#they think they’re as necessary as hospitals | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

embrosegraves · 5 months

Text

𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕀𝕥 𝔹𝕖 𝕆𝕜𝕒𝕪?

Arthur Leclerc x Reader In which after the reader has an unwanted interaction, Reader’s 6-year-old daughter has a serious talk with Arthur “Would it be okay if I called you dad?”

Warnings/Notes: Google Translated French and Italian. unnamed ex-boyfriend.

You had never imagined ever becoming a teen mum. You hadn’t given any thought to getting pregnant with your boyfriend. There was no need to think about stuff like that, the two of you were only 16. That’s why you were so shocked to find out a month before you turned 17, that you would be having your first child.

Of course, after you eventually got over the shock, you immediately told your boyfriend. H was less than pleased with the situation. He didn’t outright say that he didn’t want it, but the way he treated you afterwards made that pretty clear to you. He was not going to help you. You had sat him down the night before your birthday to talk about what you were going to do. That night, he said that didn’t want to be a parent. That he didn’t want to be your boyfriend any longer.

Most people would become hysterical. Most people would start crying and begging for their partner to stay with them. That they could make it work. But not you. Your response to his words had stunned him.

“If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. If you don’t want to be a father, that’s fine too. After today I don’t want you near me or my baby, so once they’re born I want you to sign your rights away.” You were stone-faced with anger when you spoke to him. “No matter what you say or do from here on out, I will have full custody of my child and you will have nothing to do with them. Am I clear?”

He looked almost angry at your words, but he gritted his teeth and agreed to your demands. That was the last night you ever saw him. Either his family had moved away, or he had suddenly stopped frequenting the places you used to go together but whatever the reason you were strangely satisfied that you never ran into him for the remainder of your surprise pregnancy.

Your parents were your biggest supporters throughout the whole ordeal. You could still remember the day your parents found out you were pregnant. It was the day you yourself had found out. Your father had found you in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid in shock with tears streaming down your face. He rushed to you, worried out of his mind. Your father’s arms had wrapped around you protectively and your crying got louder as you tried to explain the news to him.

Your mother had come up the stairs when she heard you sobbing hysterically, only to find you clutching to your father as if he had told you he was dying tomorrow. He never loosened his hold on you as he explained to your mother what the issue was. She was equal parts worried and elated. Your mother took no time to join you and your father in the embrace. It had taken you almost an hour to come to terms with what you were about to go through, but knowing that you had your parents’ support and assistance made it all that much easier to deal with.

7 and a half months later, you had given birth to a daughter. That was the first and last day that your ex-boyfriend saw your daughter. You had texted him to come to hospital as you had the paperwork he needed to sign so that he could give his rights away. Being in no state to follow him and make sure that he signed what was necessary, your father had followed and stood opposite to him so he could make sure he wasn’t going to rip up the paperwork.

At some point in your pregnancy, you had expressed to your parents that while he had agreed to sign them away, you were worried that he would try something when the day came. Your father said that he would need a witness in order for the papers to be legal anyway, so he would be there to make sure your ex couldn’t try anything nefarious.

Despite countless nights sat with your parents on the couch in your living room, you still hadn’t come up with a name for your daughter. Your mother’s family hailed from France and your father’s family hailed from Italy, so you wanted something that had both ethnic backgrounds.

As soon as you laid eyes on your baby, after hours of labour, you knew instantly what her name would be.

Colette Vincenza L/n

You were always thankful that she was a well behaved baby, she had only really started acting like the stories you’d heard when she was teething. But once she had all her teeth, she was a kindhearted angel for you and your parents. That’s how she was, even as she continued growing.

When Colette was just over a year old, you had met someone while going about your day in the French markets. The stroller was in front of you as you browsed the stalls. You had been so absorbed in your daughter that you had failed to notice someone walking the opposite direction and had accidentally bumped into them. Because of the impact, the man had spilled some of his hot drink in front of him, and consequently onto your daughter’s stroller. You quickly grabbed Colette out and started to sooth her, as she had been shocked and started to cry. Amidst you trying to sooth your daughter and double check that none of the hot liquid had fallen on her, the man had started apologising profusely.

“It’s alright, really. I should have been more aware of the surroundings.” As you continued to rock Colette, you finally looked up at whoever you had bumped into. He was very handsome, looked to be around your age, and was clearly worried that he had unknowingly hurt the small baby with you.

“No no, it’s my fault as well. I wasn’t paying attention at all. Please let me repay you, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t help you somehow.” He sounded so sincere you couldn’t help but take a bit of pity on him.

“I promise you, you don’t need to do anything. But if it would make you feel better, and if you don’t have anywhere to be right now, you could tag along with me while I finish my shopping.” He didn’t hesitate to agree, feeling bad enough as it was.

Noticing that Colette had calmed down now, you ran your hand down the back of her head and spoke to her as you put her back in the stroller.

“Tu vas bien maintenant Lette, Maman t'a eu.” (You’re okay now, Lette. Mummy’s got you.)

“Tu parles français?” (You speak French?)

You looked at him as you resumed walking through the markets. “Oui. En plus de l'italien et de l'anglais, j'ai parlé français toute ma vie.” (Yes. Along with Italian and English, I have spoken French all my life)

“Abbiamo già due cose in comune.” His smile when he spoke in his mother tongue was gorgeous, but it had nothing on his smile when he spoke Italian. You couldn’t help but grin back at him. (We already have two things in common)

You continued talking with each other and by the end of the day you had learnt two very important things about him. His name was Arthur Leclerc and he was a Formula 2 racing driver for Ferarri’s Driver Academy. Eventually you had noticed it was getting late so you exchanged phone numbers to keep in touch and went back home.

That was almost five years ago and since then, Arthur had taken you on many dates, some alone and some with your daughter. He was there for almost all of her firsts. Her first words, first steps and even her first loose tooth. Eventually he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend and, though you had hesitated at first, you had become official with him.

Arthur was over at your place playing with Colette when you heard someone knock on your door. You looked at each other confused as you weren’t expecting anyone tonight, your parents would’ve called ahead if they were going to come by. Getting up from your seat, you gave Arthur a kiss and kissed Colette’s head before going to answer your door.

The person standing behind it was very impatient as they kept knocking on the hardwood door.

“Arrivo subito, calmati.” You called as you unlocked the door and opened it. Seeing who it was, you almost closed it straight away if he hadn’t put his foot in the way to stop it. (I’ll be right there, calm down.)

“Cosa stai facendo qui?” You tried to keep your anger in check as you looked at him expectantly. (What are you doing here?)

“You know I don’t speak Spanish.”

“C'était italien, connard. What do you want?” Your patience was wearing thin. (That was Italian, asshole)

“I think you already know.” The bastard had the nerve to smirk when he spoke to you.

“You have no right to her. You signed those damn papers. Even if you hadn’t, you had six years to see her. Why now?”

“I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by.”

“Well, you stopped. Now you can go.” You kicked his foot none too gently and closed the door before he could continue. Locking the door, you turned and walked back to where your boyfriend and daughter were still playing. Taking note of the time, you gently ushered Colette to bed before you and Arthur also began getting ready to sleep.

There was no need to tell Arthur who was at your door, as your house was very open plan so he could hear the entire conversation from the living room. As you both laid down, he held you close and comforted you until you both fell asleep.

The next morning, you woke up before Arthur, seeing as you had to begin working. You were glad that you had started a home business because it meant that you didn’t need to make the commute to work through morning traffic. All you had to do was get dressed and sit down in your home office so you could start answering emails from customers about their packages arriving damaged.

Arthur had slept in a little that morning meaning that he was awoken by Colette climbing into your bed to lay next to him. When she saw he was awake, she nuzzled her face into his neck and he wrapped his arms around her gently.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked him. “Without Maman?”

Arthur was a little worried about what she wanted to talk about, as she hadn’t ever come to speak with him alone.

“But of course, Petit, what’s wrong?”

“I heard Maman talking to that man yesterday, and I know I’m still little and that Maman doesn’t talk about my Papa, but I know that was him.”

Arthur felt entirely out of his depth. He knew Colette was smart, he praised her constantly for it, but he hadn’t expected her to understand what happened the night before.

“Did it bother you that he came here?” Arthur was ready to hunt him down and tell him to never even think about you or Colette ever again.

“Not really. I know he helped Maman make me, but he’s not my real papa. It just made me think about something.”

“And what did you think about, Petit?”

“Would it be okay if I called you Papa? Je vois comment Grand-père rend Grand-mère heureuse, et tu rends Maman heureuse, alors je voulais te demander.” (I see how Grandpa makes Grandma happy, and you make Mummy happy, so I wanted to ask.)

Because the walls inside your home were very thin, you could hear the entire conversation between your daughter and your boyfriend. You were a little shocked at what she said but your heart swelled with more love than you thought possible when Arthur replied.

“I would be honoured for you to call me Papa.”

hehehehehehe I love this so much

The poll was VERY clear that people wanted this asap so here it is!

I hope you enjoyed reading!

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #formula one #formula 1 #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc x reader #al12 #can I still tag as F2 even if he's not racing??#i'll do it anyway #f2 #formula 2 #formula two #formula 2 fic #formula two imagine #i love you all <3 #MUAH <3

886 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 11 months

Note

I love me some angst and this baby trapped au is sustaining me!! But I gotta ask… what happens if darling just haves the baby then up and leaves in the middle of night?? Leaving Simon and Johnny to raise this baby they forced on her?? Or even worse (and forgive me for this) she dies in childbirth and then they finally have their baby but no darling…. They’re probably having some regrets about lying to her lol

This au has invaded my life and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m hooked ❤️🪝

SEEK HELP. But don't, because I love you. And this.

Baby trap au / Darling left after discovering her tampered birth control 18+ Mature themes. Character death. Childbirth. Hurt absolutely no comfort.

It starts with the twinge in the lower part of your belly, off to the left side. You had woken up with it, on top of your usual sore back and stiff muscles, the everyday occurrences that seemed plague you consistently since the start of your third trimester. You were always hot, always tired, always crampy, grumpy, and generally... miserable.

You didn't mean to be, but being pregnant was a hardship in so many ways, and being pregnant with no one to help you, was even harder. It took its toll. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. And now, by the ninth month... you were just so ready to be done with it.

You hadn't seen or talked to the guys since the day you walked out, the day you found that fucked up piece of foil, the day you realized what they did, and you left. You hated them for it. Hated them, for taking away your choice. Hated them, for trying to control your body. Hated them, for removing your autonomy.

At night, when you laid down to sleep, it was impossible not to feel other things, the longing, the loneliness, the love, that still lived in your heart for them, against all odds, the ache of missing them growing in your soul as your baby grew each month.

You were in an impossible situation. One you didn't know what do with it.

But today, you were preoccupied with the twinge. The twinge, that had bloomed into a full spasm of muscles across your belly, the twinge that had your boss insisting you go to hospital as soon as possible.

"Let us call an ambulance. I've had four kids! I know labor when I see it." She had hemmed and hawed while you told her it wasn't necessary, that you weren't even in active labor yet, and that you still felt totally okay.

"I'm fine." you had reassured her. "Walking is good for labor right? I'm just going to walk the three blocks and be fine."

Six hours later, you're in a bed with your legs in a pair of stirrups with a nurse by your side, holding your hand as your contractions get closer and closer, your body seizing and cramping with pain through each one, the sting getting worse and worse as the minutes tick on.

You're doing this. You're having a baby. Alone.

The realization shocks you, startles you into a moment of weird, zen like reflection, like everything is moving in slow motion around you, like nothing is progressing as you think about the fact that the guys aren't actually here, that you never did call them, that you never did tell them that you wanted to forgive them one day. That you wanted to talk to them. See them again.

That you wanted them to be here with you, for this, to see the birth of their daughter.

Another contraction rips through you and steals your breath, and you faintly hear the nurse telling you breathe while your body locks up in unmeasurable pain. Something prods between you legs, and then there's a voice saying you're fully dilated, and ready to push.

Ready? Now?

No. No... you can't. It's too fast. They're not here. They need to be here. You have to call them.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry." The nurse speaks softly to you, but you can't help it. You want them. They were supposed to be here. They were supposed to be ones holding your hand, helping you, cutting the cord.

"We're going to push on the next contraction, okay?" Your doctor tells you, but you shake your head vehemently.

"No. I want my partners." you sob, and your nurse makes a sympathetic noise, while stroking some hair out of your face.

"You have to push." The nurse encourages, and pain streaks across your belly, sharp and insistent, forcing you to gasp for more air. "Ready? Push!" She tries to coach you, but you can't do it, can't even move, your body just writhing through the pain as your head spins and you pant. Your doctor says your name, kindly but somewhat stern after the contraction passes, and you moan.

"This baby is coming. You have to push." She says, and you know she's right, but you just can't get there in your mind, unable to consider the idea of her being born without Johnny or Simon being here.

"I want them." you sob, another spasm ripping through your body, forcing you to curl forward with an anguished shout. The nurse blots a cool, damp cloth against your head, while someone else on your other side adjusts your bed. There are people everywhere, all moving around in flurry, except for the doctor who's settling between your legs, eyes locking onto yours above your mask.

"There's no time dear." She says, and when you look up into your nurse's face, she seems sincere, encouraging and sweet, but you don't care. You want Johnny. You want Simon.

"P-please." You moan. "My phone- the passcode is 6669." The numbers come as a grunt when another contraction pulses through you. It's awful, burning, biting pain that shreds your belly, the muscles in your thighs, your back, everywhere, and you scream through it, while the two nurses on either side of you fold your legs back and the doctor coaches you to push.

"I can't!" You really can't. You can't do this without them. You don't even care about what they did anymore. You don't want to do this without them. They have to be here. "I can't, I ca-can't. Please, call Johnny. Or, or Simon." You pant, and eye the nervous looking aide that stands behind one of the nurses. "Call them!" You shout, and your sweet nurse gives him a nod, urging him into action as he fumbles with your phone and steps outside.

"Okay sweetheart. We're calling them, okay? But you have to push. Your body is ready." You shake your head, but you know she's right. You can feel your body bearing down, your muscles working inside of you, everything aligning so that you can have this baby.

It fills you with fear. Dread overcomes you, and when you feel the next contraction coming on, you begin to hyperventilate.

You can't have their baby without them.

"No... nonono-" You protest, like you're telling yourself, your own body, not to do what it was meant to do. It's useless however, because as your contraction peaks, your doctor is counting, and you can't help but push the way your body wants to, screaming your pain as loud as you can.

"Good job." She encourages once it passes, her eyes checking a tablet that's held in front of her face quickly, before returning her gaze back to you. "Okay, next one you're going to push for the full ten seconds okay? You can do it."

"I don't want to." You protest with a cry, and your nurse pats your hand sympathetically.

"I know, I know." She helps shift you forward, and then the next one is coming, and you feel like you're being torn apart, like your body is burning and being ripped in two as you push.

"I can see the head, you're almost there." Someone says, but you're not sure who it is, or if you care, your focus moving to one sole thing now, getting this baby out of your body as fast as you can. You breathe for maybe five seconds before the next wave begins, and then you're dropping your chin to your chest while you push with everything you have, voices in the room rising and falling, everything feeling too loud and too overwhelming, and then all of the sudden, there's a shifting inside of you, and then suddenly an overwhelming emptiness before-

a screaming, crying, shrieking baby is plopped onto your chest.

"There she is!" Your nurse calls, and you stare, slack jawed, unable to speak, unable to move while they cover her with a blanket and someone continues to work between your legs. "Congratulations mum!" The baby cries, and you lift a hand to cradle her closer while someone wipes around the top of her head.

"Hi, Bee... I'm your mom." you cry, and lower your lips to her head, placing a soft kiss on her skin while someone rubs her down. She cries, lungs healthy and full of power, and you laugh a little.

"Did you get a hold of them?" You ask him breathlessly, and he nods with a gulp.

"They're on their way." They're on their way. The words slam against your heart, and the feeling of relief is immense. They're coming. They're going to be here.

"Thank you." You hardly look at him, keeping your eyes on Bee, and her little angel face, perfect in every way.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The doctor works on you, pressing on your stomach a few times in an awful way that hurts but is necessary, and then your bed is moved to a better position for sitting up. Bee is removed from your chest for measurements and a quick clean up, before she's placed back in your arms, freshly swaddled and soothed. You're mesmerized by her nose, her eyelashes, her tiny fingers that wrap around one of yours. Your baby, your daughter. The one you carried for nine months, the one that you went through so much heartache for, the one that you struggled so much for, was finally here. You wish they were here already, to see her, to see how precious she is, how amazing, and you sniffle through some tears when you realize you'll get to see the looks on both their faces when they see her for the first time, when they hold her.

You lift your hand to stroke the softness of her cheek, and frown, when it doesn't really cooperate... the limb feeling heavy and stiff, like it's not even really on your body. That's... weird. You try again, and again, with no success, and then you realize the room is kind of shifting, kind of spinning slightly, like you're dizzy.

