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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1: Got the News Today, Doctor Said I Had to Stay

Collaboration with the fabulous @corroded-hellfire

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: When you're stuck in the hospital after the Hawkins "earthquake," you're surprised to find comfort in your new roommate, Eddie Munson. But when you find out that your injuries may compromise your dreams, the cheery façade threatens to come crashing down.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, controlled use of pain medication

WC: 3.9k

A/N: There will be six chapters to this series, one for each Jonas Brothers album. Try to spot the Easter eggs we've planted throughout!

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“I said, get this murderer out of my room!” A shrill voice from across the hall startles you from your sleep. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 7:05, but you can’t be sure if it’s morning or evening. The bright lights of Hawkins General Hospital have your internal clock all jumbled, and the constant barrage of nurses checking on you certainly doesn’t help.

“He should be locked up in prison or rotting on death row, not using precious resources that could be used on law-abiding citizens!” the shrieking woman continues, and you grimace as your head throbs. It seems like the pain never ceases; it only travels around your body. You’ve been here for two days, and you have more questions than answers.

There’s quiet for a few moments before the door to your room swings open and a second bed is being wheeled in, more IV lines hooked up to the poor patient than you’ve got going on. A nurse pulls the curtain separating the two sides of the room before you can get a look at whoever is lying in the bed.

“Well, that was a record,” a male voice says from the other side of the curtain. “How long before that one freaked out? Six minutes?”

No one answers the man, but you can hear nurses and orderlies setting up any equipment the patient would need.

“Don’t blame them,” a woman eventually mumbles, moving a machine over. “Kid killed a cheerleader and then fled the scene. I wouldn’t wanna bunk with him, either.”

A new pair of footsteps joins the crowded room, but this time it’s just your nurse, Mandy, coming in to check on you. She’s a pretty blonde woman, and though she’s usually smiling, her lips are puckered into a pout.

“I know this is far from ideal,” she says softly, checking your vitals and marking notes on her chart, “but we’ll have people in here making sure nothing happens, okay?”

“I think she’s pretty harmless, just loud,” you lightly joke, assuming that Mandy’s referring to the banshee across the hall. “Worst thing she’ll do is trigger a migraine.”

She shakes her head. “No, hon. I’m talking about your, uh, new roommate. Edward Munson.”

Well, that explains the whole murderer outburst. Still, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Eddie? I went to school with him. Guy couldn’t even be bothered to turn in his part of a group project; I highly doubt he could pull off a murder.” You’d think he would have had something done, considering it was his second time taking O’Donnell’s senior English class, but he’d shown up empty-handed, leaving his poor partner scrambling at the last minute.

Mandy nods, looking a little relieved herself. Maybe the thought of her having to be his nurse had been eating at her.

“Is he awake?” you ask. You can only assume he’s not, because the Eddie Munson you remembered would never have been quiet for this long.

“Sleeping,” Mandy says. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Um.” You wrinkle up your nose as you think, a sharp pain taking that moment to shoot down your leg. “When can I get some more pain medication? And food?”

Going through the papers in your chart, Mandy’s eyes scan lines of writing until she comes to the answer she needs. “You’ve got about forty-five minutes until I can give you your next dose. Luckily, dinner should be here quicker than that.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh, sinking back against your pillows.

After another round of pain meds, you’re able to drift off into a light sleep. You don’t have dreams on the medication; you’re simply floating in a haze of pinks and purples. Perhaps the dreamlessness is a good thing, considering the memories buried deep inside your unconscious mind. Your roommate is not so fortunate.

“No! Stop!” Eddie whimpers from the bed next to you, startling you from your sleep. You can see through the translucent curtain that he’s trying to thrash, but his injuries limit his movements. “Henderson, help me! Get me out of here!”

“Hey,” you whisper, but when he cries out again, you raise your voice slightly. “Eddie, wake up!”

“I won’t run away, didn’t run away, gotta save Chrissy,” he mumbles, still trapped in his nightmare. “Don’t let me die. Don’t wan’ die.” The urgency in his tone falters, and you realize that he’s crying.

“Eddie, you’re alive!” you call out to him, wishing you had the strength to walk to him and shake him awake. “You survived the earthquake, okay? But you gotta wake up!”

You watch as he jolts up involuntarily, groaning loudly as pain blooms throughout his torso. “Fuck,” he moans, clutching his ribs with one arm. “Wha—where am I? Oh, shit.” He lays back down as the realization sets in. He tries to choke back a sob, inadvertently sending himself into a coughing fit.

“Here,” you call out to him, grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table. “Can you open the curtain and reach?”

Eddie’s able to yank back the cloth fabric, but neither of you can move close enough for him to grasp onto the cup. The two of you are confined to hospital beds, arms outstretched pathetically just to pass a glass of water. The scene is so absurd that you have to laugh.

“You think—cough—this is—cough—funny?” Eddie asks, but his grin indicates that he also finds it amusing. “I survived the Up—earthquake, and—cough—now I’m gonna die from—cough—lack of water?”

“‘M sorry,” you manage between peals of laughter. “I’m just imagining how ridiculous we’d look to someone passing by.”

Eddie uses his last bit of strength to lunge, finally securing the cup and guzzling down the water. “Thanks, um…” He cranes his neck to see your name written on the whiteboard above your bed. “Oh, shit! Did we go to high school together?”

You nod. “We did. I graduated last year. We had Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class together.”

He wrinkles his nose at the mention of his least favorite teacher. “Ugh, yeah. I mean, not ugh that we had a class together; ugh at O’Donnell,” he blabbers. “And an extra ugh for me having to take that class again this year.”

“I thought a certain metalhead was missing from graduation,” you tease.

“Aw, you noticed?” Eddie’s smirk makes you laugh, the pain meds probably adding to your bubbly mood.

“Well, no one caused a commotion or flipped off old man Higgins, so yeah,” you say. “And there was a distinct lack of Black Sabbath blaring through the parking lot.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Gotta stay inspired, y’know? I don’t want to be one of those musicians who has someone write their shit for them. It makes it less real, or whatever.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You write all of Corroded Coffin’s music?” you ask incredulously.

Eddie nods. “Well, me and the rest of the guys—wait,” he pauses, eyes narrowing with suspicion, “you know the name of my band?”

“Mhm,” you pick at the itchy wool blanket draped over your legs. “You played at the middle school talent show. I was in seventh grade, so you must’ve been in eighth.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit; he just studies your face until a huge grin forms from cheek to cheek. “You’re the dancer!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You did that routine with the, um, the fancy shoes…”

“Pointe shoes,” you giggle. “Yeah, people weren’t too impressed. Apparently a twelve-year-old flailing on stage to Swan Lake was not the hit I’d thought it’s be.”

“Flailing?” Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, you were amazing. Don’t tell my friends, but I, uh, secretly wanted you to win.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you.” He matches your surprised tone, making you laugh again. “I thought it was totally badass, getting up there and doing ballet when all the other girls were jumping around to Blondie.”

“Don’t knock Debbie Harry,” you warn him teasingly, poking your forefinger in his direction. “She is an icon, and you will show her some respect.”

Eddie brings a hand to his heart. “My deepest apologies, to both you and Ms. Harry.” He flashes another sweet smile that could melt an iceberg. “But I really did want you to win. I’ve always rooted for the underdog.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” And you do. It’s nice to know that someone besides your parents believed in you.

“You, uh, you still dance?” Eddie asks abruptly.

“Yup,” you tell him, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s actually what I go to school for.”

“Good,” Eddie muses, averting his gaze from your side of the room. “You were too talented to give that up.”

You’re about to respond when there’s a knock on the door and you see an orderly walk in with a food tray. You drop your head back on your pillow, humming your happiness. The orderly sets your table within your reach before placing your tray on it. Before the man can even step out the door to grab Eddie’s food, you’re inhaling the soup you’ve been given. You’re distantly aware as Eddie gets his food, but you’re busy trying to figure out what type of soup it is. Is that potato in it?

A groan from the other side of the curtain has you looking in Eddie’s direction as you swallow a mouthful of soup.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, clearly lying.

“If we’re going to be roommates, we’re going to have to learn to be honest with one another.”

He huffs a laugh as he clangs his silverware together. “S’just that it’s gonna sound ridiculously stupid after what everyone has been through.”

“Humor me,” you say before ladling another spoonful of soup in your mouth.

“Fine,” Eddie says with a sigh. “I got green Jell-O. I hate that shit.”

Your eyes lock on your own Jell-O, bright red where it sits next to your piece of bread and cup of water. “How do you feel about red?”

“Much better,” Eddie says, tearing off a piece of his own bread and shoving it into his mouth.

“Wanna trade?” you offer.

“Y’don’t have to do that,” he says through his full mouth.

“Nah, come on,” you say. “Besides, green’s my favorite color.”

Eddie looks over at you, a skeptical look on his face as he chews. But you pick up your sealed cup of Jell-O and toss it over to him. Smiling, he throws the green in return, which you manage to catch.

“Thanks,” he says. You hum in acknowledgment as you tear off the foil lid.

There’s a beat of silence as you both eat what Hawkins General considers dessert. “I don’t know how you like the green one,” Eddie pipes up.

You shrug. “Jell-O is Jell-O,” you say nonchalantly, taking a big spoonful to emphasize your point.

“Nuh uh,” Eddie shakes his head, wincing at the twinge of pain it causes. “Cherry is the superior flavor, and everyone knows it.” He slurps it obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes.

“Geez, how does Chrissy put up with you?” Your tone is light and joking, so you’re taken aback by the darkness that takes over his face. “What?”

“How do you know about Chrissy?” he asks, voice barely audible.

Your face heats up; you’d forgotten that he didn’t know you’d heard him talking in his sleep. “Um, you said something about saving her when you were having that nightmare,” you admit, softening when you realize how vulnerable he is. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, she isn’t—wasn’t,” he amends. “She was the girl who died in my trailer. But I…I didn’t kill her, I swear.” Eddie looks over at you with misty eyes. “I can’t tell you what happened, but you have to believe me.”

You hold his gaze. “I believe you,” you murmur, quiet but assured.

The two of you go back to your food, plastic utensils scraping styrofoam bowls, until Eddie speaks up again. “You…you said I talked about Chrissy in my sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“What else did I say?” He looks ambivalent, like he’s unsure if he wants to know what his subconscious mind churned up.

You think back for a moment. “You asked someone for help, and then you said you didn’t want to, um…you didn’t want to die.” Your eyes flit over to his side of the room, but he’s practically boring a hole in his Jell-O cup with how intently he’s staring at it.

“Did you tell me to wake up? That I survived?” He finally allows himself to make eye contact with you, a trace of a smile dancing on his lips.

“Yeah—I can never remember if you’re supposed to let the nightmare end naturally, but you seemed really upset.” You gnaw on your lower lip anxiously.

Eddie rests his head on the pillow. “God, this is gonna sound corny as hell,” he starts, chuckling to himself, “but when you did that, it was like…I saw brightness, y’know? Not like, Eddie, come into the light,” he drops his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers, making you giggle, “but like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. Does that make sense?”

You nod, watching him exhale in relief.

“Guess you’re my sunshine then, huh?” He gives you a shy smile that you easily return, trying to push down the spark of electricity that seems to flow between you.

“Hey, how about this?” Eddie asks as he lands on a channel. Your eyes feel like they’re going to roll back in your head when you see a NASCAR race on tiny television.

“Absolutely not,” you answer.

“Aw, come on,” Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s an American pastime.”

“It’s one big left turn, is what it is,” you shout. “Toss me the remote?” Eddie chuckles and goes to throw it your way before you wince and add, “Watch the leg!”

He’s careful to avoid the area as he sends it your way, but his eyes drift down the blanket at the mention of your limb. “Is that why you’re in here?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to vacation here,” you reply, maintaining a deadpan expression.

“I hear the eleventh floor is just wonderful this time of year,” Eddie throws back, feigning a posh British accent. Terribly, you might add. “How bad is it?” he presses, motioning towards your leg.

“Dunno yet,” you answer honestly. “They took some x-rays and did a bunch of scans; now I’m just waiting for the doctor. They’re probably just overwhelmed.”

Eddie nods. “Nothing like a good, old-fashioned earthquake to shake things up.” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to react to his pun. Nothing. “Oh, c’mon! That was a good one!”

“You’re a comedic genius, Eddie Munson,” you joke, and he flips you off, nearly snagging the IV tube pinching his skin. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll probably be in a cast for six weeks, maybe have to do some physical therapy. This isn’t my first broken bone.”

“How do you do that?” Eddie muses.

“Do what?”

“Be so…positive,” he explains sheepishly. “I mean, you could be all bitter or anxious, but you’re calm, cool, and collected.” He fiddles with his fingers, frowning as though something is missing. “You really are a ray of sunshine, huh?”

“That’s me.” Truthfully, you’re worried that this could be more than just a run-of-the-mill break, but you don’t let that fear seep through. Instead, you aim the remote at the tiny TV in the corner of the room, settling on a soap opera rerun. It’s not what you’d usually watch, but you’re determined to get your revenge for his NASCAR escapades earlier.

To your chagrin, Eddie’s enthralled with the on-screen drama. “Oh, shit!” He rubs his hands together. “Is this the one where Shelby sleeps with Theo and his identical twin brother, Mark?” He chuckles at the bemused look on your face. “I got hooked on this show when I was home with the flu last year,” he confesses, though he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed.

“Eddie Munson, secret soap opera aficionado?” You waggle your eyebrows. “Scandalous. What will your fans think?”

“I am what I am, Sunshine.” He sits up a little straighter as a woman with big hair and even bigger breasts shoves ultrasound photos at an impossibly handsome man. “No fuckin’ way!” Eddie gasps. “She’s knocked up!”

“How did you not see that coming? It’s like the oldest trick in the book!” you ask incredulously. “Now she has to figure out which brother is the dad.”

Eddie’s beautiful brown eyes widen in shock. “But they’re identical! How’s she gonna do that?”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch and find out!” you chirp, giggling as he lets out an impatient sigh.

“Mr. Munson?” a nurse calls from the doorway, pushing an empty wheelchair. “We’re ready to run your tests. Just have to transfer you to the chair.” She pats the back of it, trying to keep some level of professionalism, but you can tell that she’s nervous being around an alleged murderer. She holds out her hand to help Eddie out of bed, and he shoots you a tight grin.

“I’m goin’ commando under here, Sunshine,” he warns you. “Look away. This show ain’t free.”

You cover your eyes dramatically as he plops into the chair, grunting and groaning the whole way down. “Is it safe?”

“You’re good,” Eddie reassures you as the nurse starts to wheel him out of the room. “Hey, let me know who the father is when I get back. My money’s on Theo.”

You narrow your eyes. “How much money?”

“Hmm,” Eddie taps his chin with his forefinger, pretending to be deep in thought. “It won’t be as much as usual, since I already bought a beach house and a Jaguar this year…$3,000 sound good?”

You give him a little salute, turning your attention back to the show. Settling in against the pillows, you get immersed in the show yourself, rooting for some characters, and wanting some to get stabbed in the backs like they deserve. Just as it comes back to Shelby’s storyline, your doctor walks in, a tight smile on his lips.

