiled at you gently, pretending that nothing had happened.

"Just to let you know, I hate needles," he then chuckled with a soft smile, shifting uncomfortably on the hospital bed while you sat down next to him, setting the tray containing his booster shot in front of him.

"I promise it won't hurt much Cills. I will be gentle," you winked as you prepared the injection and before running your hand over his cheek gently.

"You know I could have gotten one of the nurses to do this, but I would like to have a chat with you before working on your discharge papers," you then began, causing Cillian to frown slightly.

"Okay, shoot," he said cautiously, biting his lower lip nervously while meeting your gaze searchingly.

"Why did you lie to me and the medical staff about how you sustained the laceration?" you asked Cillian, your heart pounding in your chest. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the electricity crackling between you both.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before replying. "I didn't want anyone to worry," he said, shrugging casually. "Besides, it was a simple misunderstanding," he added, his gaze flickering nervously.

"A misunderstanding between you and Danielle?" you pressed Cillian, your eyebrows shooting up. "Or perhaps an argument that escalated into something worse?" You held his gaze, trying to read his emotions, and it wasn't until he looked away that you understood.

"Cillian, what happened last night?" you asked, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but if Danielle is acting abusively towards you then you should open up about it," you urged, your heart sinking as you saw the torment in his eyes.

"No, no, it's not like that Y/N," Cillian protested vehemently, his voice cracking slightly. "We just had a disagreement last night after the event. She noticed your lipstick on my shirt and she accused me of cheating on her with one of the women from the committee. She has been accusing me of cheating on her for ten fucking years Y/N and, let me tell you, until I met you, I never did. I never even contemplated it. We were arguing in the kitchen, the knife slipped. That's it. It was totally innocuous, Y/N," Cillian insisted defensively, his eyes pleading with yours but something deep inside you knew that there was more to it.

An injury this severe could not have been caused by an accident like this and you suspected that something darker lay beneath the surface.

"Okay, I believe you," you lied calmly before quickly injecting the needle into his arm tenderly.

"Are you okay?" you asked as you administered the shot, feeling a surge of protectiveness wash over you.

"It doesn't hurt that much," he nodded, causing you to smile warmly.

"Yeah, but you do seem upset," you observed, swallowing hard as you watched him try to pull himself together.

"I'm fine," Cillian muttered, flashing you a half-hearted smile before turning his gaze away, his eyes filled with sadness. "I just need some time to think," he sighed, his eyes locked on the hospital room door. "Danielle can be a bit possessive sometimes, you know, and I cannot deal with it anymore," he mumbled softly as he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern.

"How about I give you some privacy then, so that you can relax and...," you began to suggest, preparing to leave the room, but Cillian grabbed your hand, halting you in your tracks.

"Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, looking up at you with his piercing blue eyes. "You are really something else," he continued, his voice dropping an octave. "I wish things were different..." he trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. But you knew that his words held deeper meaning.

"Me too but, you know, when you are in London, we could still spend time together occasionally if you like. We just need to be more careful," you smiled gently before leaning forward to caress Cillian's face.

"I would like that," Cillian responded before leaning forward as well, his lips brushing against yours gently.

You kissed briefly, both of you hesitant and unsure of where this was going. But there was something magnetic pulling you towards each other, a force neither of you could ignore.

"You better get out of here before someone walks in," Cillian eventually murmured against your skin, his voice husky and low. "Plus, you need to prepare my discharge papers, don't you?" he grinned slyly before kissing you once more quickly.

"You're right," you gasped, breaking apart and standing up abruptly. "I will get your papers ready, but James will need to approve and sign them. I am still on trial," you explained before, finally, heading towards the door.

As soon as you left the room, you asked who was assigned to ward management and, not much to your surprise, it was Nurse O'Nelly who was in charge that day.

Approaching her desk, you introduced yourself and inquired about the availability of Cillian's medical records from other facilities, which was a request that surprised her.

"He is only in for a laceration so we didn't obtain any records from his health fund and the public hospital system in Ireland," the nurse explained, raising a brow skeptically.

"I am concerned about domestic abuse which, in itself, legally warrants to obtain the records. So, you could you please get them?" you argued diplomatically.

"You think that he is a victim of domestic violence?" O'Nelly gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief while you nodded reluctantly and, even though you felt as though you had betrayed Cillian's trust, you followed the hospital's protocol. "Well, then I understand your concerns. Let me ask the attending physician to authorise the release of the information," she said, picking up the phone.

"About that, I would like the attending to take over. I do not wish to view the records myself for personal reasons," you explained delicately, averting your gaze from Nurse O'Nelly.

"Okay," Nurse O'Nelly chuckled, peering at you with curiosity. "You're worried, but you don't want to delve into it yourself?" she asked, her tone is matter-of-fact, bordering on sarcastic.

"I have a conflict of interest. It wouldn't be proper for me to view his health records. I used to date his son," you explained, feeling the nurse scrutinize you suspiciously. "I don't want to cross professional boundaries, especially since I'm still training," you admitted, averting your gaze guiltily.

"Oh I see," Nurse O'Nelly said slowly, pursing her lips tightly. "This makes sense then," she conceded reluctantly and picked up the phone again. "James, this is Mary. Can you come to Ward 3 for a minute?" she spoke into the receiver firmly and, within minutes, James walked into the room, looking puzzled as he approached us.

"What's the problem here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned you and Nurse O'Nelly.

"We have reason to believe that Mr. Murphy might be a victim of domestic abuse," O'Nelly stated plainly, her expression grave.

"Really?" James responded, his eyes widening in astonishment. "That's certainly unexpected," he muttered, his tone skeptical.

"Is there anything specific that makes you question this?" he then asked and Nurse O'Nelly explained the situation to him discreetly and James immediately acknowledged your concern.

"Alright, get his health records if you can and get the wife's records too. I think she was admitted to this hospital before and signed a release just a few months ago," James instructed O'Nelly while exchanging a significant glance with you before disappearing again to attend another patient while you moved on to work on some other cases as well.

There was one patient in particular that day who needed your attention. A young woman who had just suffered a miscarriage and had to be admitted to the ward for further observation due to complications.

Her name was Laura and she was accompanied by her partner Sam, a kind and caring man who had stuck by her side through thick and thin and, just as you finished up with her, James came barging by and asked whether you had a minute to spare.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, holding on to Cillian's and Danielle's records tightly.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped out of the patient's room alongside James.

"What do you want to discuss?" you questioned him warily, your pulse quickening in your veins.

"Let's go to the break room," James suggested quietly, leading you there while you followed him, a million questions swirling in your mind. What was wrong with the records? Could it be true? Was Cillian being subjected to abuse from his own wife?

"I reviewed the records and found some concerning patterns," James whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned in close, which is when you stopped him.

"Listen James, I cannot get involved in this. I have a personal conflict of interest in this matter because of my past relationship with their son Max," you began, taking a big gulp of courage. "Like I said, I do not want to cross professional boundaries," you admitted, averting your gaze guiltily.

"I understand that," James agreed, nodding sympathetically. "But I have a legal obligation to follow up on your suspicions and I have a moral obligation to protect you from physical harm, so I really need to discuss this matter with you," James told you worryingly, causing your brows to furrow.

"Why would I suffer any physical harm?" you challenged James, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

"Y/N, I am not stupid," James began to explain calmly, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You are involved with this man, and I think you are blindsided by the situation," he told you sternly before explaining the findings in Cillian's and Danielle's records.

"Cillian's records don't show much other than a few fillings and colds. He hasn't been to a hospital in over ten years. His wife's medical records however are quite eventful. There is a pattern of injury and I feel as though you might be wrong about who is abusing who and I do not want you to be in the same boat," James confessed, swallowing hard.

"Danielle has been treated for a range of injuries including sprains, fractures, and blunt trauma. It's quite evident that...," James revealed, causing you to interrupt him mid-sentence.

"So, you are suggesting that he is abusive towards her?" you interrupted James sharply, narrowing your eyes in disbelief. "There is no fucking way, James!" you shook your head. "I mean, even just considering everything he told me today, I find that highly unlikely," you argued defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Maybe he was lying to you," James retorted coolly, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Abusers often hide their true nature behind charm and charisma," he reminded you, throwing you a pointed glance.