"Uh-" You call out to the nurse who's on a laptop at the desk, her back partially turned towards you, and she glances over with a smile that quickly changes to a firm line when she rushes over. "I feel funny." You tell her, and she nods, the mechanics of the bed whirring while you're lowered completely flat. Bee cries, disrupted by the movement, and you want to shush her, soothe her, but the words don't come, and everything is very loud all of the sudden, bells, whistles, beeps and alarms going off at a frantic pace overtop the voices that have quickly filled the room.

"-ake the baby."

"too much-"

"hemmorage-"

The words come in clips, and your vision becomes filled with white dots as Bee is lifted off your chest, the arm that held her close to your body falling limply to your side. What's happening? You want to ask, want to scream it at them. Where are you taking her? She's crying in the nurse's arms, her distressed little face the last thing you see before your vision goes completely black, and you fade away.

"Drive fucking faster." Johnny shouts, and Simon squeezes his knee to try to calm him as best he can in this moment, even though the two of them are the farthest thing from being calm.

You were in labor, and you had actually called them. Simon's heart had soared when he answered the phone, telling the guy on the phone to tell you that they were on their way, that they'd be there soon while he and Johnny sprinted to the car. You had called them. You wanted them there.

"Tell her we love her!" He had huffed while fumbling with the keys. "We love her so much. We'll be there soon."

"Settle, Johnny." He's trying to keep Johnny calm, trying to keep himself calm, while also trying to drive as fast as possible to get to you.

"Aye, 'm sorry. I'm just... I can't wait to see her. I can't believe she called." Simon can't either. He can't believe that after eight months of being apart, eight months of wondering if they'd even ever see you again, it was them you were calling for when you needed someone, them that you wanted by your side.

It felt like a gift. It felt like a second chance.

"I hope she's okay." Johnny hedges, nervous tinge to his voice and Simon rubs his thigh to try to soothe him.

"I'm sure she's fine, babies are born all the time, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They rush the desk when they get there, both spitting out your name and the woman jerks backwards before adjusting, typing onto her keyboard to locate your record. A full minute passes, while the receptionist's brow furrows, and they both nearly explode.

"She should be here, we got a phone call." Johnny blurts.

"Should be in labor and delivery." Simon tries to provide, helpfully and they both stand there anxiously, while she taps away.

"Ah! Sorry, there she is. I've paged the L&D department, and someone will be down shortly. You can wait in those seats over there." She points to some arm chairs, and they both ignore the suggestion, opting to stand right in front of a set of doors.

"Mr. Riley? Mr MacTavish?" A female voice calls a few minutes later, and they nod, overeager as she approaches. A million questions bubble up in Simon's head, where are you, have you delivered yet, are you doing okay, how's the baby... but they all come to a screeching halt when the doctor gets close enough for him to read her face.

No.

"Can you come with me?"

"And there was just too much blood. Once the hemorrhaging started, it couldn't be controlled." Johnny hears what the doctor is saying. He can hear her, loud and clear. He copies her.

But he doesn't understand. His brain can't make the words fit, can't make them make sense. What does that mean? He glances at Simon, who doesn't look at him, just stares at the doctor, face stricken, pale as ash. Like he's seen a ghost. Like someone has died. But that can't be right.

"Alright." He says slowly. "But she's going to be okay?"

"Johnny." Simon croaks, and the doctor shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. MacTavish. She's gone." Who's gone? Not you, obviously. What's going on here?

"No. No, no she can't be gone." Johnny protests. This doctor is clearly confused. "She just had someone call us. She's having... she's having a baby. Our baby. She's-" The doctor gives him a sad look, sympathetic and understanding. "No. She can't be gone, we just... we just got here. We-"

"Johnny." Simon says again and Johnny pivots on him.

"Tell her Si. Tell her, she's alright." Simon swings an arm forward, grabbing him by the collarbone, and holding on tight, pulling him close to his body.

It's only then, when Johnny looks up into Simon's face, and sees the tears there, sees those eyes, flooded, sees his cheeks, wet, his face full of turmoil and distress, that it really makes sense.

"No." He whispers. "No, she can't be." He shakes his head, and Simon tries to hold it still, tries to cradle his face in his palms. "Simon." He moans, word splitting into a cry, and then he's burying his face into Simon's neck, spilling hot tears onto his skin. Darling. Their Darling. Their Darling girl. Gone.

Because of them.

They did this.

Simon's body is shaking, shoulders trembling with his sobs, while he holds Johnny close, and Johnny screams into his chest, he screams and he screams until there's nothing left inside of him, every second ticking by bringing him farther and farther away from a time in his life when you still existed, when you were still in this world with them. And he wants it to stop, he wants it to stop so fucking bad but it won't, and he can't make it, he can't do anything, except stand here and scream, scream and beg and plead an unknown entity who's never given him anything good except for you and Simon.

They never got to tell you they still love you.

They didn't even get to say goodbye.

Hours later, they sit in a room with an empty bed, side by side, while a nurse stands in front of them with a tiny, sleeping baby wrapped in a blanket.

"This is your daughter." She tells them. "Her name is Bee."

"Bee." Johnny whispers, and she nods.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Yes." Johnny says, but the word sounds flat, and he feels numb. The nurse places little Bee in his arms, while Simon watches, unblinking from where he sits right next to him. "Bee." He says again, looking down at her, truly looking at her for the first time. She looks so much like you, more like you than either of them, and he can't stop the tears that fall freely, while Simon reaches over and hesitantly strokes her cheek with a knuckle.

"She's beautiful." Simon whispers hoarsely, voice coarse with tears, and Johnny agrees. Johnny tries to stifle a sob, desperate not to wake Bee while she sleeps, but Simon can't stop himself, and he covers his face with his hand to try to smother his cry. "She looks just like her." Simon chokes, and Johnny's arms shake around where Bee is cradled. He leans to the side, into Simon, who wraps his arm around him immediately, holding Johnny while he holds their daughter, your daughter. They cannot stop their tears, their hearts cracking wide open in both of their chests as they stay down her, their only piece left of you in this world, the only thing they have left to cling to.

"You look just like your mum, baby Bee."

#tw pregnancy #baby trap au #tw childbirth #peaches asks #peaches writes #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader

801 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 6 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.64)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.” “Shut up Jimin you are not going to die.”

Tags: Angst, Blood, graphic depictions of violence, dead bodies, Gore, Maiming, violent acts described perpetrated by loved ones, near death experiences, near death experiences, No one dies, Jimin does not die, Hurt with just a little comfort, implied sexual content,

W/c: 8.6k

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual after such a long wait. i've been going through a rough patch™ which is why recently the updates have been 3 weeks apart instead of just 2 like usual. When i tell you the end of this chapter has a fucking twist to it that i love, you're not prepared!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

“I shot Minnie.”

It takes you a breath for the words to sink in. Standing in the bathroom in the half-grey darkness golden hallway light streaming in through the open door. It’s strange how inside of your body you feel at that moment.

That frantic fever urgency of your pulse, your breath, your everything when traumatic things are about to happen and when they’re happening.

For a moment you’re keenly aware of every molecule of your body. The tacky-sweet feeling of slick drying between your thighs, the cold smoothness of the slate tile beneath your feet, the too-long press of your fingernails as you grip the bathroom countertop to keep from falling to the tile floor. Everything in feverish detail.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the light from Yoongi’s phone screen illuminates your face in blue. You look at the mirror, then down at your hands.

Minnie, a gun.

A bullet, Jin.

Your brain is whirling. Putting two and two together is like putting together a recipe. Only now you have the result and have to backtrack. How did you get here? Jin keeps talking, word vomiting down the line, and you miss a few sentences while you’re trying to put it together.

Butter, cream, sugar.

You, Jin, Jimin.

Jimin.

You think you might vomit tiramisu all over the bathroom floor.

You close your eyes, thinking hard while Jin talks. His words run over themselves with worry. “I discharged my weapon if we go to the hospital- they’ll- they’ll know and I don’t know if I can cover this up with just lies-”

“Is he dead?” Your voice is lethal in its quiet, so quiet that you think it might not go through the phone. Jin doesn’t hear it- too preoccupied with his own terror.

You close your eyes, quietly begging anything or anyone who might be listening. If god is going to take so much from him- the least she can do is give jimin this. One simple measly miracle is all you're asking for.

“Jin- tell me right the fuck now- Is Jimin dead?”

“Pup.” Jin sounds like he’s just been strangled. Like all the wind has just been knocked out of him. “Put Yoongi on the line.”

“No.” You're shaking, your heartbeat in your ears louder than your lofty hopes. Hand digging into the counter so hard that you feel it in your bones. “No, not until you tell me right now- is Minnie-”

“Hey pup.” Jimin’s voice is a quiet croak. You sag against the countertop and slide to the floor. It’s barely a weak whisper on the other side of the line. You’re glad it’s not a video call. You’re not sure you could handle seeing him if he sounds so raw. “Minnie- Minnie are you? does Jin?”

Does Jin know?

Jin must have taken back the phone because- “I need you to go get Yoongi. Now. We can’t be here any longer than necessary.” there's the muffled sound of shuffling, of hair grating against the speaker. "We're vulnerable here, I don't know if more people will come."

You move, leaving the bathroom and thundering up the steep stairs to the bedroom. There's the distant sound of Hoseok in the kitchen probably putting away the tiramisu. You head for the nest, rushing, falling to your knees in front of it, phone pinned between your shoulder and your ear.

“Yoongi isn’t here. He’s with Jungkook and Tae and Namjoon.”

“Hang up then and I’ll call Namjoon.” You peel back the nest skirt to get under it, where Jimin keeps his gun cases. They're there in the shadows, three of them black and plastic. A photocopy of his concealed carry license is taped to each on top. No one had been particularly happy about him storing them there (Namjoon especially) But now you’re glad to have them close on hand.

“No, not until you tell me where you are.”

“Pup this isn’t- you can’t-”

“Jin, please.”

You try the same code that Jimin has for his cellphone. You know it because you have a habit of going through his after your dates for some of the photos that he takes of you and Tae.

8-7-5-8.

The box clicks open and you roll your eyes. Alphas.

“Pup” you wait for him to say that he needs more help than you can offer, that carrying Minnie and keeping him alive is more than you can help with. You wait for him to say that you’re neither strong enough mentally nor physically to handle this.

But it doesn’t come. Jin’s tiny fraught sigh is there, but then-

“Alright.”

There are spots for five different handguns inside. Two missing vacant cuts into the foam. You take the smallest one, checking stock to make sure it's got bullets in it. You fumble with it, unsure and unused to this. You make sure the safety is on before you tuck it into your waistband.

“Send me your address. And if you need to- get rid of Jimin's gun- god only knows whats on that.” To Jin’s credit, he hardly splutters, hardly takes in another shaky breath.

“How do you know-” You descend the stairs slower. Screwing your eyes shut tight to keep from crying, leashing your voice into something gentle.

“Jin, Minnie is bleeding. You have more important things to worry about right now. We need to figure out how to keep Jimin alive and undiscovered.”

“You know-”

“Yes, I fucking know about Jimin, okay? We’re wasting time. Bye.”

You hang up on him. Your hands are still shaking and you spend a breath looking at them. You want to call Yoongi. Your body aching for your mate's touch, for how steady he makes you feel just by being there. the way he tucks your hair behind your ears, the way his hand is always hovering near the small of your back to guide you- to options that won't hurt and secrets that won't damage things.

You need your mate for this, already your pulse is hammering. The haze of a panic attack on the edge of your vision. One second foggy fear, the next heartbreaking clarity.

Maybe you know how this ends, you know why this is happening even if you try and ignore it. Maybe you realize just then what's going to happen. Not today but eventually, it turns you cold from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

You might not lie to the pack (lying by omission doesn't carry the same weight) but you lie to yourself often.

You will call Yoongi, you decide. You pick the phone back up and navigate towards Tae’s contact. Your thumb hovers between her name and Jungkook’s. You don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your voice steady calling her but Jungkook will almost certainly be able to tell something's wrong just from your tone alone. He's perceptive like that.

Before you can make the call something moves in your peripheries.

There is a dark figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from the front door and the bay window. It makes you startle but at second glance it’s just Hobi. You look down at him 3 steps up the stairs. Yoongi's phone in your hand and a gun at the small of your back, covered by the fluff of his sweatshirt.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask who you were talking on the phone with. He just tilts his in question, eyes teaming with that warm sort of playfulness.

You have a decision to make; let his opinion of the pack remain what it is or change it for good. In an irrevocable way that you won't be able to take back. It feels like too much change too quickly. Barely an hour ago he was telling you he loves you and now-

The thing about secrets is that they’re terribly hard to keep.

Hobi notices, because Hobi always notices when there’s some sort of change in you or a shift in your mood- call it a survival instinct if you won't call it love.

The set of your jaw is less pouty neediness and more leashed discomfort. Your expression is the same one you had when tae came out and you sat with them at the table and told them for you. You'd think that telling other people's secrets would be easier but it isn't.

Hobi knows your tells. What it looks like when you're about to play your hand. Ace's and all.

You descend the last few steps, each one thudding, making sure you're on the same level before you slowly wrap your arms around his waist. You do it slow even though you feel every second like a gunshot wound. Like every second could be Jimin’s last heartbeat.

(thump thump thump)

Pulling yourself in tight. His hands smooth up and down your back. You could call Yoongi but-

Hobi looks down at you, pecking your forehead. He smiles softly, his lips twisting into something like a grimace because you smell a little bit sour. Doesn't mean he's not going to kiss you but-

You wonder how many times he’s kissed you already, it's only been a day but you’re already losing track of how many, maybe 2 dozen now. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes then back again.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or are you just going to pout at me until I go get Yoongi?”

You shake your head and close your eyes hard. "Don't get Yoongi."

Stealing yourself just a little and hold Hobi a little closer, a little harder. But there’s nothing you can say, no lie that you can tell that will make this better. No secret that you could confess either.

“Jin called and something bad has happened.”

You feel more than see the goosebumps on Hobi’s arms as you pull away, the visceral hard swallow as he looks at your face again, waits, expecting you to pull back say-“It’s a joke it’s nothing-“ But it doesn't come.

“You have two choices Hobi, you can go to the pizza shop, and hang out with Tae and Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi or-” Hobi searches your face for something he knows; the darkness in your eyes, the vague tremble in your arms around his waist. “Or you can help me and be scared. I kind of-”

I kind of need you

But Hobi should have agency in this and shouldn't just take this path because of you. After Yoongi, you've learned when and where to give people the choice to be dragged into things they'd be better off sidestepping. You don't say it but Hobi hears it all the same.

Hobi looks so earnest but asking this of him is no easy thing. It would be easier if you weren’t so keenly aware that you’re taking away something from him. You’re giving Hobi the choice you never got that Yoongi never got, and he'll choose the same path anyway.

He cups your face, skimming his thumb up and down your cheek.“I’m okay with being scared.” I'm okay with being scared so long as it's for you.

“This is serious, this is- you can’t ask questions until I have time to answer them, you just have to listen, understand?”

“Okay.” He nods, tousled hair fluffing, looking so innocent and eager to please that you almost tell him to just stay home.

But as much as you hate to admit it. If Jimin is injured, there’s a chance you and Jin might need a second pair of hands.

It’s a blur. Tugging on your shoes- the same ones Yoongi got you ages ago for your first date with Jimin and Tae. And when you stand, he’s holding out your jacket for you to step into. When you nuzzle into the collar there's the scent of vanilla there from where Jimin rubbed his nose to your throat when you were at the hospital. It doesn't seem possible that it was only yesterday. Everything is Jimin Jimin Jimin.

“Thank you,” you say, sounding vaguely hollow. He kisses the nape of your neck and you put your hand over it.

You point your feet in the direction of Hobi’s car and get in the driver's seat. Taking his keys from him because you need them, need to be the one who drives right now. Holding the steering wheel and controlling the acceleration. Pressing down as fast as a heartbeat.

Thumpthumpthump.

You pull away from the house with a screech hitting the curb with a bit of flying sparks. you don't even wait for it to warm up. Hobi’s hands are on the plastic console of the driver’s side, holding it to keep himself from bobbing before he's belted in. He looks over at you startled. But he doesn't ask you to slow down.

You keep your eyes on the road, blinking back tears. Controlling your emotions because you can’t drive through blurry eyes. Every inch, every tick of the needle, every second of pavement screeching tire means you're a second closer to jimin.

"Jin’s going to send you an address in a few seconds, and I need you to tell me which way to turn.”

Hobi looks at you and then looks at the phone. He doesn’t try to put on a playlist, he doesn’t try to do anything just stares at you and bobbs in his seat when you take a corner too fast.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Nothing; you’re just driving like if we don’t get there in time, someone is going to die.”

~-~

Hoseok remains remarkably calm for the drive, barely saying anything except for the winces he lets out every time you do something risky with the car like take turns at 30 miles an hour or evade a break check by driving along the shoulder.

