#unidentifiable need that boils my blood into a cold sweat

[scooge]

it's a crime that I can't bite my own thighs

[tetsustation]

[false alarm]

:: sugawara koushi x gn!reader

:: fluff + 1.1k

:: thank you for rolling kuroo on mudae and giving him to me for free @misutv and i apologize in advance for this

leave it up to him to make a scene right? 

promptly, you stepped out of the way—making room for the other passengers as they flooded from behind you. the temporary dam you built as an immune response to his position was consequently broken when the man behind you had cleared his throat, eager to step out the tunnel and onto the gate.

“what are you doing?” sugawara was about a yard in front of you, kneeling on a single knee.

the waves in his hair were apparent, listless from the weight of his workday. his lanyard and teacher identification was limp around his neck, but danged slightly as he chucked—clearly amused by the position he had put you in. still, you stared him down, attempting not to entertain him

to be frank, you couldn’t really discern what this was supposed to be—moments after you stepped off your flight. it was tempting to walk past him, act like you didn’t even know him—the only thing stopping you being the onlookers that turned their heads, questioning whether or not they were witnessing what they thought they were witnessing. 

“i’m here to greet you, isn’t it obvious?” the smile he wore was eye creasing and pristine—most likely reflecting the natural sunlight that flooded in from the floor-to-ceiling window behind you.

his explanation was beyond insufficient and you felt the irritation brought on by jet lag settle in your stomach, twisting small quarter-sized knots. surely, you were not fit to deal with this fresh off a twelve hour flight, and yet—your boyfriend couldn’t seem to care less. the wingspan of his arms were stretched outwards, creating the illusion of a warm welcome. you glared at his feigned innocence.

“sugawara koushi, so help me god,” you looked around offering a few polite smiles to the miniscule, yet noticeable, crowd that formed around you, “if you don’t get up right now.” 

“and what if i don’t?” he challenged, tilting his head downwards yet maintaining blood-boiling eye contact. you hoped his meter ran out of time, that he'd be fined for a parking violation, that he’d get a flat tire, and his pillow was inevitably warm when you laid down beside him tonight. 

whatever he was doing was a clear betrayal of your shared plan. he’d be six feet under before he was to stand at an altar, if this was how he was proposing to you—when you were barely conscious and in public, of all places. strangulation among other things popped into your fried brain, and yet he was still kneeled in front of you with an award winning grin plastered on his face.

“please,” you laughed cruelly, “don’t tell me this is what i think it is.” 

how would you even respond to such a thing, a proposal? in a sooty airport, with a child’s tablet providing an unfavorable ambience from the next row over? the flight attendant looked nervous, you noticed from the peripheral of your glance. the heat on your face was pounding your pores, and the cold sweat that erupted on the back of your neck was anything but pleasant. 

then, he twisted his torso, arms pulling inward to extract something unidentifiable from his back pocket. instincts rolled into high gear, as you lunged forward to create a death grip on the cliff of his shoulders, squeezing the blades with purpose. anywhere—anywhere that wasn’t public, where a crowd could judge every twitch on your unsuspecting face.

sugawara koushi could propose to you anywhere but here. 

and just when all hope was lost, he pulled out a sleek black rectangle instead, not velvet but a matte shell, that shielded the fragile parameters of his cell phone. the glint in his eyes was almost devilish as he watched your features deflate, from petrification to utter confusion—a journey of just a few seconds.

on the screen, you found a picture of a familiar front yard, with a paved path and an assortment of bushes in front. the paneling on the roof was slanted, ridges of sleek metal that roofed the walls as well as the arched overhang over the door—your dream home, if you will. the house that you and sugawara had been eyeing for about a month now. 

