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dianneking · 1 year

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It’s not too late if we’re alive (Brienne/Reader)

A/N: It’s Day Two of May Trope Mayhem by @duckprintspress and I’ve never felt so inspired to write! Today’s prompt is War Setting so you get a WWII AU Brienne x Reader fic, because why not! (thanks to @weemssapphic for our historical AU talk, that made me buckle down and write). As always, link to AO3 in title below.

Disclaimer: I didn’t have the time to properly research this, so there might be historical inaccuracies on technical stuff like how war hospitals were organized etc. Disclaimer # 2: I seem physically unable to keep my fics under 1000w, blame the angst, not me.

Tags: War, WWII, Hospitals, Wounds (not graphic), Talk of Death, Talk of Bombing, Smoking, Second-person Narrator, Angst, Breakups, Angst with a Happy Ending, No use of Y/N.

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Brienne of Tarth/Reader Wordcount: 1258w

It’s not too late if we’re alive

Any day that passed, you knew it could happen. You were at war after all. Day in and day out the battles raged, and humans fought against other humans, machines against other machines, metal ringing against metal, their screams loud in the smoke-filled air.

They fell in troves. Some made it to you, others weren’t so lucky. And you knew that Brienne was there in the trenches, amongst her soldiers, leading them, the first woman to ever serve in the British Army, the first one to rise to the rank of officer.

Every time you woke up from your fitful slumber, every time a wounded soldier was brought in for treatment, you prayed not to recognize her on the stretcher, not to see her cornsilk hair matted with blood underneath the helmet. One day your prayers went unanswered.

“Chief Nurse! Hurry! It’s the lieutenant-general!”

After all this time, her figure was still so achingly familiar to you as the litter bearer brought her in, her long limbs limp on the stretcher, soot and blood marring the uniform she was so proud of.

Up until now you had managed to avoid her, only catching glimpses of her when she came to visit the wounded, but now here she was, bare inches away from you. She was still beautiful, even with the inevitable traces of time and war. It took all of your strength not to reach out and brush your fingers against the soft skin of her jaw. You shouldn’t.

After all, the last words you had exchanged had not been the friendly sort.

“Will you at least promise me you’ll come back?” you had asked. She had already donned her uniform, and the coarse wool scratched your palm as you put your hand on her elbow.

“You know I cannot promise you that.”

“But I love you.”

Her face had hardened, as it always did when you told her how you felt. You had told yourself that she was simply unused to being loved. But a dark voice within you was starting to ask whether it was because she was ashamed of you, or frustrated with your clinginess. Whatever the reason, she never said those words back.

“You shouldn’t say those things so lightly.”

“Just because you refuse to accept my feelings for you doesn’t mean that they are not real.”

“You are young, but you were never naïve. This was never something that could last.”

You had been young at the time, true. You had never experienced heartbreak before. Even the simple act of breathing sent searing pain through your chest. Your eyes had filled with tears, and your mouth with rage.

“Is that all it was to you? Just something to keep you entertained between wars?”

She had not dared to answer you. To this day, you still wondered why. Was it because it had been more for her as well and she didn’t want to lie to your face, or was it because she didn’t want to admit that she, Captain Brienne of Tarth, paradigm of righteousness, had used you for your affection just for as long as she had needed a warm body?

You had been young at the time, and first love is never easily forgotten. Even if unrequited.

“Is God so unmerciful then?” The sudden sound of her voice in the silence of the officers tent almost made you drop the bandages you were carrying. You turned to her, wondering if she was growing delirious due to the high fevers she was running. But her eyes, wide and feverish though they were, were trained on you, with razor-sharp focus. “Have I not atoned for my past mistakes with my deeds? Why must He torture me with cruel visions?”

Oh.

She thought you were a fever dream, one sent to torture her. You pretended it didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t have, not as much as it did. Not even if she had been your first love.

Your only love, corrected a voice inside of you that sounded a lot like your younger self.

“Lieutenant-general, I am not a vision. I am merely the chief nurse. You should try to rest. You have been injured on the battlefield.”

“Is…is it truly you?”

“It is. But I am only here to treat your wounds, not to dig up the past.”

“How are you alive?”

“How is anyone alive these days? Luck, probably.”

“I thought you died in the Coventry bombing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I sent you letters, and you never answered. I came over last year, but nobody could tell me anything about you. Our house was nothing but a pile of rubble. I thought…”

“Oh, is it our house now? I don’t recall you showing any particular attachment to it when you left.” She was surprised at your vitriol, you could see it in the way her deep blue eyes widened, and in the uncharacteristically hesitation in her answer.

“Darling, I-“

You suddenly felt ashamed of how easily her mere presence could drag out all of your pain, making you feel like that day on your doorstep, watching her walk away, her military boots crushing your heart with each step.

“There are no darlings here. It’s Chief Nurse if you need to address me. But right now, I don’t have time for idle chatter.”

You turned away from her, leaving her behind as she did to you so much time ago.

She found you some days later, as you were trying to enjoy the luxury of a short smoke break hidden behind the hospital barracks. She was still limping, but her skin had lost most of its sickly paleness, and she looked even more like the Brienne you used to know. The Brienne you used to love.

“How did you end up becoming a nurse?”

“I was told to do something useful with my life since I refused to marry. I did.”

“You…refused to marry?”

“Lieutenant-general, I hardly think…”

“Brienne. It’s Brienne to you. It’s always been.” You committed the mistake of looking up into her eyes, and instantly felt the irresistible pull they had on you. As if she had never left. You averted your gaze angrily and took a deep drag from the cigarette in your hands, trying to center yourself once again.

“What is your purpose here, Brienne?”