You start to pass by empty factory buildings. The wheels of his car thudding over cracks and dips in the road until it becomes dust and gravel and the smell of gasoline permeates the interior of the car. Questions building like the heat pumping from the vents.

But he did promise not to ask until later.

The fog covers everything like a balmy damp shadow, the snow going straight to sublimation. Pockets of old street lamp lights punctuate the darkness. Husks of metal rise like soldiers from the shadows. The sky burning rust orange from the distant lights of the city. Not a single star in sight.

Jin’s car is there; Hobi spots it. Its blue paint stands out through the overlap of grey brush as the car's lights roll over it. Jimin's car is another 50 feet away and buried in the darkness. Shiny and black like the husk of an insect.

You're about a mile away from where they must be doing demolition. A singular crane and floodlights shine across a narrow tributary casting everything; the river and the buildings, into a grey-slanted light.

You pull around in the yard in front of the largest and most intact building. You leave the keys in car tumbling out the second it glides to a stop.

“Stay here.” You say, but Hobi gets out anyway. He hasn’t noticed the gun tucked into your waistband until now. It makes his pulse tick higher when you take it out.

"Hobi, sink or swim?"

He looks down at the gun in your hand, "Swim." You shake your head like you're angry with yourself, not him but you don’t waste another second arguing. You head off following the disturbed dust and Hobi trails behind. Ducking from pocket of light to pocket of light.

He always wondered what happened to the gun you’d pointed at him that night you’d run away. That train ticket that still burns a hole in his pocket, a distraction maybe from larger questions he should have been asking.

The way you hold the gun is not practiced; and why should it be? The only one who knows how to handle guns in the pack is Jimin. But the way you walk; completely silent is heartbreakingly familiar. Hobi knows how and why you've learned to move quietly. It's almost a dance; the way you glide across the floor. The gun is an extension of your arms. Spreading and flaying like a wing. Pinky to trigger, your index finger balanced along the barrel.

Hobi had always assumed that it belonged to Yoongi. It was almost 6 months ago now, wasn’t it? Hobi had almost forgotten about it.

There are some things that you never forget. Trauma makes his bones quiet. He's not as good at walking silently as you are but if the crunch of his red Converse against the gravel bothers you; you say nothing.

Hobi feels like he should have asked more questions about it at the time, but now he just bites his lip and stays quiet. You'd promised. You'll tell him in time. Hobi trusts you.

That's the worst thing, isn't it? That Hobi trusts you.

Jimin is sitting in one of the puddles of light, leaning up against one of the containers on the ground floor. Alone. You let out a quiet bereft when you see him. You and Hobi pause in the doorway. Your hand on the gun goes slack

“Minnie!”

you run to him, tucking the gun back into your waistband and falling to your knees at his side. Fingers finding wet-dark fabric. Not water but blood.

Hobi stays there in the doorway, his pulse thudding through his ears, an odd sort of peace to him as he takes in the details. The blood that pools dark on the dusty floor.

Jimin’s half covered with dust himself. Something wooden and red in his lap. The blood that’s dripped down his shoulder gathering there. There is a dragged-through patch of dirt a few feet away, more blood, and Jin is nowhere to be found.

Minnie’s eyelashes flutter. “Alpha-” you say. Almost sobbing in relief that he's alive. Alive you can handle. Alive you can work with. You bend down, getting your hand on his cheek. "Hey- wake up for me a sec okay? We're gonna get you out of here-"

“Hey pup” he laughs half delirious with pain, wincing like making the sound hurts him. “You came to the party" he coughs. "Did you bring Tae?”

You pull back to look at him. “Tae?”

Jimin grins, eyes fluttering closed and his pretty face tipped up against the light. His lips have blood on him- and it looks like a disturbing imitation of Tae’s lipstick. The shadows she leaves on your mouth, on his.

“Yeah- wanna tell her I love her. Wanna tell her I’m sorry. Could you tell her for me?”

This is something Tied tourniquet tight around Jimin’s shoulder to keep him from bleeding out. something you didn't immediately notice. You stare down at the vest now- at the yellow patch letters slowly darkening with blood.

FBI, and then in smaller letters; Organized crime division, Dir. Kim.

Jin appears from around the corner, covered in dust and blood across his thighs, and his throat. So quick you barely have time to raise the gun and then put it down when you see it's not some stranger- someone sent from Yoongi's family to tie up loose ends.

Your hand tightens on the gun as you stare at Jin.

The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his forearms and black nitrile gloves cover his hands; same as Jimin's- although one is ripped. His eyes flick from you to Hobi and he almost flinches.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Jin looks back at you. “Did you have to tell Hobi?”

You bristle “I didn’t tell him anything yet. That’s how you properly protect people. Instead of you know-” The insult doesn’t make sense and neither does your anger. Jin is your pack omega but it doesn’t feel like it when you grab his lapel and shake him a little. He doesn’t move, You’re too slight to alter his course.

Hobi stumbles to your side, hand on your shoulder and Jin's. The pack omega almost flinches at the touch.

“Will both of you swallow your god damn pride and-”

The three of you fall silent when Jimin reaches up to grab your thigh.

Jimin's hand on your wrist goes vice-tight, and when you look down at him, he's more lucid. More there through the haze of pain and blood. "If anyone has any right to be mad at Jinnie- it's me."

You stare Jin down, and after a breath, he's the one who looks away from your glare, taking your hands from his coat and gently detangling them.

"Let's just get him to the fucking car." You bite out. And you get back on your knees to gently guide Jimin away from leaning up against the metal. Get your hand around Jimin’s good arm and start to try and tug him to his feet. His eyes follow you fever bright. “Tell Tae that yourself when we get you out of here.”

the three of you get jimin on his feet. Jin under his good shoulder and Hobi by his hip you there, grabbing Jimin's gun and the mask from the ground. Hobi almost trips on a piece of metal.

He’s being so good with this so- so normal. Making pregnant and stressed eye contact with you when you look at him but stay mostly silent.

Jimin’s car keys fall onto the dusty earth just as you get to Hobi’s. placing jimin gently into the backseat before you stop to pick them up.

“My car; they can’t find it here.” You glance at Jin, then Hobi, looking grey.

“Someone needs to be in the back of the car to stabilize you. you can’t just be flopping around when we drive to the-” You break off because oh this just got so much worse; there’s no way that Jimin’s going to be able to go to the hospital. Even with injuries like this.

You make eye contact with Jin again, and both of you realize at the same time, the mountain of evidence that must be inside it, but you're only the three of you- if you take Jimin's car and Hobi takes his and Jin takes his own- no one will be there to hold Minnie and keep him stable. But who knows when you'll have a chance to come back and get Jimin's car.

If the authorities find his car and the body still inside that building. There's no shortage of what they might be able to convict Jimin for. If there was ever a time that you needed another person it would be right now. You should have called Yoongi.

You look up at Jin, “Get rid of it, we just have to-”

“The river-” You stand there, two opposite sides of the same coin both grinning because it's a good plan.

“If we sink it, they’ll never find it.”

A couple of miles away where the floodlights shine, they must knock over something large because you hear the boom and feel the tremble in the earth.

You take everything out of the car first, throwing it into the front seat of Hobi's car. Hobi tries not to think about the items too hard. The sniper rifle, the 3 bulletproof vests, or the ski mask. There's a variety of other equipment underneath the false bottom, arranged perfectly, everything has its spot. An empty tranquilizer gun. Ropes and black trash bags.

The three of you work like a polished team. Moving the car as close as you can to the water Near an old dry dock that flooded, where the soil turns soft and spongy.

It’s hard to push even though you put the car in neutral. the three of you still have to put all your weight into it. Jimin waits in Hobi’s car, parked on the edge. Watching your sluggish procession.

“Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.”

“Shut up you are not going to die” You snap. The line of the doorframe digs into your shoulder as you push with all your might, putting all of your anger and betrayal behind it because it has nowhere to go otherwise.

Jimin really isn’t helping. Hand pressed over his bullet wound, blood slowly dripping from between his fingers.

Your feet fight against the muck, sliding through it, cold and gross around your ankles. Water soaks your socks.

“Seriously I’m bleeding all over the interior. gonna have to get it detailed after i'm gone.” Hobi picks his head up from the other side, grinning at you. You think it’s the first time you’ve even felt a ghost of a smile grace your face since you got the call. He has no idea how much you need that smile.

“It’s red, won’t stain. Don't worry minnie.”

“Your concern for me is glowing.” He's smiling but Jimin’s hand is knuckle-tight over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” you grind out.

Once you get going downhill it’s easy to push the car, down down down until you hit the muck, knee-deep in the fowl-smelling stuff. You walk with it into the icy water. Hobi’s sweatshirt is so big on you and it billows around you in the brackish water. Weighing you down like an anchor in a storm. You guide the car and the cold water is up to your waist. The car thuds and then shudders, bubbling as you get it deeper and deeper.

"That should be good. Come on."

You think you’re fine until you try to pull away from the side of the car and can’t.

Hobi is already cutting through the water back towards the shore, his back to you. You can’t move, and the car is sinking inch by inch. Slowly dragging you along with it. Some corner of your sweatshirt snagged on the doorframe or hooked.

Your hands move scrabbling. Trying to find the spot at your hip where you’re caught. But you can’t see, the water is so dark you can't even see your hands below the surface. Is it terror or just the cold that makes your hands so uncooperative?

You haven’t even had time to cry out before there is a body behind you, hand closing around the spot where you’re snagged under the water, ripping the fabric with strong hands.

Jin’s hands don’t leave you once he’s untangled you, grabbing your hips and dragging you back, back through the mud and up to the embankment. His hand on the back of your neck, “I’ve got you pup, you’re okay, you’re fine.”

Hobi’s already standing up there, soaking wet too. The dust pills on your pant legs and behind you, the car gives one last gurgle. Disappearing for good.

In the dusty darkness, you look at Jin. His gaunt face, soaked with muck like you are. The ends of his hair clumped together, muddy. You blink up at him and he blinks down at you, water in his eyes.

Jimin and Hobi wait, watching you both stand there. Suddenly the gun in your waistband feels too heavy to carry any longer.

Jin closes his eyes, screwing them shut tight like he's waiting for you to shove him again. “Before you yell at me, you should know that Yoongi already knows, about me being an FBI agent. He's known since the beginning."

there is a moment of silence where hobi looks from you to jin. But then You collide with Jin burying your face in the front of his shirt. He swallows past the lump in his throat. One bloody hand comes up to touch your hair and cradle the back of your head.

“Pup- we don’t have time, we have to go. Minnie-” You pull back, eyes wet.

“Alright- alright- just- we’ll meet you at home?”

Jin turns to Hobi, nodding. Hoseok stoops, putting Jimin's legs in the back of the car, they're shaking. All of Jimin is shaking. His body is in shock from losing so much blood and from the cold.

“Don’t speed, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t give anyone a reason to pull you over.”

~-~

(Namjoon.)

The inside of the pizza parlor is balmy with the smell of cooking dough, garlic, parmesan cheese, and Jungkook's happy sunny scent. So at odds with the cold outside.

Namjoon watches Tae and Jungkook giggle and act like pups. Heart clenching the way it always does when he looks at the pack. They smell like roses and honey, like spring days far away now in winter but Namjoon can already feel the spring warmth thawing his tiredness left over from work. A haze to the edge of his vision like he's feeling bumble-bee fluff and sucking honey from the air.

Hope is hot and necessary like sunlight, and Namjoon has a whole lot of it for the future right now. and good for him honestly- it's the last easy breathes he's going to have for a good long while.

He can't believe it. You and Hobi. His body gives an involuntary happy shiver.

Yoongi catches it and raises a knowing eyebrow.

The pack is willing to wait here and give you and Hobi a little more time to sort things out. They've given you hours, they'll give maybe one more. They've already taken Tae and Jungkook out for ice cream. Dessert before dinner has both of them sugar high and hyper.

The pizza parlor is mostly empty- there are no glares or looks as they laugh loud and try to imitate a dance, jungkook's phone propped up on a napkin holder.

Namjoon and yoongi don't join in, they just stare at each other. Yoongi looks like he might be a little bit in shock, the scent blooming every few seconds, sweet chocolate cocoa when he thinks of it, and salty worry when he reaches over to check Tae's phone- just to see if you've texted.

Namjoon knows, and so does Jungkook because Jungkook knows everything.

“I can’t believe they actually-” Jungkook snorts, this isn’t the first time Yoongi’s repeated those words, he’s been muttering it under his breath every few minutes for the last few hours, mostly to himself. Jungkook indulges him this time.

“I know- I thought they’d be emotionally constipated for at least another month.”

Jungkook’s hand is nearly permanently glued to the back of Yoongi’s neck, squeezing reassuringly every few seconds. Even as he and Tae giggle and fall into each other, watching back their video on Tae’s phone. Her sparkly phone case catches the light, and little bits of glitter fall and trickle slowly just like the snow falling outside.

Namjoon's thoughts slush slowly.

Namjoon feels settled down to his bones, in that deep-seated alpha way that he’s not sure he’d be able to articulate even if he tried. Nesting tonight is gonna hit so fucking well. Namjoon is going to scent both you and Hobi until he can feel the sex and pleasure on his teeth and tongue, might just need to taste your arousal for himself. He'll be sweet about it and give you a little wiggle room just to put you back in your places. He feels half feral wanting it already. If he's not careful a scenting like that might send Hobi into rut or you into heat.

Namjoon's almost trembling at the idea of it.

God fucking damn it, he's so in love it hurts a little. He’s sure that Yoongi feels the same deep calmness, the sense of rightness, thinking about you and Hobi.

Yoongi’s lopsided grin says It finally fucking happened. Namjoon’s dimpled smile says, I know, I’m surprised we didn’t have to orchestrate it. They don’t have to say it, the soft words would be swallowed up under the music playing over the loudspeaker (the idol group that Jimin guards- their newest hit).

Their knees are nested between each other’s on the too-small table and too-small seats. Namjoon’s big palm on Yoongi’s knee all tight. His hand over the pack alphas, tangling and playing together in a way that Jin would call flirting without words and Tae might call poetic.

The pack took one car to the pizza place, Namjoon's, gathering snow outside. Probably a bad move honestly because Namjoon is on call. The surgery this morning went off without a hitch, clipping aneurysms on a middle-aged alpha usually goes off without a hitch because Namjoon is quite good at his job. If anything happens post-op Namjoon will have to leave them stranded here.

As Namjoon watches something crosses Yoongi’s face that looks a bit like confusion, his hand leaves Namjoon’s to settle on his hip. Eyebrows pulling together.

Huh? Is it the mating mark?

Their food has just arrived, cauliflower pizza for Jungkook, a messy calzone for Yoongi, and his own meat-filled slice when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Namjoon smiles seeing Hobi’s contact, and answers it. It’s you on the line when he picks up.

“Whatever you do, don’t put me on speaker. Don’t react. Just go somewhere where you won’t be overheard by anyone.” Namjoon's smile falls instantly.

Something about your tone has goosebumps rising on his arms. inexplicable, whether it's instincts or just the fact that Namjoon knows your voice and has never heard you sound like this that tips him off he's not sure.

You’re in the back of Hobi’s car, Jimin sprawled across your lap, your fingers stroking down his cheek, your other hand putting pressure on his bullet wound. Jimin lets out these little hiccupping breaths and in the front seat, Hobi’s eyes flick to the two of you. Your pause your call to soothe him, letting him inhale big settling breaths of your scent. Nose and mouth pressed hard to your wrist. Teeth biting down because Jimin needs something to muffle his pained growl.

"Just hold on Minnie, I know it hurts. We’re almost back to the house."

Namjoon hears it, and his whole body goes cold.

You can say many things about the pack, about pack alphas and pack omegas, but listening goes both ways. Namjoon would never dream of disobeying you when you talk like this. Namjoon stands and walks to the door mechanically. Only when he’s outside, cold air swirling around him, does he speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened," Namjoon closes his eyes "-and I need you not to tell the others. I need you to come home and leave Jungkook and Tae. Jimin's hurt and we need you.”

Namjoon feels the moment the tense breath in his chest sticks there and he realizes you’re not joking. Jungkook looks up, furrowing his eyebrows at Namjoon in the dark window. The snowflakes falling catch the lamplight around him, dotting his red sweatshirt like the reverse of blood on snow.

There’s a pause and then, “There’s a lot you don’t know, but I need you to hurry.”

Namjoon nods then pauses when he realizes you can’t see. He’s not sure he’s ever heard you sound so serious.

“Do you understand why I’m asking you this Namjoon?”

Namjoon has always been an honest alpha, even when it doesn’t stroke his ego. “No.”

“Because if Tae sees what’s happening, she’s going to need someone to comfort her, and everyone needs to be focused on mini right now.” Your voice trembles, breaking. Below you, Jimin smiles, leaning into your arm. Babbling little and delirious from pain and blood loss.

“Love you so much Tae- wanna be your mate- wanna marry you too if y/n lets me- wanna have your pups."

"Jimin. You are an alpha. You can't get pregnant." Hobi says dryly from the driver's seat, making a very careful left turn that's so slow that it garners a honk from the people behind him.