“the other family pulled out, it’s ours if we make a decision by the end of the week.” 

just like that, you were wide awake—any remnants of a restless flight fizzling away as you repressed the squeal climbing up your throat. only when you pounced into his arms did he make the effort to finally stand to his full height, nearly stumbling, but absorbing your contagious excitement, nonetheless. 

standing back, you slapped his right arm, “why would you wait for me to get off my flight on one knee just to tell me that?” 

it was his turn for a demeanor change, he snickered coltishly, “i just wanted to scare you a bit.” 

the claim was somewhat believable, just short of guiltless as you rolled your eyes. the rather small crowd dissipated from around you, and you tabled his stunt in favor of moving forward—if things continued in this direction, you’d have to be ready to undergo a lot of change in the next few weeks.

and in order to preserve your own wellbeing, you smiled. just like always, he smiled back. no matter what emotion swirled in your busy mind, he was always there to match it, align with your fluctuating magnitude in a way no one else could. that was really all you could ask for of someone, and you were grateful to have found it so young.  

for the first time today, you laughed—it was breathy and erupted from the depths of your stomach. clamping your hands over your mouth, you attempted to steady yourself. it all seemed so silly, and yet, you were content. maybe faking a proposal in the middle of a busy airport was just what you needed today. 

only when the airport speaker chimed did you remember that life went on. “lets go, my stuff is at baggage claim,” you remind him. 

grabbing the carry on you had since dropped at your side, he began to trail after you���swerving through the bustle as the quintessence of noon approached. there was a mischievous glint lingering behind in his eyes, that you couldn’t help but indulge in one more time, you asked him what was on his mind.

“your dad asked about me, didn’t he?” though shushing him did next to nothing as he continued, “me and him are best friends, you know.”

“just wait until he finds out about the house.”

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[youleftme-clarke]

Emergency Contacts

By: wanheda_two_heda

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: The 100 (TV) Relationship: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin Characters: Bellamy Blake Clarke Griffin Marcus Kane Octavia Blake Nathan MillerMaya Vie Dr. Tsing (The 100) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort Friends to Lovers Strangers to Lovers police officer!bellamy artist!Clarke Alternate Universe - Modern Setting Slow Burn Chapters: 5/5 Words: 14,007

Summary: When Bellamy gets a call from Ark Memorial Hospital because he’s the emergency contact for an unnamed girl in her early twenties, his only thought is Octavia. He can’t imagine that someone might have just entered his phone number by mistake. But when he sees the blonde girl lying unconscious in a hospital bed with no other contacts until she wakes up, something tells him to stay. So he does.

Based on the prompt: au where person a accidentally puts the wrong number as their emergency contact and when they end up in hospital person b gets called (and comes anyway, despite not knowing person a)

For my bb @starboybellamy

Start from the beginning on AO3

Chapter One

His phone trilling loudly on his nightstand has him jolting awake. He checks his watch as he reaches for the phone. It’s nearly four in the morning, and no one ever calls him this late, unless it’s Friday night and his sister is at the bar. But it’s not Friday; it’s Wednesday. He doesn’t recognize the number and considers ignoring it, but something in his gut tells him to answer in case it’s important, so he does.

“Hel –” He has to clear his throat because sleep has made him hoarse. “Hello?” he tries again.

“Hello, my name is Maya. I’m terribly sorry to call you this late, but I’m a nurse at Ark Memorial Hospital.”

“Yes?” Bellamy says, if only to force himself to focus through the rushing noise pounding in his ears in time with his heart beat.

“We have an unidentified young woman who’s just been brought in by ambulance,” the nurse – Maya – continues, completely oblivious to how Bellamy now feels cold dread seeping into his bones. “She’s in her early twenties. There was a vehicle accident. We found your number listed on her medical ID on her iPhone as her emergency contact and called you right away. She doesn’t have her real name listed, though. It looks like a nickname.”

Bellamy swears as he runs a hand over his face to ensure himself that he’s not dreaming. He swears again, this time apologizing to the nurse for his language. “How is she? Is she okay?” Bellamy asks.

He’s already out of bed and looking around for a pair of sweat pants.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out much more over the phone, and we don’t know much yet. We’ll have more information for you once you get here.

He struggles with the phone as he pulls a hoodie over his head and slides his feet into flipflops by his front door.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me more?” he asks roughly.

He knows he should cut the nurse some slack, knows that she’s not the one who makes the rules, but this is his baby sister, and he needs to know.

“Again, I’m very sorry, sir,” she apologizes, and she does sound sincerely sorry.

“Shit, okay, I’m on my way. You said Polis General?” Bellamy confirms.

“No, sir, Ark Memorial.”

“Right. Shit. Sorry. Okay, on my way.”