“What’s the news, Dr. Sanoj?”

“Well,” he says, looking down at the chart in his hands. “Like we suspected, it’s your femur. It was crushed pretty badly. It’s going to need a few pins in it, which will require some surgery.”

Letting a deep sigh fall from your lips, you nod your head. “Okay. Was kind of expecting that.”

“Now, we won’t know for sure until we get in there and take a look at things, but there’s a chance you’ll need a mobility aid to help you get around.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows pinching in confusion. “Like crutches?”

“Crutches are one type of aid, yes. But they range in variety. It’s things like wheelchairs, walkers, canes. But this will be a better discussion for once we see how the surgery turns out,” Dr. Sanoj says.

“Would I need to use one forever?” The sympathetic look that softens your doctor’s face lets you know he heard the trepidation in your voice. “Will I be able to dance again?”

“Like I said,” Dr. Sanoj says, “this discussion is best for once the surgery is done.”

You nod your head, knowing you probably won’t be able to get any further information on the subject out of him. “When will I have the surgery?”

“Scheduling is going to work that out and they should let you know by the end of the day. You can expect to be here the days following the surgery, but you shouldn’t be cooped up in these hospital walls for too much longer. You’ll get there, you’ll see. One day at a time.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

A funk has taken over you once Dr. Sanoj leaves the room. A mobility aid? Could you dance with one of those? Surgery and recovery you planned on, but the goal was always to get you back in the dance studio, and needing a device to help you simply get around was not what you had been expecting.

Allowing yourself to stew in your own self pity for a few moments, you realize you’ve missed the big reveal on which brother is the father of Shelby’s baby. You’ll have to tell Eddie that. Explain the doctor came in and you were talking to him. But, you think to yourself, Eddie doesn’t need to know just what rough shape your leg is in. He calls you his sunshine, doesn’t he? That would just bring some gray clouds that he did not need in his life. He’s got a lot going on and is going to need to keep his spirits up. That’ll be easier for you to do if you pretend like everything is rainbows and lollipops.

The door opens and Eddie is wheeled back inside, groaning in pain as he holds a hand over his ribs.

“Right here with the pain medicine,” Nurse Mandy says, stepping in behind him.

“Oh, please be mine,” Eddie says, watching the bundle in Mandy’s hands like a hawk. “Sorry roomie, I think I need it more than you do right now.”

“S’all yours,” you tell him.

Mandy sets a bag of IV fluid up as the transporter helps Eddie get back in bed. His face is pale, and you’ve learned that comes when agonizing pain is ripping through you.

“Okay, Mr. Munson. Should start hitting you at any minute now,” Mandy says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, letting his eyes drift closed. He stays that way after both the nurse and the transporter leave the room. You think he’s fallen asleep until he speaks again. “So, which brother was it?”

“Ah, sorry, Eddie,” you say. “Doc came in and I was talking with him, so I think I missed it.”

“Good news?” Eddie’s opened his eyes and turns his head to look at you, genuine concern written across his face.

For a moment, you contemplate spilling everything: the surgery, the mobility aid, the possibility of never dancing again. But you shove it deep down, determined to keep your cheery disposition that he so desperately needs. “Y-Yeah, everything’s looking ship-shape.” Ship-shape? You’re a terrible liar, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Thas’ good shit.” From the dreamy quality his voice is taking in, you can tell the pain meds are starting to take effect.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask.

“Sore as hell from how they had to maneuver me for x-rays. But I feel the medicine kicking in.” A smile comes to his face and you can tell the giddiness of the high is hitting him. “Time for me to fly.”

You giggle and turn your attention back to the television. A game show is on now, so you snuggle in to play along. The contestant is getting an obvious puzzle wrong and it makes you roll your eyes. You’re about to say something to Eddie about it, but then his soft snores reach your ears. Turning your head to look at him, you notice how peaceful he looks. All you can do is pray he stays that way and isn’t plagued by any other nightmares.

Sunshine, he calls you. It’s the nicest nickname you’ve ever been given. You’re hoping you can keep that bright and optimistic attitude up enough to help him out when the clouds come rolling in. It’s not a one-way street, though. Eddie is going to be your light, your breath of fresh air, your optimism. You just don’t know it yet.

#albl #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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jenomark · 4 years ago

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➔Pairing: Jeno x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (with a plot!) ➔Warnings: Sexual tension & Penetration. ➔Word count: 2,470

➔Summary: You haven't called your ex-boyfriend in two years, but he's the first person you call when you're in a bit of trouble. He comes when you call, thus sparking a night neither of you will be able to move on from.

Anon request #1: can I request an ex to lovers scenario with jeno where his ex and him decided to stay as friends and since always they had a huge tension and after 2 years they got really flirty or smth, thanks💖

Anon request #2: hi, I want to request a drabble about sex with jeno, thank you!!

Jeno looked at his buzzing cell phone and blinked lazily. He hadn't seen your number come up since you broke up with him, which had to have been two years ago. He had managed to stay friends with you over those two years, but you were never friendly enough to call each other at three in the morning. Still, Jeno picked up the call to hear static at the other end of the line, wondering if he would still feel the same when he heard the sound of your voice.

"Hello?"

There was more static. When he thought you might have pocket dialed him, and he was getting ready to hang up, he heard your voice. Time seemed to slow down in those moments.

"Jeno?" you said. "I don't have good service out here. I'm scared, Jeno."

Feeling his heart race, Jeno asked, "Where are you? What is going on?"

"Off the highway. My car broke down." you said. "Can you come get me?"

Jeno sprang out of bed immediately, tearing the covers from his naked body. He got dressed while keeping you on the phone with him, so that you weren't scared. He drove to where you were, pulling over to the side of the road. When you saw him, you got out of your car and stood awkwardly, wringing your hands together.

"I know I shouldn't have called you first," you started to say. "But i-"

"-It's okay." he said, meaning it.

Jeno was bone tired, but being in front of you made him more alert. Though you broke his heart, he was still so careful with yours. Jeno came over to your car to look at it, pulling up the hood like he had any idea what he was truly doing. You watched his muscles as he fiddled around with stuff, your eyes slightly glazing over.

"I don't know much about cars." he said, shutting the hood. "I'll call someone to come pick this up. Until then, I will drive you back home. It's too late for us to be waiting out here."

You nodded and followed him back to his car. He made the call quickly before setting his cell phone down in the cup holder. There was so much gratitude for him in the silence, but you couldn't seem to get any of your thoughts out. You were still thinking about his muscles, about how handsome he looked at nearly four in the morning.

"It's done," he said. "They'll pick your car up soon. You can figure out what to do about it tomorrow."

"Thank you." you said.

It had started to rain. A few droplets hit the front of his windshield before a whole sheet of rain came down, hitting the top of his roof as hard as rocks. He could barely see out of the windshield, so he decided to wait for the storm to pass. It was awkward inside of the car, and too quiet.

You cleared your throat. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Jeno looked over at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Seeing his expression, you realized what an invasive question it was. You tried backtracking, but you were sputtering your words enough to make Jeno laugh.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not seeing anyone."

You didn't know what you were thinking. Maybe you were too tired to think straight. Maybe it was the sound of the rain. Maybe it was the way he looked at you in the darkness of the car. You reached over and touched the hand that rested on the steering wheel until he looked you in your eyes.

"You got Lasik eye surgery." you said. "You used to look so cute in your glasses."

For Jeno, it was easy. There has always been sexual tension between you. Touching the top of your hand felt natural. He leaned over, grabbed your chin and kissed you. You made out, completely unaware that the rain had stopped. When everything slowed down, you were straddling Jeno in his seat, and his hands were on your ass. You parted, your eyes staying on his lips until he spoke.

"I should get you home." he said.

"You should come home with me." you said, surprising yourself more than him.

Jeno laughed and eased your body off of his. "I want that more than you know, but I don't think it's a good idea. I could never control myself around you. "

Jeno drove you home, the only sound in the car coming from the windshield wipers noisily wiping away droplets of rain. You followed the blades swiping left to right, your brain in a funk.

Breaking up with Jeno was one of your top ten mistakes. You weren't as wise as you are now. You didn't know what you had when you let it go. You had carried his hurt with you everywhere you went for two years. Though you remained as friends, there was always weird tension whenever you met up with each other. His group of friends didn't trust you, and your group of friends always took your side, even though each of them was in love with Jeno. Your shared friends didn't get into the middle of it, and you and Jeno spent 24 months skating around unspoken apologies.

"We never had a chance to talk alone." you said, finally getting the bravery to speak out. “There are a lot of things left unsaid.”

Jeno pulled up in front of your house. You weren't surprised he knew where you had moved to, because you had been dropping hints for months. You had always hoped Jeno would roll up one day and give you another chance you didn't quite think you deserved.

"We don't have to talk about it now. "It's early in the morning and we both could use some sleep," he said.

You hummed in agreement, looking out of the rain soaked window at your lonely, dark house. You looked up at the sky and wanted the sun to come up, to cast a pretty glow over you and soften the experience of sitting with your ex in his car.

"You're like my knight in shining armor." you said. "I owe you a lot."

You had your hand on the door handle. You wanted to lean over and kiss him the way he kissed you, but your bravery only went so far. Jeno seemed to be thinking a similar thing. His eyes fell to your lips. Before either of you could act, he unlocked his doors.

"Get some sleep." he said, rubbing his arms as if he were cold. "I'll check in tomorrow to see how you're doing. I don't want them overcharging you for their services. If you want, I can go with you to make sure they don't."

"Okay." was all you could say. You got out of the car, tapped on his window as a way to say thank you and walked up the pathway to your house. You touched your fingers to your lips and remembered the way he tasted.

Jeno stayed there idling while you put your lock into the door and turned the handle. Once you were safely inside, you didn't wait to see if he had driven away.

You walked into your home, not caring enough to flick lights on. You weren’t as tired as before. Making out with Jeno had felt like an IV of caffeine had slipped into your bloodstream. Your body felt swollen in places, your heart most of all. You walked through the rooms, taking off your bra underneath your t-shirt and flinging it across the back of your couch. Your foot was on the first step of your stairs when you heard a soft rapping sound on your front door. Backtracking, you walked back to the door and flung it open, crossing one of your arms against your chest to hide yourself.

“Hi,” Jeno said.

He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes darting frantically around your face. You had no time to greet him back before he stepped over the threshold and took your lips against his. You moved your arm and let him smash his hard chest against your free breasts. Your nipples were aroused and you knew he could feel them against the thin material of his t-shirt. You threw your arms around his neck and clung to him, savoring the taste and feel of him.

“I know I said no but....” he said, between kisses. “It was very hard to watch you walk away from me just now.”

You kissed him and bit down on his lip, pulling it lightly with your teeth before letting go. “Take me to bed.” you said. “Or the floor...the couch..i don’t care, Jeno, just take me.”

Jeno picked you up into his arms. He shut your front door and locked it behind him without ever taking himself away from your lips. He was strong enough to carry you upstairs without struggling, which made you even more aroused than you already felt.

“To the left.” you whispered against his mouth.

It was strange having him in your new bedroom, yet, there was something familiar about seeing him amongst your possessions. He felt like he belonged. Jeno set you down on your bed and let out a groan of approval when you wouldn’t let go of his neck. You tried to trap him with your thighs, but he had pinned your arms above your head, which made you release him. Your body relaxed, half hanging off of your bed. Your stomach was bare where your shirt had ridden up, so Jeno leaned down to kiss it. He pushed it all the way up to expose your bare breasts and take them in your mouth one at a time. He was really going at it, feeling them and teasing them, when you put a stop to things and slipped out from underneath him.

“Can you give me a moment?” you asked, your face growing hot. “ I just need a second.”

Jeno sighed but agreed. He sat on the edge of your bed and watched you slink into your bathroom. You tried your best to freshen up, to get the 5 a.m stink off of you. Your mind was frantic and thinking of a million things that could go wrong. You realized that you were extremely nervous. The door to the bathroom slowly opened to reveal Jeno standing there with his hands in his pockets, and all of those thoughts faded like ghosts into the foreground.

“What are you doing?” he asked, crooking his finger. “Get over here.”

It was much easier than you thought it would be. It was like two friends getting together after a long time, friends that knew each other’s bodies inside and out. You tore off your shirt, not caring whether your armpits were sweating anymore. He met your breasts and moaned in appreciation as his mouth got back to business. On the bed, he rolled on top of you, laying kisses all down your body. You lifted your head up and let him nip at your neck. You took your hands and placed them underneath his t-shirt to touch his abs.

“Well,” you breathed. “This has changed.”

Jeno could only laugh. He took off his shirt and let you admire his body, which had definitely changed since the last time you took him to bed. You touched the hardness of his chest, down to the smoothness of tummy leading down to his cock, which you remembered in every detail. You sidled underneath him and let your tongue taste the salt on his skin. You bit down on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

Your body had changed, too. You were softer in a lot of places, which Jeno loved. He wanted to touch and savor all of you. There was an overeagerness to him that stifled any remaining awkwardness there could have been. He bit down on your shoulder in response, scraping his teeth against your skin before he met your mouth. His tongue wound its way around yours for a few seconds, just relishing the feeling of them together.

Once all the clothes were removed, a desperation started to change the atmosphere. Things were no longer silly. He didn’t laugh. You didn’t go anywhere but in his arms. The rain on the window was quiet but present. The sun was seeping into your skin where you lay underneath him. There was a moment where he grabbed your face between his hands and held you there, his thumb brushing across your cheek. He kissed you sweetly, his lips full.

When Jeno entered you, it was like all the memories of your sex life came flooding back. You would always miss him inside of you when he wasn’t there, miss the full feeling that came when he penetrated you for the very first time. You had missed the sounds his throat made whenever he concentrated on pleasuring you. You hadn’t forgotten how skilled his fingers were at fondling you, or how each stroke never failed to make you lose all thought. He fucked your body like it meant something in the morning glow. He didn’t slow down for anything, not even when he felt your fingernails digging into his back.

He had let you take control. You moved on top of him and sank down onto his cock, holding onto his arms as you did. With your hands pressed against his chest, you moved. You rode Jeno wildly, bucking against his pelvis with abandon. He tugged on your hair when you tilted your chin towards the ceiling. He gripped your waist. He smacked your ass. He did everything in his power to bring you back to him every time you slipped away. Your eyes eventually found him again. You moved lower and rode him, your sweaty body gliding against his. He held you, his thick arm around your neck as he felt your walls contract, as you came around his cock.

You wanted to cry out, wanted to bring the room down around you. You kept fucking him, wanting to coax the cum from his cock, to feel the warmth moving downwards with gravity. You wanted to keep it going forever, but it wasn’t meant to be. It had been a long time since you two had made love, and your bodies were too excited to hold back.

You knew there would be a talk somewhere in the future, when he was ready. As Jeno screwed up his face in orgasm, as you felt the warmth of his cum, you were a little too happy to prolong that conversation. You wanted him in your life for a long time but, for now, you would take him any way you could get him.