"But Cillian isn't like that," you objected. "He's kind, considerate, and wouldn't hurt a fly," you told James who rested his hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N," James sighed heavily. "Look, I know you care about him, but it's possible that he's hiding something. Abusers rarely reveal their true nature unless pushed," he warned, his tone sombre but you would not have a bar of this.

"I am going to talk to him. This is ridiculous," you declared resolutely, pushing past James impatiently and, even though he tried to stop you, his efforts were futile.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine

112 notes · View notes

shakespearenews · 9 months

Text

“A letter came to me a few years ago from a long-retired actress who had, as a youngster, been taken to see Edwin Booth play King Lear. It seems that towards the end of the play, when the mad Lear was brought face to face with his daughter Cordelia, there was a sharp pause, then – for a second that couldn’t quite be caught or measured – a startled, desperate, longing flicker of near-recognition stirred somewhere behind the old man’s eyes, and then – nothing. The entire audience rose, without thinking, to its feet. It didn’t cheer. It simply stood up. It was as though a single electrical discharge had passed from one body on the stage, instantaneously, through a thousand bodies in the auditorium. Something had been plugged into a socket; two forces had met.

This meeting is what the theater is all about; it is its greatest power . . . The theater gains its natural – and unique – effect not from the mere presence of live actors, or the happy accident of an occasional lively audience, but from existence of a live relationship between these two indispensible conspirators, signaling to one another through space.”

–Walter Kerr (1913-1996) Author and Theater Critic From his book THE THEATER IN SPITE OF ITSELF

#shakespeare #william shakespeare #king lear #lear #edwin booth #walter kerr #cordelia #theater #theatre #theater history

120 notes · View notes

shyficwriter · 1 year

Text

This isn't really a fully formed idea but imagine being part of the Guardians of the Galaxy and having like lightning powers.

And like, when you get angry or frustrated an electrical charge builds up. Sometimes it's just static arcing through your hair. Other times you accidentally discharge the electricity into a metal table or something. Or you'll purposely reach out an grab onto a metal pole to make sure you don't discharge the lighting into whatever person is pissing you off (Rocket)

One day you discharge the lightning into a pole when you're pissed at Rocket and it looks like a transformer exploded. Rocket cockily asks "Was that meant to be intimidating?" and you answer, "No, that was to prevent me from electrocuting you when I kick your furry raccoon ass." *cue Rocket lunging for your throat and the others needing to break up the fight*

Also I imagine the following exchanges would happen: "Damn it! They've fried [electrical device] again!" --- "Sorry!" Or, "If you don't stop arcing my ship-!" --- "It was an accident!"

Because problem is you can't always control it, and once the charge builds up either you discharge it intentionally somewhere where you won't fry the electrical (or fry any of your friends) or it will just happen on it's own the next time you touch something- anything. Like static electricity shocks- but worse because it could either be a tiny tingle (if you're mildly frustrated or annoyed) or you could electrocute whoever comes in your path (if you're royally pissed).

Mantis has actually been forbidden from trying to use her powers on you after one time she attempted to see if you were angry and got blasted across the room when the electricity discharged (She was fine though, but you still felt real bad)

Obviously those who have metal implants are less than thrilled if they accidentally brush into you and you have a charge built up. (Nebula could have killed you the first time it happens, and Rocket legitimately tries when it happens to him- also his tail was singed for a week)

Eventually someone gets you a rubber mat to stand on to mitigate this, especially when the charge becomes too great. It's the only thing that allows you to discharge the electricity without electrocuting your surroundings. (Your rubber soled boots apparently weren't enough and you often get sentenced to go stand on your mat until you "cool down" when you're frustrated.)

It's not all bad though. Sometimes you get to see Drax's more playful side because the tiny shocks barely faze him- in fact they kinda tickle he claims. So sometimes you'll even sneak up behind him and give him a little shock just to make him laugh and every once in awhile he'll even chase after you if he's in the mood to be playful. Doesn't happen often, but it's still fun when it does- though he always catches you and gives you a playful noogie in retaliation.

It's also a real asset to the team. Lighting powers are super helpful with taking down big bad guys. You may have also even been convinced at least once to jump-start Peter's ship too lol

#gotg #imagine #story ideas #lightning powers #x reader #rocket raccoon #nebula #drax the destroyer #peter quill

178 notes · View notes

pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

'til kingdom come - tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

the evolution of your relationship with peter parker.

a/n: my entry for the April TFC Writing Challenge! it was for a fic based on a song, (til kingdom come by coldplay - off the soundtrack!) I happened to watch The Amazing Spider-Man and No Way Home in the same weekend, and well, here we are. enjoy! 🤍 (just for the record - this would be no way home era tasm!peter parker, so at least a 5-6 years older than at the end of tasm 2!)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of car accidents, hospital stays, broken bones, fluff, not completely explicit but still explicit smut, this was INCREDIBLY self-indulgent and I regret nothing

✨@friskito-library for updates on new works!✨

You’re used to him disappearing, at this point.

To waking in the middle of the night to an empty half of the bed, the pillow still warm, the only sign that he was here at all your scattered clothes on the ground, the ghost of a kiss on your mouth, and the satisfied hum in your bloodstream. It’s routine, to a degree, and has you burying your face in his pillow, chasing whatever remnants you can until he comes back.

And he always comes back.

It started as some kind of strange, electric current that ran beneath your skin when this doe-eyed scrap of a man paused in the doorway of your hospital room. He heard you crying, walked in, concern in that chocolate-coloured gaze and asked you if you were alright. Given the circumstance, your leg casted six ways to Sunday and a painful crick in your neck, you blubbered out a no, but then he introduced himself - “Peter Parker, I’m…I’m Peter.” - as he handed you a tissue, and then all of a sudden he was sinking into the chair at your bedside, distracting you from the pain.

“You don’t even know me,” you protested, shaking your head.

He’d just lifted a shoulder, dragging the chair a little closer. He handed you another tissue, asked if you wanted some water. “If you told me your name, then I would.” His grin was infectious. “Besides, when I heard you crying, I couldn’t just keep walking.”

You talked for hours. Until the nurse came in and declared visiting hours over, your evening round of pain meds in your hand. Peter hovered as she pushed the syringe into your IV, and your vision swirled at the edges. Ah, morphine. “Say your goodbyes,” the nurse prompted, giving him a pointed glare. “Boyfriend can come back in the morning.”

“He’s not my…” you trailed off, the meds kicking in fast, making your words slur. Your hand flopped off the edge of the bed, and Peter could resist the urge to squeeze his fingers around yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he grinned, and you were out cold by the time he reached the door to your room.

You saw him the next day. And the next day. The day after that, and the day after that. He became a permanent fixture in the chair at your bedside, distracting you with anecdotes and cheesy jokes while your leg healed. He never showed up at the same time each day, but learned the visiting hours window quickly, and was good with his timing, always showing up within it. Your nurse still had to kick him out when he showed up later in the day, your visits often trailing well past the end of visiting hours, but she let him stay longer more than once.

He was there the day they discharged you, and helped you into the taxi to take you back to your apartment. He was patient, helping you up the steps and into the elevator, carrying your bags. At that point, you knew each other supremely well, and there was something so comforting about being around Peter, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You hungry?” he asked, setting you up on your couch, propping your leg up the way the nurse had instructed. “I’m no chef, but I make a mean boxed mac and cheese.”

“Everything in my fridge has probably gone bad,” you pouted, wincing as you adjusted slightly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been home.”

“Shit. Right.”

“Pizza?”

He grinned, nodding in agreement. “Pizza.”

And so you spent the day together on your couch, watching old movies and eating pizza. Peter made sure you had water close by, doled out the meds the hospital had given you, fluffed your pillows.

You forgot about the pain, and it wasn’t the drugs.

And before long, you were half asleep, as you were most nights when he visited you in the hospital. Except now, your head lolled on his shoulder, his t-shirt covered chest rising and falling beneath your hand. “I should go,” he mumbled into your hair. “Let you get some rest.”