"But Tae could at least try-"

You close your eyes against the lights of the highway, and across your lap you feel wet soaking into your pant legs. You don't look down, You know it’s blood. It’s so warm, spilling across your knees like sunshine. Bubbling up with every heartbeat.

You don’t know how much more blood Jimin can lose before it’s critical, which is why you need Namjoon.

“-And if Jungkook finds out the stress could make him have a seizure.”

Namjoon is silent on the other end of the line. Completely quiet. Frozen on the sidewalk outside of the pizza place. Above him, the pastel blue pizzeria sign buzzes and flickers. Namjoon inhales the cold air, his exhale coming out warm and steamy visible. When he turns to look inside Yoongi is already staring.

Namjoon must look devastated because Yoongi shoots to his feet. Saying something to the others before he heads out after Namjoon. The bell clinging until he's right there reaching for the phone.

“I’ll see you at home.” You shut your eyes tight. “Bring Yoongi too. I need him.”

The phone in Namjoon’s hands buzzes and when he looks the call has disconnected.

~-~

It's a good thing that most of the snow has melted off or else you’d have a harder time concealing Jimin’s bleeding form as you pull into the driveway. You’re barely outside for a handful of seconds. No curtains move in the shuttered windows of your neighbors. No one is in the cul-de-sac, not even Noodle is waiting for you on the rock wall.

There is no red trail in the snow, just a few drops that land on the dark slate walkway that you’ll clean up before morning. The porch light is off and Your hand leaves a dark imprint on the railing as you rush to open the door for Jin and Hobi, supporting Jimin between the two of them.

But the door opens before you can get to it.

"Joonie!” Jimin's tone drips with false cheer, grinning at the pack alpha and your mate standing just inside the house. As Jin and hobi half drag and half carry Jimin inside and out of sight. Blood dripps down the side of his face from his temple to his chin.

“Holy fuck” your mate mutters. Out of Jin and Hobi and you- you easily have the most blood on yourself. Your pants are soaked through with it and muck from the river, even your hair feels wet and sticky. You must certainly look like a sight, like something out of a nightmare or a bad memory- yoongi can take his pick.

(In truth, the sight of you blood soaked brings up only one other night in yoongi's memory; a night just as tense and pain filled as this. the night you killed Geumjae. This won't be the last time Yoongi sees you soaked in blood either. But at least next time the blood you'll wear won't be the packs and you'll be wearing it as a king and not a pawn).

The drive must have truly taken a toll on him because the second the door closes behind you Jimin’s knees give out and his eyes roll back, passing out as the last bit of energy vanishes from his body. Hobi almost falls with him, but Namjoon and Yoongi are quick to come to his aid.

“Quick- the table.”

Yoongi clears the dining room table with a simple swipe of his hands, sending the bowl of tangerines scattering, rolling like many mini suns across the hardwood floor. They put him down as gently as they can, but Jimin's a puppet with his strings cut. Namjoon swoops in, more trained than any of you, grabbing Jimin’s ankles and holding them up above his heart.

"Come on- Minnie- come on " Namjoon reaches over to tap Jimin’s cheek, gentle once and harder the second time, more of a true slap. Jimin gasps awake, but he’s only half conscious. It’s twilight, his eyelashes fluttering face pale. Mumbling Tae's name over and over again.

"Jin, hold his legs up for me- here"

You’ve never seen Namjoon move so mechanically, so professionally. He's already wearing sterile gloves. His black doctor’s bag cracked open and full of gauze and other medical paraphernalia. The skin around the bullet wound is pinched with blood. Gushing fresh as Namjoon cuts away as much of the tourniquet as he dares with a pair of kitchen shears.

Jimin’s head lolls to the side.

Namjoon lets out a single wet noise. You haven’t heard him cry in so long, you don’t realize that’s what it is until you look at his face.

Your mate’s face is pale and gaunt as he looks at you over the dining room table. “Didn’t you tell him anything?”

“No- I wasn’t sure what to say, I-” Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to Minnie, then up at Jin who looks like he might be about to pass out himself. Holding himself away.

“Who shot him? Did someone corner you? Jin-”

Jin lifts his chin about to confess but before he can Namjoon snaps “Everyone needs to be quiet- please.”

Namjoon places his stethoscope oh so gently to jimin's skin Even the slight action makes Jimin’s face twist in pain. The whole pack is quiet and still, like statues.

The moment passes syrup slow, And Namjoon moves his stethoscope an inch to the left, then the right. Only then does he toss it down onto the floor. Grabbing a sterile towel from his medicine bag and presses it hard over the bullet wound. Closing his eyes and grimacing before he stuffs it, fingers and all into the bullet wound.

Jimin jerks violently, howling, nearly thrashing in pain if it weren’t for Namjoon and Yoongi and you holding him down. He flails, hitting you in the face knocking you back.

Hobi catches you before you fall. “I’m fine, it’s okay just- help them hold Minnie" your hand over your hot cheek. It will probably bruise- but you don't even care as you watch as Namjoon pulls himself onto the kitchen table, putting his full body weight over the bullet wound to try and stem the bleeding.

“He needs a hospital. We need to pack it and then take him there. He’s lost too much blood.”

"We can’t- all bullet wounds need to be mandated reported.”

It’s not all that large of a hole to be honest. Maybe a finger with on the back side and a little smaller at Jimin's front because Jin shot Jimin at such close range. It’s a threw and threw. Even though Namjoon packed the front his back still leaks steadily.

“But Jimin will live, whatever’s going on-” Namjoon shares a glace with Yoongi Jin, then you- and you watch as it dawns on him. “wait- You do know what’s going on, theres something you're not telling me.”

It's accusatory but you nod while Jin and Yoongi stay placid. Namjoon looks once at Jin again then at you, deciding who he trusts more to correctly gauge the odds.

Namjoon looks at you, waiting.

“If the wrong people find out Jiminie is- that he’s-” you pause, and Jimin grimaces, there is blood on his teeth, in his mouth. “It might not just be him hurt by the end of it.”

“But we can’t just let him die.”

Hobi just stands by the couch, your nest just tousled as you’d left it what feels like a lifetime ago. for the first time that night- hobi breaks.

"Oh my god Jimin's going to die-"

Jin's hands are in his hair, yanking, "Tae is going to kill me-"

“Shut up, no one is dying yet. If he dies on us I’ll kill him myself.” you scoff, holding Jimin’s wrist, his hand. “I won’t even bother with a gun I’ll just..."

You fall silent with a sudden intake of breath. Yoongi's head whips in your direction. Jin too looks up from where he was just bowed, realization lighting his eyes up bright.

The three of you share a look and for a second, the only sound is Jimin's blood dripping. A little faster with every heartbeat. Down the leg of the kitchen table onto the floor in red rivulets.

Drip drip drip.

(What you don’t know about Jin and Yoongi’s tentative agreement is that even though they know about each other- they've still been on either side of this. They’ve never worked with each other, never shared querying glances like this. It's a special secret language that thieves and secret killers share.)

Yoongi follows your line of sight to the kitchen. The knives sit sheathed in the knife block. The same ones that he bought Jin as a fancy courting present years ago. The same one's Yoongi sharpens before he cuts the meat that the pack eats for samgyeopsal and bulgogi and shabushabu.

A sharp cut is an easy cut to fix, unlike a blown-apart cavernous bullet wound.

“No.” Is your first reaction. Even though it was your idea. “It’s too dangerous.”

"It won't work." is Jin's response. Namjoon glances from you to him. He hasn't yet realized what you're talking about. doesn't posess the same finess for bloodshed that the three of you do (the three of you could conquer the world, you just haven't' realized it yet)

"It will work." Yoongi straightens. there are whispers of darkness on yoongi's face. a childhood he doesn't talk about in his eyes. a childhood filled of blood and less kindness than you'd think; for it to have made a man like yoongi; who knows how to be gentle because he's felt every kind of unplesantness there is.

"I've seen it done before. A long time ago but still- it works."

“What,” Namjoon snaps. "Are you guys fucking talking about?"

“There’s another option.” Yoongi’s hands are on Jimin, holding his wrists down. his other hand tucking his hair behind his ears and kissing his bloody cheek. His hands are getting colder and there isn’t much time. He’s quiet for a moment, lips pressed to jimin's skin, before he looks up. None of you want to say what you’re thinking.

“A good stab wound with a larger knife, through and through will disguise the bullet wound. It will stop him from bleeding any more. No one will know that Jimin was shot and we can take him to the hospital."

Namjoon’s scent is sour, sour, and acrid and it makes Jimin arch in pain, face twisted. He still doesn't understand why no one must know that Jimin was shot. Still doesn't understand that it was Jin who shot him. He'll learn later over hospital coffee but for now, he misses the blood-soaked and cut up FBI vest laying in a heap on your dining room floor. No yellow left on it- just red.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m not letting anyone stab anybody."

Jimin’s head lolls on the table. His mumbled words fall on deaf ears. “Stab away….might as well…already stabbed through the fucking heart from Tae" (how could Cupid be so cruel?)

"Joonie look at me." Your hand is on Namjoon’s arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck and he rounds on you. Alpha aggression striking before Namjoon can reign in his instincts. He almost snaps his teeth at you. You don't react at the alpha baring his teeth in your face because underneath it all is the panic of a child, a pup who's terrified he's about to lose his family (a sinking feeling in his gut that says maybe, he already has.)

You understand, you know what it's like to feel that way.

Your voice is so calm and gentle. “Namjoon- you just have to trust me. If we take Jimin to the hospital and if they have a reason to take his fingerprints. There is a very good chance Minnie will go to prison. That I will go to prison- that Yoongi will too.”

Jin blinks, eyelashes fluttering. And Namjoon is silent, Hobi's silent too. All of them watching you. Your hands are steady, and your eyes are clear. The clearest they've ever seen.

“There is a lot we haven’t told you. But you need to trust me.”

It’s then that he spots it. Yoongi’s tone is dark as he yanks the wooden mask out of Hoseok's hands. Yoongi would know those masks anywhere; the one that the family gives its employees. This specific type is to delineate a non-relative. The specific kind is the mask that killers wear.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

You look up at him, “it’s Minnie’s.”

Yoongi’s chest heaves, breath coming quick and fast. “No, it’s not- it can’t be.”

Namjoon’s teeth look particularly sharp when he snaps. “Does anyone but me give a fuck about Jimin right now? Or do you guys only want to pretend that you do?” The rest of the pack watches Namjoon as he ties a new tourniquet. A better one. he can't meet your eyes. quiet and furious as he pulls the knot tight.

“There are too many ligaments in Jimin’s arm, you could cripple him.”

“What other choice do we have?"

“So thats it?” your voice is a shred past hysterical, “we just take him to the hospital and let him go to jail, or let him bleed out and die here?”

The four of you stand over Jimin, on the kitchen table, the spot where you’ve eaten dinner and broken bread and loved each other for the last year. A place of nourishment and love now a place of pain and terror.

You walk three strides to the kitchen and grab the largest steak knife from the kitchen block. Your eyes dark and determined as you stare them down.

"I'll do it if you won't! I'm not letting Jimin go to prison!" you blink tears out of your eyes and there is a moment of silence, a moment where everyone just looks at you.

There is a warm body at your back, a strong chest and long arms that you know circling your waist to pull you back against them. Rubbing soft down your stomach as another comes up to guide your hand. long fingers that curl around your small fist. Grabbing the knife and guiding it, syrup slow out of your grasp.

"There we go" hobi says, words whisper soft.

It's like his words break the spell. “Give me that thing before you hurt yourself.” namjoon snaps.

Namjoon holds the knife and everyone watches as he walks to the pack's liquor cabinet. grabbing the nearest highest proof bottle that he can find and pouring it over the kitchen blade.

“If anyone’s going to do it, it should be me, because I know where Jimin’s joint is.” The pack nods, agreeing. Scattering.

You toss a rag to Jin. “Wipe the gunshot residue from your hands before we get to the hospital. Wipe Jimin’s too while you’re at it. Just in case.”

Namjoon holds the knife in the kitchen. You all have some amount of Jimin’s blood on you and he blinks from the table lucid.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, staring down at Jimin, knife in his hand. “Go outside and warm up the car. You’ll drive because you have the steadiest hands besides me.”

You and Jin and Hobi are silent, everyone just watches namjoon for a second. Yoongi hesitates, turning back in the doorway. "Do it from behind that way Jimin can say he didn't see who stabbed him."

Namjoon nods, looking down.

There is Jimin’s blood on the doorknob and the floor. You wonder who’s going to clean it up.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon asks, and your mate starts, running out the door, leaving it open so that the cold can slip in. Namjoon’s hand tightens on the knife.

Jimin grins up at him from the table, eyelashes fluttering.

"Do it."

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

~-~

Notes:

the line "A faceless god, if you’re going to take so much from him- the least you can do is give me this." is a call back to a line all the way in the beginning of the series where tae writes "the least you could have done was leave me whole" about yoongi.

the beginning feels a little drawn out but honestly i feel like it's such a traumatizing moment that it makes sense. the beginning was one of those cases that i read it so many times i can't tell if its ass or gas- so it's up for you to decide. i like the later parts of the chapter a lot better.

All things said, hobi is taking this incredibly well.

I was such a sleepy bunny editing this this morning! i'm sorry if there are more errors than usual.

ooh they fighting~ this might be a little bit of a /oh shit/ confession- but i greatly belived that the m/c would have killed jin had she thought that he was actually trying to kill jimin for being involved with the mafia like- one wrong move on his part and she might have shot him. they're gonna forget about it and nothing will change between them but god- that moment where he comes around the corner could have gone so bad if she was a little more trigger happy.

honestly i started to hate this chapter halfway through editing it, if there was ever one that i needed you to show love to its this one god 😮‍💨 i never thought i'd feel out of practice writing this sort of thing.

are the funny parts out of place? do they break up the terror too much or just the right amount?

I cannot take credit for the methodology behind how they hide jimin's bullet wound. i will confess this is copied from an episode of Elementary- ie the american version of sherlock. i tried to look it up if you could possibly conceal bullet wounds this way and didn't find anything so you're just gonna have to trust me.

373 notes · View notes

mynicosensesaretingling · 3 months

Text

Playful banter and dull sceneries

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Request: “Hello I hope you're taking request sorry for bothering if not but could you please do Nico Rosberg friends to lovers ending in someone walking in on them while they’re making out? Thank you in advance.”

Warnings: none except it has been written in my notes app

Note: Thank you so much for your request. I had so much fun writing this and really hope you enjoy what I came up with!! <3

————-

The day of the race dawned with a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, the paddock abuzz with activity as teams and spectators alike prepared for the thrilling spectacle ahead. Amidst the hustle and bustle, you found yourself in the company of Nico Rosberg, your longtime friend and partner in crime.

As you strolled through the paddock together, Nico's presence beside you felt both familiar and electrifying, the air tingling with unspoken tension. Over the years, your friendship had evolved into something deeper, though neither of you had dared to acknowledge the simmering undercurrent of attraction that lingered between you.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" you asked, eyes studying Nico’s side-profile with playful curiosity, as you waited for his answer. Turning his head to meet your gaze, Nico flashed you a grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, aside from winning the race, I thought we could find a cosy spot to avoid the paparazzi and their pesky questions.“

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Ah, so this is your clever plan to dodge the journalists, huh? Sneak away with me and hope they won’t find us?”

Nico feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart in mock offence. “I’m hurt that you would even suggest such a thing! I just thought we could use some quality time away from the madness, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well Nico’s aversion to the press. “Sure, Nico. Quality time away from the madness. Translation: hiding away from nosy reporters.” The blonde grinned unabashedly, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “Hey, if it means spending time with you, I’ll take my chances with the paparazzi any day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his shameless flattery, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “Smooth, Rosberg. Real smooth.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as you made your way through the paddock, navigating through the maze of trailers and hospitality suites in search of the perfect hiding spot. Despite the chaos around you, there was a sense of peace in Nico’s company, a feeling of familiarity that eased the tension in your shoulders.

Finally, you found yourselves at the paddock's edge, overlooking a secluded stretch of the racetrack. It wasn’t the most glamorous spot, with a few discarded tyre stacks providing makeshift seating, but it offered a reprieve from the chaos of the ever-buzzing paddock.

“Well, this is…. cosy.” you remark, eyebrows raised as you take in the less-than-stellar accommodations.

The driver chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I did promise you a quiet spot away from the crowds. I never said it would be luxurious.” You playfully elbow him in the ribs, earning a mock wince in response. “At least tell me to bring a cushion next time.”

Nico grinned at your playful jab, rubbing his side theatrically. “Ouch! Next time, I’ll be sure to pack a bottle of champagne for the princess.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, biting your lip to prevent the laugh bubbling up within you from escaping. “I guess for now we’ll just have to make do without the VIP treatment.”

The blonde driver settled onto one of the discarded tyre stacks, motioning for you to join him. “Come on, don’t be a diva. This is prime real estate.” You followed suit, perching on the stack beside him with a grin. “You know, I think I’ve had worse seats at the movies.”