#jeno #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno smut #nct smut #lee jeno smut #jeno fanfic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #lee jeno fanfic #hope you don't mind me combining these #i liked where the first one was going #and i was not originally going to add sex but I know some people out there would love it #so it felt right to answer both

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boltedfruit · 2 years ago

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Today was my one month hysterectomy post op! If you are also ftm and wanting to know what the process was like, this is that post.

So for context: I'm 28, came out at 26 which is also when I started hormones. The month I turned 27 I got my top surgery (double incision). This is only relevant because I compare the two experiences. (Top surgery was worse recovery-wise for me.) I also live in California and went through insurance.

Pre op: So pre op was normal. They took my blood, added anti-nausea medicine to my IV antibiotic drip, because I specifically asked for it. When I got my top surgery I threw up once about an hour after I got home, which I was very nauseous for. Any type of abdominal surgery is it only made worse when your body is squishing itself together to throw up otl. But thankfully I had zero nausea or vomiting this time post op. So if you're like me, ask for anti-nausea meds before surgery. They also shave basically from your chest down to your suprapubic area.

What I had: I had a laparoscopic robotic total hysterectomy, where they removed my uterus, cervix, fallopian tubes, and my left ovary. I kept my right one for future bone health and any future egg harvesting if I ever want to do reverse IVF. I also don't have a family history of ovarian cancer, so that was a big deciding factor for me too.

Right after surgery: Where my top surgery took 6 hours and was generally a flippant experience by the staff, this surgery took around 2.5 hours and the staff was great. The only thing I didn't like was a nurse assumed I was diabetic for some reason and put me on a no food diet outside of jello. I stayed overnight and nobody would listen to me insisting I wasn't diabetic and wouldn't get clearance from the doctor until over 24 hours since I last ate. My doctor told me the next morning I should have had a no restriction diet, and eating normally after a robotic hysterectomy was totally normal and encouraged.

Post op bleeding and tw: I've seen other stories and vlogs of people who have had the same procedure done and explain how the nurses didn't help them move around or go to the bathroom, or in one really shocking case let the patient walk a trail of blood from the cervical sutures from his bed to the bathroom. I was worried about that, but after my experience I wonder if that wasn't just a new or uncaring nurse or half assed suture job. My experience was I hardly bled the entire post op. I had very heavy clotting periods before I started hrt, and had one mild instance where basically a pad was used. But all other bleeding was just light spotting. I also had healthy organs and have never been pregnant so that is a factor I'm assuming as well. But if you are worried, ask your surgeon what type of suture/stitch they plan on using and how that affects any expected bleeding. Even ask them to show you how they do it. You should not be pouring blood after surgery.

I was discharged around noon the day after surgery and I had to walk up stairs to get to my apartment. That was fine, this surgery didn't leave me off my feet like my top surgery had.

At home recovery went well. I propped myself up in bed and sleeping was slightly awkward but nowhere near as awkward as sleeping with top surgery drains was. The first five or six days post op it was hard to stand all the way straightened up, there was an internal pull, which was mainly on my left side, so I'm assuming for me it was because that side had more things removed. Laying on either side was hard until about a week and a half post op. At a day shy of two weeks post op I felt completely normal again. I also was cleared to take baths again.

I had four incisions, one of each side of my belly button and one in my belly button. But I still don't know where the fourth is, and the nurses at the hospital couldn't find it either?? So we were all like idk man. Honestly the one in the belly button is the hardest because (for me at least) with weight and a roll you just have a hard time keeping the area dry after an incision is left there. I'm 5’4 and weight 198lbs, and the way I hold weight it's not like I have a lot of folds of skin, but it was an awkward spot. My surgeon closed the incisions with internal stitches and skin glue. And around a week that glue came off, so to stop seepage I just used medical tape and a square of gauze over my belly button and changed it frequently throughout the day. It's nowhere near as bad as dealing with top surgery drains though.

At a month post op I've been cleared for everything except like power lifting until six weeks, which I don't do anyway. Compared to top surgery, having a total hysterectomy robotically was a breeze. I wasn't even told to limit sodium intake, so idk if that's a thing across the board when it comes to hysterectomies or just in my case. But nothing beats sausage after having like half a pound of jello cups.

My next step is meta, which I found out I got approved for, so I hope to get that done soon.

If anyone has questions about a part of the process, even if it's really TMI or not, I'm happy to answer!

#ftm hysterectomy #hysterectomy #laparoscopic hysterectomy #transgender #transgender hysterectomy

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jadelynlace · 4 years ago

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Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?”

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him.

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper.

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did.

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy.

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day.

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole.

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill.

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair.

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

Ink Drinker Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

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hoodieofholland · 4 years ago

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Okay, what Im requesting really angst so I get if you don’t want write,

boyfriend!Tom starting to feel things to his co-star while y/n is waiting for him to come back to her and when he coms back he tells her the turth. She runs pf with tears and have a serious car crash and Tom regrets what he did and blames himself for her injures.

(Oh god I love jerk Tom so much)

(love your writings <3)

a/n: took a little while to write this, but it's done, finally! Hahah. Feels like ive been writing a lot of angst lately lol, what you guys think? Thanks anon for requesting, hope you like it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, heartbreak, mentions of blood, car accident, language.

Broken. That’s how you felt, staring into those brown chocolate eyes, full of regret, guilt and fear. Your heart clenches inside of your chest, desperately trying to find some sort of comfort while your heartbeat only seems to increase each second you pass looking at him.

“What?”, your voice is cracked. Your eyes are glistening with the threatening tears.

You still can hear the reverberation of his words inside of your head: I think I’m having feelings for someone else. Someone else. His co-star. Tom had just admitted to you he was having feelings for his co-star.

You and Tom have been in a relationship long enough to know this would inevitably break your heart into pieces. Those words didn’t even make sense to you. Though both of you were feeling a little off lately, like your relationship wasn’t the same anymore, you were sure this was just a phase, you were willing to bring you two back on track. But right now you could see you were the only one with hope and this made you feel ashamed of just standing in front of Tom, feeling extremely exposed and weak.

He sniffles, averting his gaze to the ground. “I- I’m so sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to blurt it like that, it’s just-“

You blink your tears away, your whole body shaking slightly, not under your control anymore. Your hands close into fists as you try to control your emotions and the unbearable pressure on your chest. “What is it, Tom? What is happening? I- I can’t understand, I thought-“, you didn’t even know what to say. You bite your lips to prevent you from crying. “Since... since when, Tom?”

He breathed out, cheeks buffing as he runs his hands through his curls. “I don’t know. Honestly”, his voice was full of sadness, “I just- I realized it today”.

You feel your knees getting weaker. “Did you-“, you gulp, too afraid to ask, “Did you cheat on me, Tom? Did you do something with her? Did she touch you? Did you touch her?”

Though you knew pretty well none of that was important anymore, that betraying your feeling while still together was equally as bad as kissing or sleeping with someone else, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that physical contact would make the whole thing worse. You couldn’t stand the thought of being there, waiting for Tom to come home and maybe have a nice dinner so you could enjoy time together and make things work out again, while he was out there fucking another girl.

But he shook his head no, and you released a sigh in relief. He had a frown between his brows, genuinely hurt by the path of that conversation. “I’d never, y/n”, he rubbed his eyes. “I know this doesn’t make me a better of a man, but I- I swear to God I just realized it now. It was today, when we were filming and... and I couldn’t go another minute without telling you this. This is so fucked up and I am so fucking sorry, but I thought that it would be better for both of us if I just told you this and-“

A sob coming from your parted lips breaks his attempt to explain, watching you fall apart for something he has done. Tom didn't stop loving you. It felt different, but he still cared about your feelings and how you'd deal with the fact that your relationship wasn't working anymore. He felt guilty and even disgusted at himself for breaking your heart. But that didn't stop him neither.

"Can we talk about this, darling?", he mumbles, trying to reach your hand, but you step back, body trembling as you fight back the need of giving in to his embrace.

"Don't. Don't call that", you cry out, letting the tears fall freely on your cheeks now. "Fuck, Tom, what did I do? I didn't deserve this. I- I was by your side, I never left. I knew this day would come, but I was trying my best..."

"It's not like that, y/n", he mutters, feeling defeated. He didn't intend to take it this way. He never wanted to make you cry. He promised he would never make you cry. "I've tried. And I love you, I love you so fucking much, but I... I don't know what happened".

You wipes the tears away furiously, too frustrated to care about the look on your face right now. You just didn't want to look fragile, or broken, or weak - all of the things you actually were feeling like.

You look at him clearer, the man you so desperately love, the man you most felt affection to. Tom was everything you always dreamt of. If there was a man you could say you trusted in, it was Tom. And he betrayed your feelings.

It wasn't his fault and you had to admit that. He fell for another woman. He just didn't feel the same about you anymore, and though you were suffering, you couldn't blame it on him. It was just human nature. Life itself, playing tricks on you, when you so certainly believed to have found the love of your life.

"I know", you say through hoarse voice. "I can't blame it on you. It's not your fault. I just- I thought we could work this out, y'know? Thought you wanted this with me". You give him a sad smile and couldn't help but let more tears roll down your face. You felt pathetic and you were sure you looked just like that.

Tom swallows the thick knot on his throat, chest aching at the sign of you. He wanted to say something, but couldn't think about anything good enough.

Ashamed of your position, you nod a couple of times for nothing in special and make your way to the front door.

"Wait! Y/n, what are you- where are you going?", Tom shouted, eyes wide as he tried to take your arm. You pulled it from his reach and raised your hand to prevent him from coming any closer.

"I'm leaving. What else do you expect me to do, Tom?" With bloodshot eyes, you stare at him, lips pressed tightly in a thin line, holding everything in you to not make even more a fool of yourself.

"I don't know", he almost whispers.

You can't seem to contain the growing anger inside of you for his words, sobbing a little more as you try to come up with the right thing to say. Why does he have to do this to you?

"Guess what? I don't know neither. All of a sudden, my long-term boyfriend told me he is falling for another girl. Do you know how much it costs me to look at you right now, Tom? I can't even- I fucking hate you right now and I know it's not even your fucking fault, but I can't help it!" You scream, hand covering your mouth as you try to regain some composure. "Just leave me fucking alone, Tom!"

Without another word, you run to the front door, yanking it open and slamming it shut, letting your whines finally scape through your gritted teeth.

---

Tom checked his phone one more time before slipping into the covers and lay down on his empty bed, facing the ceiling for a long enough time to get sick of it.

His mind was running wild, thinking about the things he said to you, and the thing you said to him. It was hard to face the fact that he made you cry and feel miserable. Tom never intended that. He knew both of you were slipping apart, gradually giving your relationship an end, but that was a whole different level.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the moment you stormed out the door, thinking about the feeling he had previously in the morning, while working with his co-star. It wasn't the strongest thing he felt in his life, it wasn't even near to the things he felt when meeting you, but he knew he should be honest with you from the moment he realized there was something going on.

But even know, he felt like he messed it up real bad.

Tom has been calling you since you stepped out of the house, but you never answered, or called back. He left a message in your voicemail, asking you to come back home so you could talk. Aware of the fact that this had no coming back, Tom just needed to look at you one more time and apologise for being a dick. He couldn't afford to have you out of his life.

And then his phone rang.

He was quick to pick it up and press to his ear, waiting to hear your voice, but what he heard was something much more unexpected.

"Hello, can I please speak with Thomas Stanley?", an unrecognizable voice came to the phone and Tom sat on his bed.

"Uh, yes, it's me. What's the matter?"

"I'm calling because you're at Miss y/n y/l/n's emergency contact. She was brought to the hospital after an accident, a car crash. Miss y/n is passing through an emergency surgery right now and I need to inform someone in the family..."

The woman kept talking, voice too steady for something so breath-taking. Tom was surely out of breath. For a few seconds, he felt like he had gone blind, not able to see anything besides a black spot in the darkness of his room.

He couldn't believe he was hearing that. It couldn't be real. He tried to come up with any excuse, with some explanation, but everything that ever crossed his mind at the moment was the sign of you laying flat on some ciment busy street, blood coming out of the corner of your mouth and eyes wide open with no brightness on them.

"Sir?", the woman spook again and Tom was snapped out of his thoughts.

"Can you give me the address?", he jumped out of bed and started to look for his keys frantically. The woman gave him instructions and he quickly made his way to the living room.

"Fuck... where 'my fucking keys!" He yelled desperately, throwing the pillows on the sofa go the ground to look better. "Fuck!"

Tom sat on the couch, heavy breathing making his whole body shake. His hands holds his head and his eyes go wide. He felt a heat rise in every part of his body, but mainly on his chest.

It was his fault, he knew it. You were supposed to be at home, you were supposed to stay with him. You were going to have dinner together, and you wouldn't be driving before having a car crash.

Why did he mess up? Why did he say those things to you? He shouldn't have let you go outside in that state. He shouldn't

Tom heard the front door crack open, and he raised his head with silly hopes of you stepping inside and all of this being a fucking cruel joke, but instead, it was Harrison passing by.

"Tom, I was just going to- Dude, what happened?" Harrison puts a worried face when he saw the bloodshot eyes, trembling lips and shaking hands, all parts of Tom's nervousness.

He almost couldn't put his voice to work, and if it wasn't for the fact that he needed to reach out the hospital in no time, to make sure you were fine, maybe he wouldn't be able to say a single word.

"You gotta drive me. I can't- I can't find my keys. And she needs me. I need her. I need to find her, Haz. She- fuck, she needs me and I can't find my fucking keys", he said in desperation, letting himself become a sobbing mess in front of his friend.

---

There was no small talk between the two of them whilst the drive to the hospital. It seemed like you have done a long way from home; the distance was killing the eye browned boy.

All that was on his mind now was the thought of you - moments you've spent together, days of happiness and things that he loved about you. He remembered the first time you met, the day he asked you out and the first time he heard you say you loved him. He questioned himself when was the last time you said that, when he heard his name coming out of your lips with an "I love you" next. He couldn't remember and he felt disgusting for that too.

Because Tom realized in the way to the hospital that he couldn't live without you. If you were gone, there would be nothing. He never thought about this day, never thought that one day he'd be losing you, but the bare possibility of this happening made him realize he wouldn't stand it. He needed you, in more ways than just one.

"She'll be fine, Tom", Harrison told him for the third time, when they were sitting in a corridor, waiting for a doctor to call for Tom when you were brought to the room.

"'S all my fault. Shouldn't have fought her. Shouldn't have let her think I didn't love her", Tom muttered more to himself, voice hoarse.

Tom was bouncing his leg rapidly, eyes closed tightly an heart aching for every second he spent without any medic information.

"Mr. Holland?" A voice came next to him, a doctor, a comphreensive smile on his face, which eased Tom a little bit. "Miss y/n is in her room now, you can check on her".

Tom got up immediately, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans while walking down the aisle with the doctor to your room. When he reached the place with white walls, white sheets and an audible beep from the machine that was monitoring your heartbeat.

