#if they make me get surgery it better be after finals or i will have to start killing people. i'm so serious

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

As Above, So Below I Chapter 4- Souvenir

Synopsis: You start the nightshift with Jack Abbot, and make good on that arrangement of yours, but not before learning just how much comfort you both find in darkness Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader   Word count: 4k Warnings: Discussion of mental illness, suicide attempt, self-harm, mania, trauma, the existential dread of being alive, our favorite sad boys, dark humor, and some trauma. Some explicit references. 18+, MDNI  A/N: This is the sad boy Jack Abbot intro and next chapter will be the explicit Jack Abbot smutfest. Work has been mentally exhausting this week, but if you want to get sad deep in your bones, read this while listening to “Souvenir” by Boygenius, and “Go Home” by Julien Baker. Thank you for reading, I appreciate every single one of you.  Chapter 3 I Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Souvenir

Pulling thorns out of my palm Work a midnight surgery When you cut a hole into my skull Do you hate what you see like I do?

"You should stay."  Robby extends the offer, words attached to an arm around your waist  lips to your collarbone, and the promise to make you breakfast.  Pancakes and coffee

“Next time.” You called an Uber, Pressed a kiss quickly to the corner of his mouth as he lingered in the doorway, and promised to text him that you got home safe. The decision to leave was fully rooted in fear. Not the fear that you’d want more, or that he’d change his mind. But the fear that if he looked at you long enough You’d tell him everything that makes it hard for you to be back here.

Didn’t get murdered by my uber driver. 

Good. Wish you would have stayed.

Gotta ice my back.

Don’t even start.

Don’t miss me too much.

Too late. 

The transition to the nightshift a few days later confirmed what you had known all along: This must be the place. A dark sense of humor; a group of misfits who prefer the moon over the sun; and a fast-paced, nothing-is-off-limits vibe.

You could have guessed, judging by the fact that John Shen was particularly fond of it. And you had been close friends for years. He had been shaped by 3am study sessions that ended in white castle burgers for breakfast, never met an emo night at Brillobox he didn't get dressed up for, and constantly argued about Kid A being a better Radiohead record than OK Computer. He was the poster-child for millennial purgatory - forced to exist in between Gen X and Gen Z, shoulder all the blame, and somehow look nonplussed while doing it. He had been in medical school at the same time you were doing your graduate program, lived in an apartment blocks from you, and had made it a point to be the guinea pig for any psychological assessment you needed to practice. He would volunteer in hopes that he could finally convince his conservative parents that he wasn't mentally ill for listening to My Chemical Romance, and he hoped that the assessments could "provide him papers" to explain his completely unbothered millennial personality. Neither of those two things happened, but he did make for a good wingman who could stitch up the gash in your knee after drunkenly parkouring over a fire hydrant in the Strip District. You kept in touch over the years, through trauma dumping and memes. He truly was one of the perks of returning--an actual no-bullshit platonic friend. 

On the day you started nights, he waited for you outside of the hospital with another mystery Dunkin’, he of all people appreciating the establishment for what it was – an absolute dumpster fire.

"My wife!" He calls out to you, in a perfect Borat voice, arms outstretched, "You ready for nights?" "I'm so glad to see you, even if I still cannot imagine you as an attending." you graciously take the Dunkin from his hand, your finger flipping the badge on his chest, "most of my mismatched scars are from your shitty stitch-jobs"  "First of all, how dare you" He laughs, swatting your hand away "you told me I did a great job. And second, I was drunk, and a medical student." “I really have missed you.” You smile, “And I really am looking forward to the change in scenery.” “The day shift is all suits and stiffs, and we’re absolutely unhinged.” "My kind of crowd. Anything hot goss I should know?" You poke an elbow into his side, "Parker Ellis is our ride or die, and I’m still trying to assert dominance with Abbot, so if you see me giving him the cold shoulder, it's because I just want him to love and respect me."

Ellis was already at the nurses’ station when you both arrive, waiting on the day shift hand-off. You set your things down in your office before making your way back to the desk. “A welcome speech for our newest member?” Shen tips his drink towards Ellis. "Always remember the third rule of fight club," Ellis smiles, "just try your best and have fun." "I thought the third rule was that if it was your turn to bring snacks, bring enough for everyone" You correct her, “just happy to be here.” "I wouldn't jinx yourself" she adds, shaking her head, "the behavioral health beds are the star of the show on nights." "Honestly, I never met a five point bed restraint I didn't love" You shrug, "makes me nostalgic for prison." "Where's Abbot?" Shen asks "Haven’t seen him, but you know him, he'll probably just apparate out of a cauldron of bats." Ellis shrugs, rolling her eyes, "Still waiting on the hand off from Robby, but he's been swamped all day."

"Hey, one of you psych?" the charge nurse turns towards the three of you, phone to her ear, "Sounds like there's a patient on the roof.”

"Seriously?" your eyes wide, "how the fuck did a patient get on the roof?" You make your way towards the elevator. “Night shift starting off strong” Shen calls out after you ,”My money’s on Myrna” “Don’t worry she won’t jump” Ellis adds, like it’s comforting, “she just likes the wind in her hair.”

The elevator only goes so far before you’re forced to take the stairs. Three flights; 6 steps a piece. By the time you get to the door to the roof, you’re out of breath, a bolt of lightning shooting down your leg with each step.

You had seen someone jump one time.  The descent of a body from a bridge. You hadn’t gotten there in time,  hadn’t said the right thing,  hadn’t reached out quick enough to stop them. You'll never forget it.  and you still haven't found a way to squash the swell of emotions when you're reminded of it, Even now, tears burn your eyes as you shoulder the door to the roof open.

You expect to see something reminiscent of that traumatic memory a chance to make it right;  A do over;  a success story. And instead, you’re met with silence, the cool air against your cheeks, and Jack Abbot, standing too close to the edge.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake, this your idea of a joke?” You’re out of breath and annoyed. “Took you long enough” He doesn’t bother turning around to look at you, “although your bedside manner could use some work.”  “This isn’t funny,” he hears it in your voice, and you quickly wipe your eyes on the back of your hand. 

When he turns to face you, his expression has changed from amusement of landing a solid joke on your first night, to concern.

“Fuck, are you crying?” 

“You jumping or what?" you ask moving closer to him, so that you’re shoulder to shoulder, "no time like the present."

"Well, it's not funny anymore if you're going to cry."

"I'm not crying" 

"riiiigghhhtt" it's drawn out in disbelief

"I just have 'losing a patient to jumping off a roof' in my eye." you hit him in the shoulder, "thought maybe I’d get a do-over."

"ahh" he nods, "well fuck, I really fumbled that one. thought maybe I could get a laugh out of you, maybe a sarcastic plea not to do it, you know, some theatrics."

"Sorry I ruined your fun." 

"Sorry I made you cry."

"You didn't make me cry," You correct him, "and if you tell anyone that you did, I will absolutely make you cry in front of everyone downstairs."

"Promise?" he smirks, "I could use some public humiliation to keep me humble."

"Of course you could, Doctor Abbot," you shake your head, rolling your eyes, "With your prolonged eye contact and minimal startle response, I bet you haven’t been humbled in a while."

"And? That a problem?” "I find it endearing" you nod, turning on your heel to walk back towards the door, "I will see you downstairs after you're done brooding up here"

"Hey Wheeler?" He calls back to you, “You still good on our arrangement? It is nights after all"

"Come to my office and find out?" 

"We said not at work" he turns around to face you, eyes dark, voice low.

"You said not to let anyone at work find out," you correct him, smile on your face, opening the door, “I can be quiet.”

“With that mouth? Yeah, right.” he shakes his head

You close the door behind you and head back downstairs towards the elevator.

“I was just looking for you,” The elevator opens and Robby’s standing inside, “Jack up there?”

“Yes, just convinced him not to jump” You attempt to make a joke, wincing when you step inside.

“You okay?” He holds the door open.

“Yeah,” you lean your head back against the wall of the elevator, “rushed up here because a nurse said a patient was up here. I just need a minute.”

“You want me to take a look at it?” He steps back inside the elevator when you shake your head ‘no,’ the door closing behind him, and reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, “at least let me take a look at you.”

“You know the rules” You remind him, his face inches from yours.

“Fine,” he huffs, taking a step back from you, “I’ll be good.”

The elevator doors open again to reveal Abbot, standing with his arms folded across his chest.

“Really, Robinavitch?” He steps inside the elevator, in between the two of you, “not cool man.”

“I just happened to be in the elevator” Robby replies, hands up in front of him like he’s innocent, “she’s all yours.”

“I just love being objectified at 7pm in the evening, “you speak up, smirking

“I bet you fucking do” Abbot shakes his head, turning to Robby, “Was she this mouthy on day shift?”

“Worse” Robby adds, shrugging, “offered to blow me in her office”

“’Atta girl” Abbot looks to you and you roll your eyes, “I’ll be by for mine around 2am.” 

The elevator doors open before you’re able to get a word in, the two of them exiting to find the rest of the night shift for hand off.  You contemplate going after them, but instead, you watch the shift change play out, taking in the inside jokes between attendings and residents, trying to get a read on what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Ellis wasn’t lying when she said the behavioral health beds were the star of the show on nights.

The first consult came in less than an hour after your shift started

A 17-year-old boy, with a 7-inch laceration from wrist to elbow, reopened from over a week ago, deep enough to need stitches but not deep enough to accomplish his goal. He never stopped crying, not after the pain medications kicked in, not after his parents told him they loved him, not after his medications were adjusted, and not after you sat with him for over an hour reminding him that progress was not linear, and that engagement in self-harm is not a badge of weakness or failure.

The second consult came in fifteen minutes after that – a man initially thought to be unhoused, running naked through Schenley Park.

“Surprisingly not methamphetamines,” Abbot had noted, as you waited in the doorway, watching security staff strap him down into five-point restraints. He fought the entire way, the brute strength of mania alive and well, and you only got spit on once. Once he was down and treated to a cocktail of Haldol and Ativan, he informed you that he was Jesus Christ reincarnated and earned himself a ticket upstairs to the inpatient hospitalization, albeit not as far upstairs as he was hoping.

By the time the third, fourth, and fifth consults rolled around, you were on a first name basis with the security staff and night nurses. It was fast-paced but not unmanageable, nostalgic of the crisis contacts you were used to in prison, but with more reasonable and less manipulative patients. Here, the patients weren’t calling you nine kinds of bitch as you watch them insert a pen into their urethra just to get a trip to the hospital and some opiates. For the first time, since you left, it felt like you were actually addressing mental health concerns rather than attempting to manage behavior for secondary gain.

“You’re clearing psych beds faster than I can fill them,” Abbot barely looks up from the note he’s charting

“Just trying to up that patient satisfaction score,” You reply, “Not sure if any of them are lucid enough to fill out the survey but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Might just save my ass from another impromptu lecture from Gloria.” Abbot replies, a smile spreading across his face

“Is that a thank you?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, “wouldn’t hurt to hear you say it.”

“Thank you Doctor Wheeler” it’s drawn out and a little bit patronizing, but you’ll take the compliment.

You spend the next several hours rounding on the patients on the behavioral health unit, introducing yourself to the nursing staff and psychiatry resident covering nights—the medications to your therapy, and taking stock of the mental health resources on the unit. Everything is outdated, testing instruments, books—you name it, it’s likely from the 1980’s. And all of it was yours to manage, including the grant applications for research projects and the applications for additional budgeting for the fiscal year that had been piling up on your desk. 

It’s nearly 5am when you’re interrupted by Jack entering your office without knocking. He sets down a sandwich on your desk before taking a seat on your couch. You look up from the note you’re working on and watch him. He looks tired, more disheveled than he did on the roof, but still manages to crack a smile the longer you look at him.

“Now who’s got the prolonged eye contact” He chuckles, nodding to the sandwich on your desk, “Have you eaten?”

“I was able to eat one solitary granola bar, while the guy in four was getting strapped down.” You nod, “what did you bring me?”

“A grilled cheese” He replies, a smug look on his face, clearly pleased with himself, “Had to fight a nurse for that, by the way. Figured we could share it.”

“I’m honored,” you split the sandwich, handing him the other half, “Rough night out there?”

“Fuck yeah” he nods, looking down at his hands, “feels like we were drowning there for a minute. And now I’m taking a 20-minute break while the dust settles.”

“A well-deserved twenty minutes” You agree, standing up to shut the blinds of your office, trying to block some of the fluorescent light out of your office, switching on your desk lamp, “better?”

“Perfect” He nods, a smirk appearing, “Now, about that conversation in the elevator.”

“Sorry, all the blow job appointments are 30 minutes” You shrug, leaning against the door, “just missed the window.”

“Bummer” he shakes his head, standing up, “Although, you were the one who said come to your office and find out”

“I did say that” you acknowledge, watching him close the space between you, eyes locked on yours the whole way, “Although you questioned my ability to be quiet”

“You don’t strike me as the quiet type.” his face inches from yours, his hands on either side of your head on the door.

Got him right where you want him, eyes on you, waiting for your next move.

Time to humble the man in front of you.

“Ohhh Jack” you moan, just loud enough that anyone walking by can probably hear you, “Just like that” He clamps his hand over your mouth, pushing your head against the door, a soft thud, his eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ” he whispers through gritted teeth, “are you fucking insane?”

You shake your head against his hand, raising an eyebrow when he doesn’t immediately uncover your mouth.

“You gonna be good if I let go?” He asks, only uncovering your mouth after you nod. 

“That’s what you get” You poke your finger against his chest, “For making me run to the roof.”

The alarm on his watch beeps and he sighs in frustration –his 20 minutes are up 

“Don’t ruin this” He shakes his head, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, “You want to get breakfast after work and then you can come to my place and be as loud as you want?”

“Perfect.” You duck under his arm, and open the door, “Pamela’s?”

“Fine, but the original location, not the shitty Oakland location.” He nods, exiting your office and back into the arms of the night shift. 

You make it through the last two hours and it feels like you’ve been hit by a truck. The change in sleep-wake cycles has not been kind and while you’re not necessarily physically tired, your brain feels like oatmeal. The handoff of information to the psychology and psychiatry residents is the last thing on your to-do list, and after you rattle off the last of the orders and updates, you make your way outside, away from the noise. Shen and Ellis are the first to head out, both offering a high-five to you for surviving your first night shift. Jack is the last out, keys in his hand as he spots you.

“You ready?” He asks, “I’ll drive.”

You accept his offer and follow him to his car.

Pamela’s Diner is a Pittsburgh tradition—an absolute legend. Sure, they’ve got the same shit as every other restaurant, but if you’re trying to do it right, there is only one right order: Stuffed strawberry hotcakes and lyonnaise potatoes. It’s cash only, the grill looks like it probably has never been cleaned, and it slaps every. fucking. Time.

Abbot is more than happy to oblige your millennial personality trait of ordering ahead, and your food is ready by the time you two leave work and cross the 16th Street Bridge into the Strip District. You wouldn’t have pegged him --the attending with an affinity for isolation and darkness, as someone who would live here, one of the busiest neighborhoods in the city.

His apartment is similar to Robby’s--an open concept with natural light. There's one huge window in the living room overlooking the river, revealing a perfect view and the ability to maintain privacy. The decorations are minimal, aside from a few well-placed, and somewhat hidden military photos. 

Something you had learned while working with veterans at the VA during practicum was that the celebratory photos and keepsakes rarely, if ever, existed without reminders of the trauma and destruction they had witnessed, and at times, had been a part of. 

Sometimes it felt like they kept them as proof that it wasn’t all for nothing—the beacon of light in the swell of darkness. 

His apartment felt relatively empty, enough furniture to give off the appearance someone lived here, but not enough to feel warm. This was a place to sleep, not a place to live.

You set the food down on the island in the kitchen, already tugging at the plastic knot at the top of the bag. 

“I haven’t had this since I’ve been back” You’re the first to speak since entering the apartment.

“Yeah?” He asks, watching you open the containers, “You one of those people who think Pamela’s Is the be-all end-all of breakfast?”

"We cannot go any further if you are a Deluca’s stan." You narrow your eyes at him, handing him the Styrofoam container, which he accepts graciously "don't malign the lyonnaise potatoes in my presence."

“Wasn't expecting you to be this defensive about breakfast,” He laughs, retreating to the couch, “It’s incredibly arousing.”

"Mostly the hunger talking, but this sleep-wake cycle reset is no joke" You add, joining him “Wasn’t expecting to crash so hard.”

He lets you eat in silence. It's not uncomfortable or awkward, especially after talking to patients all night, but here you are, alone with Jack Abbot in his living room, full of pancakes, and fading quickly.

“Come on,” He stands up and nods towards the hallway, “You need a nap, in an actual bed.”