Nico chuckled, head tilting, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Well. as long as the company’s good, that’s all that matters, right?”

Noticing the warmth in his words, your heart fluttered. The playful banter between the two of you adding an extra layer of tension to the already-charged atmosphere.

“Of course,” you replied, flashing him a smirk. “Though I must admit, the view could be better.” your hand lazily gesturing in front of you. Nico raised his eyebrow, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes upon hearing your comment.

“Are you implying that I’m not enough to keep you entertained? I’m wounded.”

His dramatic antics lead you to shake your head in amusement. “Oh, come on, Nico. You know you’re more than enough to keep me entertained. I just thought a more scenic backdrop wouldn’t hurt.”

Nico feigned a loud sigh, hand clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him. “I’m crushed! Here I was, thinking I was the main attraction.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “Well, you’re a close second.” The driver’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement, as he grinned. “I’ll take it. But just wait until I win this race- you’ll be singing a different tune then.”

You cross your arms, eyes sparkling upon feeling challenged.

“Oh, is that a promise, Rosberg? Because last time I checked, certain other drivers might have something to say about that.” The man’s grin widened, the competitive spark igniting in his gaze. “Ah, but you forget, my dear. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve this time.”

You fully turned your body in his direction, to lean in closer. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? But I’ll have you know, I’m not easily impressed, Rosberg.”

Nico was still grinning, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I’m counting on it. After all, what fun would winning be if it didn’t come with a challenge?”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within you as you met his playful challenge head-on. "Well, then, consider me your greatest challenge yet. But don't get too cocky, Nico. You haven't won this race yet."

Nico's expression softened, a hint of something more lingering in his gaze as he looked at you. "True, but with you by my side, I'd say my odds are looking pretty good."

The words hung in the air between you, charged with a tension that left you breathless. In that moment, surrounded by the fading light of the afternoon sun and the distant buzzing of the paddock, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

But just as the tension between you threatened to reach its peak, Nico's cocky demeanour resurfaced, bringing the sense of playfulness back to the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he reached out, his hand gently grasping yours.

"Well, if I haven't won the race yet, perhaps I'll just have to find another way to claim my victory," he quipped, his voice laced with a hint of seduction.

Before you could respond, he surprised you by reaching out and tugging you from your perch on the stack of tyres. You found yourself swept off your feet, quite literally, as Nico effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, interrupting your protest with a playful grin.

"Nico, what on earth—" you began, but before you could finish your sentence, he cut you off with a cheeky smirk.

"Just making sure you have the best view possible, darling," he said, his arms encircling you in a snug embrace. "You were right, the scenery is quite dull after all."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh at his audacity, though a part of you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that his closeness stirred within you. "Well, aren't you just the epitome of chivalry, Nico Rosberg."

Nico smirked, the playful expression never leaving his lips. "Only the best for you, my dear. After all, it's not every day I get to share a secluded spot overlooking the racetrack with such charming company." You rolled your eyes at his smooth talk, but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at your lips. "Oh, spare me the flattery, Rosberg. We both know you're just trying to distract me from the fact that you're about to get your butt handed to you on the racetrack."

Nico's grin widened, his confidence unwavering. "Is that a challenge, darling? Because I assure you, I'm more than ready to prove you wrong." "Oh, I'm counting on it. But just remember, Nico, actions speak louder than words." you teasingly wink.

Nico's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, as his voice suddenly became husky. "Well then, I suppose I'll just have to let my actions do the talking."

Before you could even process the meaning of his words, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours with a gentle urgency. In that instant, years of unspoken longing seemed to culminate in the tender press of his lips against yours. It was as if every stolen glance, every lingering touch, had led to this moment of undeniable connection.

As his arms enveloped you, pulling you closer, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you. The world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the sweet taste of his lips against yours. It was a moment of pure bliss, a culmination of years of pining and unspoken desires finally coming to fruition.

In that fleeting moment, everything just clicked into place, and you lost yourself in the intoxicating sensation of being truly and completely loved. It was a kiss filled with passion, tenderness, and a deep-seated longing that could no longer be denied. And as you melted into his embrace, the world seemed to stand still, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable truth of your connection.

Amidst the fervour of the moment, a satisfied, hoarse noise escaped Nico's lips, a primal sound of contentment that sent shivers down your spine. It was a silent affirmation of the intensity of his emotions, a wordless declaration that spoke volumes about the depth of his desire. And as you melted further into his embrace, you couldn't help but reciprocate, your own heart echoing the fervent passion that burned between you.

But just as the kiss deepened, a sudden voice shattered the moment, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Jenson's smirk widened as he observed the scene before him, his eyes flickering between you and Nico with a knowing gleam.

Nico groaned theatrically at the interruption, one hand reaching up to comb through his tousled hair while the other comfortably rested on your hip. "Jenson! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

The Brit chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just thought I'd take a stroll through the paddock and see what I could find. I must say, I didn't expect to stumble upon a couple of lovebirds in the process."

You exchanged sheepish glances with Nico, a blush creeping up your cheeks at Jenson's teasing remark. "Well, it looks like our secret's out," you quipped, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Nico chuckled, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. "I suppose there's no hiding it now. But if we're going to be caught, I can't think of a better person to witness our... moment."

Jenson raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, believe me, it was pretty obvious from the moment I stumbled upon you two. The way you were practically glued to each other's sides? I'd say the cat's been out of the bag for a while now."

You exchanged a surprised glance with Nico, the realization dawning on you that perhaps your feelings for each other weren't as much of a secret as you had thought. But as Nico pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his gaze softening with affection, you knew that whatever the future held, you were ready to face it together – with laughter, love, and the occasional teasing remark from the ever-observant Jenson Button.

#nico rosberg x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 drivers #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #nico rosberg x you #nico rosberg imagine #f1 grid x reader #f1 oneshot #f1blr #f1 driver x reader

238 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 4 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 96

Part 1 Part 95

Mom makes him go home when he starts dosing on Steve’s hospital bed. But it’s okay because she kisses Steve’s cheek before she leaves, and Eddie and Wayne stay parked by his side.

The connection’s easier now. It’s like all that time straining for Steve has snapped something into place. He can feel them all the time, a warm buzzing in his chest. He wonders if he runs hot now. If the warmth will diffuse through his whole being, make coats obsolete even in the dead of winter.

Hopper is waiting for them in the waiting room, El burrowed into his side. She looks wan, and tired, drooping into her extravagant coat, eyeliner running down her cheeks like she’s been crying. Something inside him twists when he looks at her.

Before he can untangle that knot of emotion, Hopper stands up, both hands slapping against his knees first the same way Mike’s dad does before he gets up from his recliner. “You ready to go?” he asks, not looking away from Mom.

When Will glances up, Mom’s smiling up at Hopper in a way he doesn’t want to think about. The adults talk quietly in front, leaving El to stumble tiredly along beside Will. She’s staring at the side of his face. Will can’t bring himself to look back.

“Steve,” she says, sounding the word out and making it longer like it still tastes foreign on her tongue. “He is okay?”

When Will gets up the courage to look over, her eyes are big and worried. He smiles at her helplessly. It’s almost funny how innocent she looks; like she’s a bunny dressed up in punk clothes. “He’ll be okay.”

She smiles, small and close lipped, but it still beams out of her like the sun. Will tilts his head to the side and tries to see what Mike sees in her. He wants to hide her in Castle Byers, build a fortress around her, and keep her away from all the lab people for the rest of her life.

Is that howMike felt, hiding her in his basement, giving her frozen eggos and keeping his mouth shut?

But then her lips thin and she looks forward again. The feelings vanishes. It’s just El, hia friend, despite how much of Mike’s attention she’d snapped up just by being herself.

“I’m glad,” she says, looking at Hopper’s broad back as she takes two steps for each one of his.

It’s quiet after that, the way it always is after; all of them too brittle and bruised and bone-deep tired for conversation.

Hopper’s truck rat-a tat-tats itself to life in the hospital parking lot. The radio croons out something quiet and thrumming until Hopper reaches over to shut it off.

El’s heads smushed into the window, vibrating against the pot-holed roads of Hawkins.

Will’s so tired he’s wide awake.

He watches the familiar buildings of Hawkins flicker by. It's been a long time since knowing his surroundings brought any comfort.

Monsters could live behind every door, every tree, every smiling face.

He’s not sure any of them will ever feel safe again.

Will closes his eyes, locking the scenery out so he can focus on the bundle of warmth in his chest. They’re still huddled together, two sparks merging in his chest.

The past couple days have been a necessary violation of Eddie’s private feelings. He’d bared them all with love confessions and grasping hands, trying to pull Steve back from the edge of immolation.

He’s not even sure Steve knows, hopes he does. Steve deserves to hold that love delicately between his palms and choose what to do with it.

He won’t crush it, even if it’s unreturned. He’ll hold it gently like he always does.

Will doesn’t realize he fell asleep, or that they’d arrived home until he’s in free-fall. It feels like one of those falling dreams where you wake up solidly in the middle of your bed, but this time he really is tumbling, only Jonathan’s arms keeping him from hitting the gravel.

“Are you okay?” he asks shakily as he pulls Will into his chest, holding him tight enough to hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom murmurs, wrapping them both up in her arms, chin landing solidly on Jonathan’s shoulder, sandwiching Will between their bodies. “Everyone’s fine, right Will?”

Will murmurs his affirmation, feeling groggy and confused in the light of day.

“I was with Nancy,” Jonathan whispers. “I was just with Nancy, and you were–I almost–”

“Shh,” Mom cuts him off, reaching up to cradle his face and smile up at him. Will barely catches the edge of his watering eyes from his restricted vantage point between them. “Everyone’s fine.”

“I should have been he–”

“Jonathan,” Mom interrupts again, sharper this time. “Everyone is fine. You deserve a normal life.”

“But Will–”

“I’m fine!” Will cuts in this time.

Jonathan pulls back, looking down at him with worried, droopy eyes. “And Steve? Mike said he was possessed.”

Will feels that bundle of warmth in his heart, lets it shine through his smile as he looks up at his brother. “He’ll be okay.” As Jonathan droops with relief, Will feels his smile turn cheeky. “Eddie will never let you forget that you were on a date while we were fighting monsters, though.”

Jonathan closes his eyes, pained while Mom laughs.

It’s not until they’re walking toward the front door that Will notices the lack of demo-dog bodies. There’s still puddles of black oil-slick blood, but everything else looks normal. Who covered their tracks? The lab? Hopper?

He settles down for the debrief, pillowing his head on Jonathan’s shoulder as Hopper’s even tones flit through his brain.

Maybe familiar places no longer hold any comfort, but Jonathan’s bony frame is enough to lull him into a peaceful sleep.

Part 97

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #will byers #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #Steve pov: I'm a wretch and a monster and everything is my fault #will pov: steve's so comforting :)#also Jonathan freaking out because he missed everything is something that is so fun to me. He's like. I'm a terrible brother!#Meanwhile Nancy only has low stakes in the whole thing. And she never got involved so by the time she knew to worry about Mike.#She already knew he was fine. so her main reaction is feeling left out.#Nancy is so fun in this AU because her inciting character incident (Barb's death) shapes so much of who she is #that we have like maybe one episode of characterization to work off of wrt what she was like before #anyway I'm sick so we'll see how much writing I can actually get done while feverish!

153 notes · View notes

raina-at · 22 days

Text

Night

It’s so quiet, this late at night. Her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor seem almost blasphemously loud as she approaches him. The neon lights wash all the colour out of the already drab hospital waiting room.

He looks so small, all of a sudden. When she was little, he was always larger than life to her, with his big gestures and his sweeping coat, his music, his experiments. He was colour and whirlwind and adventure, ramrod straight and impossibly tall. She loved it when he picked her up and whirled her around, the way they both towered over Dad when she rode on his shoulders, the way he always swept into and out of rooms. Always make a good entrance, Watson, he used to say.

She worshipped him as a child. He was always the more interesting parent to show off, with his deductions and his experiments, with his bespoke suits and sharp wit. It was never quite safe, of course, he offended people as easily as he charmed them, but she knew he’d always put his best foot forward for her. He was reliable in his glamour, always interesting, always there for her. For them.

For a long time, he didn’t change in her eyes. Dad wore glasses and had greying hair and used a cane, but Paps was still dark-haired and sharp-eyed. Age didn’t seem to affect him the way it did others.

But now, as she sees him sitting there, clutching a styrofoam cup containing bad hospital tea, she realises that there’s more white than black in his hair, and his ramrod straight posture has started to stoop a bit. Age and gravity have caught up with Sherlock Holmes. He looks frail and old and scared, like nothing so much but the grandfather he is.

His eyes haven’t changed, though. He looks up when she approaches, his eyes still as sharp and as all-seeing as ever. “It’s bad,” he deduces, probably from her face, her gait, from the stethoscope she grabbed from a nurse.

She sits down heavily next to him. “Well. it’s not good. Doctor Layton will be in in a minute to talk us through the options, but it looks like they’re going to have to go in and do a coronary bypass.”

“Is he stable enough for that?”

She shrugs. “It’s a risk, but they wouldn’t suggest it if they didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.”

He swallows, asks the next obvious question. “Did they let you see him? Is he awake?”

“He’s in and out, the nurse said. I got in for five minutes, but only because I’m on staff.” She looks at her hands. “He wasn’t conscious when I was in.”

She doesn’t say how much that scared her, seeing her father, her bulwark against all evil, just lie there, unresponsive when she reached out to him. He was always there for her. Always. It’s unimaginable that this might change.

Paps reaches over, takes her hand. His fingers are cold and clammy, and she rubs them to get a bit of warmth back into them.

“Is he going to die?” His voice is clinical. Detached, almost. The trembling she feels from him tells a different story.

Rosie bites down on the inside of her cheek to hold on to her composure. As much as she would like to just break down and cry, this isn't the time. She needs to be the strong one now. For both of them. “I don’t know,” she says, always the hardest thing for a doctor to say to a family member. Always the hardest thing to hear as well. “I don’t think so. He’s strong, and he has the best care in the world. He should be fine.”

Paps nods, just once, to denote that he heard her. Whether he believes her is another matter.

“Mark’s taken Joanna home,” she adds, reverting to practicalities. “I’ll swing by the house tomorrow to pick up the rest of her stuff.”

Is this her fault? Did the stress of a five-year old for a whole week prove too much for Dad?

“Don’t be stupid, Watson,” Paps admonishes her, as ever answering unasked questions with his uncanny ability to know what people are thinking. Especially her. Especially Dad. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Rosie smiles a bit at the old nickname. He used to call her that all the time when she was little, but it got rarer over the years, especially after he and Dad got married and they all changed their names. “I know,” she says quietly.

Silence falls as they sit there. The clock over their heads ticks away the minutes.

The doctor comes. Talks to them in respectful, clinical terms, to Rosie’s infinite gratitude. Surgery will likely take several hours. The doctor recommends going home. They both ignore her.

She’s bone tired but sleep is unthinkable. In a bit, she’ll get them some tea from the nurses’ station, maybe she can scrounge up some muffins as well. Her colleagues in paediatrics almost always have a stash.

The minutes tick by. This night already feels like several lifetimes, and every bone in Rosie’s body hurts.

“I’m not ready,” Paps says, after what feels like hours of silence.

Rosie nods, takes his hand, noting the age spots, the wrinkles on his slender musician hands. Still strong, but fragile in a way he never seemed to her before. “Neither am I,” she says softly. She isn’t ready in the slightest. Sometimes she still feels like a little girl, turning around when people call her Dr Watson-Holmes, convinced they must be talking to her dad. But she knows she’ll never be ready to lose him. To lose either of them.

She squeezes his fingers. “It’ll be all right.”

“And what if it isn’t?” he asks, and there’s the old sharpness in his voice, the razor intellect unwilling to be anything but brutally honest.

“It is what it is,” she says softly, watching as he deflates.

He puts a hand over his eyes and she can hear him try to control his emotions as he says, quietly, barely audibly, “I don’t do so well alone.”

“You’re not alone, Paps,” she says quietly, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I’m here, Mark’s here, Molly and Greg are here. Jo’s here. She needs her grandpaps.”

“I don’t—” he takes a deep breath, swallows. “I’m not. A nice person. A whole person. Without him.”

Rosie takes a deep breath and lets it out again. She knows what he means. She knows the stories about the Sherlock Holmes she never met, the young cocky genius arsehole. The man he was before he met Dad. But she also knows, from experience and because Dad told her, that meeting Dad didn’t change him. Not truly. Not fundamentally. “That’s not true. Dad just showed you the value of your heart. He didn’t give you one.”

Paps smiles, even though his eyes are sad. “He told you that.”

It’s not a question, but Rosie nods anyway. “You know how sentimental he really is. Even if he hides it well.”

“He doesn’t hide it well at all, actually.”