"She's asleep right now, might wake up in about an hour or so. Then a nurse should come check on her", the doctor says, reading through some papers on his clipboard. He sighs lightly and look at Tom, whose eyes are glue on you. "I might say she was lucky, Mr. Holland. It was a serious accident, and others victims didn't have as much luck as Miss y/n", he friendly pats Tom's shoulder. "Don't know what you believe in, but I think you should be thankful. She's a strong girl, she'll be fine", he smiled and after a few seconds, left Tom and you alone in the room, closing the door behind him.

Tom was hesitant, taking small steps towards your bed as he looked cautiously every part of you body. You had some big injuries on your face. There was a bandage on your nose, which was broken when you entered the emergency. Your lips had cuts and there was a purple spot on your forehead and around one of your eyes.

Tom felt sick to his stomach thinking about how much pain you had gone through the last hours. He stood beside your bed, taking your fragile looking hands on his. It was bruised too, and Tom pressed a very light kiss to your palm, letting a silent tear roll down his face till reach his chin.

"I'm so sorry, my love", he whispered with a croaky voice. "You'll be fine, it's gonna be alright", he reassured, more to himself than to you, who was drifted on sleep now, too far from the chaos that was going on outside.

Tom sniffles, rubbing a hand on his wet nose, and blinks a couple of times to get rid of his tears. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I know it's my fault. And I was wrong".

He breathed out, looking at the ceiling as he remembered your conversation that evening. "There's no one I love more than you, y/n. It was dumb of me thinking that there's anyone I might be in love with besides you. It's only you, love, you're the person I can't live without".

Tom felt like a kid, crying over your hand, squeezing it ever so lightly and praying that you might hear his apologies and his pleas.

"And it was unfair of me not putting as much effort as you in this relationship. This is my fault too. But I love you, and I don't care about anything else, your love is the only thing I'm going to focus on when you wake up".

Tom realized that nothing was more important than your relationship to him now. Not even work, which has taken so much of his time that he was slowly slipping apart from you. Not even whatever feeling he fooled himself to believe in. It wasn't true. It was his fear of not being in love with you anymore, of being too far to bring you two together again. But by that moment, Tom knew he couldn't be afraid of nothing else than losing you. And now he just prayed that you could forgive him and the things he said, while he left himself fall in tears and regret.

********

Taglist:

@dreamy-clousds @pinkrockstar19 @onyourgoddamnleft

@spideyspeaches @miraclesoflove @heavenlyholland

@zspideyy @marlenetough @nsxvision

@xoxohollands @siriuslyslyslytherin @mathletemadison

#tom holland #tom holland blurbs #tom holland imagines #tom holland fic #tom x reader #boyfriend!tom #actor!tom #tom angst #angst #hoodieofholland fic

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uwuwriting · 4 years ago

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At death’s doorstep w/ Todoroki Shouto

Request: PLEASE do one where the bnha boys (idc who so long as shouto is one of them :)) are out on a hero mission w y/n and the villain hurts y/n super badly in order to like put shouto or whoever in a tough situation. and then they get super upset bc y/n got hurt and stuff and just 🥺🥺🥺 - @anythingforshouto

Ah yes good old fashioned manipulation of ones feelings. I see you. I love this prompt for mild angst. I had done a similar one a while back but I swear this is different. Love ya. 💖💖💖

rules

masterlist

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, angst with some fluff

Todoroki Shouto

-It was his last mission under his father’s supervision.

-After this one he would be an official pro hero and he would choose an agency to work under.

-The villain had been attacking a nearby area for quiet some time before Shouto arrived.

-She had been causing choas left and right with building on fire and people running away from falling debris.

-Shouto saw a flash of h/c hair moving towards the villain and then an attack was blasted at the villain.

-He couldn’t help the smile that grazed his lips once he saw you, your attacks against the villain become more powerful and frequent causing Shouto’s smile to broaden.

-His girlfriend was a badass and he loved it.

-Making his way to yoiur spot near the villain, he released his flames at the villain causing her to back away from you.

- “You okay Sho?”

-You smiled at him and for a brief moment he forgot where he was

-He got that lovestruck look in his eyes that made you blush and you let out a flustered giggle completely ignoring the villain’s eyes on you.

-She connected the dots and knew what she had to do to get one of you to back down.

-And she decided that you were the one she should go after, your previous attacks against her spurred her on to jump at you.

-You barely dodged in time, her claws managing to sink into your shoulder leaving hot white pain behind them.

-A grunt left your lips as she yanked her hand free from your flesh and she lunged again.

-Shouto moved faster this time blocking her way to you with a block of ice which was again sliced in half by her claws.

-The villain shoved Shouto to the side and pounced on you digging her claws into your sides as you aimlessly tried to pull them out.

-The scream you let out made Shouto’s blood run cold.

-Then there was the blood, so much blood.

-She raised you to your feet one hand circling your throat her sharp claws touching the skin of your neck while the other was still burried in your side.

-You were barely concious, the blood loss and the shock from the pain leaving in a state of numbness.

- “Call the others off or she dies.”

-Shouto was frozen on the spot, left arm outstretched as flames licked his fingers.

-His eyes were watering from how long he was keeping them open, his heterochromic orbs never leaving yours.

-You mouthed a silent no at the villains words resulting in her wiggling the fingers that were still embeded in your side.

-The whimper that left your lips was enough to make Shouto raise his arms up in the air.

- “Alright, I’ll call them off j-just let her go.”

-His voice quivered from his rage; he could feel it flowing through his veins blazing hot even on his right side, despite his quirk.

-She chuckled at his words, pressing her fingers deeper into your side causing more blood to come gushing out.

-Shouto pressed his fingers into the intercom contacting his agency on the other side to stop the pursuit.

- “Good boy.”

-She kept her hold on you, Shouto noticing how her wrist flexed as she started releasing your throat but the movement wasn’t meant for true release.

-She was going to kill you whether he called the others off or not.

-He should have seen it coming how could he be so dumb.

-Because he was gambling with your life that’s why.

-In an instant he set his flames free burning the villain’s side while he took you from her grip in a makeshift ice slide.

-His hands got painted red instantly, your grip on his shoulder firm but getting weaker by the minute.

-Just before he reached the medical team he saw his father flying overhead, a look of concern flashing through his features at the sight of blood on his son.

-Shouto kept talking to you, begging you to keep your eyes open to stay with him.

- “Love, sweetheart, Y/N your eyes on me don’t close them, please don’t close them.”

-He asked you to describe your dream apartment, the future you wanted both for your hero career and with him.

-The medics could only wince at the state of you once Shouto layed you on the stretcher.

-He refused to leave your side but then he heard his father call for back up through his intercom and he knew that someone had to pay for this.

-Bringing you so close to death, Shouto wouldn’t allow her to escape.

-He knew that his mindset wasn’t very hero like but he didn’t care.

-The image of your blood on her hands as hse twisted her claws was imprinted in his brain destined to haunt him for the rest of his life.

-He went all out on the villain leaving no room for her to escape.

-She had burns and frostbite littering her body.

-As she was escorted by the police she snirred at Shouto her bloodied grin making him wince.

- “Say hi to your little bitch for me or maybe you won’t.”

-His father had to force him away from her.

-After getting cleaned up at the agency both him and his father rushed to the hospital, Shouto remembering only snippets of what had happened after you were taken away.

-Being led into the room by the doctor, he couldn’t focus himself the doctor’s words going in one ear and out the other, the only thing occupying his brain being your broken form as he had set you in that ambulance.

-Once the door to your room opened everything came crashing down on him.

-His fatigue and concern overtook him his knees feeling extremly weak at the very sight of your bandages and IV lines.

-His father set a sturdy hand on his shoulder, steadying him as a single tear left his eye.

- “She had multiple ribs broken and one punctured her lung but she’ll make it. The surgery was successful she should start to wake up in a day or two.”

-He stayed beside you until you woke up.

-The moment yout eyes opened he shot up from his seat.

-He couldn’t control himself, the shine in your eyes was finally back replacing that otherwordly dullness that had taken over a couple of days prior.

-Tears ran down his cheeks as he peppered kisses all over your face, always midful of your injuries.

-His sobs filled the room as he hugged you close, letting your warmth bleed into him, fill the void that your unresponsive behavior had left behind.

- “I love you so so so much.”

-You started crying after a while.

-He didn’t leave you out of his sight for the next three months going as far as wanting to accompany you to the bathroom.

-Baby got so scared don’t ever do that to him again.

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @bemorefiction @dnarez-mangetsu

#todoroki #Todoroki Shōto #mha todoroki #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shouto #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x you #shouto x reader #shouto x y/n

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cherrycocaineee · 3 years ago

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19. Sam Winchester - Hospital Visit

It was extra busy today at the hospital, there were three patients in need of major surgeries along with a line of people either waiting at the clinic or waiting for their minor surgeries to take place. I had been running around all morning wherever I was needed, and since I was the lead surgeon that was pretty much everywhere. Every time I got the chance, I glanced up at the ticking clock that was mute amongst all the loud chatting and alarms going off. I needed to hang on til three, and then another head surgeon would be here to help. I wiped the forming beads of sweat off of my forehead as I headed to the bathroom, wanting to escape from all the chaos that was hitting. Of course I loved being a doctor but I wasn’t made for such large groupings like this. It sent anxiety through my body causing me to sweat. So I just needed a small break to calm my nerves.

Pressing my back against the cool wall felt almost painful against my hot, sweaty skin. I was just praying silently that I was wearing my doctor’s coat over a turtleneck sweater, stopping most of the chilling pain. Finally catching my breath after fifteen minutes, I pushed myself off of the wall, the cold no longer bothering me, and headed back into the jungle that awaited outside. Not much time passed before my Nurse, Lacy, ran up to me.

“Doctor,” she said, her voice frantic and filled with worry, “come quick, there’s two new patients in need of medical treatment.”

Nodding curtly, I followed after her quickly to wherever the patients were. There weren’t many rooms open, so when we did eventually find them, they were in the last two rooms. I went inside the first room, the room that was closer to us, and peered inside at the man lying on the hospital bed. My eyes widened at the sight of John Winchester, an old family friend from way back then. He was covered in slash marks, fresh blood that still needed to be cleaned off of his unconscious body. He was also covered in sweat, glass, and dirt.

Lacy looked up at me.

“Bring me a rag,” I muttered, “and some warm, soapy water.”

Nodding, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. I took another glance at John Winchester then headed out of the room, silently praying that the other person in the second room wasn’t one of his sons.

But I wasn’t lucky. Lying in the next hospital bed was his older son, Dean. I frowned, my forehead creasing slightly. Like his father, Dean was covered in blood, sweat, glass, and dirt. He would need to be cleaned up as well.

“Doctor.”

Looking up, I spotted my nurse standing at the door with the bucket of water and a rag hanging over it.

“Thank you. Please, get another one for this patient.”

“Of course.”

I took the bowl from Lacy and headed back into the room where John was waiting. Sitting beside his bed was Sam, also covered in blood but not as much as his dad and brother. His eyes met mine, widening as he saw my face.

“Noel?” He questioned, his voice soft and surprised.

“Hey Sam,” I replied, placing the bowl down.

His eyes shifted to the ground. The last time I saw the Winchester’s was when I was twelve years old. I was a year younger than Sam. Out of the two Winchester boys, Sam and I had become close. I knew all about their hunting and everything they did.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” I asked, grabbing the cloth and beginning to clean John up.

The blood wiped away easily, revealing his tanned up, scarred skin.

“I’m not so sure that’s a great idea,” he admitted.

“Maybe not, but I still think you should tell me.”

He was quiet for a moment, contemplating inside his head whether telling me would put me in danger. It probably would but I could handle myself. Finally, he told me what happened. They had gotten into a fight with a demon, one who called herself Meg, and these shadow things came out of nowhere attacking them. They were practically defenseless, their only saving grace was light. That’s how they were able to escape, along with throwing Meg out a tall window. By the time he finished telling me what happened, I had finished cleaning his dad up.

Placing the cloth inside the now bloody water, I faced Sam.

“Is she dead?” I inquired.

“We think so,” he huffed, his hair shifting with the breeze escaping his lips, “but we’ve never dealt with a demon before so we’re unsure.”

Nodding quietly, I started stitching up the large gashes displayed on John’s body. Lacy was right, he did need quick medical attention but not so much that he needed to be placed in the operating room. Not while there were people who needed surgeries on their brains waiting, or even their stomach. This was an easy fix.

I could feel Sam’s eyes watching me while I sutured up his dad. Clipping the final set of stitches, I got rid of all the leftovers, then washed my hands.

“I’m going to Dean’s room,” I muttered, “he needs more care than your father, so I’ll need more time to deal with him. Wait here.”

Sam didn’t argue, he just nodded his head.

Taking care of Dean’s injuries were much harder than I had realized. He was losing lots of blood, and no matter how much of it I tried to wipe away, there would always be another rush of it pouring from the wound. So I had to deal with the large, several gashes that covered his body. Fixing him up took me almost three hours. When I was finished with him, it didn’t seem to matter, he was in a coma from the amount of blood he lost. I wasn’t sure he was going to make it and that was going to be hard to tell Sam and John.

Lacy informed me that John Winchester was now awake, so now I was heading to his room to give them the bad news. Some doctors would call it semi-bad news but that didn’t really make any sense to me considering. I walked into John’s room, seeing him speaking to Sam, neither of them looking happy about whatever was being discussed. Sam was first to spot me.

“Dad,” he said.

John turned to face me, and at first I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me but when his eyes widened, I knew he did.

“Noel,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

“It sure has,” I replied, smiling, “it seems you guys got yourself into a pickle.”

“Seems that way.”

I walked completely inside the room, my hands folded together.

“How’s Dean doing?” Sam inquired.

My heart felt like it was hammering against my chest but I tried to remain professional.

“I’ve stitched him up, and cleaned up his body. However, he’s lost a lot of blood and is now in a coma,” I informed, sadness lurking in my voice, “right now, it isn’t looking so good. If he doesn’t pull through soon, then I would start preparing for the worst.”

“Noel,” Sam said standing up, “he has to come back.”

“There isn’t anymore that I can do, Sam. Had he’d been brought in earlier, maybe, but he’s lost way too much blood. We’re replacing it, he’s getting round the clock treatment and blood is being added to his body through an IV, but that’s all we’re able to do.”

He looked away from me, his eyes noticeably filling with tears, then grabbed his jacket and walked out of the room. A soft breeze brushing against me as he passed me. John didn’t say anything to Sam as he left. I sighed and walked over to John, removing a small flashlight from my pocket.

“Let me have a look at your pupils,” I muttered, “how are you feeling?”

The bright light danced across his now dilated pupils.

“Much better,” he replied.

It was quiet for a moment before John spoke again, asking about Dean.

“He was in really bad shape, huh?” He asked.

“Yes,” I muttered, removing the light from his eyes, “I wish there could be more done but right now, all we can do is wait and see.”

John’s eyes looked away from me, staring down at his covered legs. I could tell he was feeling bad about what he did to Sam and Dean, specifically Dean since he was in a coma now. I stuffed the flashlight into my doctor coat, taking another look at the oldest Winchester. All three of these boys were tough as nails but everything seemed to be shattering right before their very own eyes.