“I’m fine” You shake your head, “I promise. I did not come here to nap”

“you’re exhausted, and I could also use a nap.” He insists, disappearing down the hallway towards his bedroom

"This where the nightmares happen?" By the time you reach the doorway, he's already laying down, hands behind his head, eyes closed.  He pats the spot next to him and you oblige. 

"You think I'm dark and broody" He comments, a smile on his face, "what other assumptions have you made about me?"

"Not an assumption" you correct him, "that was an observation."

"Oh, come on, humor me. I did just buy you breakfast" he replies, "and even though I’m the one with the prolonged eye contact, you've been trying to get a read on me this entire time”

"Fair," you agree, "I just think you and I are very similar."

"Go on." He states, waiting for you to continue

"Not if you want to keep this thing all surface level bullshit and fun."  you give him the opportunity for an out. 

"Come on, kid." 

"Trauma recognizes trauma" You add, “Why’d you get into emergency medicine?”

“Thought I’d be ready for a change after the years of trauma in the military,” he chuckles, “and instead I found comfort in running right back into the flames. It's a good distraction. It keeps my mind on the medicine and off some of the other stuff."

"Sure, surface level it seems like a commonsense decision to take your combat medic skills and apply them to a hospital," You agree, "but why the ER?"

"I like the fast pace, the comradery, and the distraction" He replies

"You're skirting around the big, bad, terrible thing" you counter, "It's deeper than that."

"I don't know." He’s quiet.

"You do know," you shake your head, "I'm guessing the thing that haunts you is the same thing that haunts me."

"You tell me then, if you've figured it out." 

"You need to take all of that pain and suffering and make it useful." You hear him exhale when you say it, like he's been holding his breath the entire time, "I'm sure over time you habituate to a lot of it, to death, to losing patients. But that pain sticks around, and the deep fucking sadness? that sticks around too. So, you turn it around into something useful"

"A second chance at saving everyone I couldn't" He rubs a hand over his face, "what do you know about pain?" 

"It didn't start when I was stabbed, it started long before that. And I still feel it. The pain, the sadness that's deep in my bones, the fear that nothing will ever change and the blind faith that it fucking has to. It's the pain and suffering of humanity. Of seeing the world for what it is and not being able to turn a blind eye to it. And it's the best fucking thing about me. And it's probably the best fucking thing about you too.”

“Like moths to a flame” he states, “you and I.”

Neither of you say anything else. Instead, he reaches for you,  Pulls you into his side, Your head on his chest. 

Sometimes you just need a person to be quiet with and sad next to

Tag list is open!  @loud-mouph @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @thebumbqueen @emilia-the-artist @boldlyherdream @felicisimor@eugene-emt-roe @i-mushi @andabuttonnose @moonlightmvrvel @miss-me-jack @dantemorenatalie @qardasngan@agreeewrites @aloudplace @painment @artsymaddie @d1n3e @damnitsthings @thicficbich1@readinwnoon @imagines-r-s @meowmeowyoongles @ikindier @katastrophic04 @lexibearsworld @luna-loves08 @herlovelykiss @all-by-myself98 @livingavilaloca @trustme3-13 @yourdaydreamerfan

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Last line is credited to Meg Fee, which has haunted me since the day that I read it on her blog

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 15: first time

1k, nsfw, ifrit/zephyr, prompts by @forlorn-crows !

Read under cut or find all of mushy may on ao3!

Transfem ifrits first time after bottom surgery (:

Notes and things: inspired by @noahl-art bc I realized he was the only one I saw talking about bottom surgery and I got really curious so here’s this. There’s a couple hours of research into this I saw many many vaginas LMAO. And thanks to @jimothybarnes and @everybodyshusband for encouraging and forcing this fic into fruition

Mostly fluffy, virginity kink shit as always, they’re sickly in love it’s kinda gross, wrath’s trying her best if there’s something inaccurate pls dm me but I tried to do a lot of research to make this respectful and accurate so I hope that comes across <3

“Ifrit…” zephyr breathed. They swallowed thickly, tentatively putting their hands on her waist. Her skin was covered in red lace, a bralette that pushed her breasts up enough to practically spill over and panties that hugged her hips, digging into the soft curve of her waist. She looked absolutely breathtaking beneath them. 

“You picked it out for me moth, don’t know why you’re so speechless” ifrit was flushed red at this point, picking at the hem of her bra and fidgeting like she was truly nervous, like she truly couldn’t believe zephyr was this in awe of her. 

“I’m speechless because of you, you look better in it than I could’ve ever imagined”

They thumbed over the fabric, fingers delicately tracing over her smooth skin. They didn’t tug at the lingerie even though they craved to see her. Months without intimacy keeping zephyr more on edge than they’d like to admit, though they’d happily wait years if it was what made ifrit comfortable. But she initiated. She asked zephyr to pick her out something to wear for when they first saw her again after the surgery and they were more than happy to oblige. 

"Do you want to see?" Ifrit finally asked. She grabbed zephyrs hand that had settled on her hip, seeming more than content to just stay like this. Aether and omega were the only ones who had seen her so far, being there to take care of her and help her with her dilators afterwards. Though those were never fun, as much as she almost hoped they would be.

But it was nothing for zephyr to see or be involved with even though they offered. She wanted this to be special, some kind of grand reveal for some reason. Maybe for her own ego, or just saving the weirdness of having them look at her post op while things still didn't look quite right.

"Please marigold" zephyr breathed. Their hands intertwined together over the waistband of her panties pushing and pulling them down to reveal herself. Zephyr tried not to completely gasp at the change. They tried not to immediately reach out to touch her though with the way ifrit was breathing heavy, they were sure that's all she really wanted.

"Is it… is it ok?"

"You're absolutely beautiful ifrit"

Ifrit reached down between her legs, spreading herself open for them. She was already slick and shiny, working herself up for this. A weird glint of proudness along with a big smile as she ran a finger up and down her folds, showing off the slick that had accumulated.

"See how wet you get me Zeph?" Ifrit sighed. She grabbed their hand, bringing it to settle on her vulva, an invitation to touch her as well. "I can say that now" she giggled "I can tell you how wet you make me"

Zephyr used their fingers to open her up, thumbing up and down trying not to act like they were examining her. But it was fascinating, and she looked perfect, tempting. Their finger came to rest on that pretty little bud at the top, giving it a bit of pressure before tentatively rubbing in a circle. Ifrits leg twitched, hips bucking a bit with the sensation. Not entirely new, but with zephyrs hand it only added a new form of arousal to the act.

"Still sensitive?"

"It feels good- don't stop" ifrit breathed in, arching a bit off the pillows as zephyr made faster circles. No longer simply experimenting, but knowing how to make her actually feel good. Maybe zephyr asked mist for help before hand, sue them.

"Can you cum like this?" Zephyr could feel ifrit twitch and clench as they worked. Obscene, wet sounds came from their fingers, now covered in ifrits arousal.

"Multiple times- found out the refractory period is a lot lower too"

Zephyr got two fingers inside of her as she said that, feeling her from the inside for the first time. Silky, hot and wet, she was absolutely perfect.

"Come on then, wanna feel you cum around my fingers"

Ifrit stifled a cry, throwing her head back. It felt amazing, better than before if she was being honest, and much nicer than her own hand. She spasmed around zephyrs fingers, rolling her hips as they worked her through it. Sparks of pleasure mellowing out into an almost over sensitive buzz before they finally pulled away.

"You taste better than before too firefly" they licked a fat stripe up and around their index finger, keeping eye contact with ifrit. She blushed, squirmed as her breathing regulated more, though this didn't help.

"Shut up-" she whispered, looking away. Zephyr couldn't help but giggle a bit at her sheepishness.

Her body relaxed, legs finally opening again as zephyr waited for her to be ready. They traced swirls and squiggles up and down her legs, simply watching her.

"Wish you wouldn't stare at me like that zephs" she laughed, light heartedly, "you make me nervous"

"Can't help it, you're too pretty, am I not allowed to stare at my beautiful fire lily?"

"No I brought you in here to fuck me like a whore if I'm being honest"

The act still felt new, even if it really wasn't. Settling between her legs and spreading her knees apart. She already felt prepped, though zephyr still went slow like they were scared of breaking her. Their hands smoothed over her thighs, lining their cock up to tease up and down, purposely taking time to run over her clit.

"You're ok with penetration? I'm not going to hurt you am I?"

"Need it Zeph, been waiting months for you. Wanted you to pop my cherry"

Zephyr almost choked, vision going blurry for a second as they fumbled to push into her. They felt filthy, weirdly enough. Her First time, sure they already assumed but it was different hearing it come out of her mouth like that.

Ifrit groaned at the stretch. It felt much better than the dilators she had been using, and the one off time she tried to use a dildo. Warm and close, it was different than the hard silicone. She could feel zephyr twitch inside of her, the wet slide of his cock in and out.

"Saved yourself for me? Letting me take your virginity? How sweet is my girl, spoiling me really"

[anonmousegosqueak]

Sneaks in your askbox, casually headbutts a giant gong, half dies, starts speaking with Godly voice like it happens every fucking day–

Genderqueer 141! Because who wants them to be freakier? All fo us. BTW I'm going in an order that the ideas come in

Transmasc Nik, I mean look at him, he covers up more than usual the top, he wears the 141 patch on his heart, he grows a stubby beard that is longer in some places and shorter in others, he keeps an incredible body built despite not needing is that much for work (he could be a little twinkly and his work would be roughly the same) so it means he keeps the fuckong muscle for aesthetic :) Also from the amount of times I hear about his tirs I would say he only has a binder and hasn't had top surgery yet, also it explains why Nik is only an alias and not his actual name

Non-binary Gaz— Boyflux— Hear me out on this! He presents mainly masc, mainly because the job requires it, but he also feels pretty in a way a man would not be, so I think he goes from masculine to neutral depending on mood, I've also seen a great description of it being like the shore, where sometimes waves (the non-binary) get so high you have to swim and sometimes they retire almost completly leaving you on the sand (masc) so you only have to live through waves and such

Genderfluid Ghost— sometimes feeling a little too femme while his father was still around was the cause of the harsher hands on him:/ Spent his adolescence in a love-hate relationship woth his body, so kept his hair a little longer than usual to feel a little better. Then in the army he was kinda forced to look masculine, but when he died and came back he had the possibility of privacy, he was a dead soldier after all, so he started experimenting, sometimes he wears black nail polish to feel a little more feminine— it's hidden by the gloves anyway— and sometimes he puts e eysblack the same way he would put on make up before smudging it around, his name feels so weird, because the phrasing is so different that sometimes he feels like he could be a girl and nothing would really change. He discovered the term via Internet, still refers to homself as he-him for comfort but he lets Soap call him literally anything (kitten, bean, princess, dove) anything really, even if more feminine because he loves it. So he is a little more masc-leaning but not boyflux

Agender Soap— this fucker makes stuff explode, they still use he-him on the field because trying to explain shit always ends up in weird situations, they still keep they-them it in a safe rather than outside, basically only Ghost refers to them as such and almost exclusively in private

Price is not genderqueeer, but extremly confident in his gender, so much so that sometimes when he wants he wears a bit of eye makeup because he likes to make his eyes pop a little more since they are small for his face, so he goes with earthly colours and some highlights

Uuuuuufff, long ask and a lot of words!

Omg- u remember that 141 genders/sexuality post I made forever ago because I didn't take meds? Literally this.

Doing all of 'em in my order because AGGHH-

Price:

Exactly. He's cis, not genderqueer in any way (though an ally till the end), but he's also CONFIDENT. This fucker will absolutely wear makeup because it makes him look good. He started to wear nail polish to help make his son friend feel more comfortable expressing themself. He's a guy, yeah, but he also looks good in a pretty set of lingerie!

Nikolai:

TransMan!Nik beloved. I would die for him. Either that- or DragQueen!Nik. Either way, he's confident (somewhat) in his gender and looks absolutely fabulous no matter what.

Ghost:

Genderfluid who was also traumatized into being more masculine. Remember that whole "ERM ACTUALLY ☝️ 🤓 I think he prefers to be called-" "DAT'L DO."? Soap was about to call him The Missus or something fem like that. Silly billy is finally getting the opportunity to express their gender and it's delightful. Perks of being legally dead, no?

Soap:

GENDER? I HARDLY KNOW HER!

*gets shot in the head and dies*

(but seriously, I love Johnny just being into explosions. Personally I see them as more of a "I don't give a fuck what you call me", but agender with they/them pronouns is also really good)

Gaz:

Pretty boy? How about pretty boyflux enby? :D I love that analogy, I love Gaz using both He and They pronouns, I love the idea that he has such a beautiful view of gender and expression that he isn't afraid to be more fem. I think I just love Gaz?

Laswell thinks it's hilarious, she calls them the "Gayest group in the military- and that's *saying* something..."

And I said I was revealing a secret about Red, no?

>:)

Have you ever... Have you ever seen me use he/him pronouns for them? I think I've called them "my boy" before but... I never specified their gender. I've been using gender neutral pronouns for them this whole time, everyone just kinda assumed MAN (except for that one person who assumed they were a woman)

I'm just saying...

[scarletdreamers]

Can we, for a second, think about the fact that Hannibal dressed Will before he carried him home through the snow?

Will is naked when he's about to get the face surgery from Cordell. We see a scene of him in the operation chair where he's shirtless, lower body covered by a hospital blanket. Hannibal, who cut himself free from the ropes that were holding him captive on Muskrat farm, who then killed a large sum of Mason's staff including trained security and surgeons, saves him before Will's face gets removed. This all happens off-screen. The next scene is Hannibal carrying Will (bridal style) through the snow. In this scene Will is dressed, including a jacket for the cold and all that. Imagine Hannibal, the violent beast we saw when he killed Mason's men, blood probably still on his hands, finding Will there. Unconscious, and then dressing him. Dressing someone is a very intimate thing, especially someone unconscious. It requires care and gentleness. That, and knowing how to handle a body and loving someone enough to dress them while they don't need to be. He buttoned his buttons for him, tied his shoes, put him in a jacket to make sure he wouldn't get cold - I mean, Hannibal himself doesn't even wear a jacket in that scene. There's blood and wounds all over Hannibal's face, he's exhausted and probably the one in the most physical danger, yet he takes care of Will before he takes care of himself.

This hits even harder if you think about why they ended up in Muskrat farm in the first place. In Florence, Hannibal tried to 'eat' Will. He tried to split his head open with a bone saw. That intense violence, the grotesque and desperate nature of those actions makes a perfect and sharp contrast to him saving Will after outside forces try to take their lives, which is a heroically gentle and intimate action. He didn't have to dress him up like that, he didn't have to carry him that way, but he did. Hannibal fails to kill Will in Florence, and with that he fails his last attempt to get rid of his feelings for Will. Or at least, to make his feelings bearable. He thinks that he can control himself better when Will is dead, so he tries to kill him but he fails. Not because he's stopped, but simply because he can't do it. If Hannibal wanted him dead, Will would have been dead. Mason's men only interrupted his theatrics. They gave him a reason to put away the saw and act like it was purely their fault, but then Will is in danger at the farm and Hannibal does everything in his power to save him and get him home safe and well. At home he takes off his jacket, literally lays him in bed and tucks him in. He covers Will with a blanket, he tries to write mathematical formulas to reverse time and cleans his wounds. That's why Will's rejection when he wakes up is so tragic and hard to watch. It breaks Hannibal, unbreakable and inhuman Hannibal Lecter. It simply hurts him enough to break his heart. It breaks him enough to give up everything he ever lived for and surrender to the FBI, which he spent a lifetime running from. He does this because when he decided to save Will, he realised he would never get over the things he felt for him. In Hannibal's mind, the worst thing that can happen is never seeing Will again. He finally realised that, after everything, and that's why he surrenders to the FBI.

Hannibal honey, you don't want to eat his brain. You just wanted him to love you.

It's subtle details like this that always stick to me afterwards. It's just another thought I had and I felt like sharing.