They both laugh, quiet but real. Then Paps looks at her, serious again, and says, “He lied. He did so much more than that. He made me a person, Ro. Before I met him, I thought love was for the weak. And he made me realise that to love someone, you have to be strong. Loving someone means constantly being afraid of losing them. And only the strong can handle that.”

“I know,” Rosie says gently. “You both taught me that.” She takes his hand into hers once more. “We’ll get through this, Paps. The three of us, together. Like we’ve done so many times before.”

He nods, and she can see that he’s trying to put up a brave face for her, but in truth, he’s as terrified as ever, and she can’t blame him.

They lapse into silence again, and she can feel more than see Paps slowly drift off to sleep. She puts her head on his shoulder and dozes a bit as well.

As dawn approaches, a hand touches her shoulder. She looks into the surgeon’s eyes, sees her smile, and breathes a sigh of relief.

He’ll take a while to recover, she knows this. And he’ll be an absolute pain to manage during his convalescence, she thinks, as she wipes the tears of relief off her face.

She’ll wake Paps, and then she’ll take him to see Dad. She’ll probably have to force Paps to go home, have a meal, get some sleep, before he’s back here. He’ll hound the nurses and she’ll have to make apology tours through every department of her hospital until her fathers are free to go home.

And she will enjoy every goddamned bloody second of it, because it means she doesn’t have to face the inevitable just yet.

What do we say to death? she thinks, as she smiles and remembers when he taught her CPR, barely ten years old and already knowing in her bones that she wanted to be a doctor. That she wanted to be like him.

Not today, Death. Not today.

-----

Tags under the cut, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #rosie watson #my fic #may prompts 2024 #night

96 notes · View notes

colubrina · 11 months

Note

what does querying mean

Ah! OK. I forget that normal people don't know what this process entails.

So, if you want to be "trad" published (which basically means the kind of published that gets your book into bookstores) you will probably need a literary agent. Some small presses do not require that writers submit books for consideration through an agent, but pretty much every book you've ever heard of went through both a literary agent and a publisher that requires authors use them. So, how do you get a literary agent? You send a very specialized letter called a 'query letter', often with the first few pages of your novel, for them to read and decide if they want to 'represent' it, which means try to sell it for you in exchange for a 15% commission. The query letter I used for the 6th book I queried was this...

Dear [agent],

NO GOOD WITCHES is a 90,000-word YA speculative that will appeal to readers of A Deadly Education and Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. It’s a ‘girl goes evil and gets shit done while awe-stuck boy holds her purse so she can do the murders’ kind of book with popular tropes including found family, female friendship, dark academia, morally grey characters, power corrupts, and a romance where the boy is bad but the girl is worse (you could save him, I could make him worse; we are not the same).

Seventeen-year-old Calla watches the witch burnings on television along with everyone else in the United States. Witches can move things with their minds. They know what people are thinking. They’re terrifying, and dangerous, and the shows are a nationwide reminder that witches will not be tolerated. Her friends have never suspected Calla is one, and she needs to keep it that way. But when she answers a question before it’s asked in a history class, her future goes up in flames. She can read minds. She’s evil. Game over.

Caught and terrified, Calla is surprised when she isn’t dragged to a pyre, but to a hospital where she’s poked and prodded to find out how powerful she is. Turns out, good witches—compliant witches—don’t get sent to the stake. They get trained in hidden schools and sharpened into weapons. Their ability to manipulate matter powers the electrical plants and their mindreading gets used by the diplomatic corp. Calla doesn’t feel like getting burned alive, so she learns everything she can.

Including how she—and her new witch friends—can burn the system down rather than let powerful men exploit their magic.

By the time she’s done, there won’t be a single good witch left.

I was mentored in both the Pitch Wars and Author Mentor Match programs, and I was previously represented but my agent and I have amicably parted ways and this manuscript has never been on submission. I live in Connecticut with cats, my family, and some unhappy plants. I am not a witch.

Thank you,

Collie

I sent 69 versions of this query out, 2 of which were referrals (meaning a current client of the agent recommended me)

17 times the agent ghosted my query.

43 times the agent rejected at the query stage

7 times the agent requested more materials. (This is about a 10% request rate and is not great but not terrible either.)

2 times the agent ghosted the requested materials

3 times the agent rejected the additional materials

Once the agent offered me what's called a "revise and resubmit" where she sent some detailed edits I could do and then she would reconsider whether she wanted to rep it. I disagreed pretty strenuously with one of her suggestions (she wanted me to cut the romance) and so I didn't pursue it.

The whole process is tedious and unfun and pretty much necessary if you want your book to be in, say, Barnes and Noble. I do not enjoy it. I am going to do it for the seventh time starting this fall. Maybe I'll do a 'querying diary' the way I do a log of what I've written. That would be fun.

Ask me anything about querying. I am a bona fide expert on this.

#querying #500

571 notes · View notes

emo-batboy · 1 year

Text

After the flood, The Batman uses his grappling hook and other gadgets to expertly maneuver his way to sections of the city that are inaccessible.

He can’t rescue victims on his own because the hook can only carry so much weight so he lights flares on the roofs of buildings where people are trapped and two flares if someone needs immediate medical attention.

He relays more information through Gordon about how many people there are, whether or not they’re accessible by boat or helicopter. A paramedic team provides him with a walkie talkie and rudimentary first aid training, only to learn that The Batman is already an expert in EMT protocol and how to provide CPR for over twenty minutes if necessary.

The only people he can safely evacuate himself are small children. (The “safety” is still shaky, but the Bat refuses to leave children behind. The paramedics hesitantly provide him with child and infant evacuation harnesses in hopes they’ll help.) Some kids don’t want to leave their parents so The Batman waits for up to an hour to make sure they’re rescued. Other children’s parents refuse to trust the masked vigilante with their child’s safety. He accepts that but makes sure to let the paramedics know this one is also priority.

But some desperate parents, especially those with newborns, have no choice but to trust him if it means their children get medical attention sooner. He has blank hospital bands and a few pens with him so the parents can write down their name, birth date, allergies, an emergency contact outside of the city, etc. As long as they’re lighter than 90 lbs, he has no doubt he’ll be able to bring their child to safety.

The orphanage takes two days to evacuate, and many of the staff and kids are apprehensive of him at first, but by the afternoon, The Batman has helped twenty kids to safety and found a safe landing spot on the building for a helicopter to fly. The hospital was, of course, also a priority, and The Batman evacuated many patients there, but it was thankfully up to date on evacuation protocol and took just under a day.

He rescues cats and small dogs and a pet lizard at one point too, all with their own hospital band with the owner’s info or wherever they were found scrawled on it. The Batman performs CPR on drowning victims, most of whom he was too late to save, but he does it anyway, over and over and over and over again.

He learns that kids are more likely to trust him if he carries stickers and lollipops to help calm them down. It feels manipulative the first few times he does it. He also wonders if he should bring something healthier, but he doesn’t have enough pockets, and the kids and parents weirdly trust him more when he asks what their favorite flavor is. (It also helps when he finds a few diabetics suffering from low blood sugar.)

By the end of his fifth day, The Batman has several stickers on his suit that he can’t bear to take off because the kids smile more when they see them. Somehow, he finds room in one pocket to fit a stuffed dog for the kids that are afraid of heights but need to be evacuated as soon as possible.

His cape makes for a good emergency shock blanket. He coaches many survivors through panic attacks and grief-stricken anxiety attacks. He tells them how to breathe and asks them to count down from 12 with him.

At one point, a kid asks for his name. The Bat’s never had to answer that question to someone that isn’t a criminal. He’s not vengeance anymore. That’s behind him. He’s just a guy in a gothic, bat-themed suit of armor. That name GCPD gave him, The Batman, comes to mind. He never really gave himself that. “The Batman” is too formal and ominous for a child anyway. He thinks for a moment then says he’s “Batman.”

#the batman 2022 #batman #battinson #batdad #the batman #bruce wayne

1K notes · View notes

calaisreno · 16 days

Text

Bottles

Note: I have two stories today because I couldn't make up my mind.

This one is sad (alcoholism, Sad John, Not Dead Sherlock, reunion, reconciliation, rehab. No MCD). The next one (Imagine) is much happier.

887 words / Prompt: Empty

He’s forgotten where he lives.

He hasn’t forgotten the little house in Clapham where his bed is, but as usual, his feet have taken him to Baker Street. That only happens when he’s been drinking. Well, it happens all the time these days.

Pockets, pockets. He still has a key, but he can’t find it.

“Lost it,” he says to himself. This seems true, and certainly describes his entire life these days. Since. After.

Lost it. He’s lost it.

It’s cold, almost November. Maybe it is November. If he closes his eyes— he does— he remembers another November. Back. Before.

Maybe he doesn’t have a bed now. He doesn’t have a job, so it’s quite possible that the house he remembers, the one with the bed and his clothes and a telly that doesn’t work, maybe that’s gone too. All his stuff, gone.

Sherlock gone.

He’ll cry if he thinks about that.

He’s already is crying.

The ground is suddenly closer than he thought. That’s because he’s sitting on the kerb outside 221B Baker Street. His face is wet and the ground is cold and he doesn’t have a place to sleep and all his stuff is gone.

“Why did you die?” If he were sober, he’d just ask inside of his head, and the Sherlock that lives there would say something cryptic.

You’re worried they’re right.

Heroes don’t exist.

Alone protects me.

It’s my note.

Mind Palace Sherlock. No, John has never had a Mind Palace. Nothing so grand. He doesn’t have a palace, not even one tiny bedsit now.

If he went home, if he had a home, he could sit in his chair and close his eyes and pretend Sherlock didn’t die.

He pulls the bottle out of his pocket. Nearly empty. He could drink it all in one swallow.

No, he already has.

The bottle clinks on the pavement. He tries to be careful when he puts them in the recycling bin, not let them clink against one another. That sound bothers him, shames him that there are so many.

Ashamed, he sits on the kerb, his feet in the road. Maybe he should just lie down in the road. Nobody would be surprised if he died that way. Better than a bullet. Better than drinking himself to death.

Rising to his feet, he sways. It’s a bad idea, standing up, but he wants to lie in the middle of the road and go to sleep. And never wake up.

He grasps at the air, trying to regain his balance, and finds he’s leaning against a car. A black car. The door opens and someone gets out.

Well, this will be embarrassing. For both of us.

Mycroft doesn’t pick up drunks. When necessary, he has people who do that for him. People who do his dirty work, clean up the vomit and wipe the blood off the upholstery.

No, they’re not getting into the car. The dirty work bloke is carrying him towards the door. And there’s Mycroft with the key, opening it.

“I’ve got you, John,” the dirty work bloke says. “You’re okay. You’re fine.”

He smells so familiar. That coat. “Sherlock,” he whispers. “Don’t be dead.”

He’s floating up. Up, up. It feels nice. The way home used to feel.

So gently, he’s laid down in a bed. A hand strokes his hair. “John.”

He’s crying. “Stop being dead.”

“Hush, John. I’m not dead. Remember? I came back.”

“But… but.” He’s not in the street. Clue: no cars. Soft. Warm. Ah, bed.

Someone is putting a pillow behind his head. It’s nice.

“John, sit up and have some water.”

“I got married,” he announces. “Did I get married?”

“You did.”

It’s the voice he remembers, the one that gives him shivers. “Am I dead?”

“No, you’re not.” A hand on his hair. “Hush, you’re safe. Rest now.”

In the other room, they’re talking softly to one another.

“How many times, Sherlock? He needs medical care. Rehab.”

“No, Mycroft. No hospitals. I’ll take care of him. Molly’s got Rosie for now, and Harry’s coming tomorrow.”

“Don’t be selfish, Sherlock. Are you sure this is what he’d want?”

Their voices are quieter now, further away.

“I have to fix this. I want to.”

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it. Call me.”

In the silence, he drifts. He and Sherlock were in a pub, he thinks.

No, they were playing a game. I’m you, aren’t I?

He’s chasing a hound through the mist…

Sherlock is standing on the roof...

A gunshot, and he runs… don’t be dead…

Stay with me…

Goodbye, John…

He sobs. “Why are you still dead? I asked you to come back.”

He feels himself gathered into strong arms. “I heard you. I’m here.”

“Every time you say that, you leave me. Every time, you’re dead.”

He touches the face he loves. His fingers come away wet. Sherlock is crying.

“Please, John. You have to stop this. Stay with me, please.”

I’m not the one who leaves, he thinks. I’m the one who’s alone.

“All right.” Sighing, he leans into the vision. They’re standing under a starry sky, and it’s beautiful. Sherlock is beautiful.

“I love you,” he says, smiling up at him. “Always meant to say. I love you.”

Sherlock kisses him “I love you too. Stay with me.”

Please read the next one too! Imagine. A 1024-word fixit for Series 3-4.

#mayprompts2024

76 notes · View notes

otteranha · 1 year

Text

Eddie’s trying not to beg Steve to stay. Harrington’s already gone above and beyond for him, he deserves a night to sleep in his own bed. But God, does it have to be now? No one will talk about it except to pat his hand and tell him with tight lipped smiles that there’s nothing to worry about- legally the mob can’t do anything. Eddie’s been declared innocent, a tragic victim of the copycat killer.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s been a group of people standing vigil outside the hospital since he got there. It doesn’t change the fact that the group has been growing in numbers until all of Hawkins seems to either be fleeing in desperation or taking up camp four floors below the room where Eddie lies unable to walk as far as the bathroom without help. It doesn’t change the energy of the mob, steadily humming louder, faster, with the intensity of a hive about to swarm.

“Should have known he’d be hightailing it when trouble came,” Wayne tells him. He’s furious on Eddie’s behalf that Steve would leave now, when the police protection detail has been declared no longer necessary. When the mob below is bigger than ever and angry enough that Eddie can feel it all the way up here.

“He didn’t want to go, he needs to sleep.” Eddie saw how badly Steve wanted to stay, how he was sweating and jaundiced and worse looking than he had since that first fight with the demobats. Steve needed to go home, deserved to go home. But part of Eddie, most of Eddie, wails inside for Steve not to leave him. Not tonight, please not tonight. He’d tried not to let Steve see it, doubted how well his subterfuge had worked.

“I wish I could stay but I just can’t, not tonight. I’m so sorry. But I promise- Anything goes wrong Eds, I’ll be here. I have to go now but if anyone needs me, if you need me, I’ll be here, I swear it.” He’d done a strange thing then, pressing Eddie’s hand to his brow before kissing the back of it like something out of one of the tales of courtly love Eddie had devoured as an Arthurian-legend obsessed kid. And then Steve was leaving. It was almost nightfall. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Eddie, his face anguished.

True to form, Eddie rallied. “Go on, and don’t worry about lil’ old me. I’ll be fine.”

The mob waits until just after midnight, then comes for him. They drag him from his bed, and Eddie has an insane thought apt to this insane situation that he’s glad he wore sweatpants under his hospital johnny so at least he’s not going to die bare-assed in front of the remaining population of Hawkins. Or maybe he jinxed himself by assuming the worst when he decided to wear them that night.

He sees the kids being held back by their parents, screaming for him as he’s hauled to the elevator, hopes desperately that Claudia and Karen and Sue and Charles will be strong enough to restrain them. The kids aren’t babies anymore; they’re tough and too used to fighting to protect their own. But this isn’t a fight they can win and he prays that parent-adrenaline will be enough let them wrangle his stupid, brave friends away from his side. He couldn’t keep Wayne away, they’d shouted at each other, all terrified love, him trying to make Wayne go, until the moment the door broke down and he was being dragged, his uncle’s grip still white-knuckled on Eddie’s wrist hard enough to bruise.

Everyone is shouting, himself included. He’s pleading his innocence, swearing he never hurt Chrissy. Until he sees the pyre and all the words evaporate inside him and he’s just screaming. They’re jeering at his tears, his terror. Calling him killer, devil-worshipper, Satan himself and worse. And then- something in the atmosphere shifts.

Eddie doesn’t see why the mob’s screaming changes, he’s hypnotized by the pyre. Do I weigh more than a duck? He thinks. You can’t burn me if I weigh more than a duck and then oh I’m hysterical.

“Get away! Get away from it!” They sound higher pitched now, a note of vibrato in the clamor. The shift in his captors’ tenor finally seeps in and Eddie looks around. The number of people buffeting him to a hideous end is shrinking, people peeling off and running. He can hear gunshots and then-

Snarling. Crunching sounds. Someone- something roaring into the night. It’s just the men holding Eddie now, Carver’s crew mostly. Wayne’s run up beside them and they don’t spare him a glance as he wrenches Eddie away from them. There’s a wolf. Massive, tawny, scarred, absolutely furious- lunging for them, slashing them with razor sharp claws until none of them are left standing. When the last of the mob is gone the wolf pads close and presses against Eddie’s side with a whine.

The kids come sprinting to him. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Well now they’re definitely going to think Eddie’s the lord of evil!” says Mike.