“I know this is hard, Mr. Winchester,” I replied, “but I promise you, I’ll do what I can to help Dean get better. For now, it’s best if you pray for his healing.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod. Something seemed to be brewing around in his head, so I left after giving his shoulder a small squeeze. After leaving John’s room, I went to go look for Sam, taking a final look at Dean in his room. A small pang in my chest rippled through me before I headed off to find the youngest Winchester.

I found him sitting outside on the hospital steps. The breeze was starting to pick up, ruffling Sam’s hair along with my own. I walked over to him, my white shoes slapping quietly against the concrete. Sitting down next to Sam, I watched him look over at me. I folded my arms around my stomach and looked away, watching the hundreds of people walking around. Either lost in their own world or talking with someone who was with them. I didn’t want to say anything that would anger him or cause him to get up and leave.

“It’s all my fault,” Sam whispered.

My head snapped towards him, shocked completely at his sudden admission to guilt.

“How so?” I inquired.

“If I hadn’t gotten mad at Dean, if I hadn’t ran into Meg, then we would have never been tricked into this situation.”

I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. My long, jet black hair waved in the wind.

“Sam, you couldn’t possibly know that Meg was a demon. Like you said before, you guys have never dealt with one before so how are you supposed to know the difference between one of them and a girl. I mean look around you.”

Our eyes scanned the area around us, watching the people who caught our eyes do what was normal: eating ice cream, talking, laughing, walking, etc.

“Anyone here could be a demon but how could we know?”

A soft sigh escaped from his lips.

“All I’m saying is, there’s no need for you to worry too much. Dean is a fighter, I’m sure he’ll pull through. However, if he isn’t, then you can’t walk around blaming yourself. It’s not what your dad would want and it’s definitely not what Dean would want.”

I touched his shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. Sam smiled back before nodding.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Of course I am. I’ve never been wrong.”

A laugh left his mouth, colliding with the wind that was picking up more and more. I couldn’t help but giggle along with him. Soon Sam and I were discussing how life had been after we departed so long ago. I learned that Sam had previously gotten out of the whole family business, hunting things to attend college at Stanford to become a lawyer. He had only joined back up with his family because his girlfriend, Jessica, was killed by the same demon that killed his mom. Yellow eyes. It had its ups and down, constantly worrying about one another and the consistent fighting back and forth. Dean was ultimately too childish and took any opportunity to pull a silly prank on Sam. But, according to him, it wasn’t all too bad since he missed his brother a lot. And now that he and his dad were together again, he remembered that he loved him too while disagreeing with him like he had when he was younger.

Once he was finished catching me up on how his life had been going, I told him about mine. How my mother passed away a year after they had left, inspiring me to go to medical school. I had also been engaged for a little while before finding out that my fiancé was cheating on me behind my back. The rest of my life wasn’t much to gossip about, considering most of it was just me going to school and being cheating on.

“Despite everything though,” I replied, “I enjoy what I do and hope that I’m making a big difference every single day.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling my pager buzz beside my hip. Pulling it from beside me, I saw that Lacy was paging me, letting me know that another lead surgeon had arrived and that I could go for lunch. Standing up, I held out my hand to Sam.

“Wanna get some coffee with me?” I inquired, “It’ll help clear your thoughts. Maybe you can figure out a way to help Dean behind bringing him to the doctor.”

I hoped that he caught on to what I had to say. By the smile that appeared on his face, I knew that he did. Taking a hold of my hand, I pulled him to his feet and headed across the street to the small coffee shop where I normally went when I was able to have a small break. On the way over, the two of us talked with one another and laughed at stories about each other's life. It was nice to reconnect with a friend from so long ago. Sam and I had always been close to one another when we were young. And on the way to the coffee shop, I hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time I saw Sam. And hopefully under much better circumstances than the one that brought us together today.

#sam winchester #sam #supernatural #spn #sam winchester x female!reader #sam x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #supernatural imagines #sam winchester fanfiction #fluff #sam winchester fluff #imagines #one shot #fanfic #sam winchester x reader #smut #supernatural fluff #supernatural smut

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echo-hiraeth · 4 years ago

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Chapter 2: Survivor’s Guilt

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Javier is confronted with the stakes of losing an important coworker and friend as the reader gets injured during a chase. But grief and hospitals aren’t really his scene. The reader finds out the extent of her injuries and condition, leaving her shocked to the core.

Warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of injury, angst and some fluff

Masterlist

Previous chapter

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DEA agents were hurt and killed almost daily, that was just the way things were with the cartel. Pablo didn’t care about who they were or what their legacy was, married or not, children or not, to Escobar they were just the enemy’s pawns. Javier Peña was well-aware of this and therefore rarely turned his head when another death within the office was called. He didn’t do funerals, he did women and drinking instead. In a time of war there was no time for grieving, he believed it to be a weakness of the flesh much worse than indulging in the warmth of a prostitute or colleague every now and then. This had become a routine for him and while it ate away at his conscience he never once considered giving up his bachelor-lifestyle. Never until today.

The narco screamed as Javier tackled him to the asphalt, brutally bending his arms behind his back, slapping the cuffs around his wrists. He opened his mouth to yell something out to Carillo when he heard the echo of two gunshots, followed by a cry. As his ears registered the pitch and tone, he made it out to be you. His head shot up immediately, already in desperate search of the source of your whereabouts.

Carillo took the detained from his clammy hands, leaving Javier to find you. Everything went quiet and all he could hear in that moment of utter panic was his obscene breathing and rapid heartbeat. When he rounded the corner, seeing Steve’s back turned to him, a pool of broken glass and legs he could only assume were yours he felt his heart drop. Murphy was frantically babbling into his radio as Javier stepped closer, the blood on the floor sickening.

He stood still next to Steve, watching the way your relaxed body laid in his arms, unmoving. “Is she-“

“No”, Steve replied quickly, beckoning for Javier to take his spot. “Stay with her, I’m getting the med kit from the car.”

He hesitantly sat down on his knees, the glass scraping against the fabric of his jeans as he gently pulled you onto his upper thighs. He spotted the burnt fabric on your vest and thanked his stupid teasing for having secured it earlier. It was as if you were just asleep, eyes closed, a peaceful look settling on your features. That’s what he told himself, she’s just resting, it’s been a long day, she’s fine, just tired.

Usually when you were sprawled out in his arms it was after another heated round of mind-numbing sex, naked and glistening with sweat. He thought of the way you looked then, skin glowing with pleasure, lips curled up in the most mesmerizing smile, eyelids fluttering closed as he trailed his long fingers over your chest. Rather than being covered in each other’s sweat, he found his hands stained with your vibrant-red blood and rather than trailing his fingertips across the curve of your breasts his left hand rested on the back of your head, hair sticking to itself from the mixture of sweat and blood.

It was a horror, the otherwise so lively and feisty woman appearing dead. The more he thought of it, the more he started shaking, panicking, checking for a heartbeat despite hearing your soft breaths. He couldn’t stand the idea of never getting to apologize to you, never having you curled up against his chest again, laughing about something stupid. The mere possibility of never seeing you at that desk again, stuffing your mouth with whatever the kitchen had to offer, completely dropping the “ladylike” act in front of your two partners, it tugged right at his heartstrings.

When Steve returned, putting some balled up spare clothes underneath you to keep them from cutting you up even more, Javier was dead silent and pale with terror. He gave his fellow agent a death glare when he gently shifted her body back to the floor, his arms tightening around you. “We need to get her vest off and check her chest”, Steve commanded, Javier finally loosening his grip, allowing you to lay on the makeshift “bed”.

“Ambulance?”, he breathed.

“Still on the way”, Steve huffed as he carefully undid the several buckles and straps on your vest.

As the two frantic men were bickering back and forth accusing the other one of not being careful enough or being a blatant idiot you slowly came to. A soft whine left your lips as you blinked a couple of times, the bright daylight inducing the absolute worst headache you ever felt. Soon the two of them were hovering over you, asking a myriad of questions while you were just trying to put two and two together. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move an inch, your entire body just aching and seemingly on fire. As you registered the severity of your fall, your breathing started to speed up, the two fussing men not helping you with your oncoming panic attack. Javier rested a bloodied hand on your cheek in an attempt to calm you down, he was whispering something to you, in Spanish, fingers stroking back and forth in a gentle motion. You tried to speak but found yourself unable to, a tear of frustration falling out of the corner of your eye.

“Cariño, quédate conmigo, por favor”, he muttered, “Está bien, la ambulancia llegará pronto.” (Stay with me, it’s okay, the ambulance will be here soon).

He hadn’t been this soft with you in weeks and the longer you stared up at him through your heavy eyes, the guiltier he felt about it. With every blink your eyes struggled more and more to open again, your body urging, begging you to just rest. You were defenceless against yourself, the sustained injuries asking just too much of you, and soon you were out again, breathing steadying once again. Javier bit his tongue trying to ground himself and keep calm as he heard the wailing sirens in the distance. Steve had been taken your vest of by now, lifting your shirt to reveal nasty bruises on your chest, the vest had saved your life. Javier said a prayer right there and then, thanking whatever entity up above responsible for saving you, for letting you stay with him.

When the paramedics took over and removed the two of them from the scene they were in a trance-like state. Steve had been through this before, back in the states he’d lost his partner, which had proven to him just how powerful drugs were. Death was just a part of the job, but losing a partner, that shit was personal.

How they managed to get to the hospital unscathed was beyond anyone’s understanding, but as Steve sat in the waiting room with sweet Connie holding his hand, Javier was angry. It should’ve been him, he had told you not to go, but you just wouldn’t fucking listen. They didn’t even catch the guy, which maybe wasn’t the worst outcome, seeing how Javier would have absolutely murdered him with his bare hands.

“Javier just sit down, this isn’t helping anyone”, Connie spoke up, clearly having had enough of the man’s continuous pacing. “Why don’t you get yourself a coffee or something, you could be here another couple hours.”

She did have a point, you’d been in surgery for little over an hour and with every passing minute his need to just run off was getting more and more prominent. But he knew that the doctor could walk through those doors any minute as well, so he wanted to stay put, for you.

Upon seeing his partner’s lack of movement, Steve stood up. “How about I go get us those coffees then”, he offered.

Being alone with just Connie, a close friend of yours, made him feel even more nervous. Luckily for him the doors swung open before any kind of conversation could be started. Revealing the doctor that had rushed you away earlier. Your two friends went to stand, politely nodding at the doctor.

“The patient is stable, she suffered a broken collarbone which we managed to fix into place during surgery. She also sustained a concussion and a laceration to the back of the head which has been closed up. And uh she has some contusions among minor cuts over the body, nothing to be too worried about.” Javier and Connie sighed in relief. “But I need to speak to Steve Murphy, he was listed as Miss y/l/n’s emergency contact.”

“That’s my husband, he’s gone to get some coffee, should be back any second”, Connie replied, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Can we go see her?”

“The patient’s waking up just now, so she’ll be out of it for a little bit.” With that he led them to your room, carefully opening the dim room, quickly adding that it had to do with the smack to the head you’d suffered.

Javier and Connie sat on either side of the bed, the doctor quickly leaving the room almost bumping into Steve on the way out. When he introduced himself the doctor whisked him away, presumably to have that confidential chat.

A quiet sob drew Javier’s attention back to the scene in front of him, nothing that Connie had started to cry, carefully holding your hand in hers. “Careful with that, we still need that back at the office, evidence”, he joked, eliciting a sad smile from his friend.

“Just look at her Javi, she must’ve been so scared.”

He looked at the IV’s in your left hand and the several bandages covering your body. “She’ll be alright Con, I promise.”

Steve re-entered the room with heavy steps, head hanging low and he looked at his wife. “Connie, a word, out in the hall”, he sighed.

She quickly wiped at her eyes and left the room, following her husband outside. He was alone with you now and felt incredibly out of place. You were the one to make situations less awkward and insufferable, you were the one to lighten the mood with some stupid joke or story about something back in the States. You, you, you – anything and everything was you, it was like his fucking world revolved around it- her. The poor man wasn’t able to deal with the near loss of you and his feelings, so he did what seemed best to him, pressing a quick kiss to your head and booking it, leaving you alone.

The simple touch had its desired effect, eyes fluttering open just as he walked over the threshold of your room, disappearing into the Columbian night. As you blinked a couple of times, vision somewhat blurry, all you could feel was pain, intense pain from your shoulder. Just as you tried to sit up a bit more the Murphys walked in, Connie quickly rushing over to your side and forcing you to lay back.

“Hey, y/n, hey, you’re in the hospital”, she explained slowly, gesturing at the several wires and monitors.

“Ja-Javier?”, you croaked out, throat completely dry and scratchy.

Steve poured you a glass of water while speaking: “He must’ve left. Listen, I know you’re probably exhausted and all but we need to have a chat.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the absolute bomb Steve was about to drop on you, those three little words changed everything. You – are – pregnant. Normally people would be nothing short of euphoric hearing such a confession, but to you – a woman with no partner and a job in one of the most dangerous places to be – it was a death penalty.

You had stayed in the hospital five more days, fellow agents coming to pay their respects, but you were just in a state of utter shock and frankly denial. You had argued with doctors and nurses, demanding they’d take your blood again and do it right. But no matter how much you protested and wanted it to not be true, you were in fact pregnant.

Five whole days of friends and colleagues supporting and loving you, even a call from your fucking parents at some point, but no Javier. Connie and Steve hadn’t pried for information, prioritizing your recovery for now, but you knew fully well your old friend had his suspicions. They hadn’t told anyone else, and as of yet it was just you, them two and the medical staff that was aware, already way too many people for your liking.

On the fifth day nobody visited, as per your request, you’d be moving in with Connie and Steve for the next couple of weeks, your concussion-induced vertigo and left arm requiring almost constant assistance, or as you saw it: babysitting. So, you’d told everyone to fuck off until it was time to go to hopefully get some time to yourself, time that you could spend in your own head. As you sat up on the hospital bed, half dressed, incapable of putting a shirt over your head, you broke down. It wasn’t necessarily the shirt that made you this upset it was just everything; the accident, the fact that you were pregnant and most of all him. He hadn’t even made an effort to visit you, to check up on you.

Or so you thought. You see, while you were out in that bed, life at the office just continued where it left off, Peña and Murphy still sitting at their desks and going out in the field. Only now they only ever talked about three things; new leads, that new bar downtown and you. Well to be completely honest, Steve didn’t really ever mention you but Javi.. he couldn’t shut up about you, bugging his poor co-worker on the daily, trying to get at least some information out of him. Steve had gotten so fed up one late night that he’d tossed the case files at the other man’s head, telling him to go to that damned hospital instead. After that he stopped asking and was left to brood and mull in his bed, kitchen, shower, basically anytime he was alone. Surely you wouldn’t want him there, considering what terms you were on, but would it be so bad for him to just swing by, talk to you for half an hour or so, see how you were doing with his own eyes? He deemed it best to leave you alone and not give you more of a headache. But by Saturday afternoon, the day you were supposed to be emitted, he couldn’t help himself. He got in his car and just drove there, hastily parking his car as he ran up to your room, stopping at the door as he heard your muffled weeping.