“I can sleep here,” you mumbled back. “You can take my bed, if you want. You don’t have to go.” You hummed, your voice drenched with sleep, and then you were out like a light.

You woke some time later in your bed, your leg propped up on pillows, blankets pulled to your chin. There was a note on your nightstand, scrawled in a hasty hand.

Couldn’t leave you on the couch. Quite the first date, if you ask me. Hope you slept well - Peter x

Your eyes lingered on the words first date, and you tried to ignore the thump in your chest, but no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

About a month later, after your cast was removed, the first few rounds of physical therapy done, and you were feeling good.

Good enough to call Peter out.

You’d finally gone back to work, and perched at your desk, staring out the window on your lunch break, you dialed his number. You’d seen each other a few times since you’d been discharged, the odd cup of coffee when you were both free. But the note he’d left at your bedside still lingered in the back of your mind. You needed to know.

“Hello?” he answered with a grunt, and it sounded windy as hell wherever he was. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, spine prickling at the concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine, I’m just…”

“You’re what?” he questioned, almost heaving a breath on the other line.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He grunted, and there was a sound like he almost dropped the phone. “You’re what?”

“You called it a first date,” you spewed out, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “The day I came home from the hospital, when you stayed with me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did.” You could almost see the blush in his cheeks. “Is that okay with you?”

“It is,” you said slowly, ignoring the whip of wind on his end of the line. “But you realize that calling it a first date implies that there’s gonna be a second date.”

“Does it?”

“It does.”

“Then how about I pick you up at seven?”

“I wasn’t gonna do this,” you breathed out against his mouth. His hands - god, his hands - were on your hips, pulling you against him while his lips ghosted over yours. He’d spent the elevator ride mapping out the curve of your jaw, making your pulse jump beneath your skin as he roamed your neck. “I was gonna make you wait, I was gonna-”

“Shut up,” he mumbled back, and his hands jumped from your hips to your mouth, pulling you more firmly against him, his lips claiming yours. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He’d knocked on your door at almost half past seven, and as you yanked the door open, some chastising comment about him being late, he’d pushed a semi-crushed bouquet of flowers into your hands, leaning forward and pecking your cheek as he murmured, “You look nice.” And the comment died on your tongue.

Dinner was great. The conversation passed between you as easily as ever. You talked about work; your journalism gig was busy as ever, and when you told him you had Spider-Man to thank for your latest front page article. “Your pictures worked perfectly,” you said over the rim of your wine glass, not missing the way his ears turned red. “It was the perfect cover shot.”

“I’m glad.”

A few hours of conversation, a brief tussle over who would pay the bill - Peter won, claiming that it was your article that put his photo on the cover, so he owed you one - and you were walking back to your apartment. You had to stop a few times, rubbing at a rogue pain in your leg, and after the second time, Peter tugged on your hand until you were behind him, then gestured for you to hop up.

“Are you insane? Peter, I’m not light, you can’t-”

“I carried you to bed on our first date,” he quipped, dropping his hands and turning around. He watched the puzzle pieces fit together in your expression, the details sussing themselves out. It formed a little dip between your brows, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over it.

“You did, didn’t y-”

And then he kissed you. Right there on the street, lamplight pouring over the both of you, the slight pain in your leg forgotten.

You were speechless when he pulled back, and a moment later, you were on his back, the pair of you striding towards your apartment.

He’d kissed you again in the lobby as he set you back on your feet. Again as you waited for the elevator. When it was blessedly empty, he crowded you into the corner and pushed his face into your neck, teeth scraping your pulse. When your breath hitched, he did it again. Again and again and again.

Then, inside your apartment, he pushed you against the wall, quieting your words, drinking them down with his hands on your face. Your blood thumped in your ears, heat flaring between your legs as he pushed his tongue between your teeth.

Fuck waiting.

He was careful. Gentle, even, as he snaked his hands back down your body, glancing around the curve of your ass before he was gripping behind your knees, lifting you up and against him. You squeaked at his strength, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you down the hall to your bedroom. You undressed each other slowly, lips never far apart as clothes scattered across the floor.

Something like panic flared in your eyes when you saw the bruises along his ribs, the scratch at his collar, but he kissed you again, silencing your worries when he snuck his hand down your front, fingertips licking at your nerves, pulling sensations to the surface of your body you hadn’t felt in a while.

The carefulness continued, both of you bathed in the darkness, the only source of light the slit in your curtains. Peter moved differently in the dark, somehow anticipating every move you made, as you explored each other. He pulled noises from you you didn’t think yourself capable of, making you cum hard once on his tongue before he was crawling over you on the bed, the ends of his hair tickling your skin as he made his way up to your lips once more.

There was that moment of realness, that pause of trepidation that filled the space between you when you fished a condom out of your nightstand. He hissed when you moved your hand over him, following his movements, tracing his outlines.

When he pushed into you, your good leg wrapped around his hip, his hands braced around your head, his face buried in your collar, you lost what little breath you had left. He managed to find every last nerve you needed touched, and it wasn’t long before you were losing it again, your head thrown back on the pillow, fingers buried in his wayward hard.

You fell asleep shortly after, curled on your side, Peter glued to your back.

But when you woke up, he was gone.

Peter avoided you as long as he could.

He felt bad about it, obviously, the guilt tugging at his insides anytime he saw something that reminded him of you, caught a scent in the air that smelled suspiciously like your shampoo.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Truthfully, he could have stayed there in your bed all night, even if sleep evaded him. He would have watched you for hours, committed every inch of you to memory as you slept, maybe woke you up once or twice with his mouth or his hands or a combination, just to hear those sweet noises of yours again.

But then his senses had prickled, the scream of alarms outside reaching his ears. You stayed soundly asleep, your brow furrowing again. Despite everything in him yelling that he needed to go, Peter reached out, swiped his thumb across the dip in your skin yet again. It hadn’t disappeared when he’d kissed you hours ago, his movements taking you slightly by surprise, but then, your lashes fluttering with dreams, it smoothed out beneath his touch, and he smiled.

He didn’t want to leave.

He was falling for y-

The thought cut short. He shook his head, snuck out the fire escape and climbed to the roof of the building, pulling his gear out of his bag and disappearing across the city, his senses chasing the alarms.

The thought, and the feeling that accompanied it, wouldn’t leave him alone. Even when he went back home, Aunt May chiding him to eat him something when he appeared in the kitchen the next morning, his mind wandered back to you. You would have woken up alone, the only evidence he was there in the first place being the condom in your garbage can.

And the sucked bruise he’d left on the inside of your thigh.

He was a mix of longing and guilt, heat and despair. His body begged him to go back to you, to apologize as many times as it took for you to let him kiss you again. But his mind said no, told him it was too soon, that his past was too fresh.

But could you really put a timeline on grief?

He’d never forget Gwen, never forget the way he’d held her that night, the way life had so cruelly ripped her away from him. She was a part of him, forever. No amount of time would change that.

Aunt May’s voice echoed in his mind. What she’d said when he found her packing Uncle Ben’s things into boxes.

You’re throwing his stuff away?

No, god, no. I couldn’t do that. It’s part of me. I’m just finding a better place for it. I’m gonna take one last look, and I’m gonna put it where it belongs.

For years now, he wasn’t sure what to do with everything he felt for Gwen. It still loomed around his heart, clutching at him like a vise, sneaking up on him at the most inopportune of moments. The love he’d had for her, it had nowhere else to go, so it sat in him, brewing like oversteeped tea, making him feel sour for what he’d lost.

Finding a better place for it.

Put it where it belongs.

He intended to call you that day. He was running late for an appointment, rushing through the city streets, when he collided with someone, a cup of coffee falling to the sidewalk at his feet. He narrowly avoided the hot liquid, cursing under his breath, and then he caught the scent of your shampoo, forcing himself to ignore the way it twisted his gut.

But then he took a deeper breath, and realized it wasn’t just the smell of your hair.