“I thought I had lost you, and I thought I would never be able to tell you. Seeing you here, alive, accomplished, breathtakingly beautiful, it…it felt like a second chance I never deserved to have.”

“Tell me what?”

“Not a day goes by that I don’t regret walking away from you. I’m sorry.”

The unexpectedness of the apology took you by surprise and you turned to her, only to find her much closer than you expected. The words you were thinking of saying died in your throat as you drowned in the maelstrom of feelings within her eyes. She hesitatingly reached a hand over to cup your cheek, as if afraid you’ll suddenly disappear, and her voice was low and broken with a heartache you instantly recognized. It was twin to your own.

“I love you. I always have. I’m sorry I’m only telling you now. I know it’s too late.”

Her eyes swam with tears, and her face was suddenly getting closer and closer. You reached with a hand behind her neck and pulled her even closer, whispering against her lips, as if it was a secret meant only for her and her alone.

“It’s not too late if we’re alive.”

Liked it? You can find all of my fics on my fanfiction masterlist!

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goodlucksnez · 2 years

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Basically Iz//uku gets impaled on a mission and the medics stitch him up and confine him to bed rest in the hospital, apparently someone felt so bad and sent him roses...what will the suffering Pro do??

TW:hospital background noise, moaning, hitching, sneezing, hold-backs (attempted)

Basically hurt/snz wav cause why not. -sorry i am not making as much content between work and health I am kinda tired all the time < 3---my birthday is in 7 days tho how crazy!!

All characters are 21+ Please do not re blog to non kink accounts

#sneeze #sneezy #snez #i keep sneezing #audio #snezaudio #sneezeaudio #bnha #bnhadeku #d/eku #sneezewav #snz wav #wav

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jupitercomet · 1 year

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hey bugs!

tw:hospitals

I just wanna say thank you bc i was put in the hospital a couple days ago and your works somehow? makes me feel better like mentally (I really don’t like being here I just wanna go home)

but that’s all I wanted to say, thank you :)

hi!

I obviously won't pretend to know what's going on, but I've had my fair share of hospital trips that weren't exactly my choice and it really isn't fun, so I hope that everything's okay (or getting there) and you're able to go home soon <3 in the meantime, I have quite a few blurbs I have to write these next couple days so I'll be thinking of you extra specially!

#tw hospital #what's up doc

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indouloureux · 1 year

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tw:hospitals

hello hello :))

I’ve literally missed you sooo much like it’s insane, things have been pretty crazy on my side considering i literally ended up in the hospital with pneumonia and then later my mom ended up in the hospital at the same time as me, but everything’s okay-ish, i guess but it’s a lot to take in and at a short period of time but I have a whole support system and feels so good to have that because before i didn’t really have any thing

But I hope everything’s okay with you :)) I loved you so much and I really did miss you and p.s I read literally most of your work when I was in the hospital when i literally had nothing to do and you helped so much for the time passing so thank you for that :) and literally ended up making a new tumblr account in the middle of this and also had my birthday, I also saw that you hit 10k?!? congrats! you deserve all of the love and appreciation in this world ❤️ I love you

your

-🎶

MY DARLING!! I'VE MISSED YOU

i'm glad you're okay now. and i totally understand how you feel.

everything's okay with me! trying to get through college, honestly. been so busy with life and everything i haven't found any time to write at all, nor search for my inspiration 😭 but i'm glad my fics has helped you!!! seeing that makes my heart warm, honey. AND BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

10k sounds so crazy too. and it's just unfortunate how i reached that milestone during the time where i completely lost all energy to write due to hectic schedules. i'll try to make it up!!

i love you the most

#🎶 baby #answered

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inkykeiji · 2 years

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but if you send for me, you know i’ll come

and if you call for me you know i’ll run

characters: shigaraki tomura, dabi

genre: bittersweet, kinda fluffy, kinda angsty

notes: this is the epilogue for my break my bones but act as my spine series!! and, with this, the main series is officially done!!! wow, i actually can’t believe it. this series genuinely means so much to me; it’s so special, so personal, and i truly appreciate every single person who has read the entire thing. thank you so much for sticking with it!! i love you!!! and, as always, please heed the warnings below! stay safe everyone | title cred: old money by lana del rey

warnings: no smut but still 18+ minors do not interact, discussion of mental illness, an altered (and kind of unrealistic) inpatient program in the psychiatric ward of a hospital, visitations to the psychiatric ward at the hospital, talks of medications used to treat mental illness (non-specific), mentions of doctors and nurses, implied poly relationship, implied cheating (and confession of such), brief discussion of fucking and implied explicit audio recordings being received, a fear of tense rickety relationships being triggering, codependency, tomura’s father is one again referred to as The Boss, daddy kink without the kinkiness

words: 3.9k

part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ part five ⋆ epilogue ⋆ series masterlist

synopsis:

You always smell like him, every single time you emerge.

It only hammers that spear piercing his heart further into incessantly pulsating flesh, saturated with guilt and remorse, with longing and desire, stinging the wound as it burrows into the organ.

That aroma will always smell like home to him; the only home he’s ever known, the only home he’s ever been a part of creating, of maintaining, built brick by conscientious brick, mortar infused with graceful tiger orchid and saccharine toffee gluing together blocks of sweet hickory and spicy nicotine, warm and waiting for the final element to return back to the two of you, to complete it.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Matsuzawa Hospital is a mammoth, boxy building, all slabs of white concrete and glistening glass, bordering the edges of Setagaya City, just before it morphs into Suginami.