The soft knock interrupted your heartfelt moment, you saw his reflection in the windows, unable to turn your head around. “Can I come in?”, he asked with a small voice.

“Y-yeah”, you answered, trying to cover yourself with your good arm.

He wordlessly walked over to you, quickly gathering the shirt from the floor and stepping closer. “Guide me.” Javier tenderly helped you into your shirt, following your every instruction and checking if he was doing okay every time you winced. When you were dressed he sat next to you on the bed, holding the hairbrush you’d handed him just seconds before. “I-I’ve never done someone else’s hair, are you sure you want to look even more of a mess?”, he joked.

You quietly chuckled, fidgeting with the hair tie in your hand. “Can’t get much worse anyways, just be careful with the ends.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he brushed through your untamed hair, profusely apologizing every time the brush would get tangled, making the both of you laugh a little. It was a small win, just a sweet and innocent moment with the most dangerous man around, at least to you. He struggled to comb it all back, clearly not used to performing even the easiest of hairstyles. Eventually your hair did end up in something akin to a ponytail, at least he tried. After he zipped up your bag for you and checked the room for anything left behind you tried to slip on your shoes, a pair of tennis shoes to be exact, ones you frequented due to the nature of your job. Chasing narco-men wasn’t exactly ideal when wearing heels, so yes, you lived in flats. He soon got on his knees in front of you, helping you in your shoes and tying the laces for you, not able to watch you struggle any longer. The two of you didn’t talk other than the occasional “does this hurt” and “what now”. He offered to drive you home, but you explained Steve would be picking you up in a bit, informing him that you’d be staying over at their place, but a floor away from his own door.

“I should probably go then – unless you need anything else”, he said, hands in his pockets.

You went to stand, losing your balance a bit and steadying yourself by holding on to the frame of your bed. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can you help me to the entrance, I’d rather wait there.”

With his arm wrapped around your waist, by means of support, totally nothing else, he helped you get downstairs, to the entrance. He’d insisted you stayed inside, telling you about the dangers of being alone. You’d rolled your eyes, reminding him you had worked here just as long as he had, making him jut his hip. It’s then that Steve pulled up out front, quickly walking over to the two of you.

“What the hell is he doing here?”, Steve asked you, eyeing his partner up and down.

“He was just visiting and now he is leaving, see you Monday, Murphy”, Javier scoffed as he patter the man on the back, walking off without another word.

As Murphy helped you in his car he quirked an eyebrow at your messy hair; “Peña do that to you?” You nodded. “What’s that all about?”

“Survivor’s guilt”, you chuckled.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @pedritomando

#javier peña #javier pena #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #javier peña x reader #illicit limerence

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joontier · 4 years ago

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Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report iv

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, romance

warnings: swearing

word count: 2.5k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist] @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

Your phone blares at exactly 6:45AM, and a memetastic image of Chohee lights up your phone screen as you’re brushing your teeth. When you swipe to answer the call, you don’t even manage to get a word in when Chohee chatters you out of your sleep-deprived soul.

“Just as practiced, I’m punctual, and you’re late.”

Garbling out a reply about how it’s still five minutes prior to your agreed time, you tap your toothbrush loudly against the sink, likewise spitting out the foam from your mouth. “Fine, just hurry because I’m starving!”

Being the gold-hearted person that she is (although that fact is not known to the public), your best friend had offered you a ride to the building where you’re scheduled to take the Korean Medical Licensure Examination today.

The moment you settle yourself on the passenger seat, she greets you with a cheery “Good morning!” - one that was too cheery this early in the morning, and all the more way too cheery for a certain Kim Chohee. The two of you share a look and you lean in for a hug. “Hey, we’ll do just fine, okay? We’ve been studying our asses for this.”

You don’t let go at once, looking up at her with a kissy face. She pushes your head backwards with a disgusted expression, keeping your face at an arm’s length. With an unattractive snort, you lean back in your seat, laughing your ass off at your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Seriously, _______, I know you’ve been lusting after me for years even when you’re well aware of my ‘strictly beef’ diet,” Chohee states, dusting your imaginary germs off her shoulder. Turning on her Benz’s engine, she checks her reflection on the rear-view mirror before driving off.

With both your hands occupied with the sandwiches you’d ordered from Subway, you use your pinky to connect your phone to play some Mozart via bluetooth. You try not to talk much about the test, knowing it will only cause unnecessary anxiety on both your ends.

As Chohee leans towards you, you tilt her sandwich in her direction, letting her take a bite from her sub. “Hey, what’s an abscess again?”

“Isn’t that more commonly known as boils? Built up pus within or below the surface of the skin?”

Kim Chohee chokes on her BLT.

“Pus?” she repeats, swallowing her bite with great strain. “Seriously? While I’m eating a sandwich? Couldn’t you be more subtle perhaps?”

Equally just as surprised as she was, you narrow your eyes at her. “We’ve been studying medicine for the last six years! It shouldn’t be a surprise by now...and besides, we’ve heard and see a lot worse too...Would you rather have me say purulent exudate then? And waste my precious saliva on a six-syllable word rather than the common term for a liquid form of inflamm-”

“Okay!” Chohee throws an arm up in defeat. “Sheesh _______! Don’t I deserve at least some gratitude for driving you to our exams?”

“Plus we’ve already seen a cadaver too, which was supposedly one of the peaks of our med-student lives! What’s all this hype about some viscous mass on the surface of the skin?”

Your best friend peeks at you from her peripheral vision, absolutely mortified. You love it.

“Can you please remind me how we became friends in the first place?” Chohee shakes her head and increases the volume of the player as the droplets of rain start pouring down the windshield. “Anyways – I was meaning to ask the histological meaning of it.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, recalling your notes, “well, it’s a localized collection of neutrophils and necrotic debris. Basically, it’s a suppurative inflammation which is associated with pyogenic bacteria and characterized by edema fluid admixed with neutrophils and necrotic cells. Staphylococcus aureus usually produces abscesses because it’s coagulase positive and coagulase helps the production of fibrinous material that localizes the infection.”

As soon as you finish, silence takes over the car, and suddenly, a sniffle comes from Chohee’s side. With a matching frown, you best friend looks at you with shiny eyes. “Oh _______, what would I do without you?”

With still half an hour to spare, you decide on relieving your bladder first before all the toilets get occupied later a couple of minutes before the actual exam. You take your time with it, even managing to put some effort in fixing your hair in clipping your fringe back so as not to eliminate all distractions possible during the exam.

While looking through the large panel windows on your way back from the comfort rooms, you spot a familiar face – the last person you’d want to see on such an important day. Perhaps your prayers weren’t loud enough to actually reach heaven.

There Jeon Jungkook was at the end of the hall, walking like a newly-canonized saint in all his glory. Most (if not all) of the female onlookers stare at him as he passes by, with Jungkook seemingly unbothered by their unwavering attention. You aren’t one for exaggeration, but these women look like they’re willing to worship the ground he walked on.

Your nerdy, anti-Jeon Jungkook ass quickly hides beside a nearby locker, not wanting to be ‘graced’ by his presence, just as some girl coined a few moments ago as she headed to the toilets with her friends, collectively gushing over the boy.

The popular kid turns to his right and you swore you’d never prayed harder and faster than any other time in your life. Your room assignment was just the one by the corner...and if he could just make a few more steps and head straight to the next classroom a-and...nope. It’s official. The universe loved shitting on you.

Jungkook enters room 132, the very same numbers indicating your room assignment for the licensure exam. You ball up your fists in your spot by the lockers, releasing all your pent-up frustration in the simplest and least violent way possible: a long, tedious exhale.

Gathering up all your self-control, you re-enter the classroom with an inward grimace, desperate to not have Jungkook’s eyes meet yours. He’s looking for a seat, and with all the back rows already occupied, he’s stuck with picking one from the first two rows.

He’s already stood near the seat you’ve picked and you bore holes into the back of his head with your fake telepathy, silently ordering him to pick a chair on the other side of the aisle instead.

Just as you had not wished for, Jungkook plops his huge ass backpack on the chair next to yours. You tread back to your seat as discreetly as possible, avoiding his gaze at all times as he rummages through his military backpack. What the fuck is in that thing in the first place? You won't be surprised if he manages to pull out a whole microwave inside – and yet funnily enough, he can’t seem to own a single damn pencil.

As you were minding your own businesses (hopefully it stays that way for the rest of eternity), you catch the other students discussing surgical cases last minute.

“Hey, which artery is the one for transection for an epidural hematoma?”

“Was this the kid that got hit by a fastball in the head?”

“What happened?”

“Poor boy got hit in the temporal area during a baseball tournament. Remained conscious during the rest of the day but during the same evening he gets a severe headache with vomiting and confusion. When they got to Severance he got scheduled for immediate surgery for epidural hematoma.”

“That sounds awful…”

“I’m not sure which artery it was again though…”

If that were the case...then it’d be the transection of a branch of the middle meningeal artery...but then you wouldn’t want to answer that out of the blue and get mistaken for being too snoopy…

Instead, you reach for the bottle of water by the legs of your chair, likewise hearing the same answer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth in a whisper. Huh. You raise a brow. Well, there was a major chance he knew the case since he came from Yonsei too, just as you had speculated from some of your roommates who seemed like they came from the same school after mentioning Severance Hospital.

The group continue discussing their answers when this girl, who had an obnoxiously unnatural high-pitched voice, approaches Jungkook.

“Jungkook-oppa?”

Oppa? OPPA?!

You wanted to throw up. This girl looked at least two-three years older than him. At the least. Guess Jeon was really more of a fuckboy than Chohee would ever admit. “We were just discussing something and we’re really unsure of our answers, maybe a smart oppa like you would know?”

With as much discretion as you could muster, you adjust in your seat, leaning a little bit towards their conversation as you eavesdrop like the nosy person that you are.

“The surgery was a transection of the meningeal artery,” says Jeon nonchalantly like it’s the most basic thing in the world, still scrolling through his phone. Silence ensues after that. That’s it?! He’s not even going to bother explaining-

Jungkook exhales as he puts his phone down. “Epidural hemorrhages result from a rupture of one of the meningeal arteries, as these arteries supply the dura and run between the dura and the skull. Plus you said temporal area right?” he asks, facing one of the guys.

“The artery involved is usually the middle meningeal artery - a branch of the maxillary artery, as the skull fracture is usually in the temporal area. Since the bleeding is of arterial origin, symptoms are rapid in onset even though he seemed normal for a few hours. If they didn’t bring him to the hospital that same evening, he could’ve had tentorial herniation and would have eventually died.”

As much as you hate to admit it - you’re beyond impressed. Chohee always stays true to her word, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was still a jerk for clearly cutting the line at the subway.

The girls coo over him, praising him over how cool he looked by explaining his answer. Jungkook settles back on his seat like he hadn’t just perfectly given an on-point pathological explanation for a neuro case.

The group continues their review, until they’ve come to another question they’re unsure of. “Jungkook-ssi, would you know where the rupture of a berry aneurysm of the Circle of Willis would likely produce hemorrhage?”

With only ten minutes left, you’d usually be preparing yourself mentally but this group and Jungkook’s intervention has you all ears once more. Nothing wrong with some last minute review, right?

“It’s the subdural space.”

Wow. Okay, quick and close but wrong. Impressive wit though.

You open your mouth to say something but you hesitate as it dawns on you that you really aren’t part of this group and you’re not the one being asked. Jungkook not missing a beat gets a collective ‘ooh’ from the group, who’s clearly impressed at how quickly he’s answered the question.

Meanwhile, your conscience is making you contemplate on your earlier hesitation with the voice of the angel on your right shoulder telling you it isn’t right to let the wrong answer pass just like that, especially on a day like this. The devil on your left, however, tells you otherwise. You go with the former.

Amongst their murmurs of mutual praise for Jungkook (you bet this man is rejoicing inside with all the attention he’s getting, despite looking nonchalant), you take a deep breath and say the correct answer, voice coming out louder than expected.

“Excuse me?” another ‘spectator’ says, jutting her chin towards you.

“I said,” you look up at her, “it’s actually the subarachnoid space.”

“Are you sure?” she retorts.

Seriously? Just because you’re not some fuckboy jock who smolders at all boobed humans means you can’t be sure with your answer?

“Hey! I know you!” Someone exclaims from the side, causing everyone to turn their heads toward him, “You’re the foreigner valedictorian at SNU!” Similar to their earlier praises directed towards Jungkook, the same dudes marvel at your most recent accomplishment. You give a shy smile in return, quietly thanking the stranger for the sudden confidence boost.

“Jungkook-oppa is also the valedictorian at Yonsei.”

Well, that didn’t last for long...somebody has always got to rain on your parade. You won’t allow this girl though, not today.

You purse your lips, collecting your thoughts first before explaining it to them. “Subarachnoid hemorrhages, although they are much less common than hypertensive intracerebral hemorrhages, but the former are...more often than not...resultant of a rupture of a berry aneurysm.” You pause momentarily when someone drags his seat closer to yours, “Go on please.”

“Right, um...berry aneurysms are most commonly found at the Circle of Willis, usually by the junction of the communicating artery and the cerebral artery. Chances of rupture increase with age and cause marked bleeding into the subarachnoid space and produces severe headaches.” The same dude earlier blinks at you, urging you to explain further, “uh...additional symptoms may include vomiting, pain, stiffness of the neck, and papilledema. Death may follow rapidly as well.”

A few from the people gathered around your seat clap their hands, along with compliments and offers along the lines of marriage and organ swaps.

Someone mentions seeing the proctor approach the room and the group immediately disperses, everyone rushing back to their seats as quickly as possible. A middle-aged man enters, tells everyone to bring out their pencils and place their stuff by the platform, then momentarily leaves for the restroom.

Jungkook fishes through his bag, turning each pocket inside and out over and over again. There’s no way this kid actually-- “Shit, where did that pencil go?” he murmurs, going through his bag once more. Looking away, you bite your lip to stop yourself from snickering. Jeon Jungkook is definitely on a different level.

As expected, your entertaining seatmate calls you and asks for a pencil. With a deceivingly enthusiastic nod, you retrieve a pencil from your case just beside your chair. Your life after meeting Jungkook at the subway had finally led to this moment. He clears his throat and you figure it’s signaling the coming of another obnoxious comment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, this wasn’t meant for you,” you look at him with the most apologetic look you can muster. Then you look at him, down then up, just as he had done back in the library, you smile widely before winking at him, making him hand your extra pencil over to the guy sat next to him, “Thanks, babe.”

Jungkook scowls hard and you rejoice inside your head, making sure that your face doesn’t register the slightest bit of jest. His scowl however, does not last for long. “Hmm, you’re the girl from the library, right? Smart and feisty...maybe you are my type after all,” he murmurs, tongue poking his cheek. You scoff loudly, scrunching your face in disgust. “No thank you.”

“Oppa,” the girl’s shrill voice calls him one more time and you face forward to freely roll your eyes. If you aren’t mistaken, there’s even a hint of mild annoyance on Jungkook’s features. “Don’t mind her, oppa. You can have my extra pencil instead.” She tsks. “Some people just don’t know when to quit.”