Eddie looks down at the wolf. He still feels like he might have a heart attack any minute, but the warm, soft fur is grounding. Steve Harrington looks up at him under the light of the full moon and wags his tail.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things hc #stranger things au #werewolf steve harrington #mob violence #violence cw #steve/eddie #st steddie

1K notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 7 months

Text

SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 01.

levi's pov #1. :: a deleted scene from chapter one. this is an alternate pov of levi's first conversation with james in the trost hospital.

happy silver underground eve! i thought i could give you all a little treat for the very first edition of additional SU content. this is a special levi-only drabble covering his pov when james first wakes up. i wrote it to better understand his own head while writing james' pov, but it wasn't necessary for the final draft. apologies for the pain, my dears. xo this is unedited. 1.8k words / angst, language, mentions of self hatred. :: please remember: this is additional content. nothing in the deleted drabbles are tied to the main content/overall final storyline.

He doesn’t bother knocking.

Levi can’t, not when you’ve been awake for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes where he wasn’t there. Twenty fucking minutes where you were alone, lying in a hospital cot, confused and out of sorts and more than likely asking for him.

He was supposed to be there.

He just didn’t think today would be the day it finally happened.

As he rushes through the hallways of the Trost District hospital, he tries to keep his face neutral. You’re going to need one hell of a recovery period, so he’s going to need to be strong — to hold true to his twilight promises he made six months ago, come what may.

According to Hange, you’d already been gone for several minutes by that time. That didn’t stop him from talking to you through the entire surgery prep process like you could hear him anyway. They’re cutting your shirt now. They’re setting up the blood bag. I’ll sit here all damn day hooked up to it if you need more.

(For someone notorious for silence, he sure had a lot of promises ready on his tongue.)

The door of the medical wing swings wide, and he could fall to his knees then and there: you’re sitting. For fuck’s sake, you’re actually sitting.

You look sickly, disoriented, but your eyes dart across the room towards the sudden intrusion. Your chest rises and falls in your gown. Your fingers are moving just fine.

He can’t say anything — he’s a goddamn coward waiting for the other shoe to drop in this miraculous awakening.

“Captain Levi!”

Doctor Rini’s voice calls to him, but the captain notices immediately that you don’t turn to the doctor. No. Your eyes never leave him, and it’s…

Blank.

Maybe you’re just exhausted.

Maybe you’re not quite here in the present yet.

“Doctor,” he replies, clipped to avoid emotion.

“I sent Nurse Phillipa to find you,” Doctor Rini exhales with anxiety.

“I was found.” Levi locks onto sarcasm as a defense mechanism. If it wasn’t for the good doctor, he’d already have been at the foot of your bedside. Begging for forgiveness is hardly enough. I’m sorry. “So?” I’m so sorry. “Tired of sleeping yet, or are we looking at six more months of winter?”

If you’re James, then you’ll tell him that you’d take another six months to avoid him.

If you’re still you, then you’ll tease that his left hand is trembling.

But you stare.

That’s it — that’s all you do.

Stare, and stare, and stare.

“You only look like total shit,” he continues with a snort, “so I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Captain—”

“Apologies for Levi’s intrusion, Doctor Rini.” Your attention turns when Erwin enters the room. Levi almost wants to demand you keep your eyes on him — look at me, James — but the commander speaks for the both of you. “Nurse Phillipa was able to locate me in my office. I had to retrieve Captain Levi personally. Is it alright if we come in, or is she not yet lucid?”

Of course she’s fucking lucid. She’s right here.

Levi takes a few steps forward, tightening his trembling hand into a fist to keep it concealed.

“She is… lucid, Commander.” The doctor stops there. There’s a but coming — he can feel it.

Levi doesn’t like this, not one fucking bit.

“But?” he snaps, glaring the doctor’s way for the first time since he burst into the room.

The doctor sighs with sadness then gestures towards the fallen lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, state your name.”

What?

Levi can’t help how fast his attention whips towards you. His stomach drops to the floor, digging itself into the dirt. You look… scared?

You shouldn’t be scared. He’s here. He promised he’d be here.

“...you originally stated she suffered a major concussion,” Erwin says.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor agrees, “and I also stated on the report that the probability of temporary to permanent post-traumatic memory damage was high.”

You have to be fucking joking.

Erwin states it in plain terms: “In other words, sustained amnesia.”

The fist at his side painfully tightens, his trimmed nails pushing into calloused skin. He sets his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through his nose.

“It never said anything about permanent,” Levi growls, pushing forward away from the doctor, away from the commander, to talk to you himself. Erwin’s fingertips touch his shoulder as if to dissuade him, but there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — that will keep him from this.

There’s no way it’s sustained.

Confusion in the beginning, maybe, but you just needed to talk a little. He’d show them both.

The visitor’s chair screeches against the floor until it hits the edge of your bed. You’re still doe-eyed and lost, lips parted like you’re wanting to speak — he can help. You two practically grew up with the same half-baked brain cell.

“Where are we?” Levi asks, leaning forward in his seat. He stares up at you with a hidden layer of affection, willing for the James he knows — the James he’s always known — to see.

I’m here. Look at me, James, I promised I’d be here.

“Levi,” Erwin warns. He doesn’t get it.

Levi nods his chin, albeit barely. “Answer the question.”

You pause, fidgeting in that way when you’re nervous. “I… don’t know.”

“You do know,” he urges.

“I don’t.”

“Where — are — we?”

“Stohess District?” you guess. It’s not that far off. Maybe he’s not being forceful enough.

“Try again, dumbass.”

Wrong idea — your eyes widen like you’d never been more insulted in your life. He’s jokingly called you worse. “Excuse me?”

“Levi.” Erwin again.

Levi refuses. “What’s this building called?”

“I said I don’t know,” you plead, and your voice sounds so small that it breaks his heart.

“Do you know what titans are?”

“Of course I know what the fuck titans are.”

His heart flutters at your swear. You’re not entirely lost. “Good. And do you know what the Survey Corps is?”

“Yes, why does this matter?”

“Do you know where you’re from?” If he wasn’t in control, then he’d reach out to your hand. Cup your cheek. Swear on heaven and Earth that you know this one — you just need a little more time. You need to try a little harder.

Yet your shoulders slack. “I don’t.”

Levi’s face drops, his voice taking a sharper edge by accident. “You do. You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

Maybe insults will work.

Maybe spilling his guts of all of his darkest secrets will help.

He’s a man falling through space and time itself, willing the past not to condemn him right now. He’s sinned a great deal in his life, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer for it, too.

Because you know. You know, you know, you know—

“I am trying, asshole,” you hiss, and his face lights up for just a moment.

There you are. There’s that fire. Fight — fight for this, fight with me, just fight.

“Levi,” Erwin interrupts, “that’s enough.”

Maybe it is enough.

Maybe you can rest and try tomorrow, to let you sit in this mental darkness for a little more time, but he’s waited six long months for this.

“So that’s it, then, huh?”

Levi dares to poke at the wound just one more time. You always worked best when adrenaline courses through your veins. That’s why you two were so perfect.

“You’re going to lay down and happily take being a nameless has-been after being stuck in a coma for months?”

But it was the wrong wound.

He regrets his strategy as soon as you look horrified, and he doesn’t have time to quell your fears. Your trust turns to Erwin for the truth. “It’s been months?!”

The fire dies. You’re terrified in this bed, one hiccup away from a panic attack, and Levi is powerless to fight it for you. Erwin takes over and the captain is glad for it — he’s a stone’s throw away from begging.

Come back to me. It was too much to ask of you, but he was selfish enough to ask on your near death bed anyway. Come back to me, James, or I’ll fucking drag you back myself.

But you’re not you.

You’re not you, and he’s the reason for it.

The captain chooses silence as he watches your face, memorizing the slopes of your face. His heart clenches with the hard decision in front of him: Erwin has a clearer head for this. He’s so blinded by his guilt that he’s already hurt you in the first hour of your revival.

Maybe this is his punishment for dragging you into all of this in the first place.

From the Underground City to Hell on Earth, he is the reckoning of your demise.

I think I’d remember the name of this piece of shit — in this case, you mean him.

You’re right. He is a piece of shit.

He is a danger to you.

You are in the middle of talking to Erwin when he abruptly stands from his chair, the wooden legs scraping sickeningly across the floor. Everything is underwater. He feels like his body is shutting down, so he does what he has to:

He turns to leave.

Facing the entrance, he drops his chin to his chest with a defeatist attitude. “This is a waste of time,” he urges the commander, relenting just one moment where he admits he’s fucked this up.

He’s not the right person for this, even if he’s always been your person.

He’s not the right guide to help you, even if all he’s ever done is hold your hand.

Maybe this is fate.

Maybe this is the second chance he’s always wanted for you — one without the Scouts, without running from the law, without looking over your shoulder.

Maybe Erwin will give you an honorable discharge so you can spend your days in the warmth of the sun.

He could live with that, even if he never sees you again.

“You’re always so quick to walk the fuck away.”

Suddenly his boot scuffs the floor.

His eyes shoot wide, staring at the floor ahead. There’s a splintered floor panel at the frame of the door he’s never noticed in the hundreds of times he’s come here.

For a moment he’s fooled. This could all be an elaborate trick to punish him for the shit he’s done in his life.

(Maybe you do remember, deep down somewhere he cannot follow yet.)

But you were right back then and you were right now: he is quick to walk away—

—if it means that he can't hurt you from this distance.

“I… didn’t mean to say that,” you correct quietly, and his face scrunches to battle the overwhelming bout of grief that washes over him. “I don’t know why I said that, sir. Forgive me.”

Sir.

Not Captain.

Not Ackerman.

Not Levi.

Before he can cause anymore damage, he walks out the door.

Erwin can take it from here.

#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #amys deleted scenes.#fic: silver underground #levi ackerman x reader

167 notes · View notes

alrightbuckaroo · 2 months

Text

what is a promise if not your hand in mine?

When TK can’t suppress his nerves, he has a very easy tell. He holds his hands to his mouth; as if he’s stopping all the words he actually wants to say.

When TK wants to comfort Carlos, he expresses it in the softness of his touch. He’ll place a gentle hand on Carlos’ face, reminding him that he’s here.That he’s still right here.

TK might not wake up, and Carlos can’t even hold his hand. TK might not wake up, and all Carlos wants to do is hold his hand.

—

Carlos doesn’t know where he went wrong; where they went wrong. What he does know, is that he’ll do anything he can to fix it.

He chooses not leave the hospital until TK wakes up. At some point, he doesn’t think he can leave. All the weight of “what happened” has weighed him down.

At some point, he thinks, maybe it’s best if he leaves. Carlos tells Nancy that he’s holding a vigil for a man who doesn’t he want him in his life.

Nancy doesn’t buy it; she tells Carlos that TK loves him.

Carlos doesn’t buy it; he asks Nancy why she would say that.

Nancy looks at Carlos, confused, and answers, “Because it’s true,”

Nancy tells Carlos that she can’t even say his name around TK because it’s too painful for him to hear. “It’s obvious,” Nancy says, as if it’s obvious. “He loves you.”

With watery eyes, he looks at Nancy and asks, “If he loves me so much,” His voice is tight, an edge to it. “Why did he break my heart?”

—

Carlos allows himself to be upset, and he tells TK how he really feels. He knows TK can’t hear him, but he thinks it might make him feel better.

It doesn’t, not really.

—

TK wakes up.

He wakes up and the first thing he does is call Carlos, “Baby.” He reaches out and grabs Carlos’ hand. To remind him, he’s here. He’s still right here.

It’s in that moment, Carlos can feel his broken heart slowly start to mend itself together again.

—

A week later, Carlos asks TK what he’d like for dinner. TK says red snapper will always sound good.

On the drive to the grocery store, TK asks Carlos what he’d like for dessert. Carlos says cookies will always sound good. TK suggests they make the cookies he always made with his mom growing up.

Carlos is touched; he asks TK, “Are you sure?”

TK shrugs, “You’re sharing your home with me; the least I could do is share a piece of mine with you.”

—

They grab all the necessary ingredients. Pretzels, chocolate chips, shredded coconut, and candied pecans. They’re standing in the baking aisle when TK asks Carlos if he remembers what the secret ingredient is.

“Toffee?” Carlos asks as TK reaches for a bag of brown sugar.

TK smiles at him, and Carlos loves everything about it. “Love.”

—

They thank the cashier and head back to their apartment.

Walking through the parking lot, all Carlos can think about is TK’s hand in his. He asks the question he already knows the answer to. He says it out loud; to make it real, to make them real.

“Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course,” TK reaches his hand out, grabbing onto Carlos’ hand without a second thought. “That’s what it’s there for.”

Cross posted this from ao3 as it's not only topical but one of my personal favorites. Hope you enjoyed <3

#my writing #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos #911 lone star #911 ls #tarlos fanfic #tarlos fic #series: all things end but we begin again #series: this is what falling in love feels like

68 notes · View notes

blueparadis · 1 year

Text

❝ LOVE ME WRONG ❞ + HIROMI HIGURUMA !

[ content & themes ] :: submission of my entry for what’s done in the dark by @semisgroupie + ultraviolence collab under ❝ brooklyn baby ❞ by @vilsoo; f!reader ( s!her pronouns / third person pov ) , OCs, college & uni au + corruption & crime au { mention of infidelity ( not by Hiromi or the reader, but its there), mention of accidents, hospitals, death, attempted murder }, age-gap, family drama, absent parenting, angst & feels, insecurity, jealousy, unrequited feelings, one-sided pinning, sexual tension, co-dependency, $mut descriptions, poetic usage of italics.

[ synopsis ] :: After the deprivation of her father's shadow, y/n’s world slowly started to fall apart. Higuruma tried to set things right but feelings turned against him, depravity was the reward in this web of emotions. word count — 4.5kish

[ notes ] :: redirect to blog navigation; also available in my ao3. Beta-read by my beloved bae, fae ( @emissaire) , the m.list of love me knot will be released later. this is just a sorta kinda prequel/backstory.

PROLOGUE [ part one ] of ❝LOVE ME KNOT.❞

Four years. Four years of confinement — being deprived of a luxurious lifestyle, healthy foods, wife's touch, and daughter’s love. Kento Namami’s body would rot in the dark corner of a lonely cell all these years, teaching him a lesson for his crimes or so the authorities have claimed. Kento Nanami was not the first one and certainly would not be the last one to be arrested and punished for tax evasion. And, no jail is strong enough to hold him, in other words, no human is strong enough to deny the luxury of life. And if that were to be provided more than the necessary amount, then the sky is just the starting point, not a limit anymore.

“Still no luck?” Nanami speaks in a low tone. It almost sounds like a low growl of a wounded creature, a wounded creature that is asking to be pitied yet ready to pounce if it were to smell any sort of mercy around itself. Higuruma, one of his dearest friends who had the power to pull strings from behind the curtains and wreak havoc on the front stage, was Kento’s only hope at this point. Although he has retired from his duties, he was not willing to risk his life and the lives attached to him anymore.

“I’m afraid it’s the best I can do. They are not going to decrease the time of imprisonment.” Higuruma spoke with an inert expression on his face standing at an arm’s length from the bars with two cell bodyguards by his side.

“I see.” Nanami murmured so low, so pale that Higuruma had to glance at the bodyguards; they disappeared at his gesture while Nanami’s cheeks stretched wickedly exclaiming, “I knew you wouldn’t come empty-handed, pal.” A scowl seemed to appear when Hiromi looked away from his decaying friend.

“You’re right,” he rolled his tongue inside his mouth, “I came with a surprise.” As soon as his voice vanished, Nanami's face was aghast as Y/N Nanami, his one and only beautiful young daughter, stepped into the light.

“Papa”, she asked with fear choking her throat, and hopelessness in her body, “Are you mad at me?. . ‘cause I came here?”

Nanami was on his knees, fingers still curled around the bars as a support to provide for himself, “No. No. my darling, why would I be? I’m not mad, not at all ” His hands extended in order to run his hands over his daughter's head but recoiled quickly. What was he thinking? He shouldn’t. He mustn’t. He should not cast his shadow on his daughter. There is still hope for her, hope to become not like her father.

“Pa-pah” She started again, “is what they’re saying true?. . .that you stole money from many?”Nanami could see how afraid she was, how her lips were shaking, eyes full of water to their brim. And, even if he told the truth it wouldn’t matter and lies seemed safer than the truth, at least for now.

“Don’t believe them. They’re saying whatever they can to keep me here. . . You don't have to worry about them, baby,” his tone was flat, emotionless. If she were to hear her father properly, from the bottom of her heart, then maybe she could pin only one emotion: rage. And it touched her too as she said, “But papa, Mama said it's true. It's all true,” with a firm tone.

Nanami could see how polished she was overnight. If he was a wounded creature, she was an eagle that is out for its first hunt

“So, it's true then!” Her face contorts. “Okay. I understand. Don’t worry, I'll be fine. I’ll wait till you come back.” Her footsteps were so quick, like the flap of wings of a bird who does not intend to return home, not anymore.

“Unlike mama”, she uttered under her breath as she was escorted by the guards.

“Why the fuck did you bring her here, Hiro?”Nanami snapped. His hands tried to reach out to grab his friend by the collar but it was all in vain.