You know the grounds intimately by now, could navigate them with your eyes closed if you had to, having spent many hours strolling among the grassy knolls and shaded stone pathways, sheltered by the large oaks stretched and arched across the landscape, with Daddy’s large hand clasped firmly in your own, always babbling on about how amazed you are by the sheer quietness of the place, how remarkable it is that the sounds and bustles of the busy city can’t seem to penetrate the thick shrubbery and vegetation shrouding the hospital, lending to its tranquil nature.

Humming in time to the gentle pat-pat-pats of your shoes against the manicured rock, you allow your mind to drift, to reflect, as your feet carry you towards the far end of the structure, a route you travel three times a week, directions ingrained in the tissues of your brain, nothing more than muscle memory at this point.

Genuinely, you hate to admit it, but you had been pleasantly surprised by just how fast Tomura went from unwilling and difficult to compromising and cooperative.

I told you so, Dabi had bragged with a playful sneer, index finger booping your nose. Tomura’s smart, Tomura adapts—I knew he’d figure out the system, the quickest way to get out of there, within weeks of being committed.

You knew that, too, knew how clever and crafty your Daddy was, knew he’d get the hang of the whole thing and conform to the exactly what the situation necessitated to ensure his release as soon as possible. You did.

You just didn’t think he’d be able to reign in his feelings so rapidly, so efficiently, when you had never seen him do anything like it before.

That’s because you’ve only ever seen him with you, Dabi had rolled his eyes. You don’t know how he can get when he works, when he’s got an idea—a motive, a goal—hatching to life in his skull.

You suppose that’s true, as well. Tomura has always considered himself King of the World—and for the most part, he was—and despite his explosive, hair trigger anger and innate brattiness (a result of rarely being told no in his life), he was intelligent and sly, cunning and practical, always devising a new plan to get him exactly what he wants, failure and you being the only two things to send his emotions awry. And yet, you can’t help but wonder if this entire incident—episode—has knocked him down a few pegs, has humbled him just a little.

Dabi doubts it, but you think it might be a real possibility; Tomura had already surprised you once before, near the start of his treatment, when it had been decided that you and Dabi would confess to your sins.

He had been astonishingly calm, when you had told him about it over a year ago, fingers twisting into uncomfortable knots and crystal dewdrops decorating your smooth cheeks, stammered words fractured with guilt, remorse weighing on your tongue.

It’s alright, he knows, he had said, beckoning you over with an easygoing wave of his hand. He had an inkling, he had told you, tone tender with confounding clemency, a merciful little smile adorning his face. He’s glad you told him.

It hasn’t been explicitly discussed since then—not with you, at least, though you’re unsure what Tomura and Dabi speak about during their private weekly phone calls—but you’re not quite sure it needs to be, at this point. It just…is.

Tomura doesn’t like to talk about that time, those harrowed, anguishing months, and you and Dabi had collectively decided that it was best to spare him from the details, unless he one day specifically asks for them. As far as you were all concerned, knowing something happened, and that something is still happening, seems to be enough; there’s no need to detail the past, not now, not anymore.

Like clockwork, you visit, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, never once missing a day in the whole year and a half he’s been committed, routinely climbing that white linoleum staircase to the west wing—Tomura’s wing, now—the stairwell illuminated by bright, organic sunshine, streaming in through the massive glass panels that line the walls, floor to ceiling.

You don’t kid yourself into thinking that Tomura doesn’t have special privileges—special dwellings just for him, special visiting hours extended and increased in frequency—knowing well by now the type of things riches and prestige can buy you; knowing well by now just how powerful a man like Tomura’s father is.

Not that you’re complaining.

Today is a Monday. Monday’s, you think, are the best. Because Monday’s are when you get to see him after two full days of being restricted, of not seeing him, which makes Friday’s, your last visit before those two full days of yearning, a specific type of longing procuring an ache in your chest—dull and throbbing at the core of your soul, radiating a painful pining throughout your limbs, infused in your blood and flesh and bones that can only be cured by your Daddy’s presence—the worst.

Beams of gold filter through the large bay windows, catching in the delicate lace of the curtains and casting intricate shadows across the upholstery of the plush window-seat cushions. They dance across the fabric, dainty and graceful as a breeze twines itself around the thin drapes, an ever-changing myriad of shapes swaying elegantly to their own silent beat, a special song played by the wind just for them.

But their beauty is nothing compared to the man standing in front of you. No, he’s a piece of art all on his own.

Strands of pure silver, having lost their boyish blue tinge during Tomura’s acute phase, frame his temples, bangs pushed back from his forehead in thick waves, leftover tufts curling around his cheekbones and highlighting those brilliant rubies, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.

Every time you see him, he looks better, you swear to God.

Knitted cream cashmere envelopes his chest, stretched across prominent shoulder blades and blanketing his chest in its knotty embrace, intricate plaits of wool stretched perpendicular along the expanse of his torso, a sharp collarbone peaking out from beneath the braided neckline.

You’re powerless to stop the soft giggle that bubbles past your lips as your eyes continue their journey down his form, noting the way his charcoal trousers clash with the fluffy blue bunny slippers adorning his feet—an impromptu gift from Dabi, which he had sworn Tomura had to own.

Finally, your gaze flits back up to meet his, chapped lips still quirked up into that small, knowing, painfully familiar smile, and then you’re running, colliding against him with such force that he sways on the heels of his feet, the impact knocking a fond laugh from his chest.

His embrace is soft and plush—not as much as it used to be, before the episode, before his muscle had melted off his bone, dissolved by delirium, but enough to be comforting, to be remindful.

Inhaling deeply, your chest swells against his, saturating your lungs with his unique scent—fresh summer linen and sweet-sour lemon and the ghost of sandalwood cologne, clinging to all of his fabrics—perfusing your organs in a saccharine embrace.