It was you.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, shame and guilt washing his cheeks rosy. “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you said, rising to your feet, now-empty coffee cup in hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pulled you to the side, avoiding the coffee spill, dragging you into a doorway a few steps up from the sidewalk. You went willingly, but he could see the hesitation in your eyes, and he couldn’t blame you. Your eyes darted anywhere but his face, leaning back against the doorway, chewing at your lip.

“I screwed up,” he said bluntly, and that had your eyes zipping to his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak out on you, or avoid you, or any of it. I just…I’m sorry.”

Your brow lifted slowly. “You keep saying that.”

“Would you give me another chance?” he asked, the words still pouring out of him. “Please?”

Your chest lifted as you inhaled deeply. “I don’t hear from you for weeks, you come out of nowhere and spill my coffee, and you ask me for a third date?” Your tone was almost flat, but there was a quirk at the corner of your mouth you couldn’t hide.

Daringly, Peter took a step forward, crowding into your space. His hand hovered for a moment before he lifted it, curling his fingers and letting his knuckles trail down your cheek. Your eyes fluttered and he took another step.

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning down until his forehead was pressed to yours. His knuckles caressed your cheek again. “Please.”

Your next inhale was sharp and you tilted your head back, the tip of your nose moving along the curve of his. “I swear to god, Peter Parker, if you disappear on me again, I won’t-”

He was too busy kissing you to hear the end of the sentence.

Three days later, you had him in your bed again. It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

You made him wait this time. Sort of. It was your fourth date now, technically - you’d held out after the dinner he’d taken you to after your collison on th street - but the way he’d kissed you goodnight after this one had you saying fuck it to waiting yet again. There was something different about him, something less haunted in those dark eyes, something less hurried behind his movements.

Your kisses lingered in the elevator, the doorway, the hallway. You drank glasses of water in the kitchen, and Peter was distracted, his eyes catching on the drafts of your latest articles, spread out on the countertop. “No more Spider-Man?”

You lifted a shoulder. “No one’s seen him around in a while,” you answered, stepping close to him. “Plus, my favourite photographer disappeared on me.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, he won’t do that again, I’ve got it on good authority.”

Your smile echoed his. “Good.”

But then just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. “Listen,” he started, his brow going hard, rubbing his hand up the back of his neck. “I promised myself I’d be honest with you, and there’s…there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, tilting your head to the side as you set your glass down. “So tell me.”

He braced both hands on the sink, pressing his lips together for a long moment before his head turned in your direction. “It was me that saved you that night. The car accident, when you broke your leg.”

Your brows pulled down, instantly confused. “No, it wasn’t. Peter, we didn’t even know each other back then, it was-”

The cops had told you who it was, your nurse repeating the story with the tiniest bit of disdain. It was what had inspired your front page piece, when you finally went back to work. A thank you, of sorts. It was-

“Spider-Man,” Peter says, his jaw hard enough to cut glass. Your head is spinning. “That’s me. I’m Spider-Man.”

You started laughing. Giggling like mad, nearly bent in half. “What are you-”

Without a word, Peter stepped away from you, one hand held palm up, and jumped. The ceilings in your apartment were low, but it was still a good three feet above your head. His bare hand connected with the ceiling…

…and stuck.

He swung slightly, staring down at you, his lips still pressed together.

“You…saved me?” you murmured out, your voice dropping as he did, his feet back on your kitchen tile. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Your memories of the accident were hazy; you’d spun out, your car diving off the edge of the bridge and into the river below. You remember being filled with fear as soon as the car hit the water, but the impact knocked you out. You woke up in the hospital later on, and the cops filled you in, told you that Spider-Man had carried you into the emergency department.

Peter just nodded. His shoulder lifted. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“But then you…?” you trailed off, your brow scrunching again.

He closed the distance between you, his thumb smoothing between your brows, something of a habit of his that you were already growing used to. “Then I came to see you in the hospital. I had to. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You…You’re Spider-Man.”

He smiled as his hand moved around the outline of your face, his thumb now riding the curve of your lower lip. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“I’m having sex with Spider-Man?”

“I thought we were dating, too.”

You pushed at his chest, curling your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him close. “I’m having sex with Spider-Man.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and you kissed the grin off his mouth. He moved faster than your eyes could track, grabbing you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

You lay sprawled in your bed hours later, the sun long gone. Peter is stretched out, his arm tucked behind his head, while you are laid on his chest, your chin resting on your hand. You’d only stayed quiet when he’d had his mouth on yours, your questions deterred while he was busy having his fill of you, making those sweet noises echo off the walls of your bedroom. He wasn’t sated, not by a long shot, but he could see the questions on your face as you both came down, chests heaving.

“Go ahead,” he prompts you, tugging you close. “Ask me.”

He tells you everything. He fields every question, tells you as much truth as he could bear. He doesn’t hold anything back, his words spilling out faster with every question on your lips. Soon enough, you’re kissing the words out of each other’s mouths, tangling in the sheets once again.

And then you have a secret of your own to share.

“I’m in love with you.”

His heart stalls in his chest. Every feeling he’d battled over the last few months brought back to the surface. “I…” His eyes search yours, so full of emotion - so full of truth - he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

He’s told you about Gwen. You know what happened, you know the story. And you hadn’t pressed him for details, when he first brought it up. You were in the hospital still, laid out in that bed, him perched in the chair beside you. Your fingers had curled through his when he first brought it up, your eyes shining back at him. “It’s okay, Peter. I…I lost someone too. A long time ago. I get it.”

He wants to. He wants to tell you the same. He wants to admit it - to you, and to himself, finally.

But…

“I can’t,” he says, the words feeling like lead weights on his tongue. “I just-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you reply, an echo of what you’d said when he’d first told you. “I get it, I just-”

He grabs your forearm, pulling you further up his chest, until he can bury his hand in your hair, his kiss cutting off your sentence. “Can you trust that I want to? That I want to say it, I just…need time? I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me, but if you-”

It’s your turn to cut him off, your mouth lingering on his. “I can wait, Peter. I will wait.”

And so it’s continued. More dates, more nights spent in your apartment. Walks through Central Park, dinners at Aunt May’s. May is in love with you from your very first meeting, which Peter predicted, and it’s all too easy to fall into the patterns, to become an even steadier part of each other’s lives.

Every time he has to go, his senses pulling him to another corner of the city, he sees the concern in your eyes. “Be careful,” you beg him, kissing him soundly. “Come back to me.”

“Always will,” he grins, returning the kiss, ducking out the window.

And he always does.

But now, he’s been gone for hours. You’ve been checking the news like a crazy person, scrolling on your phone, refreshing your best sources every few minutes. But nothing. You even go so far as to call the hospitals, making sure he hasn’t turned up in an emergency department somewhere. You can’t tell May; you can’t worry her like this.

Hours turn into days. You deter May’s worried calls with a white lie that Peter has food poisoning and has been sleeping it off at your place. Almost two days, and your worry is at an all time high. This is different. Something feels different, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

All you can do is wait. You told him you would.

The weird tingling from Dr. Strange’s spell fades, the brightness clouding his vision fading away, and Peter finds himself standing in your living room. A glance at the kitchen clock tells him it’s very early, and as the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours starts to set in, already making his limbs heavy, he heads for your bedroom, stripping out of the suit as he goes.

By the time he steps through the doorway, he tosses the suit in the direction of your laundry bin. His mind is still spinning, churning with everything he’s witnessed in the last few days. He doesn’t really know how to make sense of it all, but there’s one thing he has to do.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out and covering your shoulder with his hand, shaking gently as he pulls the blankets back with his other hand.

You grumble for a moment, your eyes cracking open, but when you see it’s him, you surge upwards, throwing your arms around his neck. “Peter!”

“Hi, baby,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping the blanket and wrapping his arm around your waist, the other finding a home in your hair. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

“What happened?” you cry, pulling back, taking his face in your hands, your eyes instantly inspecting him. “You were gone for two whole days, I didn’t know what to-”

He kisses you hard, wrapping your hair around his knuckles. You return the affection, holding him as tightly as he’s holding you. “I wanna tell you what happened, but I don’t totally know myself? All I know is that I’m exhausted, and there’s something that I do have to tell you.”