At least she got something right this morning: you don’t know when to quit.

#jungkook x reader #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #bts au #bts fic #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #doctors au #bts series #jeon jungkook

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supernaturalfreewill · 5 years ago

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Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

#gabriel fanfiction #gabriel x reader #gabe fics #archangel #supernatural fics #reader insert #spn

254 notes · View notes

highwaydiamonds · 4 years ago

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Um. Excuse me. You had cancer??

Yeah... I mean I guess I really haven't discussed it much on tumblr. I have a little bit, but only in vague ways, or rarely made veiled references in tags.

SO, get a drink, get a snack, because this is a bit of a saga, and you already know I am longwinded at the best of times. I'm going to do like Vizzini said, and go back to the beginning. I hope you're ok I'm making this public Shells, it seems easier to? And I'll put this behind a cut because I really do wax on ( and on).

It's the end of August 2018 and i appear to have gotten some kind cold/respiratory infection. I'm at work the first day of it and it feels like a cold. No big deal. (Also this is all pre-COVID so no I didn't have COVID). The next day I feel really awful, so I call off work, and figure all I need to do is rest and I'll be ok. Turns out, NOPE. The next day I feel worse- now I can tell I have a bit of a fever, my appetite was basically, " eat one baby carrot and my appetite is exhausted." Finally, I get to the point that I am having trouble lying down - as in I am becoming short of breath when I try to lie flat (sorry if I am using the wrong word - lay/lie was always a grammar issue that eluded me.) So, I decide, ok, i will be sensible girl and go get medical attention. But I am stubborn and feel the ER is overreacting, so I go to urgent care. i park in the front row of urgent car parking, but by the time I reach the intake desk I have to put my head down because I am so winded and a bit lightheaded.

They take one look at me and tell me, point blank, "we're getting a squad for you to take you to the ER." I say, " what? no, I don't need that, this is not that big a deal." They counter, " you could barely walk in the door and you you are having significant trouble breathing. We don't have the ability to see you here." So, for the first time in my life I have to go via ambulance from urgent care to a free standing ER.

I get to the ER - where they decide, OK, lady, you're a mess. Let's get some chest x-rays and we're gonna slap some IV fluids and I can't even recall if they immediately put me on IV antibiotics or not. But after two hours there they informed me, " hey.... So, we think you need to go to the hospital-hospital not the freestanding ER." I tell them well you better hand me my laptop ( I'm that bitch who takes the laptop with her juuuuust in case I am stuck in the hospital. you never know.) Because i am not going to a hospital until I figure out if they're in my health plan. I do so and then for the second time in my life, all in one night because sometimes I am an over achiever i guess, I go via ambulance to the hospital.

They admitted me and over the next few/couple/ hours ( it was hard to tell) I progressively felt worse. I had trouble breathing if I didn't sit absolutely straight up, and at that point I hadn't gotten good sleep for around 60 hours or so. Me being me I started to get teary and panicky, because I was so tired and wasn't sure what to do. I called for the nurse and she came in and then within the next half hour your girl got taken down to the ICU. By the time we arrived down in the ICU I was really getting panicky. My mom died in the ICU ( different hospital but still) and I knew the fact they took me down there was no laughing matter. I started to think about, " ok is this what death is like? this isn't what i thought it was going to be - this is panicky and scary and not all white lights and peace."

The next thing I knew - it was two days later, and I woke up intubated. Did you know that you can be conscious and intubated? I did not. I'll speed things up a bit here. I spent a total of 8 days in the ICU - I had one hell of a case of pneumonia, and there were a couple of other diagnoses thrown in ( nope, not cancer. promise, we will get there.) . The nurses I had were AMAZING. I was intubated for about 6 of those 8 days. Then I got weaned off of it. Funniest moment on the ventilator: Physical therapist comes around and says, " Hey let's get you up and walking, you think you can?" I nodded and shrugged my shoulders to try and communicate, " sure, ok!" It went totally fine, but there were nursing students, residents, other doctors and who knows who else looking out of rooms and over desks at the two of us just y'know... *walking down the hall*. I gestured to the people because it was just flipping weird. I had an audience at the exact time NOBODY wants an audience and it confused the hell out of me. PT advised me, " there aren't too many times ventilated patients are ambulatory. You're a bit of a curiosity so people want to see."

Once I got out of the ICU and was put back on a regular floor, I got to meet with other doctors re those other diagnoses I mentioned ( chronic things I just have to manage) I also mentioned that it had been a really long time since I had been to a GYN and as had been noted in the ICU I spotted quite frequently ( I have never, ever in my life been regular period-wise and it just got weirder over time, but I just didn't really consider it. So I asked while they were setting me up with new practitioners ( my previous doctor had retired) too please set me top with a gynecologist.

So I'm out of the hospital by September 10th, 2018. The gyro appointment occurs i want to say by mid- to late September. I go in and meet her and she's lovely. While I'm up on the table she says, " hey let's do all the things and get a uterine biopsy!" I say, " excellent, do the things!" We agree it's likely going to be nothing but hey we're smart people and we will play it safe. Huzzah Gyno visit accomplished! (if I were a gamer I'd make some kind of ladybits achievement unlocked now, but I'm not a gamer.)

Two or so weeks go by - or however long it takes to get those test results back (some of these spans are lost in the mists of time). Dr Boyle calls me and apologizes that the test results that she was sure would be nothing... they are not nothing. Turns out, it's endometrial cancer.

At that point you could have knocked me over with a feather. Shells, I wanted my mom to be there so badly, I can't even express it. She would have understood how I felt - she'd been there with her breast cancer. But at the same time, I was glad she wasn't there? I remember how heartsick my mom was to tell Grandmommy when Mom got cancer. I didn't want my mom to have to hear that news, to worry about that. Dr Boyle advised me that she would be referring me to a good oncologist and i should hear from them in a week or two.

Thus began MRIS and PET scans and ultrasounds, and blood work etc. The oncologist diagnosed that he figured I might be stage three, but it depended on my lymph involvement. It brought back memories of when Mom was diagnosed and when she told me she was stage three. I asked my Dad later, "what does that mean?" He told me, " there are only four stages, so what do you think?" This time around I knew what it meant. So, we put me down for surgery November 9th, 2018. That's two days before my birthday - so I joked that I was getting my cancer out for my birthday - hooray! My best friend actually flew in from texas for my surgery ( my best friend is a SAINT, and I love her more than pearls and rubies.)

Best surgery story from this experience: For my total hysterectomy (uterus and ovaries go sayonara and then also two signal lymph nodes in the chain of nodes on either side of the pelvis to se if there is any lymph complication.) I had to be tilted back - so with my head down to move as many organs away from the uterus etc during the laparoscopic procedure. I knew this going in, However, when I woke up back in my hospital room I looked at Bestie and said, " I hurt in places I didn't expect to hurt. Oh wait. My shoulders hurt because they're not used to being weight bearing, but the procedure was laproscopic - so why the heck does my vagina hurt?" Bestie in one of her best moments ever says, " I know why." I replied, " wait, YOU know why MY vagina hurts?!" She said, " yep. So your surgery was supposed to take 3-3.5 hours ended up taking 5 hours instead. Your uterus was really big. The oncologist told us they need up having to cut it in half to pull it out of you." bestie admitted she joked with the oncologist that it was like I had just birthed a baby, he looked back at her (NOT laughing) and said, " yes, that's basically what she did." I laughed so much at that ( i mean i was also well medicated, but still) I told Bestie, " I had a Uterus! Let's call it George!" ( In retrospect I am disappointed in myself that I misgendered my own uterus, I should have called it Georgina.)

So, after healing from the surgery, by about January of 2019 I started two courses (each with a few rounds) of chemo. First came what the doctors and I called "low-pro" chemo - that we did along with radiation. Honestly, though i was making a heck of a lot more bathroom trips, you wouldn't have generally known I was sick. Most of my coworkers had no idea. I just was a bit more tired than usual. After the low pro rounds - then we moved to the bigger guns. Radiation was done but I moved to more significant chemo drugs, This wasn't because things were bad - this was the plan all along :) But I knew the "high-pro" chemo was going to make me lose my hair. THAT was a psychic struggle. I cried so much knowing that was going to happen. I got hats and caps and I even got a very nice wig. I mean, I planned as much as a girl can plan when she hears that news. I even preemptively cut my long hair. It was about half way down my back at that point. So I went in and asked the stylist please braid it and put it in between two hair ties - and then cut it - so i could keep my braid. I couldn't do locks of love anyway as it was colored, and I know it's selfish, but I wanted my hair. So, the hair went from half down my back to a face framing bob. then I just waited. And then in a few weeks it happened. I could put my hands through my hair and easily, painlessly pull it out. I am not a cute bald girl. That's when people KNOW you have something going on.

I was very lucky though, there ended up NOT being lymph involvement, and even the high pro chemo didn't make me nauseous or lose appetite. I did have HORRIBLE bone pain usually the first week after chemo ( i'd get it every three weeks). I learned a hell of a lot from that. I also was able to get some meds to help alleviate it a bit, and I took time from work when the pain was at its worst. But I have never experienced pain like that - where no matter what I did - no position changes helped. Even ice packs or heat pads didn't help or do much. It was just a waiting game, a painful waiting game. Oh also - I learned that IV benadryl is nothing like oral benadryl. IV benadryl is like walking right into a brick wall made of sleep. That stuff knocked me the hell out right quick - amazing.

Right before COVID started and the world shut down I got the flu because my immune system was in the toilet- and so I spent another week in the hospital and except for the bone pain that comes with chemo, you know what is worse than chemo injections? POTASSIUM injections. Among other things, my potassium levels were low and so I got those injections with other meds. Those suckers HURT. they BURN, and so i spent a week in the hospital only to eventually come out and find out the world was starting to shut down from COVID. Not my job at that point, but my oncologist told me, " GO HOME - YOU KNOW YOU ARE IMMUNO COMPROMISED - DON'T STAY AT WORK." So, I went home until about a month after I finished chemo.

Since finishing chemo it's been about scans, which have gone ok so far... I'm not willing to talk about the R word. I just think I'll have to be careful the rest of my life - My mom always said, "once you've gotten cancer, you always have cancer." So, maybe it's the anxiety talking, but it's kind of like waiting for the other cancer shoe to drop. In the mean time though, it's business as usual - try to find good stuff in the midst of the hot mess. Cancer has been a crisis but not a reason to lose my sense of humor. I've needed it more than ever :)

So, sorry for the SERIOUSLY LONG ASS answer, but sometimes it's just better to lay it bare. I'm not ashamed of this stuff. It's been a lot. It's been a journey... It still is... it's part of the rest of my journey, which i hope isn't over by a long shot yet. I don't believe things happen for reasons - the world is WAY too absurd for that in my opinion, BUT good gravy have i been able to learn so much from this whole three ring circus. I'm not grateful for cancer, but I am grateful for the lessons.

Thanks for checking in, Shells. You're a complete sweetheart.

#the r word is remission #cancer funtimes #i really didn't let many people know tbh #not just online #i didn't tell one of my two remaining family members for months #i have very good friends who knew and friends who are like family that supported me #i know it's crazy to say i'm lucky - but i am. i so am.#and if anyone read all of this - you definitely deserve a hug and several cookies. if i had cookies to give i would but i just have hugs

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hongism · 5 years ago

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mists of celeste ➻ three

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part three

"First order of business," Yunho starts as he gets up from his stool. "I need to run some basic scans on your arm to gauge the injury and infection. Then a full-body scan to see how far the infection has spread. How long have you had the injury?" He moves around the bed you're placed on with quick steps, a tablet in hand.

"Th-Three days," you stammer, watching him work. Spectre cuts in, and you almost forgot he was standing nearby with a brown belt in hand.

"Four days. Today is the fifth," he says. Yunho glances over at him, eyes wide in question.

"How do you know…?"

"She was on the bridge of the HMS Revenge. Considering that Hongjoong destroyed the ship four days ago, this is the only logical explanation." Spectre motions towards you with his head. "I noticed her on the second day, to be honest. I only wanted to see how long it would take for her to reveal herself. Until I saw the blood trails, at least."

"Ah yes, that makes sense." Yunho nods before bringing his tablet to hover over your arm. Blue light emits from the bottom of it, a faint stream of light that cascades over your bare skin.

Now that your military uniform has been stripped, you can see the injury better, although you don't particularly want to see it. It's bruised black and blue, blood all around the hole that is shiny and fresh. It oozes a bit still, although the liquid is not all red, and you're certain that it's the infection mixed in as well. Not something you would like to look at but the blue rays coming from Yunho's tablet are quite fascinating to watch as they dance over your arm. You don't feel the touch of the light; you can only see it as it moves as though on its own accord. Sure you've had injuries time and time again, but the treatment methods for them were never like this. No fancy tablets with strange lights. Although the military has always had a more traditional approach to everything they do.

"Hm. The bullet is in there pretty deep, huh? It… uh, it's in an awkward spot. The bullet tore right through your brachialis muscle along with a bit of your bicep. Moreso, the nerves all around the path of the bullet itself seem to be a bit fried? I doubt that makes any sense to you, but in layman's terms: two muscles have critical damage, and that's not something we can immediately fix. I can remove the bullet with an emergency operation to cut the arm open and take it out, which is the best course of action. The nerves can be… I'm not sure how to say this in a way that will make sense to you. Hm, well. The nerves can reconstruct themselves over time. When I do the surgery, I can help them along a little bit but I don't think it's needed. Nerves try to repair themselves by shrinking back and resting for a period of time. After the rest period, they grow back as they were. Muscles can do the same sort of thing but not in cases of extreme trauma. A muscle damaged in extreme trauma creates these gaps that are too large to fill on their own so scar tissue forms in the gaps as a way to compensate. Does that all make sense?"

"I have an infection-induced fever," you state. "I don't understand anything you're saying." Yunho raises his brows.

"I'll take that as a no." Yunho lifts the tablet higher and drags it through the air above your head all the way down to your feet. The blue rays conform to your body as they move, widening and contracting with the folds of your clothes. "San, could you do me another favor? I need you to go get Woo so I can have an assistant to run the operation."

"No, no, I can do it," Spectre answers with haste. His eyes dart between you and Yunho. "Woo won't be necessary. I can help you." Yunho stands up straight, pulling the tablet back to his chest one the light retracts from your body, and stares at San. He looks ready to argue about the topic but never opens his mouth to retort. Instead, he releases a deep sigh: a sign of relenting. San's lips quirk upwards into a small smile of victory.

"Fine. Get the anesthesia injection, a scalpel, tweezers, and gauze." Spectre turns away from the bed upon hearing the command. You watch him walk out the corner of your eye, thinking over Yunho's words.

"Anesthesia?" You repeat. "I thought you said you didn't want to use anesthesia on me."

"I didn't want to. But that was before I ran the scans and saw the extent of the damage to your muscle. I'm not getting this bullet out without trouble, so numbing it is pretty much the only comfort I can give you."