“I missed you,” you whimper into him, fingers curled in his thick sweater. “So much,”

“It’s only been two days,” he teases, though his arms are wrapped around your waist tightly, crushing you to his body, warm and secure, home.

“Doesn’t matter, don’t care,” you retort simply, nuzzling into his sternum. “It’s always two days too long,”

A chuckle pries its way past his lips and he nods, because it’s true, because you’re right, giving you one final squeeze before finally releasing, large palm skimming down your bare arm to lace your fingers together, leading you towards your favourite seat, one of those opulent little nooks nestled against a large window.

In the stark summer rays, his eyes look almost rosy, glittering jewels encrusted in flakey flesh and ivory bone, an eternal sunset etched into his irises—corals and cherries bleeding into salmons and scarlets, barely dimmed by the slight mist cast across his gaze by his prescribed medications.

And, God, you fucking love him.

It’s hard to believe he isn’t boiling in that heavy Aran sweater and those woollen slacks, body draped with a warm quilt of sunlight, but you know he’s still having trouble eating, even after his ceaseless complaints about the bland food served here had earned him the right to a personal chef—a donation, The Boss had called it, to the hospital and its patients; his way of reassuring them that this was not just for his son, as if they’d ever believe that.

A mild gust drifts in through the open window, playing with the tendrils of his hair, those loose tufts that contour his bright eyes, ruby stare still directed out the window, surveying the grounds.

And you wait. You always wait, the pads of your fingers tapping lightly against the back of his hand, idly tracing the veins and the bones, until he’s ready to begin.

“So, they…” he stops, clearing his throat, shifting his jaw, blinking twice. “They, uh, they put me on new meds—more meds,”

“Oh?” The question is soft, gentle and unobtrusive, an invitation for him to continue, should he wish to divulge.

“I don’t like them,” he frowns after a moment of silence, nose scrunching in distaste, eyes drifting to the tangled mess of hands, cradled tenderly in your lap. “They make me feel…foggy,”

Concern tugs at the corners of your lips, a tender thumb rubbing soothing circles into his knuckles. “Did you let the doctors know?”

Nodding, he looks away, front teeth nibbling at the dry skin of his lips, tugging thin pieces free, blood immediately pooling in their absence. “They said they’d lower the dosage, and to ‘give it some time’,”

“Sometimes the side effects become more manageable, right?” you ask, and he nods again. “You can always stop and try something new if they don’t subside,”

His head quirks slightly, a poor imitation of agreement, and you can sense his irritation, seething just beneath his skin, a powerful aura that embraces him like a cloak, or the familiar arms of a much beloved friend, cracking around him like strikes of crimson lightning, that ebb and flow, pop and fizzle, with each of his measured breaths.

You can see it: in the way his eyes narrow and twitch, in the way his nostrils flare and his lips press together, forming a sharp hard line, in the way his molars grind together and his jaw flexes under the force of the action.

And there he is, the man you met all those years ago, the man who’s brutally influential and maliciously insatiable, the man who gets what he wants with nothing more than a tilted head and a sharp smirk; only a mere wisp before he’s gone again, reigned into the recesses of Tomura’s chest, shackled behind a cage of bone.

“I just—” he begins after a moment, exhaling harshly to calm the tremble lacing his tone, eyes slipping shut. “I’m sick of—of all of this,"

And it’s difficult to watch—difficult to watch him cycle through meds in constant search of a cocktail that works efficiently, paired with the least side effects; difficult to watch the way this illness evolves to fight against him, his own mind sprouting claws and tearing through the manufactured solace encasing his brain; difficult to watch him stumble through pitfalls of suffering and despair, to dig himself out armed with his own determination and the unwavering love of his babies, just to slip back into it again.

It’s a long process, the road to getting better—he knows it is. It’s a lifelong process, managing this illness, learning how to cope, how to control and care for it all—he doesn’t need you to tell him that.

It doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

“I know,” you whisper, working hard to keep your voice light, to keep from too much sympathy leaking into your tone, taking his other abandoned hand between your own and cradling it like it’s precious. “But you’re doing really well, Daddy. And we’re all so proud of you,”

It’s evident that he has more to say, but you don’t push, watching with a sinking, tar encrusted heart as he shakes his head a little—to deny your statement, or to void his mind, you aren’t entirely sure. Clearing his throat, his fingers tighten around yours, and he changes the subject.

“So. How is he?”

And that, that manages to restore your smile.

“He misses you a lot,” you tell him honestly, both hands squeezing his. “A lot. As always. You know, he’s a bit like a lost puppy without you,”

Tomura snorts a little at that, but you can still see the melancholy hidden behind that thin veil of amusement. “I believe it,” he says softly. “You can tell him I miss him, too,”

“I will,”

A beat of silence passes, and it’s nice, it’s pleasant, blanketing the two of you in each other’s cozy presence, comfort accentuated by the toasty afternoon sun.

“The nurse, um, the nurse says that maybe next week he can come up with you?” It’s supposed to be a statement, but it’s phrased as a question, imbued with the inquiry for your opinion.

“That’s wonderful news, Daddy,”

And your voice is so soft, so warm, so heart-wrenchingly sincere that it hurts, twinkling sparks emitted from the ball of fire roiling in your chest scathing his skin as they pour from your glimmering gaze and shimmering smile.

But it’s beautiful, it’s comforting and familiar, and he welcomes the sting readily, basking in the way your buzz bubbles his brain and boils his blood.