You pull him down into bed, instantly fitting yourself against his side, pulling the blankets over you both. Puzzle pieces falling into place. Your brown furrows, and he moves his thumb over the dip. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”

He drags his knuckles down your cheek. “I’m in love with you, too.”

THE END.

#my fics #'til kingdom come #tfc writing challenge #tfc april challenge #peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker fic #tasm fic #andrew garfield peter parker #idk how else to tag this #tasm peter parker fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm peter parker smut #peter parker smut #Spotify

315 notes · View notes

pokemoncenter · 4 months

Note

I am in a nightmare situation called: I'm a water type trainer, but my eevee evolved into jolteon instead of vaporeon and is now terrorizing the rest of the team.

Is there any way to get jolteon to play in the water with the rest of the team without causing accidents, or would it be better to rehome it?

Unfortunately, there is not. A Jolteon's fur will build up electricity, regardless of the Jolteon's own will. This electricity is also vital to the Jolteon's health and grooming- The electricity repels dirt (to an extent) as well as fleas or other health risks.

A Jolteon may enjoy playing in the water, but it should not stay there for long. The water will dissipate its electricity, but this is a health risk if maintained for too long. If it would want to play in the water, I would generally recommend no more than about ten minutes at a time, and be sure its fur is fully spiky again before allowing it again.

A rehoming may not be necessary if you can manage to train it to keep it from discharging, but it is still something to consider if you will be spending too much time in the water.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #unreality #jolteon

16 notes · View notes

pokeroid-central · 3 months

Text

<<today's pokeroid is a GEN 1 drive System, named PKD-0297 Powyama (or was used to be called Iron hands in the past)!>>

Powyama is a heavy-power Class, Electric Quark type config GEN 1 Q.drive Pokeroid, that was designed for combat training, on-site emergency unit, and for heavy lifting. It has 2 Electro-magnetic powered hands that have a separate connection from the main body, that allows them to discharge electricity via its Electric type Q.drive. these hands have a recorded tonnage lifting weight of 33 tons (basically the average tanker truck when its loaded.) and are able to toss them with relative ease.

they're found in Paldea, hoenn ( mainly in cities mauville and at slateport), and even unova, all doing cargo lifting or aiding Medical/rescue Response teams incase of natural disasters or accidents. in paldea they regularly are seen in plains or mountains with hariyama and training with them.

PKD-0297 was created by Magnezone Labs at Paldea in 2065 to test the limits of how much a pokeroid can lift. as well as figuring out a way to introduce a versatile powerful pokeroid that can do various roles or jobs if it wanted. Oddly someone suggested the idea of basing the frame and body after Hariyama, and it turned out to be a major success with its capabilities reaching the specifications that Magnezone Labs desired.

#zetai speaks // zetai posts #pokeblog irl #rotumblr #future paradox pokemon #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pokeroid information tag// future paradox pokemon lore #paradox pokemon #pokemon lore expanded

9 notes · View notes

would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 11 months

Note

I'd like to request Elekid! He seems like quite a silly little goober

Unfortunately, an elekid may not be the best pet for most owners. That being said, should someone be well-prepared to handle their needs and understood the inherent risks of elekid care. This is a case where there is some discrepancy between the pokédex data and move data, so you can happily take their score with a grain of salt.

To start with, like you said, they are “silly little goobers”! They are just the right size and temperament for a pet, as they are known to do well under the care of humans. They do get a little rowdy when storms approach (Sword), but the sound of storms raise their spirits, even if they’re recordings (Silver, Ultra Sun). It’s important to keep in mind that elekids might not get along well with other electric-type pokémon, since they may think they are trying to hog electricity; wild elekids have been seen in tussles with togedemarus for this very reason (Moon).

Speaking of electricity: elekids use it for both food and self defense, both of which harm their pet-compatibility score. For one, elekids like to get their food from electrical outlets like they’re baby bottles (Sun). Over time, it’s going to become much more expensive to feed an elekid than many other kinds of pets that happily munch on store-bought food. Expect a much bigger power bill! Some of the electricity they absorb, both through outside sources like outlets and by twirling their arms (Gold), is stored between their horns (Crystal). Fortunately, elekids cannot yet store very much electricity, so the worst you’ll receive if you touched one who hasn’t safely discharged is a “shocking jolt” (Ultra Moon). At least, that’s what the pokédex says.

Elekid’s moves say otherwise. Elekids can use a variety of pretty concerning electric-type moves that can really pack a bad punch, like Thunder and Thunderbolt. Moves like Discharge and Thunderwave can paralyze targets, an effect that could easily exacerbate serious health concerns. Now, none of this means that elekids are particularly aggressive. What it does indicate, however, is that their capacity for electric charge is much higher than what the pokédex indicates. If when the pokédex warns about accidental shocks they are referring to complete paralysis or a huge bolt of lightning, it becomes a much more serious accident risk! So just how dangerous is it to have an elekid around? This contradiction frustratingly makes it really foggy.

Surely, however, so long as someone knows the risks and provide their buddy with plenty of safe ways to discharge harmlessly, an elekid could be a manageable pet. Feel free to disagree with the score here, as elekids are definitely nowhere near the most risky electric-type pokémon we’ve covered. Just maybe steer clear if you have any heart problems…

#pokémon #pokemon #elekid #pkmn irl #PR-D

26 notes · View notes

harrisonarchive · 1 year

Text

Pattie and George at the airport, May 1972. Photo by Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy Stock Photo.

The following pertains to 1972, but, as most are probably familiar with the car crash photos (via Google), those will not be included here. On February 28, 1972, George and Pattie were in a car accident as they drove from Henley-on-Thames to London: "[The accident occurred] on the M4 motorway near Maidenhead in Berkshire. Around midnight, during an electrical blackour in the area, their 6-litre Mercedes car approached a recently opened roundabout and collided with a lamppost on a centre barrier. (The bright fluorescent lighting on the road had been extinguished just 75 minutes before the accident occurred.) George, with blood streaming down his face, and Patti [sic - Pattie], are immediately transferred by ambulance to Maidenhead Hospital where they are treated for their head injuries in the casualty department. George is discharged but has to return later to the hospital to have his stitches removed. He returns to his Henley mansion while Patti [sic - Pattie] is taken to the nearby Nuffield Nursing Home in Fulmer, Slough, suffering from concussion. She is detained for observation and the following morning the hospital announces that she is 'quite comfortable.'" - The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001 (2001) "July 12 - George appears before the magistrates in Maidenhead, to explain his car crash on February 28. He tells the court: 'I hit a motorway interchange crash barrier because I did not see the warning sign.' George is later found guilty of careless driving and is fined ₤20. In addition, his license is endorsed for the second time, the first being pm Tuesday February 23, 1971. [That charge was for 'driving without reasonable consideration,' per the same book.]" - The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001 (2001)

You can read an article about the accident at Meet The Beatles For Real.

#George Harrison #Pattie Boyd #quote #quotes about George #quotes by George #Harrison cars #1972 #1971 #1970s #fits queue like a glove

39 notes · View notes

religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

Text

[ A team of amateur astronomers led by Marcel Drechsler, Xavier Strottner and Yann Sainty made a surprising discovery to win the overall prize in the 2023 Astronomy Photographer of the Year competition. "Andromeda, Unexpected" shows a huge plasma arc next to the Andromeda Galaxy, the closest large spiral galaxy to our Milky Way. ]

By: Jess Thomson

Published: Sep 15, 2023

The universe is filled to the brim with weird and wonderful sights, which we are often lucky enough to see thanks to the skills of astrophotographers.

This year's Astronomy Photographer of the Year competition, run by the Royal Observatory Greenwich in the U.K., showcases some of these unique spectacles, ranging from the roaring surface of our sun to our galactic neighbor Andromeda.

Giant Plasma Arc

The overall winning entry of the Astronomy Photographer of the Year 2023, taken by Marcel Drechsler, Xavier Strottner and Yann Sainty, shows the Andromeda galaxy next to an unexpected hazy blue cloud.

This cloud, never before seen, is thought to be an enormous arc of plasma stretching across the space between the Milky Way and our neighboring galaxy, situated 2.5 million light years away.