"Wait San – the belt. I need it." San passes said object to Yunho by tossing it across the bed. Yunho folds it in half. "Here, you're going to want to bite down on this." He holds it out to you, and you take it between your teeth, glancing up at Yunho as you do. He then reaches around you to pick up the bottle of vodka from his table. "Please – well, please try not to jerk your arm while I do this."

Yunho grips your arm at the elbow, a small effort to keep you steady as he tips the bottle towards your wound. You clench your teeth around the leather belt before the alcohol even touches your skin. Anticipating the worst helps quite a bit, in fact, because the second the first drop of alcohol lands on the wound, you're screaming around the belt. If not for the death grip Yunho has on your elbow, you would be thrashing. It's the worst pain you've ever experienced. Far worse than being shot, far worse than burns or frostbite, hell even getting shot by a laser hurts less than the pain you're in at the moment. Yunho keeps the steady stream of alcohol going, flushing the wound out. The mix of blood, infection, and alcohol is causing a grotesque foaming mixture that drips from your arm to Yunho's hand and onto the bed.

"Hang in there, I'm almost done," Yunho mutters, voice barely audible behind your muffled screams. He continues pouring alcohol over the wound until it runs clear but the pain doesn't let up even after he stops. "See, that wasn't too bad!"

His cheery tone and optimism only make you want to punch him in the nose. Luckily for him, your punching arm is out of order at the moment and you're in so much pain that you can barely feel the limb. All you can do is spit the belt out. Yunho catches it before it hits your lap. He inspects the leather, a small laugh escaping his lips as he sees the indentations of your teeth along the belt. You all but bit through the leather on both sides.

"I hope you didn't like this belt too much, San," he calls to the man who stands on the other side of your bed. He's gathered the materials that Yunho asked for, all piled up with the other stack that Yunho already had.

"Oh, I didn't. Captain did though."

"You took this from Hongjoong?" Yunho asks, voice rising as he gapes at the other man. He grins like a Cheshire in response. "On god San, you're fucked if he finds out."

"That's why he won't find out. Can't miss something you forgot you had."

"That's not the way h—"

"Anyways." San passes the shot of anesthesia over to Yunho, interrupting his train of thought.

"Yea, yea. We need to work fast to get the anesthesia in so there's enough time for it to kick in and wear off before the 47 hours are up." Yunho takes the shot in one hand, his other hand squeezing around your elbow. He pokes at the skin a few times then presses so hard that you release a loud noise from the sudden pain. The needle enters your arm so quickly that you barely feel the pressure. Warmth is the only thing you feel for a moment, a cozy yet uncomfortable sensation that spreads down to your fingertips and all the way up your arm. "Okay, we'll need to give you a bit of time now. The anesthesia will take a bit to kick in, so in the meantime, I need to run an IV drip for dehydration. Just for putting some fluids back into your body that you've lost through all the sweating and vomiting. Not to mention you probably haven't had a lot of water in the past few days. I'll also do a drip later for narcotic painkillers once the anesthesia begins to wear off. Okay? All standard protocol for an operation like this, I promise."

"Let's just get it over with," you murmur back. He frowns at you, a small "okay" leaving his lips before he continues his work on you.

The combination of your fever and the pain is bringing a piercing headache. You don't notice that Yunho moves around the bed until his hand reaches for your left arm. You yank it away as though burned. His eyes go wide at the forcefulness behind your action. A moment later though, he tries again, fingers closing around your wrist. You try to tug away but his grip is a bit too powerful this time and you fail to release your arm from his grasp.

"I need your uninjured arm for the IV. There's too much damage on your right arm to get these fluids into your bloodstream."

"Use my right arm or no arm at all," you hiss back. Your fingers clench into a tight fist, knuckles going white from the pressure.

"I already saw it," Yunho whispers. There is no point in whispering, as the room is silent aside from his voice, so San can hear the words as well. Still, you freeze. The tension leaves your arm and you let it fall limp in Yunho's grasp. "I'm sorry. I saw it when we were getting the uniform jacket off."

"Whatever," you say, looking away from the man. The plain, white wall before you is suddenly much more interesting. Despite the length of time that has passed since you received the brand, the memory always remains fresh. The sensation of searing hot metal being pressed against the inside of your wrist, the pain that resonated through your whole body, and the feeling of five pairs of eyes glued to you as you received the brand. It's all too real and present in your mind. Just the thought of someone seeing the brand is enough to send you headfirst into those memories.

"How… how did you get it?" The healer inquires. His voice is quiet again, no doubt hesitant and uncertain about asking the question. You barely feel the next needle that enters your arm.

"That's none of your business," you respond without looking his way.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for intruding. I'm just – just trying to make conversation to distract you from the pain."

"Well, talk about something else. Not my past."

"Understood." You catch sight of Yunho's small smirk out the corner of your eye. Despite your confusion, you decide against asking him about it and wait for him to contain what he's doing instead. He places small round patches on various points around your chest, deft fingers dipping under the fabric and back out without you even feeling it. "These are just for keeping an eye on your heart rate. It's good I checked too because your heart rate is awfully slow. Could be due to the infection or your body is trying to conserve. Normally I only see it this low if the patient is asleep though."

"Need anything else?" San asks. He steps forward, hands coming to rest on the foot of the bed.

"Not right now. I think we're – wait. Wait." The level of panic in Yunho's voice does not comfort you one bit. Especially when Spectre's face shares the same level of concern. "Something isn't right." Yunho swipes furiously at his tablet, fingers moving so quickly over the screen that you can't tell what he's trying to do. "She was shot in the arm… outer arm with no exit wound, the bullet still present in the brachialis muscle right against the humerus. Why does she have pneumothorax too?"

"English please?" San asks.

"Punctured lung. It's a punctured lung that could collapse at any minute. Yours looks to be a pinhole, meaning it's small and acute. You should recover just fine without any treatment if you were a healthy adult but there's a serious infection running through your blood and that means it could cause complications if not treated. More importantly, I can't do an emergency operation like this if your lungs aren't fully functional. I'd need to put you on an oxygen mask just on the off chance that your lung collapses during the surgery but a one percent chance is still a chance."

"What caused it? I haven't noticed anything." You try to sit up a bit to look at Yunho's tablet but he pulls it away before you have the chance.

"It depends on all sorts of factors. Do you know how long you've had a lung problem?"

"I didn't even know I had a lung problem," you retort.

"She's been on the ship four days, Yunho."

"Okay, okay. We can worry about that in a bit. I need to get the IV drip in now." You glance forward as Yunho approaches your arm with another long needle. San is blocking your line of sight. He doesn't look back at you; instead, his eyes are fixated on your arm, rather your wrist where the chain brand resides. Subconsciously, you turn your wrist away only to have Yunho resituate it again as he inserts the long needle.

"You're looking pretty pale again," San comments. You take a deep breath but find yourself unable to respond. All the white in the room begins to blur together. All the strength left in your body is ebbing away. "Yunho, she's looking pretty fucking pale!" The man's voice climbs in volume as his form blurs into nothingness. Yunho keeps working on your IV, securing the catheter and tubes with a piece of tape.

"Shit, hey. Hey. Hey, stay awake." Yunho reaches over, patting your face with his palm. You push him away with a weak shove as a wave of coughs overwhelms you.

"Is this normal? What do you need? What's wrong with her? What do we do?" San rambles. Yunho rubs at the skin between his brows as San speaks.

"Shut the fuck up, San. If Woo were here, he would know what to fucking do since he helps me ninety percent of the time." San leans forward, smacks Yunho's hands away from his face, and grabs hold of his collar.

"If you don't want my help, then you're on your own," San hisses as he yanks Yunho forward. A weak laugh escapes your lips.

"Do you all fight this often or am I just special?"

Yunho sighs at your half-hearted jab and pushes San off him. He reaches for his ear, beginning to speak again but this time it's not directed at San.

"Wooyoung to the med bay for emergency operation assistance." The moment his hand leaves his ear, San is back in his face.

"Call it off!" He yells. Yunho deflects San's anger with a surprising sense of calm.

"I'm not letting a girl die simply because you don't want him to be seen. The fact of the matter is you don't know what the hell you're doing so you're of no use to me."

"Your damn savior complex is going to be the end of everyone on this ship."

"Then we were doomed the minute I set foot on the ship. Wooyoung is the only one who knows how to help me conduct emergency operations and laser surgeries. You need to fuck off and let me do my damn job. It's my job to save people, no matter the cost. Yours is only to kill them. So, why don't you listen closely and hear the wheeze in her breaths? The sweat on her forehead? The residue from her arm? If I don't get to work quickly, then you'll have a body to haul out. Do you want to be responsible for her death?"

At those words, San stands down. He leans back and stands up straight ahead, the fury dropping from his features as he moves. He turns away from the bed but something in you causes you to lunge forward with a sudden bout of strength and catch his wrist. He glances down at you with widened eyes.

"Thank you… for – for saving my life." San's gaze softens. A smile almost crosses his lips but he stops it before it can show too much.

"I did nothing except prolong the inevitable," comes his response. The words are spoken in a cold and emotionless tone, much different from the tone he used with you previously, but you no longer have the strength to even think straight. Your hand falls away from San's wrist as you fall back against the bed. Yunho lets San leave the med bay without exchanging further words with him.

Instead, the healer finishes connecting all the IV tubes and fluid bags.

"You're probably going to pass out," he mutters, bending over you and resting his palm against your forehead. "We'll try our best to work quickly and keep you under during the operation, okay?" You can only nod against the pressure of his hand. He eases you further into the bed and makes sure you're flat against the mattress. The action is like the magic touch for you to fall unconscious. Before your vision goes completely black, you see a new form enter the med bay, one with tanned skin and hair that looks like coal and ash. You don't have the chance to look over the rest of his form before the darkness overtakes you.

✦ ✦ ✦

Waking up again takes far too much effort. Your whole body feels as though it's made of pure lead, and you can't even open your eyes easily. You can't recall what happened before you fell asleep or where you are; the confusion only grows further when you're finally able to crack your eyes open.

White. The color is all you see for a few moments before your vision clears up some. The brightness of your surroundings blinds you. You shift and push your head to the left. Wires and tubes are all around you, two lead to your arm and another to your face. You try to feel around but you aren't able to; the strength hasn't completely returned to your body. All you can do is move your head from side to side for the time being. You check your other arm. There's a large white bandage wrapped around your bicep and you can't recall what's underneath it.

The clink of metal distracts you. It resounds from somewhere in front of you, and as you twist to look in that direction. A man with tan skin stands near a sink. You peer at him. Something about his figure seems familiar but you can't place it. Seeing him brings reality back to you, however, and you recall how you got here, a Cheshire cat finding you in a crate, the gentle giant healer who helped you.

"Wh-Where am – where am I?" You stammer out, voice cracking and hoarse as you try to talk. The man jumps at the sound of your voice. He drops what he's doing and turns towards you, eyes wide and curious as he looks over at you. Now that you're more awake, you can see more clearly and get a better look at the person with you. Besides the caramel tan, he bears dark hair that's almost black but not quite. The color is more between silver and grey but the color of his hair is the least interesting thing about him. There is a metal collar around his neck, a thick block that stands out against his skin, and you peer at it in curiosity. A collar? I don't… You don't have time to look at him, however, because he's rushing towards you a second later.

"Oh, you're awake!" He chirps as he comes closer to your bedside. "You're aboard The Horizon, ship belonging to Captain Kim Hongjoong. I'm not sure whether you remember it, but you were awake for a little while before the surgery." At his words, vague memories of a healer and a man with a strip of white hair float to the forefront of your mind. "You had a pretty awful fever though so it might be a bit hard to remember. Yunho – the healer, if you remember him – patched up the pinhole in your lung and kept it from collapsing with quick laser surgery. We also removed the bullet in your arm and drained the infection. He patched it up with stitches as best he could. He said that it was hard to close without some skin grafting, but he didn't want to do that so he just closed it without the extra graft."

"How – hold on, how long have I been here?" You ask. The sudden barrage of information catches you off-guard. You're still waking up, brain not coming back to full functionality, yet this man doesn't seem to care about that one bit.

"Oh! Hm, I think you've been on the ship for maybe a total of seven days? If you include the first four stowaway days, that is. Otherwise, you've been asleep for three days."

"72 hours," you mutter to yourself. You remember something about the captain telling Yunho that he only had a certain amount of time to fix you.

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"72 hours… but the captain gave Yunho 48 hours to fix me."

"47 actually!" The man corrects with a bright and blinding smile, his teeth shining under the yellow light above your heads. "Captain only gave 47 hours to fix you, but it only took Yunho 17 so."

"Wh—What do you mean?"

"We were up for 17 hours trying to fix you up. Captain was impressed at Yunho's speed so he said that you could have extra recovery time. Oh, if you pretend to still be resting, you could get longer recovery time!"

"Why is everything in this room so damn white?" You mutter as you push yourself into a sitting position. The man shakes his head.

"No, no, no! You shouldn't get up!"

"Why not?" You protest, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm fine, I feel fine, and nothing is going to rupture. Laser surgery doesn't leave tears or stitches either so it doesn't matter."

"No!" The man argues, voice climbing in volume. You blink up at him, eyes wide from the sudden outburst. "Yunho told me not to let you leave, and I won't go against what Yunho wants. If he says you stay here, then you stay here."

"This is ridiculous. Now I'm being kept here against my will? Am I a captive now?" You scoff as you continue to get to your feet. The man moves with surprising haste. He leans across the space in front of you, snatches up something from the table, then grabs your head. You try to fight back but he has already caught you and overwhelmed you. Something sharp pierces your neck. You cry out at the pressure but waves of warmth wash over you next. You stumble backward when he releases his hold on you. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fall back onto the mattress as your strength leaves your body again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but I had to do it. I won't go against what Yunho says." His voice sounds somewhat remorseful. You're losing consciousness so fast that the world spins around you and as you glance over at his hand, you spot a large shot. You'd recognize that almost anywhere. The military use them religiously, a typical weapon that you would brandish when dealing with insurgent civilians. High grade emergency sedative shots.

"Y-You…" You can't finish the sentence before the exhaustion overwhelms you and you pass out yet again.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s that time~ new chapter! i hope you all enjoy it! please let me know what you think so far and what your fav part has been or anything about the story!! i know things are moving rather slowly at the moment bUT i promise it’ll pick up in the coming chapters, we just gotta get through this ish first !!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 5 years ago

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Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager.

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around.

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount.

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip.

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange.

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since.

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.”

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two.

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door.

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was.

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman.

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else.

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass.

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans.

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?”

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour.

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number.

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market.

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream.

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River.

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty.

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting.

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

“Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!”

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.”

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?”

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.”

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?”

“My pride and joy.”

June 13 (sun)

Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto.

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits.

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee.

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.”

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically.

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?”

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.”

“Fair enough.”

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

June 15 (tues)

It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her.

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her.

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry.

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one.

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.”

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?”

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.”

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.”

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home”

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered.

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh.

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said.

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off.

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging.

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?”

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.”

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right?

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said.

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight.

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.

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