“Yeah, I—” swallowing thickly, his grip on your hand tightens, crimson eyes looking away, stare darting across the large rolling hills of jade, cushioned by dense pine. “I want to see him. I—I’m ready, I think,”

“He’s gonna be so happy to hear it,” you giggle, and it’s hard to keep from gushing, it’s hard to suppress the wide smile excitement carves into your face, saturated in adoration and admiration, in hope and honour, a special type of pride reserved just for him, just for your Daddy. “He says the phone conversations just aren’t the same,” you pause, little fingers moving to brush silver strands from his brow, tips tracing the curve of his face, eyes following their languid movement. “I agree. It’s not the same,”

Tomura nods, giving you a small smile, before that pleasant stillness drapes your forms again, enveloping you in its amicable embrace.

“I’m nervous,” he whispers after a while, so quiet you barely hear it at all, though his hand is gripping yours with such strength that it procures dark fingerprints of periwinkle painted across your flesh, the nubby pads of his unoccupied fingertips rubbing against the thin skin of his wrist, chafing streaks of red against ivory, his nails trimmed meticulously short.

And it feels like old times again, like those lazy afternoons and late evenings where Tomura would disclose all of his fears and anxieties to you, all of his hopes and dreams, sentiments peppered between kisses and whispered into your hair, or your neck, or your lips.

It’s still true, that you’re the only one he truly feels comfortable talking about such vulnerabilities with; you always have been, you always will be. But that doesn’t discount the progress he’s made in his year and a half spent in this building, that doesn’t discredit the great strides he’s made in getting better, the astonishing advancements he’s made in cooperating with his doctors.

“That’s understandable, Daddy,” you respond softly, gentle fingers beginning to tenderly uncurl his own, stiff and rigid, pressing lovingly into the joints to relax them, an instinctive reflex by this point. “But you’re making fantastic progress—no, really, you are, Tomura—and this is the next step, right?”

Shakily, he hums, fingers twitching against your palms, a phantom urge to scratch again.

“And if you feel like you’re ready then…” you trail off, shrugging a little, a gentle thumb running across bony knuckles. “Then you’re ready,”

“But what if I—What if he—I’m worried it might—” chapped lips pull into a deep frown, forehead crinkling with the effort, and he looks away with a scoff, body beginning to quiver with infuriated annoyance. “That he might, y’know,”

“Trigger it?”

He grunts out an affirmative, accompanied by a single jerk of his head.

“It’s okay, if he does,” you tell him, sure to keep your voice calm and vindicated. “He isn’t going to be upset with you, or angry, if that happens.”

“I really want to see him,”

“So we’ll give it a try. And if it isn’t the right time, then we’ll wait,” you pause, allowing your words time to snuggle into his brain, to soothe his anxieties and smooth his worries. “We’ll figure it out, together, the three of us,”

“The three of us,” he murmurs. “Like the sound of that,”

“Yeah,” you murmur, bringing his hand to your lips and embellishing it with chaste pecks, speaking through your kisses. “Me too,”

It isn’t long after your pact that the nurse moves to retrieve you, gently uttering that your visiting time is up before retreating, allowing you some privacy for your temporary goodbyes.

“I can’t wait to—can’t wait to fuck you,” Tomura breathes into your hair, nuzzling against your scalp as he presses your body to his. “Honestly, princess, I’m going fuckin’ crazy,”

“It’s been way too long,” you murmur into his chest, nostalgia and longing stinging your eyes, voice high with a perpetual whine. “First thing when you get out,” looking up, your gaze searches his face, almost urgent, frantic, in its endeavours. “Promise me,”

He chuckles a little, pulling back slightly to stare at you, his soft laugh conjuring a bought of pure sunshine, embellished with pretty rubies and silver ribbon, to bloom in your chest, fizzing and warm as it furls into a ball and sends warmth radiating through your veins.

Holding up his pinky between your chests, he nods. “Promise,”

“Pinky promise,” you giggle, twining your pinky around his and squeezing.

“In the mean time, keep sending me those recordings,” he commands with a devilish smirk, voice dropping an octave.

“You betcha, Daddy,” you wink, precious bubbles of shy giggles frothing in your throat. “See you on Wednesday,”

“Looking forward to it, baby,”

✰ ✰ ✰

In the hospital parking lot, Dabi leans against the drivers door of his gleaming Audi, lips wrapped around a cigarette, the worn carton of Marlboros discarded on the hood of the car, veiny cardboard box already half-empty.

Perking up when he sees you bounding towards him, he quickly removes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke out his nose just in time to catch you in one of his arms, laughing a little as your body curls into his, a leg slotted between his thighs.

The zest of lemon, intertwined with the scent of fresh linen and garnished with the slightest whiff of expensive cologne, invades his throat, thick and sticky as it coils into a tight ball and lodges itself between the gummy walls.

You always smell like him, every single time you emerge.

It only hammers that spear piercing his heart further into incessantly pulsating flesh, saturated with guilt and remorse, with longing and desire, stinging the wound as it burrows into the organ.

Finally, his grasp loosens, but you stay clinging to him, leaning back just enough to glance up at his face.

“So.” Dabi clears his throat a little, swallowing past Tomura's scent. “How is he?”

Pressing your lips together, you suppress a small smile at the thought of their similarity, rocking a little on the balls of your feet as tingling excitement races the blood in your veins.

“He wants to see you next week,”

“What?” he breathes out through a disbelieving smile, tinged with hope, the corners of his mouth twitching as his arms slacken for a moment, then tighten again. “He—Really?”

“Mhmm,” you nod. “And I can’t wait for him to get a look at your ridiculous hair,” giggling, you reach up to run your fingers through blended ink and ivory, tousled tufts that flow into one another like soft waves in a monochromatic sea, his half grown out roots melding with the onyx dye.

“Shut up,” Dabi shoots back, but he’s leaning into your touch, neck tilting down and aiding in your ministrations. “You love my hair,”

“I love everything about you, I think,”

“You think?”