"What you see is [a] gigantic blue arc of ionised oxygen gas that has never been seen before," amateur astronomer and astrophotographer Drechsler explained in a statement.

This picture reveals how new findings are always being uncovered just under our noses, as we have been observing Andromeda for over 100 years. The reason that the arc—christened the Strottner-Drechsler-Sainty Object 1 (SDSO-1)—had not been spotted before is that it only emitted light in the Oxygen 3 (OIII) wavelength, and was very faint. OIII is a wavelength of light emitted by clouds of oxygen, which only comprise around 1 percent of gas in the universe: hydrogen, by contrast, makes up over 75 percent.

"It was an absolute accident," Drechsler said. "No one expected to see it and that's why it's called Andromeda, Unexpected, because we wanted to take a beautiful image of the Andromeda Galaxy. And we looked at the first data and we spotted this hazy smudge on the edge of the image."

[ Angel An won in the Skyscapes category for snapping the extremely rare phenomenon of Sprites—or red lightning—in which atmospheric luminescence appears like fireworks. "It creates an unsettling, alien image that can't help but draw your eye," said judge Ed Bloomer. ]

Red Sprite Lightning

The winner of the competition's "Skyscapes" category is a spectacular red sprite lightning display, photographed by Angel An.

"Sprites are large-scale, lightning-like discharges that happen above thunderstorms," Caitano L. da Silva, a physics professor at New Mexico Tech, previously told Newsweek.

"They happen in response to powerful cloud-to-ground (CG) flashes in the underlying thunderstorms. These CG flashes radiate a strong electric field that creates sprites at the edge of the lower ionosphere, aka the edge of space," da Silva said. "Sprites are brief, but are huge, 50 km [30 miles] tall by 50 km [30 miles] across, about the size of a small town."

This image was taken at Lake Puma Yumco, in Tibet, China.

"I was standing on the highest ridge of the Himalaya mountains, enjoying the dancing lightning sprites like gorgeous fireworks in the night sky," Angel said. They acted as fairy-like creatures, giving a transient firework show for the audience on Earth. Seeing this extremely rare phenomenon of atmospheric luminescence with such high intensity was something that I have never witnessed before."

[ Eduardo Schaberger Poupeau's photograph of the sun with a huge solar filament in the shape of a question mark won in the Our Sun category. "If you zoom into the surface of the Sun, the image has a paint-like quality—I feel like I can see the brush strokes," said judge Sheila Kanani. ]

Solar Tendrils

The winner of the "Our Sun" category is a close-up of the sun's surface taken by Eduardo Schaberger Poupeau, showing a long tendril of solar plasma.

"This is such a clever image as while we have seen the granulation and surface of the Sun before, I've never seen a filament shaped like a question mark before," Sheila Kanani, competition judge, said in a statement. "If you zoom into the surface of the Sun, the image has a paint-like quality—I feel like I can see the brush strokes. There's a sense of movement and you can almost see the question mark filament moving if you stare long enough."

[ Ethan Chappel won in the Our Moon category for capturing in detail the moon passing in front of Mars on December 8, 2022. Judge Steve Marsh described the occultation as "one of the last and greatest celestial events of 2022." ]

Mars and the Moon

The "Our Moon" category was won by an image of the occultation of Mars by the moon, which is when Mars passes behind the moon in our skies. This image shows Mars as it peeked out from behind our satellite on December 8, 2022, as taken by Ethan Chappel from Texas.

"To capture the level of detail on Mars that you see here takes a huge amount of skill and practice," Steve Marsh, a competition judge, said in the statement. "Combined with a crisp, clear, perfectly processed lunar limb, the result is like taking a gigantic telephoto lens into lunar orbit itself! This image is a technical marvel and a real treat to look at. Two factors which make it a worthy winner in this category."

[ Monika Deviat's image of an abstract aurora in the shape of a brushstroke topped the Aurorae category. "We are accustomed to seeing aurora from an earthly perspective with mountains, trees and humanmade structures framing the dancing lights. This photograph offers something different, showcasing the beauty of the aurora in isolation," said judge Katherine Gazzard. ]

Northern Lights

The winner of the "Aurorae" category was of a long flame-like wisp of aurora, taken by Monika Deviat in Finland. Auroras are caused by solar wind slamming into the Earth's atmosphere and magnetic field, causing gases to emit light in the form of the northern and southern lights.

"This photograph is an aurora abstract. I focused on this structure as it looked like a painter's brushstroke across a canvas. It's not the usual corona or big nightscape scene, but I thought it was a unique and beautiful shape with the feathered ends. I pointed the camera almost straight up to capture this formation," Deviat said in a statement.

New Nebula

The winner of the "Stars and Nebulae" category was an image of a galactic nebula around the YY Hya star, taken by Marcel Drechsler from Germany and Xavier Strottner from France over 360 hours of exposure across 100 nights.

This nebula was previously unknown to science.

"In its centre, a pair of stars surrounded by a common envelope was found. For the first time, amateurs and scientists have succeeded in providing evidence for a fully developed shell of a so-called 'common envelope system'," the photographers explain in a statement.

Several other images won their categories, while tens of others filled the longlist and shortlists, all revealing the beauty and mystery of the universe.

"Once again, entrants to the Astronomy Photographer of the Year competition have conspired to make things difficult for the judges, with a flood of high-quality images covering an amazing range of targets. The highlight of this year is perhaps a number of genuine discoveries being imaged, but we've had wonderful efforts in every category," Ed Bloomer, an astronomer at Royal Observatory Greenwich, said in a statement.

[ The Young Astronomy Photographer of the Year was awarded to two 14-year-old boys from China—Runwei Xu and Binyu Wang—who captured the vibrant colors of the Running Chicken Nebula. The giant cloud of dust and gas is nicknamed that because it looks like a giant chicken running across the sky, according to NASA. ]

[ Tom Williams topped the Planets, Comets & Asteroids category for photographing a unique view of Venus using infrared or ultraviolet false color. "Capturing these atmospheric details from the sunlit side of the planet when it is so far from Earth is a remarkable achievement," said judge László Francsics. ]

[ The Sh2-132 complex lies near the border of the Cepheus and Lacerta constellations and contains multiple deep sky structures. Aaron Wilhelm's winning photograph in the Best Newcomer category includes 70 hours of data and shows the rich interplay of all the gases. ]

[ John White claimed the Innovation prize for capturing the sound of a black hole at the center of the Perseus Galaxy using audio source material from NASA's Chandra Sonification Project and playing it through speakers with a petri dish attached to them. "Here, we are shown an interesting and playful visualisation of astronomical data that we could not 'see' by ourselves nor 'hear'. This is an image of a sound generated by a source that is invisible. Stark, beautiful, rather weird, and certainly innovative!" said judge Ed Bloomer. ]

[ Vikas Chander's photograph of star trails poking through the gray sky above a ship stranded in the treacherous, most northern part of Namibia's Atlantic-facing coast on August 25, 2008, prevailed in the People & Space category. ]

#astronomy #space #andromeda galaxy #religion is a mental illness

27 notes · View notes

dibidibifiction · 2 years

Text

Reasons to Live

Pairing: Kim Jonghyun x Reader

Category: romance

TRIGGER WARNING: depression, self-harm, death, foul language

Word count: 3.5k+

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist

...

TWO YEARS EARLIER

JONGHYUN

I hear the curtain metal rings slide harshly two opposite ways, shocking me awake.

“Oh, good. You were sleeping with your mouth open.”

“Great. Thanks, Mom,” I say sarcastically, rubbing my eyes.

“It’s already ten past five. I’m going home. Are you going to be okay?” my mom asks. She has taken care of me since day one I’ve been in this hospital. But now, since I’ve improved a lot, I insisted that she doesn’t have to visit every day.

“Yes, ma’am,” I roll my eyes jokingly.

“Aww, Jonghyun, you should find a woman who will take care of you from now on instead of bothering me,” she joins my kidding around.

After she pinches my cheeks and kisses me, she heads out the door. I sit up to reach for my phone on the side table. I got messages from the boys on our group chat.