[thedollydiaries]

imagine like simon goes into some sort of surgery and has to be put under anesthesia, and when he gets out hes like still high asf on it 💀 and hes being a lil silly goose

okay this is such a cute idea omg, this is 100% based off that tiktok audio where it's like "my wife wouldn't like you touching me like that" "i AM your wife."

thank you so much for the request nonnie, a forehead kiss for you MWAH MWAH

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 563

warnings: none really, lots and lots of that good ol fluff, mentions of surgery, goofy simon, maybe a little ooc simon (he's high so it's fine)

a/n: i hope this is okay, i'm feeling a bit rusty with my writing but i've finally got back some motivation and energy to do so after the past two months of low energy and bad mental health. if you guys want to know a bit more about it and my mental health (i don't see why anyone would but lmao) let me know, i don't mind making a post about it if you guys want an explanation of some sort or whatever. anywho, sorry this is so short but i hope you still like it!! <3

a/n 2.0: i recently applied for a part time job at a bookstore so y'all pray for me that i get this job because i want it so bad. i am just gonna decide that i WILL get this job, because why wouldn't i?

simon had been out of surgery for just over an hour now, being a soldier you 'd think perhaps he was going under surgery for some kind of wound he had inflicted upon him on the battlefield but no, he was just getting his tonsils removed after a bad bout of tonsillitis ended up with him developing really bad tonsil stones.

so here you were, waiting by his bedside for him to wake up. the doctor and nurses reminded you just as he had gotten out that he may still be a little, well loopy, off of the meds depending on how quickly he woke up. you waited in a chair at his bedside, reading a book when you heard the blankets of the bed rustling just a little.

looking up from your book you see simon starting to wake up and you reach out to grasp his hand, only for him to rip it away from you when his eyes were fully opened.

"uh, si? you okay, hon?" you ask gently, maybe he just wasn't feeling too well after waking up, or perhaps he wasn't wanting physical touch, that happened quite often and you always respected that space he may want when he wanted it.

"don't call me that." simon said, voice hoarse and scratchy from the surgery, he sounded a little angry.

"what?" you questioned, this wasn't like simon, you couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you speaking like this to him.

"i'm taken."

"i know." you replied with a short laugh.

"you should be touching me like that then."

it hit you then, he was woozy from the meds and didn't recognize you. the realization made you laugh a little more. you decided to have a bit of fun with this high version of your boyfriend.

"sorry about that simon. wanna tell me about your partner?"

"oh, (name)? they're amazing, you know they're so pretty. and they're funny too. they always know how to make me feel better, i miss them." simon replies, ranting and raving on and on to you about his partner, about you.

"you love them a lot, don't you?" you ask him with a smile, it felt so nice to hear all these lovely things about yourself, your boyfriend clearly unfiltered by the effects of the anesthesia he was under.

sure he definitely said sweet things to your face, but something about hearing it when he was basically high as shit made your heart pound a little more.

"i love them with my whole heart." simon replies, a goofy little smile on his face.

you can't help but reach out to gently caress his face at those words, body filling up with some much adoration for the soldier in front of you.

"hey! what did i say about touching me. i have a partner!" simon scolds, trying to dodge your touch.

"simon, love... i am your partner. it's me, (name)." you reply with a laugh.

simon takes a good long look at you when you tell him this, he stares at you, looks you up and down before letting out a soft and quiet "oh."

you begin to hear the beeping of his heart rate monitor speed up, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he stares up at you.

you couldn't help but laugh a little more at this. what a sweet idiot. your sweet idiot.

[sugusatosluut]

She needs to slow down.

Synopsis: You push yourself to the limit after being knocked out for weeks after the fight with conquest, Mark himself, is at his limit with your antics when you both get shocked with a surprise.

Warnings: smut, a cute surprise at the end..

A/N: Requests are open, this post is unedited and is going to recieve a part 2. 💕

You’d been knocked out for weeks, your body taking time to heal while you were asleep for so long. Mark sat by your bed everyday, they even brought a Cot into the room for him. His family would come, your friends would come, and sometimes your family would visit but they couldn’t bare to see you this way. Mark spoke to you every single day and every single night hoping that while you were asleep that you could hear his voice telling you to fight, to rest and get better but not to be gone too long. He misses you, your family misses you. He’s been brushing your hair for you, cleaning your face off with the towelettes provided by the staff at the hospital based for supers. You felt his soft lips touch your cheek and sometimes connect with your lips. His hands were caressing your own, then would make their way up to your face.

“Mark you can’t stay here, she’ll be pissed that you chose not to come help people who really need you.” Cecil sighed.

“Yeah.. Mark, Oliver’s even helping and he’s only been up a couple days. We could really use the help.” Eve said.

“I said no. If something happens and I’m not here— I don’t know what I’ll do.” He cinched his brows together, fighting the urge to cry.

“Mark I’d be happy to report her vitals to you. I prepared comms for you to see her vitals and for me to communicate them to you. The world needs Invincible, y/n is down for now but not for good. She’s strong.” Rudy protested.

Mark could have said no, but the world needed him now more than ever. After suiting up, Mark left to go search and rescue citizens with the rest of the heroes. Rudy would tell him what the spikes were in your vitals and what they meant. Suddenly he felt as if he could relax a little, knowing that he could still watch over you and know that you were safe as long as he was there. For a week, Mark continued to help with the search and rescue, he didn’t sleep, he hardly ate or drank, and at the end of the day he would always be right next to you.

One night while Mark’s hand was resting atop your own, your fingers started to move. You were waking up. Your eyes opened, looking over at Mark who was dead asleep on your lap. Your fingers touched his smooth fluffy hair as you explored your surroundings with your eyes. Cecil and Rudy walked in, the news on the TV was replaying video footage of you and Mark’s fight with conquest. You watched as it seemed you had the upper hand, knocking conquest down ten feet into the ground, then he shot back up quicker than you expected, headbutting you and punching you into the ground, throwing your bloodied body into the beach. Your jaw was reconstructed, your head was sore and your leg was broken. Now? You were mostly healed but the shock of watching it all really did you in.

“You fought hard. He was proud. We all were. He hasn’t left your side since we brought you in. He insisted his bed stayed next to yours after every surgery and when he got better he stayed here for weeks. He’s been helping with the search and rescue but he’s tired. This is the first time he’s slept in a week.” Cecil stated.

“Mark needs his rest.” You said looking up at them.

“Can I help with the search and rescue?” You asked.

“You just got up kid.” Cecil sighed.

“I feel fine. I heal fast. Mark needs to rest.” You argued.

Cecil couldn’t win an argument with you. You had always made compelling arguments but Cecil could use the extra hand now more than ever. So you left to help. You helped rescue people all night and when you finally made it back to your room, Mark was worried yet relieved to see you.

“Y/n please don’t leave without seeing me first, you scared me.” He sighed with relief as he squeezed you tightly. He kissed your face as he held both your hands in his own. His hands caressed your waist as you both sat down.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“I’m a little tired but I’ll keep doing search and rescue tomorrow.” You yawned.

“Get your rest while you can. Tomorrow is an early day.” Cecil said by the doorway.

“Y/n you might want to take it easy.” Mark said.

“I agree with Mark. You need to take it easy.” Robot said.

You sighed rolling your eyes.

You and Mark spent weeks along with the other supers doing search and rescue ops, fighting off villains of the week and helping to rebuild the city. You always felt winded which was unusual for you. But you were always doing way more than you should be and that made Mark a little irritated with you. Cecil opted to put you on special training nights, you would over exert yourself constantly and train the newer supers to push their strength past their limits. One night you went a little too far while reaching the new supers and got injured. The newbies felt bad. Cecil took you to the hospital and let you be. Donald called Mark and Mark was there in an instant. He looked mad.

Not only was Mark mad, he was fuming. He stormed into your hospital room, closing the door behind him. He took a sharp breath in.

“Why do you keep pushing yourself? You just recovered from something life changing.” Mark sighed.

“I need to be stronger—to get better Mark what’s your problem?” You argued

“What’s my problem?! I almost lost you and here you are again making dumb decisions and being careless! Stop doing it. I cant lose you again.” He yelled at you.

You looked at him sympathetically and grabbed his hand. Mark caressed your hand and started pecking your lips with his own, the small kisses eventually turning into wet ones. Mark locked the door, pushing you against it as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he held you up against the door. Mark’s lips traveled all over, one hand on your back and the other holding up your hips against his own. You took your shirt off and he moved his arm up to unclasp your bra. He watched as your tits bounced and couldn’t help but catch the closest nipple between his lips and suck. Your moans were a symphony to him. He moved you both to the bed, taking off every article of clothing you had on. He reached to take his suit off but you stopped him.

“Keep it on, let me just slide the bottoms down.” You smirked at him.

He groaned. How could he be so lucky?

You were already so wet, you decided to hover over his tip with your entrance, sliding it and hearing the wet sounds and Mark’s moans as he gasped at the feeling.

“Haven’t done this in quite some time.” He smirked.

He grabbed your ass and let you stay in the spot you were in. You sank down slowly on his length as you felt him take up all the space you had in you. Mark kissed your nose as you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling. Then, without warning, Mark slammed into you at a quick and steady pace. He was drilling into you, your sharp gasps and light pornographic moans filled the air. You were enjoying every bit of this. Mark was being rough but gentle at the same time. He grabbed the nape of your neck and pulled you close.

“You’ve just been wanting me to punish you like this the whole time hmm? Is this what you want?” He groaned.

“Yes—yes, yes!” You moaned.

“Fuck— I’m close y/n.” He moaned.

You couldn’t let out anymore noise. Marks thrusts slowed down as he was getting closer, you’d already came and he was right there, he just needed something to send him over the edge and you knew just how to do it. You put your mouth over Mark’s own, tongue kissing him, letting him shove his tongue down your throat as one of his hands were now squishing your face and the other was wrapped around your waist.

“Stand up.” He commanded you. So you stood up, jumping up and wrapping your legs back around his waist. You let him press you against the door as he lined himself back up with your entrance, fucking you while he was standing up. He pounded into you while keeping a hand over your mouth as you moaned. His thrusts were getting sloppier.

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum, I’m so deep inside you already I don’t think I can pull out now baby.” He groaned.

He came, he filled you up so intense that you both had to lie down for a moment to recover. Your legs were numb and he was finally speechless as he usually was after sex.

“Slow down. You’re gonna get hurt.” He sighed as he lied down to wrap his arms around you.

“I know.. I’m sorry.” You poked your bottom lip out and he kissed you.

You both got dressed and unlocked the door, Cecil barging in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, you both need to come with me.” Cecil said. He looked very angry yet concerned. He walked you both to a room with a monitor, seeing that robot was also watching the screen.

“Cecil what is all this?” Mark asked.

“A child.” Robot said.

“Who’s child?” You asked.

“Yours to be precise. You’re eight weeks pregnant y/n, with a half viltrimite baby. I’d say congratulations are in order but seeing as you both are just as shocked as Robot and myself, we’ll leave you guys to figure it out.” Cecil said as he and robot left the room.

You both stared at the monitor as a small fetus appeared on screen.

“oh—wow..” you said. Your eyes burnt into the picture on the monitor. It was engraved in your brain.

“Y/n”

“ can get rid of it—“

“I want a family with you..”

You both spoke at the same time.

This was awkward.

“You don’t want to keep it?” He asked.

“Yes— I do I just thought ..” you sighed placing a hand on your head.

“You thought I wouldn’t want to have this baby with you y/n? We’ve been together for years, you should have a ring but we’re having a baby. I mean I still have time to get you a ring I just— I want this with you.” He pleaded.

“Mark.. I do too. I want to have this baby with you.” Your eyes were welling with tears.

Mark pulled you in for a hug. It was longer than your usualy hugs and he was much softer with the strength at which he hugged you. Then he dropped to his knees, pulling his mask off to look at you and kiss your stomach.

“He’s pretty little now, give him some time and he’ll take up all that space.” You smiled.

“He? She’s definitely going to be a girl.” Mark jokingly argued with you.

“We have to tell my mom..” he realized.

“Let’s do it in a cute way. First let’s go deal with Cecil.” You said patting his back.

[archiverstappen]

appendix touch ✧ max verstappen

max verstappen x ferrari! fem! reader

masterlist

the beloved ferrari heiress just had her appendix removed, and now the whole world is convinced that she's going to start an epidemic

[messages]

[instagram]

[twitter]

[instagram]

yn_ferrari

liked by maxverstappen1 and 1.735.028 others

yn_ferrari I understand that, without my agreement, my father has put out an instagram story this afternoon that makes it seem like I’m dying. This is true, I do feel like I’m dying. I’m having my appendix removed.

view all 1.832 comments

maxverstappen1 Will get that win for you 💙

↳ yn_ferrari no, thanks ❤️

↳ papaferrari Please let Carlos/Charles win for Y/N’s faster recovery 😊

username SHE’S SO UNSERIOUS 😭

oscarpiastri 🤨

↳ yn_ferrari poet of the century

alex_albon Been there, done that

↳ yn_ferrari teach me your ways, master

username THANK GOD IT’S JUST AN APPENDIX

username get well soon mother

carlossainz55 Get well soon, mi hermana 😂

↳ yn_ferrari soy lago

↳ landonorris stop copying me 😒

charles_leclerc Fake 🤭

↳ yn_ferrari i’ll pinch your appendix with my bare hands so you’d know how it feels

↳ alexandrasaintmleux 😨

↳ yn_ferrari look away, my love 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

scuderiaferrari Get well soon, Boss ❤️

[messages]

[instagram]

[twitter]

[instagram]

scuderiaferrari

liked by papaferrari and 2.736.991 others

scuderiaferrari Patient 0, Patient 1, and Charles 😄 The gang is finally back in a land down under 🦘

tagged yn_ferrari, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc

view all 2.155 comments

username Y/N YOU BETTER STAY AWAY FROM CHARLES 😭

papaferrari My children 🧒🧒🧒

username favorite trio ever

username the fact that we won't be seeing them together again next year 😞

yn_ferrari admin... what's with the caption? 🙂

↳ scuderiaferrari Hi boss, please don't fire me

charles_leclerc I'm a survivor ❤️‍🩹

↳ yn_ferrari you're next 👹

↳ papaferrari Don't say that kind of thing, I can't have all of my children go through the same surgery three weeks in a row

↳ charles_leclerc 🤪🤪🤪 yn_ferrari

↳ carlossainz55 We'll try again next time yn_ferrari

username she's got that appendix touch, because every appendix that she touches starts to burst 🤷‍♀️

↳ yn_ferrari HELP 💀

[twitter]

[instagram]

yn_ferrari

liked by maxverstappen1 and 3.283.332 others

yn_ferrari beyond proud of what you guys achieved today, words can't describe how i feel! and no, contrary to popular belief i had nothing to do with max's dnf 😮‍💨

ps. someone said i've got the appendix touch, soo... if you're interested just hit me up

view all 3.122 comments

maxverstappen1 🙍‍♂️

maxverstappen1 Enjoy it while it lasts, Schat 😑

↳ yn_ferrari I will 😽

redbullracing You're temporarily banned from our garage🙏

↳ yn_ferrari I DIDNT DO ANYTHING?!

↳ redbullracing A source spotted you touching the rear wing of Max's car 💔

↳ yn_ferrari THAT'S A LIE.... scuderiaferrari STEP UP?

↳ scuderiaferrari Sorry, we're too focused on celebrating P1 and P2

↳ mercedesamgf1 Wow, can't relate scuderiaferrari

username why is there a video of you running down the pitlane after race, pls explain 😭

↳ yn_ferrari i was watching the race with max at red bull’s hospitality 🏃‍♀️💨

carlossainz55 Us 1 - Appendicitis 0 🍾

↳ yn_ferrari yes sir 🫡

charles_leclerc Can I have my appendix removed too? papaferrari

↳ papaferrari No

landonorris Do mine next, I need to win

alex_albon Can I have my appendix removed again?

↳ yn_ferrari control your man lilymhe 😭

↳ lilymhe bffr 🤬

username FORZA FERRARI SIEMPRE

↳ yn_ferrari rrrAAAGHHHH 🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

scuderiaferrari We're so happy, our appendix literally burst 🥹

↳ username new merch idea?

↳ scuderiaferrari Noted 📝

papaferrari Dinner on me tonight 😎 carlossainz55 charles_leclerc

↳ charles_leclerc Finally

↳ carlossainz55 On my way!

↳ maxverstappen1 Can I come too?

↳ papaferrari I guess so, Y/N would be mad if I didn't invite you

↳ charles_leclerc Max got a pity invite 🤭

↳ yn_ferrari KEEP MY BOYFRIEND'S NAME OUT OF YOUR F-ING MOUTH

↳ lewishamilton Can i come? 🤔

↳ carlossainz55 My wound is still fresh...

↳ yn_ferrari LET HIM HAVE THIS ONE, SIR. WE'LL SEE YOU NEXT YEAR 🤗

--

pictures (c) to pinterest and instagram

[loveanddeepsecrets]

Aftercare after surgery 🦷

How the LADS men would care for you right after you get your wisdom teeth removed.

OG credit goes to @jinwoosbabyboo. Ty anon for making me aware of this!

tags: sfw, fluff, gn! reader, Sylus, Rafayel, Caleb, Zayne, & Xavier x reader

word count: ≈1,045

Caleb

He'd be the most entertaining knowing how you bore easily. From card games, to video games, to tv marathons, the first few days of recovery fly by.