“Mmm,” you hum in contemplation, and Dabi rolls his eyes, squeezing you to his form.

“So, he’s, uh, he’s still doing well, then?”

You nod. “Been keeping up that stability over the past few months now. Actually,” you begin, and Dabi just can’t help but melt into you a little, his own gaze softening and grin stretching as your eyes glitter with anticipation, a breathless smile plastered across your face, wobbling with elation, words stuffed full of excitement, letters practically bursting at the seams with precious giggles. “They said—They said if he’s able to continue maintaining it that he might be discharged in time for Christmas!”

Dabi laughs again, a large hand moving to cup your cheek, cradling it in a rough palm like its his most cherished possession, sapphire shining with mirth.

“Well,” he murmurs, knocking his forehead against yours, noses nudging intimately. “We better make it the best damn Christmas he’s ever fucking had then, huh?”

“We will,” you nuzzle into him, the promise nothing more than a delicate wisp of breath caressing his face. “We will.”

And driving home, back to the small flat Dabi had purchased for the two of you—temporary and close to the hospital, nothing more than a placeholder until Tomura returns, until you can really, truly begin your lives together—with Dabi’s hand on your thigh and Tomura’s scent in your hair, you allow that hesitant hope to blossom, glowing and beautiful, embroidered with the prettiest sapphires and the most magnificent rubies, swathed in brilliant silver and striking onyx, rooting at the very core of your soul as it begins to grow.

It’s been a long journey thus far, with much education to be gleaned and growth to be had on all three fronts. And even though it’s just the beginning, even though the road ahead is rich with twists and turns, ornamented with thick thorns and sharp sparks, none of it frightens you—none of it frightens any of you at all; not when you have each other.

Yes, it will be difficult and yes, it will be painful, and yes, there will be tears and trials, clashes and conflicts, but it’ll all be worth it, it’ll always be worth it, you just know it will.

Because the three of you will survive it.

Together.

#dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #dabi x reader x shigaraki #WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH WOW #wowowowow hehehehe #this is totally insane i'm actually crying!!! it's really bittersweet to end the main series!!!#i hope you enjoy!!!!!#i love u lots!!!!#tomura's stay at the hospital is skewed and wildly inaccurate because he's rich!!!#tw:mental illness #tw:medication #tw:cheating #tw:hospital #tw:daddy kink

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kai-hana · 3 years

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Conversion WIP Preview

Can you guess what this set will be about?

#wip #tw:blood #tw:organ #tw:hospital

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the-shsl-clown · 3 years

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Danganronpa: THH characters and what I think they're like after surgeries

Makoto- really emotional. Doesn't really worry about stitches or staples post op. But is kinda cautious

Toko- gives me vibes that she picked off/out stitches early and/or on accident and gad to go back and get then fixed a few times

Byakuya- doesn't move an inch post op, you don't see him until he is 100% better. But he spent the whole time delirious

Aoi- took really good care if herself. She was back on her feet and in physical therapy by day 3 bc she couldn't sit still

Yasuhiro- spent the whole time higher than the average person thought possible

Kyoko- kept every really clean and bandaged. Spent the whole time working from home too

Sayaka- go a lot of support from the people around her. Probably a lot of presents from fans. Was really sappy the whole time

Leon- woke up way earlier than expected. Doctors told his family it would be 3 hours before he woke up and when they went back to check on him within the 10 minutes ye was gone he was awake

Chihiro- they kept putting them back to sleep because they couldn't handle the pain. Had to stay several extra hours

Mondo- his swearing got way worse after the Op. Kept forgetting about the stitches and would get surprised when something he did hurt them

Hifumi- surgery wasn't really anything remarkable for him

Taka-was the reason he said the fuck word for the first time. He was in a lot of pain and he refused to rest

Celeste- was really dramatic about the whole ordeal. Stopped hurting on day three. Milked if for two weeks after at least

Sakura- got the surgery and recovered like a normal person

Mukuro- probs operated on themself like a bad action movie character

Junko- kept trying to find interesting ways to do things and bypass restrictions without fucking up

#danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #tw: surgery #tw:hospital

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hidden-artie-abrams · 5 years

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So the good news is I actually left my house a couple of weeks ago , the bad news was that it was in the back of ambulance. Not going to lie the last few weeks haven't been exactly been fun particularly for an agoraphobe like myself, and i’m still in the hospital but fingers crossed i can go home soon . But some good came out of it. Chelsea St James and I would like to announce that anytime around the 7th of may 2020 there will be a new Abrams on the block. Despite being told that I will never in a month of Sunday's be able to father a child a Miracle has occurred and a pre-natal paternity test has revealed that some how , that beautiful little person she has growing inside her is indeed mine.

Chelsea I love you to the moon and back and i will do anything to make up for doubting you all these weeks. I can’t promise I will make a good Dad, but I can promise you that I will try my best, to give you and our baby the best life I possibly can. I know it’s not going to be easy with all the challenges we got a head of us because of my health but I promise i will NEVER let you doubt you again.

#starterwhatif #tw; pregnancy #tw:hospital

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rainbowmatic-stumpomatic · 4 years

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Can I get a board based on Camisado? thank you!

#tw: blood #tw:bruises #tw:hospital #tw: pills #answered

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puckinglandon · 4 years

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castaway|| self-para

His head hurt, but that was the least of his worries. Though he told everyone he had slept some, he really didn��t. He couldn’t; everytime he closed his eyes all he saw was Julien’s lifeless body laying on the bathroom floor and he would shoot up, scared he didn’t make it in time. He took the necessary bathroom breaks, ate the minimal amount of food his stomach would allow, and changed into a clean pair of clothes. But other than that, he barely left the waiting room if it wasn’t his turn to sit with Julien. He kept his head down, switching between laying on the couch and sitting between JD and Parker, the two of them were what kept him from breaking down again.