14:36

Kim Kibum: Hey, Kim Jonghyun! When are you getting discharged? You’re delaying our project. Get your shit together, yeah? Love you

15:18

Jinki: They ran some tests on you a few days ago, right? How did they go?

15:24

Minho: Hope everything’s okay, Hyung. We’re just here waiting for you~

16:20

Taemin: Hyung, did you receive my fruit basket? Hope you like it.

Reading their messages instantly puts a smile on my face. I start typing to reply that everything’s good and that I’m getting out of here soon. Maybe next week at the very least.

I’ve been in this hospital for almost a month because of the car accident on my drive to my parents’ house after work. It was already dark and I was on the expressway when it started to rain so heavily that visibility was close to zero. Unexpectedly, a huge truck was running too fast in my direction. I managed to avoid it but then made me hit an electric post. Even though I was in a coma for three days, still, lucky for me, I had very little damage compared to others who have gotten into accidents like this.

I’ve never felt more alive. It may be hard to believe or even admit, but it might be a miracle, what happened to me. I was in such unbearable pain that I could already imagine my loved ones crying at my funeral.

I grab my little notebook and head up to the rooftop. I sit in my usual spot, which is at the very corner of the floor, overlooking the city. The city lights are like stars, the cars like elves, and the people like ants. It’s like a whole new weird world. I pull up my pen inserted at the last page I wrote on. Every time I have an idea for a song or a poem, I always write it here.

As I’m turning the pages to look back on what I’ve written, I catch a glimpse of someone’s legs way across this wide rooftop. It looks like a person lying on the floor.

“Hello?” I call out.

No response.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” My voice is a little louder, hoping to be heard.

Still nothing. Not even a subtle movement.

I drop everything and walk briskly over to check on them.

I gasp at a young girl in a hospital gown like mine, which means she must be a patient too. I draw closer to see that she’s unconscious. And pale.

My heart twists, I hurriedly kneel down to her side and lightly put my head on her chest to check her heartbeat.

Shit, I hear nothing. A quick shiver sends through me.

Her pulse. I quickly grab her hand to feel her wrist and hope to feel something.

Thank God. I exhale after what feels like twenty minutes. “Stay here. I’ll go get help.”

I run down four flights of stairs and realize how ridiculous that sounded since she couldn’t even hear me. I finally reach the nearest nurse’s station, catching my breath in order to get words out.

“Excuse me! There’s a girl up on the roof. She’s unconscious. Please help!”

A nurse nods once and quickly picks up the telephone. She recites something I didn’t quite understand. Two guys with a stretcher appear immediately and ask me to let lead the way.

. . .

It’s now hours later and I can’t stop thinking about her. My last sight of her keeps flashing before my eyes. She was pale and almost lifeless. She looks pretty with her dark neck-length hair, her thin bangs fly off her forehead because of the wind. I wonder what’s wrong with her. I hope she’s okay now. Turns out she is the one who stays in the room next to mine.

My door slowly opens for a nurse to take the tray of my already finished dinner. “Hey, um, do you know what happened to the girl next door?”

“Do you know her?” he asks me right back, his eyes dead.

“Actually, yeah, I went to college with her.” I lie.

“Oh, okay, then,” he sighs. “Well, she attempted to kill herself again.”

My jaws drop in shock. “What?” I stutter. My heart sinks even more at the word ‘again.’

“It’s the third time she’s done that during her stay here. I really hope she'll stop. I’m worried about her. She doesn’t even have a family for us to call for a situation like this. There’s only this one guy that comes over every now and then.” His eyes suddenly change and fill up with pity when he walks out the door.

---

PRESENT DAY

Y/N

I run to the bus stop to see Jonghyun already waiting for me by his car in hazard mode at the side of the road. Two weeks passed and this is the most I’ve seen him since he’s been busy with his comeback.

He spots me, then waves so happily that he’s almost jumping.

I land in his arms. “Jonghyun, I missed you,” I weep on his chest.

He pulls away to look at my face, cupping my cheeks. “How’s my girl?” his eyes twinkle. He lovingly leans in for a five-second kiss.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” I pout.

“No, I just got here,” he smiles. “Shall we?”

We both hop in his car and drive to Taemin’s house to have dinner with the boys. It was supposed to be a celebration for their comeback promotion weeks ago but it always fell through. Now that their promotion ended, they decided to have the gathering tonight. It was Minho and Kibum’s idea. Taemin offered his place to hold it.

They love a good party. Kibum wanted to invite as many people as they could but Minho wanted an intimate gathering with just close friends. The decision was made democratically but it was tied up. So all that long heated, turbulent discussion led us to the lowkey one with just close friends.

Jonghyun and I arrive with three handsome boys already in sight. Minho greets me with a warm hug and then leads me toward the kitchen where Jinki and Kibum are preparing food.

“Mmm, smells good over here. Where’s Taemin?” I ask no one in particular while I make my way to sit on a spinning stool by the island.

“He’s not here yet,” Kibum answers me while he holds a wooden spoon in front of me to let me taste his soondubu stew.

“What? He’s late even at his own party being held at his house. Great.” I say as I nod approvingly to Kibum, telling him that it’s delicious.

Jinki giggles. “That’s our youngest.”

I laugh, wiping off droplets of soup on my chin.

“Speak of the devil,” Kibum mutters as soon as I hear the front door beep.

I welcome Taemin with a giggle and my arms open for a hug. “Hey, what are you doing late at your own party?” I say, pulling away from his one-hand embrace.

“I came as fast as I could. You’re at my house. Stop complaining!” he laughs too.

. . .

It is now four hours later. Jonghyun and I are back in his car on our way to his apartment. I insisted he takes me home but he insisted harder for me to stay at his place since it’s closer.

“Plus, I missed you and I want to be with you a little longer,” he says, kissing my hand while his eyes are on the road.

“Really? Well...” I say, having something in mind. I start drawing closer to him and slide my palm on his lap up to his crotch. I lean in closer, humming into his ear.

He swallows. “Hey, I’m driving.”

I laugh at him. “Fine, I’ll wait until we get home.”

“Home?” He looks at me for a second, smiling. Then back on the road.

I pause, thinking of what I said. “What?”

“Did you just propose for us to live together?”

“Where’d that come from? You’re making stuff up again.” I playfully punch his arm.

He laughs out loud. It is so beautiful that it is the most musical sound I’ve ever heard.

After a few seconds of silence, he grabs my hand. I turn to him, waiting for him to say something. “So, do you want to move in?”

My mouth opens in quite a confusion but immediately curves into a huge smile. “Yeah, of course! I’d love that,” I screech. I lean into him for a kiss on his cheek, then rest my head on his shoulder while he pulls over into parking.

He turns to me, cupping my cheek. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

It makes me melt every time he says those words to me. My eyes fill in with tears. “I love you, too.”

---

TWO YEARS EARLIER

An overflowing burning sensation boils in my stomach, making me abruptly sit up and throw up on myself. I feel like my internal organs are about to come out of my mouth. I feel so heavy that I can't open my eyes. When I do, it’s brief and cloudy.

I suddenly hear the door open. Somebody walks into my room. A nurse perhaps. After I feel them carefully laid me back down, I catch a blurry figure of a man standing in my direction by the door outside my room. Before I can control my own consciousness, everything goes black again.

. . .

I slowly open my eyes with the sun blaring at me. It irritates the shit out of me. I get out of bed in an attempt to close my blinds but somebody stops me.

“Whoa, wait, be careful.” A guy in a hospital gown like mine suddenly appears before me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I glare at him.

He looks startled by my sudden rage. Despite this, he adjusts the wire connecting the needle inserted in my arm and the IV that’s hung next to my bed before I could mess it up.

“Let me get that for you,” he mutters before closing the blinds for me, leaving a bit of sunlight.

My face relaxes from frowning as I watch him walk back toward me. He sits on the chair next to my bed. I notice his attractive appearance. Dark hair that covers his entire forehead, a cute smile and a muscular body. I somehow get lost in his stare with those innocent and sparkly eyes, making the anger inside me fade. I feel some kind of warm relief.

“Uh, I’m Jonghyun. Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I have not heard about you since I found you on the roof a few days ago.”