Insisted you get the procedure done in Skyhaven so you can recover at his place, it’s a lot roomier anyway

Is in stitches laughing on the ride home as you both joke around while you’re still high from the anesthesia

Bought a special recliner for you to sleep on the first night post op

Very attentive caretaker; routinely fluffing your pillows, changing your gauze, and refilling your glass of water 

Likes the challenge of cooking a “no solid foods” meal

Is absolutely teasing you over how swollen your cheeks are

Still makes a point to tell you how beautiful you are

Boy, can this man YAP 

He knows he can be quite chatty, but can’t resist annoying you a little when you can’t talk back. “…There was that one time I lost a bet with Gideon, but that’s a story for another day. I’ve been talkin’ your ear off for 10 minutes.” “mmph..” “What’s that? You wanna hear more about the bet?  Okayyy pipsqueek…”

Massages your temples when the pain meds wear off before you can take them again 

Ends up falling asleep next to you in the giant recliner during a Food Network marathon 

Rafayel

Raf’s probably the most smothering of the five since he admits he’s not the best at taking care of others and would be mortified if he had any part of your recovery not going well. He’s a lavish man after all, your comfort is important to him.

You resting anywhere other than his California king bed is out of the question!

Is incredibly gentle and soothing when changing out your gauze; lots of words of encouragement

Constantly checking in to make sure you’re comfortable 

Tries really hard not to laugh when he uses bags of frozen vegetables as cold compress on your cheeks. Says you look like a cute puffer fish 

Keeps forgetting you shouldn’t talk for the first 24 hours but then gets mad when you try answering him when he asks you something 

Is really excited for the next couple of days when you can eat more solid foods. He’s been meaning to make you a special fish soup he discovered on one of his exhibitions abroad 

Drew a tiny sketch of you as a sleeping puffer fish during your nap

Would literally fan you if you felt too hot 

Loses kitty cards on purpose 

Since he has you bedridden, he bought several magazines to take silly quizzes bc “That’s what they do in the movies, yeah?”

Zayne

Easily the most equipped to take care of you in this situation let’s be fr. He’s firm, yet gentle and your downtime is quick and painless.

Has you on a tight schedule: nap, rinse, gauze, meds, nap, rinse, eat, gauze, repeat

You don’t even bother trying to speak. He already had a white board and marker placed on your nightstand when you got home from surgery

Has you pick whatever drama you want to watch when you finally slept off the anesthesia 

Is even more lenient with the amount of sweets you can have since smoothies are the only “healthy” meal you can eat right after surgery 

Is really all cuddles outside of the strict routine of dressing your wounds/taking meds

Shadow puppet show (again 🥲)

Lots and lots of kisses! Cheeks, forehead, eyelids, nose; he just wants you to get better

Places his hands on your cheeks and uses his evol as a cold compress just this once

Secretly counting down the days til he can properly kiss you again 

Is still a workaholic and reviewing reports on his laptop, but takes your temporary silence as an opportunity to listen to some of your favourite music together. In a way, it’s like you’re still talking to him

Xavier

He's no medical professional by any means, but he's not as clueless as he lets on. When it comes to your safety and well being, he takes looking after you pretty seriously. Under his care, you get the most sleep you've gotten in your life.

Sets up the pull out couch so you won’t have to walk around as much

Still brought you flowers and a “Get well soon” card, despite the fact that he’s the one taking care of you 

Thinks you look especially cute with swollen cheeks and surrounded your sleeping form with plushies mid nap 

Is especially proud of himself for making you breakfast and dinner— it’s really hard to mess up instant oatmeal and mashed potatoes 

It takes everything within him not to poke your cheeks and say “chubby bunny”

Chooses to play collaborative 2-player games bc he knows you hate it when he lets you win

Gets in bed to join in on your (med induced) naps

Has you snuggle his waist as you two look through comic books

Follows along with your mushy diet because he’d feel so bad eating solid foods in front of you

Thought refrigerating a face mask would be a relaxing alternative to cold compress packs (and of course he tried one too)

Sylus

Full on princess treatment. Quite literally wouldn’t let you lift a finger. It’s as if you had hip replacement surgery.

Refuses to let you walk, even after the anesthesia wears off. He carries you to any and every room

He knows it’s a minor surgery, but it didn’t stop him from buying the fluffiest pillows, comfiest weighted blankets, plushiest robe, and smoothest silk eye mask 

Brushes/ plays with your hair while you sleep 

Despite your temporary dietary restrictions, you still eat like a Michelin inspector thanks to his private chef

Spoon feeds you 

Is the only LI aside from Caleb who can understand your muffled speech 

Programmed Mephisto to set reminders to take your meds and switch out your gauze

Tucks you in *every time* you decide to lay back in bed

Turned one of his rooms into a spa. Dark, yet calming from the soft lighting of candles, crystal singing bowls from a white noise machine, and aromatherapy 

Relishes in you earnestly needing his help

Bought out a full service salon for the next day to give you every service they offer

fic dividers by: saradika-graphics, adornedwithlight, strangergraphics, & natimiles-edits

Thanks for reading all the way through :) Any interaction is greatly appreciated!

[itsabird-itsaplane-nopejustabird]

DPxDC Prompt

I've had this idea for a while (since seeing that art of Johnny and Kitty robbing a bank so Danny can get Top Surgery lol) but I haven't even had the brain to work on my own fic recently (sorry about that btw) so I'm writing this instead

So the concept:

T4T Johnny and Kitty, who died in the 80s after running away together.

Johnny was the kid of some rich asshole automobile mogul from Bristol, and Kitty was one of the workers' kids from the Narrows. They become friends, fall in love, both realize they're trans around the same time and then decide to run. They know that being trans on top of tax bracket difference gives them almost no chance of making it. Johnny steals a bike and a fuck-ton of money from his parents, and Kitty's parent(s) helps them leave.

They're still toxic and spiteful as hell, but nothing the other does can change the fact that they know and understand each other better than anyone else could.

They travel around the country being menaces together for a while until they decide to settle down in a strange city called Amity Park. They figured it could handle a couple more anomalies. But before they can get there, they get into a bike wreck with their final thoughts being of each other and Johnny specifically cursing his bad luck in life.

The next thing they know, they're in the infinite realms being given the chance to stay together and the freedom to simply exist with no strings attached. (Other than each other cause I firmly believe that they're mutually the others' obsession)

About 20 years have passed, a portal to their old world is permanently open and this scrawny little ass kid ghost that they've never even heard of keeps stopping them from going through it.

It isn't until Johnny actually starts paying attention a few months into it that he notices that first, the little shit can actually fight, and second, HE WAS FIGHTING THEM WITH A BINDER ON. (Johnny also vaguely wonders why Danny looks so much like his old neighbor Brucie, but that's less important than the binder thing). Johnny lets out the universal ghost fight timeout signal and vaguely explains the situation to Danny, who seems confused about the noise he made and why it made him stop.

Johnny gets Kitty to spread the word that if the timeout isn't called off by the next morning, stay TF away until they get an all-clear.

That night, *after yelling at him a bit*, he starts teaching Danny how to reshape his ghost form to his preference and even his vocal cords.

From there, Johnny and Kitty sorta ghost adopt him as a sibling and then take him to Frostbite to make sure his T-shots are ecto compatible.

(I hope this was coherent it's 4am for me and I haven't slept lol)

[star4daisy]

18/02 - husband - 1272 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“Where is he?” Barty asked desperately as soon as he entered the hospital. “Where the fuck is he?”

No one answered him. The place was a convoluted mess, with people running around, crying kids and wounded people in the waiting line. Barty barely avoided colliding with them as he ran to the front office.

The line was so big he considered stabbing himself to get admitted, that’s when he saw his salvation in the form of one Pandora Rosier. Barty skipped the line to where she was way ahead, ignoring all the protests around him. If anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting physical.

“Do you know how he is?” he didn’t bother saying hi to her, he couldn’t make himself talk about anything other than Evan.

Pandora didn’t look nearly as distraught as Barty felt, but she had always been better at keeping her emotions in. It must run in the blood.

“Haven’t gotten any information yet, they said I needed to check here first.”

“Motherfuckers.” Barty cursed, ignoring the old lady in front of them who was sending him dirty looks.

It felt like an eternity before they were called, but Pandora only had two people in front of her in line. Barty let her do the talking, he wasn’t in the right headspace to be polite to anyone right now. Not when Evan was injured and Barty didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t even know if he was alive. No. Barty couldn’t let himself go there or he’d lose his mind. Turn the entire hospital into ashes in his wake. Hell, he might let himself burn too so that he could meet Evan again.

“What’s your name, sir?” The lady finally turned to him after Pandora had already given all her information and Evan's.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” Barty had no patience to entertain her.

“Document, please.”

Barty gave it to her as quickly as he could, almost dropping it in the process, he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay, Mister Rosier just got out of surgery, he’s still at the ICU, so only family members and partners can go up.”

“Okay, I’m his partner.” Barty didn’t even blink, there was a time when it would’ve cost him everything to admit it, but now it came as easy as breathing.

“I meant legally,” she clarified with an apologetic look. “His sister can go in, but I’m afraid you're not on the allowed list.”

“Excuse me?” Barty’s voice went up without even meaning to. “I’ve been with him for years, we’ve known each other since we were eleven and you’re telling me I can’t fucking see him because we don’t have a stupid piece of paper saying we’re partners?”

“I’m sorry sir, but only spouses and family members are allowed, you’ll have to wait until he’s out of the ICU.”

“Wait my ass, I’m going in to see him.” Barty hit his fist on the glass separating them.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, sir. Or you’ll be asked to leave.”

Barty’s laughter was brittle. “The only way I’m leaving here is if you're all on a casket if you don’t let me in.”

“Barty,” Pandora interrupted his tirade. “Evan is fine, he’s in the room now. He wouldn’t want you to end up in jail or worse when he’s okay.”

“Fuck off, easy for you to say when you can go in. I need to see he’s okay with my own eyes. I don’t believe this cunt or any of these useless motherfuckers.”

“Barty,” her tone was full of warning.

“I need to see him.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Yes, there is,” and then Barty turned around and started running.

He had no idea where he was going, barely avoiding hitting running nurses, he heard footsteps behind him but gave it no thought, he had a one-track mind when he was determined and nothing made him as focused as Evan.

Barty saw a sign with ICU written indicating that it was located on the seventh floor and ran to the elevators. He pressed the button five times before he saw security coming in his direction.

“Shit,” Barty checked around him for anywhere else he could go when he saw the sign for the stairs, without thinking twice he threw it open.

Barty was out of breath before he hit the third floor. He wanted to kill himself. Fuck him for never accepting Potter’s invitation to do cardio with him. They reached him before he got to the fifth floor. Barty was never smoking again, he was so out of breath he thought they might have to call a doctor for him too.

Maybe they would have if Barty hadn’t punched the first security guard to reach him, or if he hadn’t kicked the second one making him almost fall off the stairs. Unlucky for him he wasn’t in his prime anymore after all the running, Barty should've dealt with them before running, maybe he would've had a shot but as it was now he was taken kicking and screaming bloody murder.

Barty spat blood at the security guards' feet as soon as they threw him out through the emergency exit, he hadn't even felt it when they hit him. “I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t calling the cops on you,” They warned him.

Barty paid them no mind, even though one security remained outside to watch if he was gonna try to make a run for it again. Barty had never been so pissed in his entire life. How dare they not let him in just because he didn’t have a stupid piece of paper saying Evan was his forever?

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been committed to each other for years, Barty had simply never believed in the concept of marriage. Not when all the examples he had were bloody awful. But now, after this, he was making Evan his husband as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Barty was pacing in front of the hospital when he had his most brilliant idea, he wasn't sure what gave him the idea, but he knew it was the only way he was being admitted to the hospital again after the stunt he had pulled. 

Barty turned to the guard with a shit-eating grin on his face — he couldn’t stop himself — he was a bloody genius. Barty took out the pocket knife he carried everywhere he went. He was getting in there even if he had to draw more blood.

“Don’t even try it,” the man warned him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the knife in Barty’s hand. “Stay back,” he said as he reached for his walkie-talkie and called for reinforcement.

There was no need, Barty just needed him to see what was happening. As soon as the others stepped back outside, complaining that he was still there Barty turned the knife and stabbed himself on his side.

“Oh, shit.”

"Crazy motherfucker."

“Oh my fucking god, hold him.”

Barty was still smiling when they stopped him from hitting the floor and carried him inside the hospital. He laughed when they admitted him to the ICU and said he needed immediate surgery. 

“Barty?” Pandora asked with worry when she saw him passing in a litter. He didn’t even see when they put him there. “What the fuck did you do?”

Barty got one glimpse of Evan sitting down on his bed with a frown on his face before he passed out.

Evan was alive.

It was worth it.

[softtdaisy]

in the meantime / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when hotch gets hurt, you're called as his emergency contact. thing is, nobody knows you're not together anymore.

words count. 2 336

what to expect. a little angst I guess but fluff too, Jack is mentioned but he's a teen

a/n. I first imagined this very funny and light and I ended up adding more angst??? but it's still sweet and cute and hotch is a lover boy

F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

When you got called at school, at first, you didn’t think it could be that moment you’ve been scared of for months finally happening.

Being a kindergarten teacher, it was easy to leave your class and ask for a colleague to take care of your children. They were all occupied with creating a new poster with their names and wouldn't even notice your absence. Well, you imagine they wouldn’t because you weren’t supposed to leave for too long.

“Do you know who’s asking for me?” you asked the principal’s assistant who came for you. He was one of your friends here, so you knew how to analyze his gesture. And from how fast he was walking right now, you could tell this was more serious than you first thought.

“Well, she’s a brunette, dressed in black.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway to think for a second. Trying hard to remember what her name could be. Thing was, you didn’t know that many brunettes, dressed in black that could authorize herself to come here. “I think her name is Emily or something like that.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, freezing. 

You appreciated Emily. You would even call her a friend, even if you only knew her through Hotch. But you barely talked outside of the moment you spent together. 

Getting a call from her would have been weird. Having her come to your school wasn’t normal at all.

Yet, here she was. Waiting in the principal’s office. Indeed, she was wearing an all-black outfit but mostly wearing a concerned expression on her face.

When you opened the door, she rushed to you, interrupting her conversation. Her hand was soon on your shoulder and her eyes were locked on yours. You found some comfort in it. The problem was, you had no idea why you needed it.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” you asked, whispering like it was some secret the rest of your colleagues or your superior didn’t need to know. Which was true, somehow. “Is everything alright?” 

But you knew it wasn’t. And the three words that followed were the proof. “It’s Hotch.”

Your heart dropped, and the whole world went silent. 

You’ve spent months afraid of hearing these words one day. Checking your phone multiple times a day, waiting for his text to make sure he was doing fine. There were moments when you would have the same nightmares of coming home to an empty house, sometimes with more graphic images you wished you could forget.

When Emily noticed you seemed to disconnect from reality, she put her other hand on your shoulder. “He’s ok,” she added. 

“I don’t know how, but the unsub managed to stab him in the stomach. He lost a lot of blood and went to surgery, but he should be fine. Spencer told me he was waking up when he arrived here, you heard Emily explain, but her voice seemed like a distant melody.

You tried to focus on the good news, that Hotch was fine. As fine as he can be after an attack that probably woke up some trauma, but fine. Not dead. Not in danger. Fine. 

You took a breath and nodded to accept the information you just got. And showing Emily that you listened, that you understood what she said. 

It wasn’t until you managed to keep your stress as low as possible that the question popped up in your head. “You came all the way here to tell me?”

Emily looked at you with confusion. 

“Well, you’re his girlfriend and his emergency contact. And you weren’t answering your phone. I thought it would be better to bring you to the hospital myself than let you learn about that later by yourself.”

That was the moment you understood why Emily chose to drive all the way here.

Hotch didn’t tell anyone you weren’t together anymore.

Dating Hotch was easy, more than people thought it was.

He was a great listener. He loved to hear you speak about everything in your life just as much as he loved paying attention to small details. Offering your favorite flowers, having your favorite artist in his car, and sending a text about important events at your job even when he was miles and miles away. 

You could tell Hotch was working on the experience he got from his past relationship and all that he still had to learn to be a good partner for you. And he was doing a wonderful job on it.

This relationship did a lot of good for him too. With Jack being a teen and less with his dad, he finally felt like he had a new purpose to come back home. Hotch learned to love opening his door again. This time not being met by the silence. But by you, with some kind of reality TV on, reading a book on a sofa he almost forgot about before seeing you on it—not to mention the memories the both of you created on it. You made him feel loved. At his place but at every place in his life too.