Once Mr. Schuester walked out, it was his turn to go in. Standing on shaky legs he followed the nurse down the hallway, walking into the hospital room. Though he had already seen Julien, seeing him so helpless and not awake brought tears to his eyes once again. He slowly made his way into the room, hesitating before sitting down in the chair. Reaching out he took hold of Juliens hand, hating the fact that as he curled his hand around his, there was no similar movement, no squeeze reciprocated. An involuntary sob escaped him, bringing the chair closer to the bed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see it, that no one saw it. Babe… That she… she broke you so much that you thought you weren’t worthy enough to not get high all the time. God, she’s a bitch.” He said, letting out a watery laugh at himself. “We should have paid attention better but you… you need to wake up so we can. After everything I can’t… can’t lose you, man. Not when I just got you.” He brought their hands up, instantly bringing his lips to the older boy's hands. Any contact was better than none. “We need you. Me and JD and Parker, we need our best friend and lead singer. We can’t do this shit without you. And Danny and Hudson and Briar… they need their brother. They can’t be the two ginger two blonde clan without you. And Briar… B is a wreck. You can’t leave her, she needs her twin. Leaving your twin is like… against the twin handbook. I think. I would imagine if there was an actual twin handbook, it’d be in there.” He was rambling now, knowing that if he stopped talking and let the silence overtake them he’d lose it even more.

“And I… I need you. So much. Not just because I finally grew the balls to tell you how I feel and you for some reason ended up feeling the same. But because you’re my best friend. Yeah, there’s JD and Parker but you… god Julien, you don’t get it. Baby you are the only person in my life that I’m not treated like a kid around. Everyone always jokes on how I’m the youngest of us all but you… you treat me like I’m just like everyone else. You don’t treat me like a kid. You are so sweet and kind and caring and I love you and need you. You can’t…” He shook his head, taking a sharp intake of breath as the sobs started to wrack his body again. “You have to wake up and you have to get better so we can annoy everyone together again and be famous and gross together and you… please. You can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you. I love you.” He let his sobs overtake him, dropping their hands and his head to the edge of his bed, unsure what to do anymore.

#self #tw:hospital #tw:overdose

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melcdiam · 4 years

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Name: Mori, Haruki Also Known As: Ruki-chan Face Claim: Gawain of Fate/Extra Age: 26-30 Birthday: September 25 Zodiac: Libra Height: 5'10" 「178cm」 Weight: 142lbs 「64kg」 Gender/Sex: M/M Orientation: Greysexual/Demiromantic Relatives: Mother (alive), Father (alive), two unnamed older brothers (alive) Occupation: Composer Affiliation: Shining Entertainment Hobby: Gardening and Crafts Instrument: Piccolo and Stradivarius Shipping: Selective Multiship NOTE: Haruki is a heavily headcanon based with whatever canon information is available for him.

Personality

Haruki speaks with a soft and gentle voice. He has not risen his voice once, the only time he had done so was before he ran away from him when he got into an argument with his parents. His voice does not rise when he angry or upset as he typically keeps himself calm in most situations. Tone doesn’t even change when he being sarcastic, which he tends to mess with people from time to time.

Due to being confined to his home until he turned twelve. Haruki can prove to be a bit naïve at times as he isn’t that knowledgeable about some social norms and other things. Which leads him to being curious about most things and asking a number of questions to whoever with him. His excitement easily shows through his curiosity as well more so with things he is passionate about.

Whether or not Haruki can be described is rather debatable. He hasn’t had much interaction with those his own age and has mostly interacted with those who were older than him those being the servants in the Mori mansion. Due to this he is well mannered and know how to handle himself in a proper manner. He can be the voice of reason as he has managed to defuse arguments in a peaceful manner when a disagreement happens.

Despite all this Haruki does have a rather nasty temper to him that few have actually seen or choose to comment on. It easier for him to dislike someone than is to like. He doesn’t like Ringo for the trap he pulled on Shining to get him to be both his and Ryuuya’s composer. Still hasn’t forgiven Ringo for it either thus holding a grudge against the idol for a rather long time.

History

Haruki spent the first half of his childhood sick and in bed up until the age of twelve. During that time, he was given the same education his elder brothers received while attending an elite private school. Otherwise, if his education was not on par it would damage the family image and he would be looked upon as a disgrace to the line.

He was born as the third child of the Mori family. A family widely known in Japan for giving birth to talented musicians and artists. Haruki’s birth was unplanned and parents disheartened to a certain degree that he was born sickly and had no hope for him to be of any use to the family. He was merely a useless spare to his parents that couldn’t be married off for the sake of appearance. The Mori family still practiced arranged marriages like some of the older families.

Giving him the same kind of education as his brothers was the only sign from his parents that they somewhat, even by a slim margin, cared about him. Outside of his education and the number of tutors he had, he was emotionally neglected by them and starved for their attention and affection. It was the head butler and maid who ended up raising him as one of their own. The rest of the staff helped with raising the young master as well. Even if he didn’t receive the love and support of his parents, he did have people who loved him.

When Haruki turned eight, he started to show an interest in music. This piqued his parents’ interest as they immediately had him start learning to play the Stradivarius and the teacher, he received to learn how to play it was rather strict and unforgiving. The Stradivarius was not his original instrument of choice, he had shown more interest in learning the piccolo. With his parents giving him the attention that he wanted Haruki never brought it up to them.