“Uh-Uh. Careful. You’re already at the other side of these bars. Do you wish to stay longer?” Hiromi was the forgemaster of monsters. Back in his day, he was the best public defense lawyer. Even through the layers of lies, he could pluck out the facts needed to protect the weak, and fight for the wrongly accused. But with power comes sacrifice and with sacrifice comes glory. Though it was a mirage for most people, Higuruma had tasted it easily at the tip of his tongue. His moral compass rarely turned against him, and this is one of those times. Nanami was just a case of ducks and drakes.

His face relaxed, voice softened. “She is your daughter. . .what did you expect? She is more stubborn than you are, Ken. You should know that of all people.”

A strong exhale echoed amongst the dark corridor as he finished, “ I need to sit with the judge. Many got away, you’ll too”, he gives Nanami’s crooked shoulder a squeeze exclaiming with a pinch of hope, carefully tucking in a little bit of empathy to keep the prisoner on track, “just stay away from trouble. I’ll get you out of here soon, pal”

“Is the coffee here not to your liking?” Higuruma asked the young girl who was sitting at the opposite chair of him, as he added three sugar cubes in his coffee. She takes a sip without sparing a glance at the man opposite to her, her mind is busy searching those reveries that she lived, as a child. Her father, her mother ,and her — happy, smiling and so in love. Her eyes ached as she tried to hold back the tears for god knows how many times! How do people fall out of love again?

“You know, even if I meet with the judge. . . there are lesser chances of him getting out. All the evidence just points towards him, even if he hasn't committed what he is getting punished for. His crimes are —” The retired lawyer was silenced by the splash of hot coffee on his exquisite outfit, barely touching the collar cuffs.

“Tsk, I was aiming for the face,” she murmured under her breath, strolling towards the exit.

“Wait…”, Higuruma calls out but it did not surpass the tinkling of the bell, it failed to reach her too. The bodyguard who watched all this mess unfold tried to follow y/n but Hiromi raised one of his hands, the other being preoccupied with cleaning his expensive suit and dress shirt. “Fuck, she's gonna be in real trouble for that attitude.” He cleans a little portion while the bodyguard steps back. “Fuck you, Kento.” His voice fills the corner of the silent atmosphere of this lonely cafeteria before he dashes out of there.

Y/N tried calling her mom but seemed to have no luck. She dialed her chauffeur’s number, but no luck either. It went out of reach. She raked her fingers through her messy, unruly hair and crouched down, taking long deep breaths, trying to force back those tears at the back of her skull. She was aware of why her mother was not able to take her call. “Sure babe. Love you too.” flashes every time whenever she closes her eyes and thinks of her mother, trying to unsee it, erase it, forget it.

"There you are, girl.” Higuruma’s mellowed voice touches her banging silence, light yet enough to make her be up on her feet. He follows her as she crosses the road, compact steps trying to match her reckless ones.

“This really looks embarrassing, you know, suspicious even.” For a moment Y/N stopped and turned around to have a quick scan of him. Careless as ever, she blinked and turned on her heels quickly walking towards the bus stop. Higuruma’s nerve has already started to tick off, still, for the sake of his friend, he tries to humble himself in front of her.

“Huh . . . y/n, if you are going to the bus stop.” both of them halt at once. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, “It's the other way.” She bows her head trying to mentally calculate the roads and well, he is correct but she is not wrong either. Her route is a really long one whereas the other would be quick and short.

“You do realize that you can't go home alone, especially when I specifically accompanied you from your home, right?” It is astonishing how he is not running out of breath, perhaps the morning jogging paid him off well.

With reluctance hanging heavy in her heart, she was now sitting in the passenger seat facing the windows even though there was nothing to watch. Higuruma did not try to stir anything with her, and no more conversations. Part of him feels guilty for being unable to look after her like he is expected to do, part of him wants to hug her and say everything is ‘going to be alright, it's going to be okay’, part of him thinks it is wrong to harbor such thoughts, thoughts that involves taking care of her, doing right by her, providing everything she deserves, everything she desires. . .How do people fall out of love again?

“We're here.” The man remarks, parking near the turn of her house. No, he can not go up to her house. She would not like it, she would hate him for that, for being kind when he has every reason to be angry at her.

“Thank you for the ride, Hiro”, she blurts out of her habit before getting out of the car and shutting the car door cautiously. Higuruma jerks in his seat, letting out a hefty exhaustive huff. “Ah! Geez. . . glad that I don't have kids.”

Hiro. Hiromi. Hiro . . . a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. There is a nice ring to that, isn't it? He has spent half of his life with her; her being the light of his life. Many a time he visited Kento, sometimes for work and sometimes just for the company, y/n would always greet him, and ask about his wife, and children. He would ask how life is treating her. Is the studying going well? In Kento's absence, she would always seek Hiromi— for anything, even to share a smoke and tell him that her life is falling apart and that mama and papa are ignoring her shrill cries for help.

It is a great tragedy to be there for someone at their lowest point of vulnerability and not to fall for them. It is even scary when realization turns up.

His phone lights up, shifting his attention from her fading figure toward the freshly received message. In his life, he has never taken such a rapid U-turn. Well, this is the third time as of now. The first was when he received the news of an accident, his five - year old son. The worst part was that it was a spot death. If it were a result of one of his deviations in his career, he knew exactly where and how to take it out and who to punish but he was not that lucky.

“Fuck, you feel so good Kiyo. . . Oh—oH.”

“Oh yeah ?”

“Um-hm” loud moans echoed throughout the drawing room as y/n reached the top floor of the building. She gulps, unable to, actually trying to disconnect the dots that have led to a deadly dirty secret. The lounge was silent, and the whole apartment was. All the servants were on holiday. She exhaled deeply, knuckles tightening as she tried to take a few steps towards her room but the moans of her mother touched her most delicate parts and mutilated her.

With a huge bang, she opened the door. It was bolted but now the lock was broken. Mrs. Nanami Kento quickly wrapped the bed sheet around her naked sweaty body while the man headed toward the restroom. Y/N fixated her eyes on the floor so as not to get an imprint of such . . . filthy . . . behavior.

The older woman started to speak, “baby, this is not what it looks like . . . ”

“Are you serious right now? Are you even hearing yourself?. . .” A sob left her body, “I —I really wanted to deny this, I really wanted to. . ,

“baby, listen to me. . .” She approached towards her daughter, extending her hand to pat her.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” y/n swerved the touch of the mother for the first time in her life. She exhaled, closing her eyes and composing herself to speak further, “How old do you think I am? I'm not a child anymore. I know what love you too means. . .and I know when people say that . . .” Her voice was barely audible. It was a trail of pained gasps, full of sobs and ragged breathing like a creature begging for death yet declined by it.

“. . .Fuck you. I can't do this anymore.”

—

“y/n. Meet me in the staff room after the class.”, Satoru muttered before leaving. There was a rustle of voices among the students. It had been like that since the beginning of the class. Satoru ignored it blatantly, and since it didn't bother the top students in his class he couldn't care less about it. Y/N was one of the tops in her grade, thanks to her dad for supporting her in every way she asked for.

“How are you?”, Satoru asks, barely sitting on the desk with his long arms clasped together in his chest.

A smile breaks on her face like a plague.

Everyone had a crush on him, but not y/n, and Satoru remained to steer clear of that kind of girls. Why wouldn't he? Suguru had to shift institutes because he was too caught up to be out of the web. It still haunts him.

“Okay. Got it. Bad question,” the professor quipped, pulling the drawer to take the post-graduation brochures of several universities. “I’ll go straight to the point”

“So, many universities approached us like last year and these are the ones we prefer the most. Now, as you know, a few hand-picked students will get a recommendation letter from me. I'd like you to take a look at these. ”

Satoru handed out some brochures. Y/N could not believe what she was hearing. At such a time of emotional turbulence, she has to prepare for higher studies exams — modeling and fashion designing. One thing about Kento was he fought for her daughter against his wife just so she could study what she wanted, what she is good at. How could she let this golden opportunity slip off?

Satoru clicked his tongue. “Hey y/n. You're a good student. Try to stay in line and you'll be able to crack this exam. It'll be good for you, especially since you already are a model for some cosmetic brands, and with your background, it'll be easier.”

With her background? Or her father's or her mother's? Plus, Why should everyone go out of line yet not her?

“Is that clear, y/n?”

“Yes Sir”, she exclaimed with a firm voice while receiving the brochure of the post-graduation programs. “ Thank you,” she said before leaving the staff room.

With her bag in hand, y/n was near the far end of the campus. Generally, she would go straight home but lately, it feels like there is no home. She roamed around the campus and decided to clear her head, and focus on her goals. Too many things happened last night. Her eyes met a pair of almond eyes as she hurried to get a cold drink. There must be some inter-school match, otherwise, students from other colleges were not allowed, especially when they certainly don't have the manners to behave.

As soon as she turned around, she jolted out of shock.

“Can I get your autograph please?,” the blonde’s voice mellowed as he stood shirtless in front of her with lipstick in his hand holding in front of y/n’s face. “I’m a big fan,” he amended.

“Oye. Miya. Quit it,” a boy, probably of his age interjected, while the other twin remained seated with a neutral expression.

Miya? She blinks and the name along with that message flashes in her mind. Kiyoshi Miya: “love you too ” Y/N tried to take the other route but was blocked again by the blonde boy. What bad timing! She was at her limit.

“Hope your mom's bed is still warm now that mine's done by your daddy.” She chimed with the most girlish voice she could ever produce, taunting the manhood of the guy who blocked her path. The flashy grin of the blonde disappeared. The boy with snake eyes immediately tackled his friend out of the way otherwise it would have been another headline of tomorrow’s headline and stories for gossip in high societies.

“You fucking bitch. . .” the other twin uttered advancing towards y/n but was immediately shut down by her retaliation.

“What? Are you a fan too?” She turned around to face him head-on. “Then, you didn't do your homework properly.” She added, locking eyes with the blonde who had no intention to fight. It was going to be revenge, a slow poison. Many times, she was asked for autographs but this one took the prize. Ah! Geez. Perhaps, it was because of a ‘silly bet’. By the time she reached the main exit of the campus, the drink tasted so bad. It was not cold anymore, ecstasy touched her bones. She could see what fate had in its store for her, a life of fame and flimsy love. The most frustrating part was she had no one to blame, not even her mother when Hiromi is having such a devil’s luck bailing her father out. Fuck

For the first time in her life, y/n felt that she did something for herself and not for others. Sure, modeling and fashion was her choice but it was mostly influenced by her mother, her beautiful sexy mother. As a child, she would always try to imitate her, talk like her, walk like her, follow her footsteps, and abide by whatever she asked for. It was a happy time but then one day, Crest-fallen.

Either women can be very jealous creatures or they could not give a single flying fuck about whatever is happening in their surroundings. There is no in-between.

“Are you sick or what? Our girl is growing. You shouldn’t hug her or kiss her like that.”

“Like that? What are you talking about?”

A wicked grin flashed on Mrs. Nanami’s face. She clicked her tongue: once, twice, and thrice. And that was all it took to break the family apart. It was never perfect to be with. It was always picture-perfect. Fights and arguments became frequent while y/n outshined in her career and her mother’s possessiveness for her turned poisonous. Cameras flashing one after another, eyes watering, eyelid jumping, unable to figure out the cause of tears: whether it was her parents or the lights. And in all this mayhem of emotions, Hiromi was the only one who would make a joke about it or laugh it off over a shared cup of coffee or over-the-counter smoke. Who was she running from?

A week. Within a week she has to apply for the student exchange program. Within a week she had lost her father, and her mother and pushed away her only shelter. There was no time to lose. . . to do what? To make things right? Was there ever any to begin with?

“Yep. I’ll take that.” y/n quipped before paying the florist for the bouquet. Mrs. Higuruma likes to decorate her house with flowers. Since her childhood, she has always seen her father, Kento takes a bouquet for her and she would be so bubbly about it. It felt like life smiling back at her whenever she received flowers. And, after the death of their son that is the only time when she smiles, as per Hiro. Hiro . . . her hero.

The wisteria blooms were close to vanishing as if death walked all over this place. As Y/N walked into the huge building of his house, she felt death creeping on her back too. She was greeted by his secretary, the flowers in her hand that were supposed to bring a smile to someone wilted when she heard that Mrs. Higuruma was involved in an accident and was now in a coma.

It was almost midnight when she reached the hospital. The corridors are empty, the receptionist was busy with paperwork. There were people sitting outside the patient ward. Does she really have to do this? As she took the turn her exhaustive pupils spotted him. Hiromi was sitting crossing his legs, elegantly placing his elbow on his thigh having the perfect reading position, but he was not reading. He was staring at a photo.

At every bench, a person or two was sitting, radiating more hopelessness and despondency. Y/N could breathe it in. But Higuruma was cut out from the rest. He is a retired lawyer, he has seen death as much as a doctor, heck he even fueled death and sometimes tricked it. And, now he was trapped. She walked towards him with slow steady steps trying not to make much noise, damn those heels. Hiromi ripped the photo. She was at arm's length as he threw it in the nearby dustbin and before recoiling back to his seat, his eyes landed on her, Y/N.

Hiromi who was about to yell seeing her standing so close to him, instead, he whispered with rage smeared on his face, eyebrows congested and face contorted, “Are you alone, again?” Hiromi held her arms as she almost threw herself to his chest. How can he be so calm about death and destruction? “How many times have I told you not to go anywhere alone? Look what happened to her?” Hiromi was worried, not for his wife but for this girl. She had her whole life ahead while his wife was already decaying. It was another arranged marriage that had not the right stars aligned, as put by him.

She gathered enough courage to ask, “Can I see her?” Hiromi nodded and led the way. Even in all these metro streams of endless suffering, she did not forget to put that flower bouquet in the vase. The only sounds in this awful silence were the tick of the clock, the whizz of breathing, and the click of her heels as she walked out of the ward. She took a look on both sides of the corridor but could not spot Hiro. Ah!she has to drink that bitter coffee again.

The cogs of her fate turned again. The monitor beeped tremendously like a monster cackling maniacally for death. The doctors, nurses, and other staff rushed all at once. While most of the people were rushing towards the room, Y/N was walking away from it. She stopped when she saw Hiromi walking with the crowd, slower than his usual pace with two cups of filtered coffee. Life ran at light speed while two souls were howling in agony. No one could hear them except themselves. It was the longest sleepless night she ever spent.

She reached home by three in the morning. Hiromi asked two of his staff to drop her. He would have volunteered but they both have been misunderstood. The first period was at twelve so that was a relief but there was something else that was weighing her mind, a message, a sign of affection, a cry for help.

[ Hiro-san : “Tomorrow. 10’ o clock. Don’t be late.” ]

The guests dispersed as soon as Mrs. Higuruma was buried. Higuruma went inside the house. It was lonelier than before but less silent than before. He checked his phone to see if there was any message from her. There was none, which means, she is coming. He sat on his couch, spreading his legs and leaning against the headrest. If he reeked of anything, it was neither sadness nor death but repentance. He was after something that did not belong to him, not in this life. But maybe, in another place and time . . . God! He is such a jealous man.

When Y/N checked her watch, it was already one o’clock. The burial ceremony was over. Fuck. Well, after the last meeting, she was reluctant to see him again but she has to go, otherwise who will? Certainly, not her mom. Plus, she specifically scoured her whole wardrobe to find that one black outfit that is her least favorite, actually, her mother’s least favorite. She is definitely going.

It’s silent. It’s quiet. It feels like she is looking into a bottomless well waiting for some sort of miracle. The wind blows are strong, so strong that she could hear the low whistle with it. His hands were inside the pocket, perfect for someone to hook their arms around hers. She is so wide open, and again she is without any guard. . .

Higuruma grabbed her elbow, and as her body turned against his, Hiromi pressed his lips onto hers. Soft, sweet-fruity smelling and there was no resistance in her body. Her hands grabbed onto the collar of his long stygian overcoat tightly, fighting for her life as if she was drowning in the sea grasping onto a twig while the storm rises.

“I regretted not doing this last night,” Higuruma said, holding her in his arms.

She exhaled and looked at him, with embering eyes exclaiming, “Your friend is going to kill you when he is out of jail.” Y/N murmured still relishing the aftertaste of the smokey kiss she shared with Hiromi, still catching up her breath with her face cupped by Hiromi’s warm palms, still trying to process what the fuck actually happened . . .?

“Better him than you”, he added, pressing another kiss at the corner of her lips.

Y/N felt her chest being torn apart, the bones of her rib cage cracking, and yet flowers blooming out of it. To be loved yet be afraid of it, to be born as a bird and then be a wingless bird when asked to fly. . . That’s how she felt when she watched him carefully take her hands in his, tightening his hold, and interlacing his fingers with hers as they walked toward the exit of the graveyard.

She made up her mind. She was going to apply for the post-graduation student exchange program. Either she has to walk away from this or embrace it. There is no in-between.

345 notes · View notes