For a year, you two have been the happiest and did everything to make this relationship work. Even the team noticed the change in Hotch’s personality. And after multiple drinks together, you started to call them friends too. You both loved the routine you created together. 

But even with the brightest sun shining on your relationship, the truth was the stress was still there. His job was anxious, to you, but to him too. Having someone to care about in his life once again made Hotch concerned about losing you. He tended to be more protective after rough cases, sometimes leaning to some controlling behavior he hated as much as you did.

The disputes became more and more recurrent. And after another fight, you both decided that maybe you needed a moment away from each other to wonder if this was really worth it. You wanted Aaron Hotchner to be the love of your life; you really did. Just as he wanted to. But was it really the life you both wanted?

It was a hard month away from him; you won’t lie.

And knowing you almost lost him was even hard.

“Let’s go,” you finally replied. And the ride to the hospital was surprisingly calm.

The few times you saw Emily, you both kept chatting for hours to the point Hotch even laughed one day about fearing she might steal you from him. But this time, there were no words. Not only because of the stress, but also because you realized you were lying to your friend because of Hotch. You haven’t seen him in a month, having no idea about what his life might have been these past thirty days. And she was great at worming information out of you. So you would rather not say a thing instead of spilling a secret.

The whole drive to the hospital felt like a fever dream. And nothing could have prepared you for the overwhelming feeling you got when you opened the door. A mix of relief and stress.

Hotch was there, indeed. Underneath a white sheet that made his skin look even paler, with dark circles bigger than the last time you saw him and a tired expression that made you wish you could do anything to let him relax and rest for at least a month.

He was facing the window and only turned his head when he heard you coming in. And the confusion replaced the tiredness on his face. Yet, you still noticed the short smile that drew on his lips when he saw you. “What are you doing here?”

His tone was sweet. Sweeter than usual. No matter how down he was, Hotch took everything in him to make you feel welcome. He didn’t want you to question your presence here or to think he was questioning it. He was glad to see your face after the awful day he had. Yet, he was still wondering why you came. After a month apart, he thought you put him aside. 

Deep down, Hotch had the feeling he was easy to forget. But you weren’t. You never felt his head or his heart.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t even talk. You were just focused on the silhouette of the man that shared your life these past months, lying on this hospital bed, looking so fragile.

You walked to him, as close as you could. So close that your knees bumped in the bed without you realizing it. You couldn’t resist the need to brush his hair, putting away some strands that were on his forehead. His confused and drained eyes follow each one of your moves.

“Honey?” he asked again, reaching for your hand. 

When you were together, not a day went by—except for those when he was away—where you wouldn’t hold hands. In the morning, when he was getting up, you tried to keep him with you a little longer. During breakfast, while he was drinking his coffee. When he said goodbye, kissing you before putting a kiss on your entangled hands. Or when you went to sleep, cuddling, with your hands on your stomach—or his, when he needed it after a rough day.

“You didn’t tell them we broke up,” you said in a low voice. It was the first time you said it out loud but also realized what it meant. And having Hotch in front of you, calling you by the nickname that followed you your whole relationship and caressing your hand with his thumb softly, helped see the truth behind that. “Emily came and picked me up because I’m your emergency contact, and I wasn’t answering my phone, and as your girlfriend, she assumed I needed to know. Because you didn’t tell anyone we weren’t together anymore.”

You finally landed your eyes on his, losing yourself in his baffled puppy look. “You’re right, I didn’t.” Hotch said. It was the first time since you came in that you noticed his voice was a little raspy. “And I’m glad it led you here.” 

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, not that you doubted he meant it. Over a year, you’ve learned to recognize Hotch’s expression. Especially the way his face was always softer when he was with you. Or how his very stoic and linear mouth always curled up in a smile around you.

Still, you had one question on your tongue. “Why?”

“Why am I glad?” he replied with a giggle. One that was sadly followed by a grimace. You watched as Hotch brought his other hand to his stomach to ease the pain. The doctor told him that even with the medicine, it would take him multiple days to get better. And until the stitches were gone, he wasn’t allowed to go back on the field.

But suddenly, the idea of being stuck at his office or at home wasn’t as awful as it was when he first thought about it. 

You sighed, focusing on his face rather than the wound he was clearly keeping hidden from you. “Why haven’t you told them?” 

Hotch took a second to look at you. The answer was obvious to him, to the point that there wasn’t a question to begin with. Over this past month, there was not a moment where he thought he had to make things clearer about your situation. Sure, he was a very private man, yet he never lied about you. He just kept things as they were. “Because I didn’t want it to be over.”

Hotch sat up against the headboard and motioned to you to sit on the bed with him. He moved his legs to give you space. And the heat you felt when he held your hand tighter to help you reminded you of the obvious attraction you had for him. Even after he had a terrible day. 

“Listen,” he started again with a tone that imposed on listening to him. That's not to say you weren't paying attention in the first place. “I know we made this decision together, and I respect it. And this month apart gave me the time to think about us.”

The first night coming home to an empty and silent house wasn’t easy for Hotch. He felt like he had failed again at keeping someone in his life. He hated that he lied to Jack, saying you had family obligations to explain your absence. He didn’t want his son to be disappointed about his dad's inability to maintain a great relationship.

And one day, Jack told him about a girl at school he had a crush on and everything he did to prove to her it was worth trying rather than giving up.

“I want to make things right with you.” Hotch pursued, bringing your hands to his chest. “Maybe I need to work on my perception of danger when it comes to you. And if so, I will do it. Because I want you.”

You always found it fascinating how his eyes often spoke louder than his words. And the look he was giving you right now was the best argument he could have found to prove you he meant it. Hotch loved you. And so did you. 

When a smile started to grow on your lips, also a silent answer to his silent confession, you noticed his lips curved too. Hotch let go of your hand to bring his own to your neck and move your face closer to him. But you stopped right before your lips touched.

“Maybe you should just consider not getting hurt the next time we argue.” You whispered, which made him laugh.

“Right, I’ll think about that.” He replied before finally guiding you to his lips.

Hotch never stopped believing he would get you back. So maybe he was right about not telling anyone about the breakup. 

[bucketbueckers]

STICK AROUND

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, fluff, slight injury

wc: 2.3k

synopsis: After an arduous year full of ACL recovery, navigating your new yet inexplicably familiar relationship, and falling back in love with Paige Bueckers (not that you ever fell out of love in the first place), Paige is finally cleared and ready to play basketball again for her senior season.

notes: yes this is the same banner. no comments at this time please! this is part 2 to come around, requested by a few anons (sorry i may have deviated from the request a lil bit) & @janaelalfysloml 🫶 i was not expecting the reception CA got - and also!! 1k notes? wtf???? that's actually insane to me, i get on here to yap and procrastinate my homework, i am so blown away by the love and how many of you guys actually like what i write 😭 i love y'all bad! so here is part 2 in honor of CA surpassing 1k notes and my anons and if you're curious - yes flattery gets you everywhere and this is definitely an open invite to keep sending asks. not proofread! i hope you all enjoy this 🫶

tags: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @avvwritesstufff @surferandskater5 @jnkbueckers

The months between August 2022 and November 2023 were full of ups and downs. This is not to say you were miserable – far from it, in fact. Transferring to UConn from UMN was the best decision you’d ever made in your entire life. You’d made more friends, your grades started improving, and you’d truly felt at home in Connecticut, making a name for yourself in some of their student organizations. It would, however, be wrong to neglect the other, considerably important factor in why your life was turning around for the better.

You and Paige were in a much better place – romantically, platonically, in every facet of being each other’s person. Your communication was a lot better. You learned to be a little more direct, to enunciate exactly how you were feeling. Paige learned patience, which is honestly a miracle in and of itself; she learned that it’s not her sole responsibility to try to protect you from outside noise or make whatever decision is best for you. The both of you had good intentions, but sometimes it’s really easy for those good intentions to get swept up in chaos and unravel before you. The both of you had to remember that you’re not just girlfriends, but you’re partners, too – you’re a team.

The year’s ups and downs weren’t on the two of you. You and Paige had “learning curve” moments as you’d called it, having to sit down and have uncomfortable, vulnerable conversations that left you feeling raw on the inside, but healthier in spite of it. Instead of being on the same page, it was as though you and Paige were the weaving lines and sloping letters, beginning on opposite sides yet meeting in the middle to form words, sentences, stories. You weren’t just there. You were together in a completely new sense, working side-by-side with the sort of ease that comes with fully knowing a person inside and out.

The troubles of the year stemmed more from her knee. Her recovery wasn’t linear. Some days were harder than others and some days were downright hell on earth. It was hardly comparable to the time her high school championship was cancelled due to covid – it was worse. The pain would leave her shuddering in bed, hiccuping through tears and there was only so much you could do. You’d spend countless hours at her side, alternating between the heating pad and the ice pack, helping her swallow her painkillers with water when it got too bad, brushing your fingers through her hair and rambling about everything and nothing to distract her. Once she’d made it out of the post-surgery, pain and soreness phase, her days were full of physical therapy and mental battles that tested the both of you. Some days you didn’t know what to say. Sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, letting her cry into your shoulder as you held her. Other days you let her talk for hours on end, entrusting you with the uncomfortable parts of her and the whispered confessions of, “I don’t know how I can trust my body after this.” 

Time was what she needed to heal. The both of you knew that. So, you stuck around, knowing that even if Paige was a mess, injured, struggling mentally and physically, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with her. As the days turn into weeks and the weeks melt into months, she gets better. You knew she would. Watching that light return to her eyes, getting to see that spring in her step, hearing the way her laughter carried across the room was healing for you, too.

As she healed, you studied. You would spend the majority of your time in bed next to her with your textbook sprawled over your lap, her fingers tracing your skin and her chin hooked over your shoulder as she watched you do homework assignments. Your majors couldn’t have been further apart from each other, so admittedly, your time together was spent with Paige asking, “What the fuck is an electrophile?” and you responding with an endeared fondness, “Electro- means negative, -phile means love, so it’s a chemical species that accepts electrons,” followed by Paige huffing and declaring, “Yeah, you got that – you can be the breadwinner and I’ll be your sexy trophy wife.”

Whether she knew it or not, Paige helped you out a lot with your assignments. She kept your head on straight when your assignments got a little overwhelming and forced you to take a break when you were getting grouchy – “It’s what you did for me,” she would remind you, pressing soothing kisses to your cheeks, and murmuring, “You wanna DoorDash take-out?” (and who were you to say no to that?)

So as time passed, Paige recovered, the both of you healed, and by the time November 2023 rolled around, Paige was fully cleared to play basketball again. She’d been ecstatic for the weeks leading up to it, talking your ear off and dragging you to the gym with her even though the two of you fooled around more than she got her shots in. Her happiness was infectious – that was what mattered to you. You knew that she worked hard to get into UConn but you also knew she worked even harder to recover from the kind of injury that tests the resilience of many athletes.

The night before their home opener against Dayton, she revives an age-old tradition that you’d spent years missing. She takes you to Dairy Queen, shooting you an exasperated look over the center console as you teasingly pressed your card into her hand. She pays – she always does – driving off with her ice cream in the cupholder as she focuses on the road and you offer her spoonfuls of the same flavor you’d been ordering since you were both seventeen. Paige serenades you at the red lights, holding your hands and belting out off-key renditions of Keyshia Cole – because that hadn’t changed over the years, either. And when she finally pulls into a secluded parking lot, nothing but the moon and the crickets as your only witness, the two of you joke and ramble and flirt for what only feels minutes but are actually hours.

She still reserves that last bite of ice cream for you, guiding her spoon to your mouth and kissing the remnants off of your lips, relishing in the way your laughter reverberates throughout her Jeep. Paige tastes like vanilla ice cream and happiness, a lingering flavor that’s intoxicating when it mixes with your strawberry and the love for Paige that you’ve kept safe in your beating heart for years. Some things truly never change at all, you think when she rests her warm palm over your thigh as she adjusts her music (and the playlist she has fittingly titled ‘Freaky ass R&B’ with the heart emoji that she uses only for you). Things evolve, and they get better, and they have a way of surprising you in the best way possible, like when Paige gazes at you as you speak, her expression soft with a realization that sounds like I’m going to love you forever and a matching look in your eyes that looks like Forever sounds perfect.

Par for the course, her eyes start drooping around midnight, her movements fluid and her hands perpetually glued to your skin. The two of you talk for a little while longer until she finally blurts, “I have something for you.”

At that, you can only raise your brow, watching her as she leans into the backseat to grab a rectangular, gift-wrapped box. Panic fills your body at the thought that you may have missed an anniversary, but you remind yourself that it’s only November; your official anniversary wasn’t until late December.

She clears her throat, the nervousness reflected in her eyes, and you can’t help but remember how she asked you to be hers for the first time. You’re not seventeen anymore, nor are you in her stepmom’s Honda Pilot, but you’re both twenty-two living a life that feels both new and familiar, basking in a love that you’ve spent your entire life cherishing.

“You can tell me anything,” you remind her, your tone soft, and that’s enough for the tension to ooze out of her shoulders.

She smiles at you, that same smile from the first time she sat down across from you in junior year AP Lit. “I know,” she murmurs. “I just wanna do this right.” Your expression melts into one of understanding. “When I first convinced you to come to one of my games, I gave you my hoodie. I remember Coach lectured me for an hour straight, ‘cause he was all like, ‘Bueckers, the school pays a lot of money for those sweatshirts, and you lost yours!’” You laugh at her imitation of her high school coach. Her eyes shine a little brighter. “Coach wasn’t stupid. I’m sure he knew what actually happened. It was hard to miss you sittin’ in the student section and cheering me on like every bucket was one you made yourself. But, honestly…I didn’t care. I liked being able to look over and see you wearin’ my name and my number. It made me feel like I wasn’t just your best friend, that I was someone you’d want to…you know, do life with. That one day you’d love me in the way I loved you even though I didn’t know it was love yet.”

“So, you came to more of my games,” she continues. “You wore my hoodie. We’d get ice cream after and we’d talk for hours. I still remember that night I almost kissed you on your porch, that afternoon in your bed when I told you we weren’t so far away, that morning when I finally kissed you in the snow, when I asked you to be my girlfriend.” Paige swallows uncomfortably. “I remember when I broke your heart. I thought I was doing you a favor, but I just hurt the both of us. I missed you for two years but I didn’t think you’d ever want me back. So I hid. But we’d text each other happy birthday, and you’d reach out after I’d injured myself. I didn’t think I deserved your attention after what I did. Then I tore my ACL, and despite everything, you came.”

“You called,” you whisper, like it was the simplest thing in the world – because it was. Your heart beats to a cadence that sounds like the dribbling rhythm of a basketball and you know that Paige’s heart beats in tandem with yours. The two of you were so inexplicably intertwined in the fabric of each other’s lives, each other’s hearts, that it was difficult to discern where you began and she ended, but you knew that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yeah,” Paige agrees, her eyes shining. “I’on care what it takes, you’re stuck with me this time around. I am never letting you go. You’re my past, present, and my future. Which is why I want you to have this.” She gives you a meaningful look and you begin to unwrap the box. When you take the lid off, you can’t stop the smile from growing on your face as you reach in, wrapping your hands around Paige’s zip-up tracksuit hoodie. It has the Husky logo and it smells just like her. You know it’s the school issued one that she wears everywhere. “It doesn’t have my name or my number on it or anything, but I got a little something embroidered on the inside.” Allowing her to guide you, she pulls back the lapel, and on the left side, directly under the Husky logo that rests over your heart, the words “Not impossible. Not for us” are stitched delicately into the fabric. You feel tears prick at your eyes as you laugh softly. “Coach is gonna kill me,” she muses, “but it’s worth it – especially since you’ll be sitting courtside in my hoodie like we’d always talked about.”

Your lip trembles, but you’re smiling widely. “Paige,” you murmur. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll stick around for my games,” she says softly. “See if I’m still good at this basketball thing after taking a year off.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, placing the hoodie back into the box and wrapping your arms around her neck. Her hands find your hips, her lips pressing into your temple, and you both melt into each other with an overwhelming amount of relief. “You know I’m there,” you say. “Always will be.”

Paige squeezes your waist, pulling back far enough to smile at you before her lips find yours, kissing you with a gentleness and a passion that hasn’t gone away, no matter how long you’ve been together or how long you’ll spend looking for each other. Her kiss feels more like a vow of forever, and when she breaks away, whispering something that sounds like an I love you, you promise the same thing.