Fortunately for him, one of the maids knew how to play the instrument and taught him in secret on days he didn’t have lessons and did so in one of the mansions many rooms that laid forgotten by the masters. Compared to the Stradivarius he struggled with learning. He took to the piccolo amazingly well to his surprise and the maid who was teaching him. Haruki continued with learning both instruments until his parents slowly started to catch on to what he was doing. In order for the maid not to get fired he reluctantly asked her to stop teaching him.

It was when he turned twelve that the doctor deemed his health to be strong enough for him to go outside without falling ill. This delighted Haruki the most as he only been outside in the gardens. Now being able to explore outside of that was more excitement than he could handle. Though, it would be at least another three to fours before he would be able to attend a school of his parents’ choosing. His immune system may be able to handle being outside, but being around others in close quarters was an entirely different matter.

Haruki was sixteen when he ran away from home. He had come head to head with his parents over the direction his life would go in. Somewhere along the line had become passionate about composing and his parents didn’t even see him, becoming a composer, as a possible future for him. This was the only time he had ever shown his temper to his parents surprising the people who had created him that he would dare rise his voice at them. He ran away in the middle of the night taking what few possessions he had with him. He left behind the Stradivarius he was hardly good at and took the piccolo he loved so much with him.

After auditioning and passing the test, Haruki was accepted into Shining Academy. There is where he would meet his first friend in Hyuuga Ryuya. He cherished their friendship above all else and developed a bit of a crush on him, but kept it to himself. Just being by his side was enough for Haruki. Through a lottery drawing he had become Ryuya’s composer which made him happier than anyone could realize. Which involved him screaming into his pillow that very same night in his room causing another composer he shared the room with to look at him strangely.

When he suddenly became the composer for both Ryuya and Ringo, a person he has never even talked to, Haruki was livid. Not all seeing how Shining even got himself stuck in a trap by Ringo all due to his composer’s inability to compose a song based on a person than on one persona or another. It disheartened him greatly, but swallowed this hard accept situation and merely tolerated the other soon to be idol in order for Ryuuya to debut.

The day of a live performance came and the day that would change Haruki’s life for better or for worse. Before a live performance Ryuuya had forgotten an accessory charm that he always put in his room. Knowing how much this charm meant to him Haruki had gone to go get it. Unfortunately, he was never able to retrieve the charm as a head light from the ceiling fell and hit him on the head, putting him into a coma.

It would at least be a year or two before Haruki would come out of his coma and when he did he had learned that Ryuuya had quit singing and blamed himself for the accident. When his parents had discovered what had happened to him, instead of being grateful their son had woken up they had only shown bitter disappointment in his decision to run away and become a composer. More so that wanting to become a composer had landed him in a coma. He was disowned soon after, but for some reason they had left him the Stradivarius had left behind when he ran away. A remainder of his failure.

Haruki got into contact with Shining about his situation and worked hard to discuss some kind of agreement with him. After days of discussion and Shining visiting him in the hospital. It was agreed upon that if he recovered, he would be able to debut as a composer, but with a different idol as Ryuuya had long since debuted after his accident. As much as it hurt him to hear that he wouldn’t hold it against his friend for leaving him behind. Just happy he was able to accomplish his dream.

In order for him to rehabilitate without distractions, Shining had flown Haruki out to his private island and medical staff. What should have taken only six months for him to recover the use of his legs. Took much longer when his childhood illness had come back, the coma he was in had weaken his immune system to how it was when he couldn’t leave his home until the age of twelve.

With his health taking an unexpected turn Shining showed up again and offered him a deal. While recovering it would be possible for him to debut, but he would have to do so under a pen name and the catch: Ryuuya wasn’t allowed to find nor was Haruki allowed to be in contact with him. Haruki found this to be completely unfair, but before he could protest Shining told him something that silence him. Ryuuya was never told that he had fallen into coma and that he was dead. If he wanted to speak to Ryuuya it would be under his terms, because there could be unforeseen consequences to his friend suddenly finding out he was alive and not dead.

Haruki didn’t like these terms and it looked like Shining wasn’t going to budge on the matter. With begrudging reluctance, he accepted the terms of his soon to be boss. Like Shining had said Haruki was able to debut as a composer despite recovering, but he had done so under a pen name. Which he didn’t like as he wanted to be acknowledged for his work, but had to swallow that hard pill.

It would be a couple years after that Haruki was able to make a full recovery and be able to go outside without collapsing into a coughing fit or coming down with a fever. The recovery was not only long, but torture for the composer as he didn’t have much contact with others outside the medical staff and whenever Shining came by to check on his health. He was glad to be able to finally leave the island that held him hostage for so long (at least that is how he viewed it). Now, he all he wanted was to see his friend again and reconnect. If only…

Notes

If Haruki’s parents had paid proper attention and loved him like parents should it would have been found that Haruki was a prodigy when it came to music, but since they didn’t they lost out.

Haruki had actually downplayed on how well he played the stradivarius to his parents and had to beg his teacher to not tell them about it.

While recovering on Shining’s private island Haruki learned to play a couple more instruments. Those instruments being the piano, bass, cello, harp, flute, and clarinet. He seemed to have a flare for string related instruments more than anything else. Though, it left him curious to why Shining had so many instruments laying around.

He not very good at cooking, but a total whiz when it come to baking. Honestly, don’t let him cook he’ll more than likely burn the place down.

Haruki had flatline at least twice leading to the misdiagnose that he had died.

#🎵 ▸ ( headcanon; time waits for the Dream maker as it gives us pride )#🎵 ▸ ( about; with the power of immortal music yet unknown to you )#🎶 ▸ ( hc; mori haruki )#🎶 ▸ ( about; mori haruki )#tw:hospital

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