He hangs up the phone without even saying bye, and he doesn’t care. He needs to get to Octavia. The drive, or rather, the race to the hospital is a blur. He’s driving high above the speed limit, and he doesn’t care. Mercifully, he doesn’t get pulled over, and by some miracle, he finds a parking spot near the front of the emergency department. He’s fully awake as he sprints to the doors, pausing only when they pull open – slowly, too slowly – at his approach. The department is relatively quiet, another miracle, even for the middle of the night. He’s panting with both exertion and panic as he reaches the nurse’s station.

“My sister. Where is she?” he gasps.

“Calm down,” a doctor says. “Who are you looking for?”

“My sister. You called me about my sister. Some nurse – Maya – Maya said she was in a car accident.”

“Oh, yes. Okay,” she turns around and calls for Maya.

A short girl with a friendly face and messy black curls down past her shoulders rounds a corner. “Yes, Dr. Tsing?” she asks with the practiced ease of someone who has to pretend to be pleased at the sound of her name shouted that was constantly.

“This is Mr. – ” Dr. Tsing hesitates.

“Blake,” Bellamy supplies. “Bellamy Blake.”

“This is Mr. Blake. He’s our Jane Doe’s brother.”

“You got here quickly,” is what Maya chooses to say.

“How is she? What happened?” Bellamy asks, his voice desperate.

“She’s stable, but she’s not going to be back on her feet for a little while. She might need surgery. We’re monitoring her condition, but she has several fractured ribs. One might be damaging her lung. Her pleural fluid is currently being drained, but we might need to go in to keep the rib from completely puncturing the lung. She also has a broken wrist and a broken femur,” Maya says, and Bellamy’s face drains of color. “She’s badly bruised and cut. She requires surgery to fix her femur, but this will have to wait until her lung is stable. It’ll be months before she can walk properly again.”

He might not be a doctor, but he does know how painful it is the break the strongest bone in your body. And to not be stable enough for surgery – he doesn’t want to think about it. “How did this happen?” he asks, because last he heard, Octavia didn’t even have her driving permit.

“She was walking,” Maya said. “First responders said that the driver of the car that hit her was drunk. He drove up onto the sidewalk.”

Bellamy feels his blood boil, and he clenches his hands into fists at his side. He’s going straight to the precinct when he’s sure that Octavia is okay and demanding that Kane let him see the asshole who thought that it was okay to drive while drinking, especially on a Wednesday night. Shit happens on weekends, but if you’re that drunk on a Wednesday, you need a serious lifestyle change, and Bellamy is happy to provide him with one.

“Can I see her?” he asks as he clenches and unclenches his hands to calm down.

“She’s unconscious at the moment, but you can go in and see her. I’ll show you to her room. I will warn you, though, that she has been seriously injured.”

Bellamy swallows. “I understand,” is all he says.

Maya starts walking down the too-clean hallway, leading him through a set of doors. “Oh,” she says. “Before I forget, here’s her phone.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a white iPhone, which she hands him. His first thought is that Octavia’s phone was black last he’d seen it, and he doesn’t remember her saying that she’d gotten a new one. His second thought as he slides the phone into the pocket of his sweat pants is pure awe at how an iPhone – a phone that shatters if you look at it the wrong way – managed to survive the crash that had so badly injured Octavia.

Maya stops in front of a door at the end of the hall she’d led him down. “If you need anything, just press the call button by her bed.”

“Will you – ” Bellamy hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t know how to ask her to stay while he adjusts to what he’s about to walk into. He doesn’t know how to tell her that after seeing his own mother die, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look at his baby sister lying in a hospital bed. Maya only nods knowingly.

Bellamy takes a breath and pushes the door open. He freezes when he sees her small body, lines sticking out of her and crossing over her body, and blonde hair. The girl lying in the hospital bed has curly blonde hair.

“This isn’t –”

“I know that this can be difficult,” Maya says supportively from behind him.

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how utterly relieved he is to see that blonde hair. She doesn’t know that Octavia has pin-straight brownhair.

“No, this isn’t my sister,” he says, a relieved smile spreading from ear to ear. “This isn’t Octavia.”

[Read the rest on AO3]