(You’re courtside at her home opener, as promised. You watch as Geno shakes his head at Paige when he catches her staring at you, mumbling something about these damn kids, but you know that she doesn’t care and you don’t either. She reserves a spot for you at every game, at every team hangout, in that crevice of her heart that you’d tattooed your name on ages ago. Every day, you fall just a little bit further in love with Paige, and one of the things that you know with an absolute certainty is that you’re spending the rest of your life with her.)

[meadowfics]

no mercy

yandere!cho sang-woo x f!reader

one of the players grows obsessed with you since you were similar to him

warnings: yandere!sangwoo, reader/you have questionable morals since you commit a huge betrayal due to a strong sense of survival. mentions of death. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 20-23 while sang woo is 46. changed plot from season one. the original character who is not reader is player 102.

you never thought you'd end up here.

your eyes tired, wearing a green tracksuit, number 111 stitched onto your chest like a mark of your desperation.

the scent in the room was thick with fear, tension, and unspoken threats.

everyone here had something in common: debt, misery, nothing much left to lose.

you? your debt wasn’t from reckless gambling or bad business deals like most of these other people here.

yours was from surviving.

years of hospital stays, surgeries, medications.

your childhood was spent in the hospitals, making sure that your body could grow healthily.

there were bills that kept stacking up even after you were finally healthy.

they said you were lucky to have made it out alive, but now you owed more money than you could ever pay back.

so when the salesman offered you a chance, you took it.

you didn’t suffer through years of hospitals, pain, and fear just to come here and die in some twisted game.

you were going to survive. no matter what it took.

the first night in the dormitory, you kept to yourself.

somehow, she found you..

player 102.

hot pink hair, too bright for this place, too carefree for someone stuck in a death game.

"hey, you look miserable,"

she plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out.

you didn’t respond.

just kept your arms crossed, watching the others.

"so, we’re both young. everyone else here is nearly middle aged, I think we should stick together,"

she continued, ignoring your silence.

"not a fan of getting stabbed in my sleep."

you eyed her for a moment before shrugging.

"fine."

you didn’t trust her, not yet.

she was right...it was better to have someone.

however, there was another player keeping a lookout on you.

player 218. sang-woo.

the man who kept his expression unreadable but watched everything.

at first, you didn’t notice him.

however, he noticed you. immediately.

you weren’t like the others.

you weren’t crying, begging, or making desperate alliances.

you were calculating. quiet. smart.

and he liked that.

before the second game is when you knew that 218 existed.

you overheard player 067 whispering to 218, the words

"melting sugar" slipping through the cracks.

your brain clicked instantly.

dalgona.

so when the masked men led you into a room filled with symbols

circle, star, umbrella, triangle.

you didn’t hesitate.

you immediately walked toward the triangle line, yanking 102 with you.

"what the hell? why so confident?"

she asked, letting you drag her along.

"just trust me."

sang-woo saw you move first.

his lips twitched.

you knew.

not a second of hesitation.

not a moment of doubt.

you had figured it out just like him.

he almost smirked when he saw you pull your ally along without question.

good girl, he thought.

you know how to survive.

he didn’t take his eyes off you as you worked on your honeycomb.

you handled the needle too well.

precise. careful. controlled.

when your triangle popped out perfectly, you even gave 102 a little smirk.

"told you,"

you murmured to her.

sang-woo clenched his jaw, barely paying attention to his own work.

you were dangerous.

smart.

capable.

and he wanted you.

he watched the way your fingers moved, steady despite the sweat on your skin.

the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

the way your lips parted slightly as you concentrated.

you had no idea he was studying you like prey.

"don’t worry, y/n," he thought.

"i’ll protect you."

"i’ll make sure you survive. you don’t even need to know."

because in sang-woo’s mind, you were already his.

back in the dorms, you and 102, who turns out to be named anya, sat on a shared bed, splitting the bland, dry rice and kimchi they gave you.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you alive.

"so, what brought you here?"

you asked, poking at your food with the tiny spoon they handed out.

anya stretched her legs out, sighing dramatically.

"oh, you know. influencers, shopping sprees, lavish trips. that kind of stupidity."

you raised an eyebrow.

"influencer?"

she scoffed.

"was. past tense. brand deals, sponsorships, all that shit. i thought i was rich when i really wasn’t. I got "cancelled" for some stupid shit and now I am here!"

she rambled for nearly thirty minutes, talking about her reckless spending, the money she blew through, the fake friends who ditched her when she went broke.

you let her talk, not minding the conversation.

she was easy to listen to, and at least she had a sense of humor about her downfall.

she turned the question on you.

"what about you, y/n?"

you took a small bite of rice, hesitating for a second before answering.

"hospital bills."

anya paused mid-chew, glancing at you. then, she nodded.

"ohhh okay."

something inside you twisted. maybe you should have kept that to yourself.

maybe that was something she didn’t need to know.

did she see it as a weakness?

did she think you were fragile?

you didn’t know her true intentions yet.

from across the room, sang-woo was wondering the same thing.

he leaned against the metal bunk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studied you and anya.

he didn’t trust her, not when she was getting that close to you.

she seemed harmless, but so did a lot of people before they revealed their true colors.

the girl had bright pink hair.

she didn’t exactly scream dangerous.

still, he didn’t like how easily you opened up to her.

as gi-hun talked to play 001 beside him, he looked ahead at you.

anya was the first to notice him watching.

she smirked, leaning in slightly.

"don’t freak out, but that player has been staring you down since we got back from dalgona."

you frowned, confused.

"who?"

anya subtly tilted her head toward player 218.

you followed her gaze and met his eyes.

sang-woo was staring right at you.

the first thing that crossed your mind?

he's sexy.

it wasn’t just that.

he wasn’t like other people who got caught staring and looked away quickly.

he held eye contact, unbothered, as if he was waiting to see what you would do.

only when player 456 called his name did he finally turn away.

anya snorted.

"oh no. you’ve got that look in your eye."

you blinked.

"what look?"

"the ‘i think he’s hot’ look."

she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"don’t fall for it, y/n. he might stab you in your sleep."

you giggled, nudging her.

"shut up!"

even as you joked, you could still feel the heat in your face.

from across the room, sang-woo nearly smirked.

he had seen the way you looked at him.

he was going to make sure you kept looking at him.

when it was lights out, you lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the slow, steady breaths of the other players.

the dorm was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their sleep.

beside you, anya was curled up, her pink hair spilling over the pillow.

the girl's breathing was soft and even.

peaceful.

untouched by the paranoia that clawed at your mind.

you waited, making sure she was truly asleep before you carefully pushed yourself up from the bed.

this was stupid.

you knew it.

you didn’t care.

moving quickly and quietly, you weaved through the rows of bunk beds, walking across the open floor and walking through bunks until you reached the other side of the dormitory.

you knelt down in front of player 218’s bed.

sang-woo’s eyes were closed, but the moment you got close, you could feel it...he was awake.

sangwoo's breathing was too steady, his posture too tense, as if he had been expecting something.

his eyes flickered open.

and the second he saw you, he sat up.

"sorry if i woke you up,"

you whispered.

he stared at you, his face unreadable.

then, his lips twitched just slightly.

"no, you’re not."

you swallowed, caught off guard by how easily he read you.

"i just… i just wanted to talk to you."

"can’t sleep?"

his voice was low, smooth.

you shook your head.

he studied you for a second, then shifted, making space beside him.

without thinking, you scooted closer, sitting down next to him on the bed.

both of you sat in silence, eyes scanning the dark dormitory, watching the scattered bodies of sleeping players.

"what brings you here?"

he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

you hesitated, already regretting your answer before it even left your mouth.

"hospital bills."

as soon as you said it, you cringed.

you had made the same mistake again.

telling people things they didn’t need to know.

you had no idea what sang-woo’s intentions were, no idea what kind of person he really was.

when you glanced at him, there was nothing threatening in his expression.

he nodded, and his voice was calm when he said,

"debt."

you nodded in return. most people were here for that.

suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit you, making your body feel heavier.

you let out a soft yawn, rubbing your arm.

sang-woo noticed immediately.

"you should get some sleep,"

he said.

you sighed, not wanting to go back just yet.

"i don’t know if i can."

he thought for a moment, then said,

"i’ll walk you back."

you looked at him, surprised.

the idea of him walking with you made you feel… safe.

some kind of invisible shield was around you just by being near him.

you nodded, and together, you slipped back through the darkness.

when you reached your bed, you laid down beside anya, adjusting under the thin blanket.

sang-woo crouched beside you, his presence lingering.

you blinked up at him sleepily.

"you don’t have to stay."

but he did.

he stayed for another half hour, sitting silently by your bed, watching.

making sure no one tried anything stupid.

making sure no one touched his girl.

later on after the tug of war game, something inside you shifted.

the feeling of your body being pulled toward death, the sheer force it took to survive, the way you had to trust complete strangers just to stay alive

it made you realize something.

trust was temporary.

survival was everything.

you could feel some of your morals slipping, piece by piece.

it was only a matter of time before trust meant nothing.

anya didn’t seem to take the same lesson from it.

she was freaking out.

you noticed how she started muttering under her breath, shaking more often, picking at her nails until they bled.

she wasn’t built for this.

sang-woo? he was the opposite.

cold. calculating. calm.

you found yourself sticking closer to him, not entirely sure why, but knowing he was the safest option to be around.

when it was time for the glass bridge game, all hell broke loose.

you were in front of sang-woo, anya was in front of you, and some random man was in front of anya.

the tension was suffocating.

one by one, players were screaming, falling to their deaths, bodies smacking against the floor below like insects against a windshield.

the only ones left were 456, 067, sang-woo, you, anya, and the man at the front.

the man was trying to inspect the glass, claiming he could tell which one was weak, taking his sweet time.

the clock was running out.

three minutes left.

anya snapped, her voice sharp, full of panic.

"can you take any fucking longer?"

the man turned back, offended, but didn’t say anything.

two minutes, thirty seconds.

finally, he made his move.

he chose wrong.

the man's scream echoed, his body disappeared into the void below, glass shards flying.

"all of that for nothing,"

player 067 muttered.

you nodded, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

now, it was anya’s turn.

she froze.

the slavic's hands were shaking, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps.

you tried to keep her calm.

"anya, it’s okay, you’ll pick the right one."

she didn’t move.

sang-woo suddenly stepped onto your glass tile.

your breath caught in your throat.

for a split second, you thought.. was he going to push me off?

no.

instead, he pressed himself right behind you, his body warm, solid, steady.

the man's big hand found your arm, gripping it gently, keeping you in place as you both watched anya.

"anya, come on!"

your patience was wearing thin.

anya sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting between the two tiles in front of her.

"i’m sorry, i’m trying to guess."

two minutes.

finally, she jumped.

the right one.

everyone let out a breath of relief as they followed onto the next safe glass ahead.

except sang-woo.

he stayed right behind you onto the next glass.

you smirked slightly at the way his body heat pressed into yours.

one row left.

you looked at anya.

"okay, you got it right last time, now do it again."

you hear player 456 from the far back yell.

she was trembling, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"i don’t—i don’t know."

one minute, thirty seconds.

"anya, pick one, goddammit!"

your voice cracked, frustration leaking through.

"i’m sorry,"

she whispered, eyes darting between the last two panels.

one minute.

something inside you snapped.

you couldn’t wait anymore.

sang-woo shifted slightly, sensing it.

you turned, moving him off your back slightly.

then, you did something terrible.

you jumped onto the same glass tile as anya.

the russian's breath hitched, her whole body going rigid as you stood right behind her.

"anya, i’m sorry. forgive me."

she barely had time to turn her head before you shoved her forward.

she hit the glass.

it shattered.

anya's scream pierced through the air, her arms flailing as she plunged onto the ground below.

the pink hair was the last thing you saw before she disappeared.

you didn’t even breathe before hopping onto the correct glass, your heart hammering against your ribs.

twenty seconds left.

everyone else followed...sang-woo, 067, 456.

all of you had survived.

when you turned back, searching for any sign of anya’s body, it was too far down.

you couldn’t process it before—

the entire bridge exploded.

glass shards flew in every direction, slicing through your skin like razor blades.

you shielded your face, feeling the sting of cuts across your body, blood trickling down your arms.

everything blurred.

you felt yourself stumble, someone’s hand grabbing your waist, holding you upright.

sang-woo.

his grip was firm, keeping you from falling.

when 456 and 067 walked ahead, sangwoo stayed beside you.

the man's lips were close to your ear, his breath steady while yours was ragged.

"you did what you had to do."

your hands were shaking.

anya was gone.

the girl who had slept beside you.

the girl who had joked with you.

you pushed her to her death.

the worst part?

you didn’t regret it.

by the end of the last game.. the dorms were empty now.

just you and sang-woo.

no more screams.

no more bloodstained floors.

no more players, just two survivors standing in the aftermath of hell.

you had won.

you both had.

the massive room that once held hundreds of people was now eerily silent.

the beds, the sheets, the steel walls.. it all looked the same, but it felt different.

everyone else was dead.

you turned, facing sang-woo.

the man's expression was unreadable, always was.

the man's eyes locked on you like he was memorizing this moment.

"so," you exhaled, voice hoarse.

"we made it."

he nodded.

"we did."

"and we split the money."

the words left your lips, but something about them felt off.

sang-woo agreed.

he had said it himself.

you would split the money, go your separate ways, start over.

the way he looked at you now...

you knew that was never his plan.

"right,"

sang-woo murmured, stepping closer.

"we split the money."

sangwoo's tone was smooth, but there was a finality to it.

you understood exactly what that meant.

he wasn’t letting you go.

he had killed for you.

067. 456. gone.

you weren’t stupid.

he and 456 had some sort of a connection, something deeper than just the games.

maybe they were friends? you had no clue since he did not tell you.

shoot, he did not even tell you 456 and 067's real names.

you had seen the way they looked at each other before it all came crashing down.

however, sang-woo chose you.

he had to.

there was no hesitation when he ended 456.

no second thoughts when 067 bled out.

he did it all for you.

the 45.6 billion wasn’t just his money.

it wasn’t even just your money.

it was yours together.

blood money. tainted, filthy, but yours.

"i hope you understand,"

sang-woo said, his fingers brushing against your wrist, his touch deceptively gentle.

"i didn’t do all of this just to watch you walk away."

sangwoo's grip tightened slightly, firm enough to send a clear message.

you were his.

the man's breath was warm as he leaned in, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"you're coming with me."

you didn’t argue.

you didn’t fight it.

deep down, you had already accepted it.

you didn’t mind at all.

masterlist

[sugarwarachan]

(･ω･)つ andy's notes: feeling sad about the todoroki brothers and wrote about shouto pining hard. cws: angsty, shouto's messy thoughts on touya x nurse!reader, the todoroki family's wack-ass dynamics

the last time shouto ever really held his brother was years ago, when touya was exhausted and dying and angry, the boiling-hot slick of his skin rolling icy-hot under shouto's palm.

it's hard to remember how much touya hated him, even harder still to reconcile the image of his brother now with the man brought into the hospital all those years ago. his rehabilitation has been slow. countless surgeries and months of physical therapy have finally brought him a degree of relief, but the prosthetics still irritate his skin and it's a rare day when he can feed himself.

"i want more than fuckin' jello."

shouto can't help but chuckle at his brother's tone from across the room. it's always better to keep his distance when touya's back from surgery.

"too bad," is your inevitable reply. you've been touya's nurse for the past year and a half, a position normally held for a week or so. touya noted you've stayed on this long because you don't take any shit. "you got out of the OR only a few hours ago." you spoon a bite into his mouth, his scowl at being waited-upon like this evident.

shouto doesn't understand his displeasure. if anything, it looks...nice. domestic. something soft and hazy that neither brother knows much about, which is how he realizes his expression matches touya's fervent, hopeful longing.

he turns away to check his phone, ears burning.

visiting his brother is a necessity. shouto wouldn't divert from this routine any more than he would stop writing to his mother, but his brain's commitment has not caught up with his heart.

"why do they keep dragging me back there?" touya snarls. his mood is particularly foul today; the pain must be bad. "it's not like they're gonna make this ugly mug any prettier."

"improving your quality of life matters," you say, a bite in your voice. "and stop calling yourself ugly. it's not healthy."

you turn to him calmly, a gentle smile on your face. he wipes his own clear. "shouto, tell your brother how much words matter."

touya saves him from replying, which is best, because shouto never quite knows what to say after you ask something of him. "god woman, i get enough of this in therapy. give it a rest."

the set of your jaw is stubborn as you stare him down.

"fine. i suppose you'll just have to record a journal entry later to help you better reflect." you smile sweetly, a hint of flirtation lighting up your eyes. "well, i'll leave you two alone now. come get me when you're done," you say to shouto before closing the door behind you.