I snap out, bringing back my scowl. “Why?”

He stutters. “Well-”

“We don’t even know each other.”

“No, but-”

“Do you like me? Is that why you saved me?” I’m getting more pissed with this stranger in my room. “Or are you just trying to be some kind of a hero that saves my life, then our story would turn into a cheesy romantic cliché?

Silence. He just stares at me. Probably awkward and shocked.

“Get out of here before I call security.”

Without saying anything else, he gets up from his seat and walks to the door. Looking flustered, he glances back at me before sliding it close behind him.

. . .

The moon has come out. It’s the only time of day that I appreciate the outside. I stand before the window, looking out, watching the cars and cabs go about down there. Thinking that there are millions of people existing, I question why the fuck I’m alone.

Literally.

Emotionally.

I fall on my butt, and for the first time in almost a year, I cry out loud. Extremely loud. Numbingly loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I pull my hair out, punch my head, slap my own face. Dig my nails into my neck, scratch down to my chest, and then my arms. I kick my legs hysterically. Repeatedly.

I hate being alive.

Eventually, my hearing went faint, abandoning its purpose. I feel someone grab me from behind, restraining me tightly.

“Let me go! Just please let me go. Please! I don’t want to be alive anymore.” I continue to scream furiously, trying to escape everything that tries to come at me.

But then, I see that it’s Minho who’s hugging me. I crash into his arms, shut the fuck up, and cry silently.

“Y/n, I’m here. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. Please, stop now,” he hushes me. I can finally hear his voice. He's the only one I can trust. His embrace is the only comforting thing to me.

I’m breathing heavily, trying to calm down. I watch a nurse approach with a syringe but Minho immediately shoves it away.

We just stayed like this. I have not idea how long but I don’t want it to end.

After some time, the noises in my head settle down. I can see clearly again.

---

PRESENT DAY

JONGHYUN

After my radio show, I come home to a beautiful lady waiting for me on the couch in the dressing gown I got her for Christmas last year, and a pair of thick-framed reading glasses with a book in hand.

I join her, laying my head between her breasts. “Hi, roomie.” I look up at her, then give her a wink. We talked about moving in together weeks ago and the day I’d been waiting for has finally come. She’s finally settled in with me. There couldn’t be any other day happier than this.

She hisses. “Shut up,” then goes back to reading her book, blocking my view of her pretty little face.

I hiss back. I then crawl out off the couch to pick her up bridal style, spinning her around.

Y/n shrieks, laughing. “Jonghyun, stop!”

So I do. “Oh, hey, we haven’t done that thing couples do once they move in.”

“I thought you were going to be too tired from work,” she says, her arms around my neck.

Her thinking about sex is heaven to me! But that’s not what I’m talking about. “No, stupid,” I chuckle at her while I put her down on her feet. “Come here.” I grab her hand for her to follow me out the front door.

“Wait, what? Where are we going? I’m not dressed,” she complains.

I close the door once we get out. Y/n is still confused about what we’re doing. I pick her up again, bridal style. “Now, enter the code.”

She doesn’t say anything else and does as I say.

Once she opens the door, “Welcome home!” I cheer.

She laughs out loud. “Oh, so now we’re officially living together. Amazing!” she says playfully.

But I don’t put her down just yet and head to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re doing that other thing that couples do when they move in together.”

“Yay!” she cheers, then kisses me deeply on the spot as I bring the action to our bedroom.

---

TWO YEARS EARLIER

There’s a knock on the door while I watch a movie on the flatscreen. I hit pause on the remote control.

“Hyung!” Minho calls out enthusiastically as he enters my room with bags of food in his hand.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t a guy visit his guy friend who is unlucky enough to get into an accident?” he jokes around, handing me my lunch.

“Thank you very much,” I bow to him.

Minho and I do some catching up, talking about his new drama series, and some other work stuff until our conversation finds itself about the girl staying next door.

“Then she just kicked me out of her room and threatened to call security on me. This is what she did to a person who saved her life?” I pout.

“Oh, my God. You’re the stalker she’s been talking about?”

“Stalker? Woah, that woman. After what I did for her?” My blood is boiling with intense irritation. But it subsides quickly once I realize something. “Wait, you know her?”

“Yeah, I actually spent the night in her room.”

I pause, staring at Minho in confusion. “You’re not… Nothing’s going on with you two, is there?

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I’ve known her since childhood. Our parents used to be close. That was when her mother was still alive and her dad hadn’t moved to Japan.”

“Wow, she has it tough, huh?” Just like that, irritation turns compassion.

“Yeah, but there’s more to that. Something that no one can explain, not even her herself.”

She’s been suicidal. Her depression has taken a lot from her. Hearing this makes me want to look after her more.

---

PRESENT DAY

Y/N

Since then, Jonghyun had been visiting me every evening to have dinner together even when I kept pushing him away, asking him to stop trying to save me.

Days after he got discharged, he came back, but I wasn’t in my room anymore. When he found out that I was transferred to the psychiatric ward, he came running to my door.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were being transferred?”

“Why would I?” I frowned.

“Right,” he laughed awkwardly.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Hey, what are you-”

He trailed off, his face turning red as he listened. It’s definitely Minho.

I suddenly snatched the phone from Jonghyun’s hand and walk near the door out of earshot. “Hey, where the hell are you?” I scolded Minho in a whisper. “You are not letting him-”

“It’s okay, Y/n. He means well. Maybe it’s time for you to let somebody else in for a change,” he laughed statically. “Love you.”

I sighed in irritation as I heard the dial tone. “Here.” I hand Jonghyun’s phone back to him while he just smiled at me goofily.

If it wasn’t for Minho, I never would’ve trusted anyone again. And because of Jonghyun, trusting and loving again was worth it.

By the time I got discharged from the ward, Jonghyun and I eventually started dating officially. He was always there for me. Offered to come with me to my therapist twice a week but I insisted that I could go by myself. I would meet the rest of the boys not long after we got together. Since then, I’ve got the best friends ever.

Sooner or later, I would get back to work in teaching kindergarten. I can’t imagine my career going any other way. I thank myself for being alive today. Some days, I’d join Jonghyun and the boys in organizing a charity mission. I’d teach kids in far provinces. I forgot how fulfilling working with children was when I was too busy being miserable.

I’ve never felt so alive. Not to mention grateful.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” my dad tells me with a big smile on his face.

“Thanks, Dad,” I smile back at my computer screen. “By the way, when are you coming? You should tell me ahead of time so I can prepare you something.”

Before I can hear his response, the front door of my apartment beeped. “Oh, I have to go. Jonghyun’s here.”

“I should really meet this Jonghyun. You’re talking about him a lot,” he says.

I shake my head and laugh at him before hanging up.

“Was that your dad?” Jonghyun asks as soon as he approaches and kisses me on the lips.

“Yeah.”

“Is he coming to visit?”

“He didn’t say,” I tell him, shutting down my laptop.

I stare at Jonghyun while he removes his shoes and walks towards me.

“What?” he asks, then kisses me on the forehead.

Trying not to tear up, I just shake my head and giggle at him. If it wasn’t for Jonghyun, my life would be so much different right now. Hell, I’d be dead. Because of him, I regained my bond with my dad.

Months ago, they had to go to Japan for work and he made me come with them so my father and I could finally talk. We had never seen eye to eye ever since Mom died. We had drifted apart. Now, we are closer than ever.

I’m not saying my depression is gone and my attacks are non-existent anymore. They still come every now and then, although not as bad as before. Jonghyun has always been so caring and understanding. I could cry just thinking about it. I got to be with the best person and have the best friends in the world.

#hi! it's been quite a while since i last posted a story on here #the last post i made was in June 2021 #anyway i'm always grateful for everyone who reads my work and likes them #i'm not promising anything but i'll try to post more stories for you #i hope you enjoy this Jonghyun x reader fiction #in this piece i expressed how much Jonghyun and the rest of SHINee means to me despite having to go through difficult times #happy reading!#shinee jonghyun #kim jonghyun #SHINee fanfiction #shinee fanfic #shinee x reader #jonghyun x reader

54 notes · View notes