"weaponizing a man's own therapy journal against him, honestly." touya shakes his head, a dopey grin spreading across his face. "can you believe her?"

shouto might not always know how to respond to people, but he knows that question isn't meant for him to answer.

they catch up in their awkward, patched-up way, and when he stands to leave, he tries not to let the look of relief on touya's face hurt too much.

you're waiting outside with more jello. a playful grimace dances on your lips. "his favorite," you say, shaking the cup and shouldering your way into the room.

"more?!" he hears touya shout, followed by your giggle, high and bright.

you're good for him. in his way, touya is good for you, too.

and yet -

his desire to snatch away one of the good things in his brother's life is probably the most villainous thing about himself.

he doesn't have the stomach for betrayal, doesn't even really have the will, but thoughts swirl in his head nonetheless. shouto can't imagine a world where he can live outside of his family's name, one where he might fall in love and marry in a quiet ceremony.

but he can imagine those things for touya.

and he tell himself that's enough.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the taste of you

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "there is never a time or place for true love. it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single, flashing, throbbing moment." - the truth about forever by sarah dessen

rated m | 1717 words | cw: blood, canon adjacent events | tags: eddie lives, steve has a crush on eddie, first kiss, getting together, post-vecna

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The sky is red. It’s dark, the air is damp, and Steve hates the Upside Down.

This place genuinely sucks.

It sucks even more when he can hear Dustin yelling, but can’t see him.

It sucks the most when he finally sees why Dustin is yelling.

Steve’s heart stops, but his legs don’t.

He runs.

He runs so fast, his legs nearly give out.

They do, when he sees how bad it is.

Eddie’s dying. He’s bleeding too much.

Dustin knows it, that’s why he sounds like he’s in pain. Dustin’s seen enough near-death and death alike. Steve’s not letting him see it now, not with this guy he looks up to.

Steve starts CPR, wipes blood off his lips before he starts compressions. It’s a taste he’ll never forget.

When he thought about tasting Eddie, it wasn’t like this.

He keeps going, and the time keeps ticking, and Eddie’s heart doesn’t quite beat right, but he is breathing. Steve has no idea how he’s going to keep him breathing while they get him out. He can’t think about that when he’s trying to maintain his own oxygen levels to keep Eddie alive.

He’s keeping Eddie alive.

“Somebody get us out!” Steve manages to yell before he starts giving Eddie the air from his lungs.

Nancy is yelling and Dustin is screaming about not leaving them, but then Robin’s hand is on his back.

“Let me take over for a minute,” she says, voice shaking with nerves. She knows CPR because Steve insisted she learn after the Russians. He insisted everyone learn, but he hasn’t been able to teach everyone yet. He leaves her space to take over.

Nancy is tugging Dustin back to the trailer. He knows she’s coming up with a plan.

He wipes blood from his lips.

Nancy is gone for long enough that Steve starts taking over again with CPR. Robin is keeping an eye on things, making sure she doesn’t need to tap in again, making sure no rogue bats are coming back for seconds. Or thirds by the look of Eddie’s mangled body.

A warm hand touches his back as he’s trying to keep the life inside Eddie’s chest.

He pulls away. He wipes blood from his lips.

“C’mon kid, I gotta get him out of here,” Hopper is nudging him away. He doesn’t know how or why Hop is here. He doesn’t ask. He just needs him to save Eddie.

Hopper takes Eddie into his arms, lifts him up, and starts walking to the trailer.

Robin is holding his hand while they follow behind.

Eddie’s eyes open as they walk and Steve sees it, feels it.

There’s a zap of electricity between them.

Steve tastes blood again.

He wipes his mouth, but there’s nothing there.

Eddie’s eyes close again, but Steve doesn’t look away.

****

Steve’s head is pounding, but he refuses to leave. Robin brought him water and a sandwich about an hour ago, tried to convince him to go home and shower, take some Ibuprofen. He refused.

He wipes his mouth. There’s nothing there.

He wants to taste Eddie without blood in the way.

He wants to know Eddie without the fear of the police arresting him or Vecna cursing him or bats eating him alive.

He wants to touch Eddie with soft hands, knowing that he’s breathing on his own.

He wants to know what it’s like to love Eddie.

But Eddie’s still in recovery from surgery, and no one is allowed to see him, not even his uncle. Wayne is soft spoken, kind, but won’t take any nonsense from anyone. He gives Steve a nod every time a nurse gives him an update, a silent confirmation that Eddie’s still alive.

It’s enough for him for now, but his chest pulls tight at the thought that the only time he’d have Eddie close is when he’s dying.

“Mr. Munson?” A doctor calls for Wayne.

Steve knows better than to walk over there, but his ears tune in as much as possible.

“He’s in a room. I’d be shocked if he wakes up anytime in the next 24 hours. It was touch and go for a while, but we managed to find all of the internal bleeding and stop it. The external wounds are stitched up, but the scarring will be extensive. He had a skin graft done on his side, and that will be a painful healing process for the next few months. He currently has a fever, so we’re monitoring for infection. Whatever attacked him did enough damage that I am concerned he may have permanent muscular damage. It’s hard to know until he wakes up exactly how functional he will be, but be prepared for the worst,” the doctor explains. He’s straightforward, facts only, and Steve kind of appreciates it.

“The worst being?” Wayne asks.

“We don’t think he’ll be paralyzed, but enough damage has been done to his left side that he may be unable to walk. His neck had enough damage that speaking may be very painful or impossible for him. We aren’t going to know about his ability to hear or see until he wakes up, but his left ear was bleeding, which leads me to believe his eardrum is damaged enough for some hearing loss to be present. We just want you to be prepared.”

“Right. Anything else?”

Steve is standing much closer now, hadn’t even realized he moved until he was practically right behind Wayne.

“Not at this time. You may go back to sit with him, but I do ask that you don’t touch him. We don’t want to increase the risk of infection, and we don’t know what parts of his body are hurting at this time.”

Wayne nods. The doctor tells him the room number and general directions and walks away.

Steve wipes his mouth.

“Well? You comin’?” Wayne asks him.

Steve jumps. “Huh?”

“I expect you wanna see the boy after all you did to make sure he lived,” Wayne is smiling at him.

“But they said…”

“I heard him. I’d like to see ‘em stop us. They got a lot goin’ on right now anyway. Won’t even notice.”

So Steve follows Wayne to Eddie’s room, which is dimly lit and at the end of the hall, out of the way of a lot of the chaos happening around them. Wayne hasn’t asked questions, almost like he knows he shouldn’t. Steve won’t be able to answer.

Eddie’s asleep, and a lot of his body is covered in bandages. What isn’t still looks dirty, his skin caked with remnants of mud and dirt, with dried blood.

Steve wipes his mouth, grateful there’s no blood on his lips.

Wayne sits in the chair next to his bed. Steve stands by the door.

He feels like he’s guarding him, doing everything he can to protect him while he rests.

****

Eddie wakes up four days later.

He can move, but it’s extremely painful. He can hear, and see, and mostly talk, though his voice is raspy from disuse. Steve’s been in and out at Wayne’s insistence.

He sleeps at home for a few hours, showers, eats, then comes back.

No one comments on his presence, not even Eddie.

Not at first.

He stays in the background while the kids visit and find normalcy where they can. He stays out of the way when Wayne visits, happy just to see Eddie giving him a hard time from his bed. He keeps quiet when the doctors and nurses and Hop all sit down to talk to him about his progress.

Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by him hanging around. If anything, he seems to be trying to entertain him, maybe keep him here longer. Steve feels a fondness settle in his chest, and it stays there, makes a home in his lungs and his heart.

Eddie is reading, alone for the first time all day and enjoying the quiet. Well, he’s alone in the sense that Steve is sitting off to the side, not bothering him.

Steve wipes his mouth.

“You do that a lot,” Eddie says without looking up from his book.

“Do what?” Steve didn’t think he did anything. He’s just sitting, making sure Eddie’s alive.

“Wipe your mouth. I don’t remember you doing that before,” Eddie sets the book down on his lap. “You’ve done it six times in the last hour.”

“Oh,” Steve frowns. He doesn’t remember doing it that much. “Sorry.”

Eddie searches his face for something. He nods when he finds whatever it was.

“Come here,” Eddie sets his book on the table that’s still holding his dinner tray. They haven’t been by to pick it up yet.

Steve stands and walks closer to the bed.

“Closer.”

Steve leans in.

Eddie grabs the back of his head, firm but pulling him in gently. Steve could pull back if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t want to stop it.

Eddie’s lips brush his. It’s enough pressure to be considered a kiss, but it’s over so quickly, Steve isn’t sure he registers it right away.

“There.”

“There?” Steve asks, resisting the urge to immediately lean in for more.

“It’s just my lips now. Nothing else. Nothing to wipe away.”

Steve blinks. Did someone tell Eddie about…?

“Robin told me about the CPR.” Eddie smirks. “Well, actually she said that she had to taste my blood and she would never forgive me for it, which led to me asking why Wayne told me you performed CPR. Then she explained and I noticed your little nervous habit.”

Eddie’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip. No one’s ever touched him like this, so soft, so gentle.

“I’m here. There’s no blood where it shouldn’t be. You saved me. You and Robin saved me.”

Steve’s lips part, his breath catches.

“Can I check?”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, Stevie.”

Steve kisses him, feels his lips moving against his, and it’s different. All he tastes is Eddie’s spit, the garlic from the mashed potatoes he had for dinner, and the hint of something spicy, maybe the soda Wayne snuck him after the nurse left earlier.

No blood.

No dirt.

No sweat.

Just Eddie.

And that moment is all Steve needs to know he loves the taste of Eddie.

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 13

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate, Kyra, is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: (+18) SMUT. face sitting, scissoring, fingering (r giving everything)– the holy trinity. Plus Y/n's first step and run, ugly matching socks, and Leah being annoying as usual.

Word count: 8k

a/n: this is a scheduled post, I'm working.

Masterlis

..

It took Y/n a few days to open up about her fear.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Kyra had come back from training. Y/n didn’t go that day, no reason to go to physio if your exercise involved walking and you were too scared to walk.

Kyra opened the door, took off her shoes and threw her keys onto the counter and went to the sofa, where Y/n was lying. Kyra joined her, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.

For a long while, neither spoke. Y/n stared straight ahead at the TV, just like the past few days,  her gaze unfocused, lost in a world of her own thoughts.

Finally, almost too quietly to be heard, Y/n muttered, “I’m scared it’ll break again.”

Kyra turned her head slowly, at first surprised to hear Y/n’s voice, but then her heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/n’s voice. 

She didn’t say anything right away; she didn’t need to. Instead, she reached out, resting her hand gently on Y/n’s leg, offering silent comfort.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, and she blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t cry–at least not in the way most people would expect–but there was something raw in her voice when she added.

“I know it’s dumb. I just... I keep thinking if I try to walk and something goes wrong…that’s it.”

Kyra’s voice was gentle when she spoke, her hand still resting on Y/n’s leg. 

“It’s not dumb.” She nudged a little closer, her knee brushing against Y/n’s, her voice was soothing. 

“You’ve been through a lot, but you’ve done everything right, you had surgery, physio, medication–there’s no reason for it to break again.

Y/n nodded, the weight on her shoulders lightening just a fraction. 

She stayed still, letting Kyra’s touch and words sink in. The tension wasn’t gone, but it felt easier to breathe, to lean into the warmth Kyra offered.

Kyra exhaled through her nose and gave her a gentle squeeze, her voice firm but filled with warmth. 

“But when you’re ready, really ready, you’ll take that step. No rush, okay?”

Y/n nodded once, feeling more at ease, but not completely. 

It would take time. And that was okay. They didn’t have to rush at this moment.

Kyra could tell that something had shifted, just the smallest bit.

 Y/n wasn’t the scared cat she used to be when it came to these moments. She wasn’t pushing away or retreating. 

She was leaning in, allowing Kyra to be a place of comfort.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a quiet space for healing. 

They just leaned into the sofa, the proximity between them a silent reminder that they were in this together.

Kyra rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder, rubbing small, soothing circles on her arm. The weight of Y/n’s confession hung in the air, fragile and real. 

After a moment, Kyra pressed a soft kiss to Y/n’s temple, her lips lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/n shifted a little, pressing her cheek into Kyra’s shoulder. “You know what would make me feel better?”

Kyra perked up, a playful glint entering her eyes. “Oh my god. Pizza?”

Y/n blinked, looking at her with an almost shocked expression. “No?”

“Okay, okay...tacos?” Kyra tried again.

“No,” Y/n answered slowly, fighting the small smile creeping onto her lips. “Stop guessing. I’m trying to be sexy right now.”

Kyra blinked, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh,” she said, her voice soft and amused.

Y/n grinned and shifted, crawling into Kyra’s lap. Her hands found their way to Kyra’s waist, fingers brushing across the fabric of her shirt. 

“Yeah,” she murmured, her lips brushing just barely against Kyra’s as she leaned in closer. “Unless you would prefer pizza…”

Kyra smirked, already pulling her closer, their mouths meeting in a slow, heated kiss. 

It was soft at first, exploring, but something flickered in the air, a shift that made the kiss deepen, more urgent, as Y/n’s hands slid beneath Kyra’s shirt.

Y/n took her time, no rush, savouring the sensation of Kyra’s body beneath her hands, enjoying the way Kyra responded to her touch.

Her hands quickly were on Kyra’s tits, cupping them as her thumb caressed the skin just below her breasts.

Her mouth moved from Kyra’s lips to her jaw, then lower, tracing a path down her throat.

 Every little touch was intentional, drawing out the moment, making Kyra gasp, her hands tangling in Y/n’s hair, nails scraping gently against her scalp.

“Love,” Kyra breathed, voice trembling, “you’re teasing”

Y/n smiled against her skin, the teasing tone in her voice never faltering. “Just…let me enjoy you.”

And Kyra didn’t need to answer. 

She didn’t have to, because the way her body responded told Y/n everything she needed to know. 

When Y/n finally pulled back, her breath shallow and her cheeks flushed, she gave Kyra a wicked grin, her eyes dark with desire. 

She moved back onto the sofa, sitting up, and then lying down on top of a cushion. 

“Sit on my face,” Y/n says casually, as if she were asking for a glass of water.

Kyra blinked. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said, sit–” Y/n licked her lips, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “--on my face.”

Kyra’s mouth opened and then closed, her breath catching in her throat. “You’re still technically recovering–”

“My mouth works fine”. Y/n raised an eyebrow, her voice low, dripping with confidence. “I thought you would know that by now.” 

The weight of the request made Kyra’s legs feel like jelly, but her body was already reacting to the heat between them.

She wasn’t exactly shy with Y/n, no, they were past that point, but this felt different. 

This was vulnerable in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just physical. It was intimate in a way that made her feel exposed. Especially because she didn’t have much experience with it.

Kyra hesitated, her face flushing slightly as she glanced down at Y/n. 

“I’ve, um… never done this before,” she admitted, voice quiet. “You know… sat on someone’s face.”

Y/n smiled softly. “I know, baby,” she said, voice low and tender, her hands smoothing over Kyra’s thighs. 

“You’ve told me. But I’m here, okay? We’ll take it slow.” She gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Kyra was silent, looking down.

She wanted to. Bloody hell, she needed it, but it was like the fear of messing it up, of not doing it right, was stronger.

“Kyra,” she murmured, her voice soft, “it’s okay. I’ve got you. You can trust me. Just… come here.”

Y/n held onto Kyra’s hips, making the girl hover over them. Y/n kissed her, very lazily, trying to show her she could relax, let go. 

Y/n stopped the kiss, her hands were on Kyra's jaw, holding her in place so she could look at her. 

“It’s just me and you–we can experience things together, yeah?”

That simple reassurance, warm and grounding, made Kyra’s heart flutter. 

She nodded slowly.

“Good, baby,” Y/n said gently. Her voice didn’t have an ounce of teasing, just patience, tenderness. “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me?”

Kyra blushed, but nodded again. “My underwear too?”

“Yes, love.”

Kyra tried to ignore Y/n’s lingering gaze as she undressed completely.

She stood in front of Y/n, hands playing with her own fingers.

“Now, you sit,” Y/n said, putting her head straight.

“O-okay.”

Kyra took one step closer to Y/n, and then she placed both her legs on either side of Y/n’s body. Y/n held her hips and helped Kyra lower herself, so she was straddling Y/n’s head.

Kyra hovered for a moment, uncertainty still lingering in her mind, but something in the way Y/n looked up at her, so sure, made it all feel right.

Y/n grinned. “You can sit.”

“What if I crush you?” 

“I promise you won’t crush me.”

Kyra’s breath hitched, a nervous laugh slipping from her lips. “You sure?”

Y/n’s gaze was intense, but her voice was steady and soft. “I’m so sure.”

And with that, Kyra finally gave in, lowering herself fully onto Y/n. 

The shift in weight was subtle, her breath hitching as Y/n’s warm hands immediately found her thighs, fingers gripping firmly, grounding her. 

Y/n’s mouth hovered over Kyra’s cunt, kissing it gently, her breath hot against her sensitive skin.

The moment felt like a delicate dance, a mix of vulnerability and desire. Slow, steady, and maddening, as Y/n pressed her lips to the soft skin of Kyra’s inner thigh, the touch was light but still deliberate.

Kyra’s breath faltered, her body trembling just slightly, her legs instinctively tightening around Y/n as the girl finally found her clit, sucking it slowly, teasing.

“T-this is so good–” Kyra whispered, voice thick with surprise and need as she moved her hips against Y/n’s mouth, rubbing her cunt against her face. “Baby–”

Y/n smiled against her skin, a slow, teasing grin, her mouth tracing a tender path up Kyra’s leg. But she didn’t say anything. 

She could’t, she had a whole meal right in front of her face.

Her hands moved in lazy, intricate patterns, tracing the curve of Kyra’s thigh, fingertips brushing the soft, warm skin as she licked at Kyra’s hole.

“Yeah? Feels nice?” Y/n murmured, voice low, her breath mingling with the heat of the moment. 

The question hung in the air, full of both challenge and tenderness, as she waited for Kyra’s response. She didn’t do anything until she got a reaction from Kyra.

The girl finally nodded, her breath catching in her throat as Y/n’s mouth continued its slow, deliberate journey. 

Every movement was careful, teasing, and Kyra felt herself melting under the pressure of it. The heat of Y/n’s lips, the gentle pressure of her hands guiding her.

As Y/n’s mouth moved higher, then lower again, she could feel her body reacting, every sensitive spot igniting under Y/n’s touch. Her clit, her hole–everywhere.

Y/n knew how to touch her, how to please her in any position possible.

 Kyra found herself gasping, her legs trembling beneath the steady rhythm.

“Baby,” Kyra breathed, her voice thick with desire, as Y/n’s lips brushed against her again. “You’re really–fuck–good at this.”

Y/n’s answer was only in the continued pressure of her mouth, slowly, in a way that made Kyra’s head spin. 

There was no rush, just the steady building tension as Y/n expertly navigated every inch of her, knowing just how to push her, how to pull her in deeper with each touch. 

Her hands, firm but gentle. 

Kyra felt herself surrendering completely, her body trembling with anticipation, with need, and Y/n was right there, never once faltering, her tongue was warm and wet, working in and out of Kyra’s cunt.

And then, when Kyra couldn’t take it any longer, her body shook with the release, a broken sound escaping her lips before she could stop it. 

The waves of sensation hit her all at once, a rush of heat and pressure, and she let herself go, her hands gripping the back of the sofa, her whole body trembling beneath Y/n’s touch.

Y/n didn’t stop. She didn’t pull away. She held her, guiding her through it with soft, steady kisses. 

Her mouth was gentle, slow, her hands never leaving Kyra’s skin as the tension slowly melted away. 

Kyra’s chest heaved with every breath, her body still shuddering, but Y/n was there, right there with her, making sure she felt every moment, every breath, as she settled back into the softness of the moment.

Y/n helped Kyra’s body off of when the girl went limp, bringing her head to her chest as Kyra lay on top of Y/n’s body.

Y/n’s kisses were like a balm, soothing, comforting, as she let Kyra’s body relax into the post-orgasmic haze. 

She kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips, slow and easy, just letting her breathe. 

The silence that followed was filled with only the sound of their breathing.

Kyra’s body finally stilled, and Y/n gave her a little more time, never rushing, just holding her close, letting her come back to herself.

As Kyra slumped forward, breathless and spent, Y/n ran her fingers gently up and down her thighs, her touch soothing and slow.

Her lips pressed soft kisses to Kyra’s shoulder, a lingering, affectionate gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. 

Kyra melted further into her, her breath coming in short, staggered gasps, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile, savouring the feeling of having her so completely.

“So,” Y/n said after a long stretch of comfortable silence, her voice thick with satisfaction, low and warm, “first-time thoughts?”

Kyra let out a stunned, breathless laugh, her whole body still trying to come down from the rush. 

“Why the fuck did I wait so long to do that?” she asked, her voice shaking with both disbelief and a lingering haze of pleasure.

Y/n grinned, her lips curling into a smug smile. 

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she teased, her tone playful but undeniably proud. 

She didn’t move from where she had her hands resting on Kyra, keeping her close, not wanting to break the moment just yet.

Kyra, still wrapped in the haze of the experience, shifted slightly to press her face against Y/n’s chest, her arms winding around Y/n’s waist as if holding on to the aftereffects. 

The warmth between them was suffocatingly perfect, the quiet comfort of the room surrounding them like a soft cocoon. 

Footy, blissfully unaware of the intensity of the moment, walked into the room and curled up on the couch in his usual spot, his soft purring filling the space like the calm rhythm of a lullaby.

Y/n looked down at Kyra, her smile softening as she ran a hand gently through Kyra’s tangled hair. 

They stayed like that for a while, just existing in the shared silence, both of them feeling the slow return of normality after the rush.

After a while, Y/n broke the silence, letting out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh.

“Okay,” she said with a pout. “I’ve earned pizza now.”

Kyra snorted against her, not lifting her head from Y/n’s chest, still too comfortable to make any effort to move. 

“You earned a trophy,” she teased, her voice muffled but light-hearted.

Y/n let out a fake gasp of indignation, pulling Kyra a little closer into her embrace, her voice sweet but playful. 

“I’d like both,” she said, her tone feigning sweetness as she ran her hands gently up Kyra’s back, her fingertips grazing the skin there.

“Pizza and a trophy. Please. I’ve been working hard, you know.”

Kyra shifted slightly, looking up at Y/n with a playful smile of her own.

“I’m sure the pizza will do just fine,” she replied, but there was a glint in her eyes, a teasing spark that matched Y/n’s.

Kyra groaned but reached for her phone. “Do you want the same order, or are you going to ruin everything with pineapple?”

“I want the same,” Y/n said with a mischievous smile. “And maybe another round later. You know, for recovery.”

Kyra’s eyes narrowed with feigned suspicion, but the playful glint in them betrayed her. 

“For recovery, huh? Are you sure you’re not just a little greedy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n’s grin turned wicked, and she leaned down to brush her lips across Kyra’s again, just a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through her. 

“Maybe,” she murmured, “but I’m definitely worth it.”

Kyra let out a soft laugh, her head falling back against the couch as she closed her eyes, savouring the peace of the moment. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice muffled but affectionate. 

..

The quiet hum of the physio room was almost suffocating as Y/n stared down at her braced leg, the weight of it all pressing against her chest. 

She had promised herself she would take just one step. It didn’t have to be a full stride, didn’t have to be graceful. 

Just one. 

But her heart pounded, anxiety gnawing at the edges of her resolve. If she could take that one step, maybe–just maybe–she could silence the fear that had been plaguing her since the injury.

Her body was screaming for her not to try, and her mind kept telling her it was too soon. 

It wasn’t even about walking. It was about the fear–the fear of breaking something, of falling, of losing control again. To have to restart her recovery all over again.

She had told herself she wouldn’t cry, but the rawness of it all felt too much. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“Come on, Y/n!” Leah’s voice broke through the silence, chipper as ever. “Go on! I’ve pressed record like five times already!”

Y/n’s head snapped up to glare at her, eyebrows knitted in frustration. 

“Leah, I didn’t ask you to record it,” she said, her voice low, tinged with irritation.

Leah didn’t seem fazed by her tone. 

Instead, she was standing there, phone in hand, ready to capture the moment. 

She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, but I'm gonna do it anyway. This is important.”

Kyra, who was sitting beside Leah, shot her a look before turning her attention to Y/n. 

“I asked her to,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “And I told her to record it because it was important.”

Y/n couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, her hands tightening around the edge of the physio table. 

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, but before she could say anything else, a familiar, calming presence appeared in the room.

Alessia casually draped her arms around Leah’s shoulders, her lips curling into a soft, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” she said gently, her voice a steady comfort, “You can take one step. Just one. Go on.”

Y/n hesitated, her heart thudding in her chest. The room felt like it was closing in around her, the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. 

But Alessia’s words, her warmth, made something shift inside Y/n. Slowly, she lifted her foot, taking a small, tentative step forward. 

It was shaky, but it was a step.

She looked up at the others, eyes wide, a small, almost invisible smile forming on her lips. 

“Okay”, Y/n breathed. “One step.”

Leah, still holding her phone, looked genuinely impressed. “See? Told you. You’re gonna crush it, Y/n.”

Alessia, standing just behind her, leaned in and whispered with a mischievous grin, “Baby, maybe don’t say the word crush next to her right now.”

Y/n shot Alessia a quick, deadpan look. “I swear, if any of you bring up that word one more time…”

Kyra couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, love, your bones are still safe.”

Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, feeling a mix of exhaustion and pride wash over her. 

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I guess they are.”

Alessia gave her a gentle nudge, still keeping her arm around Leah. 

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Alessia said with a wink. “One step at a time. Just like that.”

Y/n didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced down at her leg, a quiet determination settling in her chest. 

But then, sat back down immediately after taking three more steps–her face dead serious now.

“Okay, someone needs to check my leg. I think the bone might be shattered.”

One of the physios blinked at her. “Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Y/n replied, completely monotone.

Another physio crouched beside her, eyeing her leg. “Swelling? Bruising?”

Y/n shook her head. “Looks fine.”

The two physios exchanged a look.

“Then I don’t think we need to examine your leg,” one of them said gently, with that polite but slightly exasperated tone they reserved for dramatic athletes.

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but didn’t even get the chance.

“Please just look at it,” Kyra cut in, her voice firm but tired, raising a hand like she was in court. “For my peace of mind. She thinks her tibia’s going to shatter every time she blinks too hard.”

The physio gave a slow nod like they finally understood the assignment. “Ah. Emotional support bone check. Got it.”

Leah, behind the camera, snorted.

Y/n glared at all of them. “You’re all the worst support group I have ever seen.”

“Correct,” Alessia chirped, stretching her arms. “But we love you, so it’s okay.”

With a theatrical sigh, the physio knelt down to examine Y/n’s leg, poking around with exaggerated care. “Mmhmm. Yes, very… leg-like.”

Y/n remained dead silent, staring ahead like this was the most crucial medical evaluation of her life.

The physio finally tapped the brace and smiled. “Y/n, I’m happy to inform you that your bone is completely fine. Fully intact. Not even slightly broken.”

Y/n stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How sure?”

“A hundred per cent sure.”

Y/n leaned forward slightly, the dramatic tension rising. “Would you trust this tibia over your mom’s life?”

Kyra quickly stepped in, wrapping her arms around Y/n from behind, pressing a soft kiss to her ear to quiet her. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“I just want to be–”

Kyra kissed her again, quick and soft.  “You have very strong bones, okay? The best bones.”

Leah gagged dramatically. “Ew. Alright, this recording just turned into porn. Please, delete it. It’s disgusting.”

Alessia chimed in, still filming. “I’m editing this with soft music and sending it to your mum. She’ll love it.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the smallest smile tugged at her lips.

Kyra pulled her in a little tighter, grinning. “But you do have the best bones.”

..

As the days passed, Y/n and Kyra slowly settled into a rhythm, finding balance between their training, personal time, and quiet moments together. 

The mornings felt routine–early wake-ups, breakfast, and getting ready for the day. 

Training was intense for Kyra, while Y/n spent most of her time on the sidelines, cheering on her teammates. Kyra always made sure to glance over at her between drills, flashing her a grin whenever she could.

Y/n had become more invested in physiotherapy, eager to push herself further with each session and be back on the pitch in no time since she was allowed to walk fully now.

She had already gotten rid of the crutches, though she knew it wasn’t quite as simple as throwing them aside and going back to full strength. 

The physiotherapists kept reminding her that rest was as important as effort in the healing process, but Y/n didn’t exactly see it that way.

“Resting is overrated,” Y/n had said to Kyra one evening, flopping back on the sofa with a dramatic sigh. 

“But I’m not the one with the fancy degree, so I guess I have to listen to them.”

Kyra had laughed. “Maybe they know a thing or two about bone recovery.”

But today, as Y/n stood in front of the mirror in the physio room, her leg finally free of the brace, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. 

The muscles were still tight, her foot dragging a little as she placed weight on it, but there was something about the solid ground beneath her that felt like freedom.

The physio had already cleared her to run again–nothing intense, just a short distance to gauge how she felt. 

As she did a few quick stretches, Kyra was right there beside her, a quiet encouragement in her eyes.

“It’s okay, you're gonna do great,” Kyra said, rubbing her back lightly. 

Y/n shot her a half-smile, still feeling the weight of the moment. 

She took a deep breath and pushed herself off, slowly at first, then picking up speed as she ran a small lap around the gym. 

The first few steps were very careful, tentative, but by the time she finished, she was almost jogging, her heart pounding in her chest with exhilaration.

She slowed to a stop, breathing a little heavier, but the grin on her face was unmistakable. She’d done it. 

She was running again.

The physio clapped their hands together.

“Looks good, Y/n! But remember, don’t push it too hard too soon.”

Y/n nodded, wiping her forehead, her heart still racing. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take it slow,” she said, though she was already planning her next run. 

As she turned to Kyra, who was standing at the sidelines with a proud smile, Y/n felt a spark of realisation ignite in her chest.

She didn’t have to be as careful anymore. 

Sure, the muscle needed work, but the freedom to move, to run, to feel normal again–it was all coming back. And suddenly, it wasn’t just her legs that were feeling liberated.

Her thoughts briefly wandered, and for a moment, she couldn't help but smile to herself. 

The next time she and Kyra were alone–in the privacy of their room, maybe she wouldn’t hold back so much. Sex was about to get much, much better.

And what’s the best way to commemorate the first light–run after an injury? Sex.

Later that night, as the moonlight split across their bed, Kyra was stretched out, looking utterly at peace. 

Sweat glistened on her neck, her hair tousled from their earlier moments together. Y/n hovered over her, still caught up in the slow burn of the day’s victory–her first run, the first step towards being back on the pitch. 

Their skin touched, and Y/n found herself deep in the rhythm of their shared breaths.

She lowered herself, grinding her hips into Kyra’s, the movements slow at first, almost tentative as she felt for the right rhythm. 

Their cunt grinding against each other, their clit each throbbing with need.

Kyra’s lips parted in a soft gasp, her hands coming up to hold Y/n’s hips, pulling her down with a strong, desperate motion, moving her rawling against herself.

Y/n froze for a split second, surprised by the sudden shift. Y/n was the one who set the pace, not Kyra.

Kyra’s grip was unrelenting, and for the first time, it was Kyra in control, guiding the pace, setting the rhythm. 

It felt different this time, a change, a balance shifting between them that hadn’t been there before. Kyra’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling sharply with every gasp. 

“There... fuck, right there,” she breathed out, her grip on Y/n’s hips tightening with urgency. 

Kyra pulled Y/n closer, their bodies coming together. 

In that instant, Y/n’s grip on control slipped. She let go, surrendering herself to Kyra’s commanding presence, letting Kyra guide her body freely. 

“God,” Kyra murmured, her fingers digging into Y/n's hips as she dictated the movement of Y/n’s hips against her own, pulling Y/n down against her with a strength Y/n had never expected. 

“You feel so good.” Her voice was low, almost desperate, but there was something comforting in her tone, a warmth.

There was something about the way Kyra’s body moved under hers, the way she held onto her so tightly.

Kyra’s breath caught again, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. 

“I fucking love you so much,” Kyra said, her hands slid down, tracing the curve of Y/n’s back, before gripping her hips again, guiding their movements with perfect syncrony, hitting just the right spot on their clit to have both girls moaning at the same time.

Y/n’s mind spun with the intensity of their connection. 

Her body moved with Kyra effortlessly, like they had always been meant to move together this way. 

The tension between them was palpable, thick in the air, but there was also a softness to it.

“Kyra...” Y/n breathed, her voice trembling, a mix of awe and desire filling her chest. She was so caught up in the moment, her body reacting without thought, just letting go. “Please, more–”

Kyra’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, her eyes dark with desire but soft with affection. 

Y/n didn’t say please during sex that much, so it was good to hear it.

“Fuck–” Kyra shifted her hips slightly, forcing a new angle, a new depth that had Y/n gasping in response. 

“You feel so good,” Y/n murmured, her voice low, laced with both affection and raw passion.

Y/n’s entire body seemed to hum with energy, the tension in the air thickening with every breath. 

It wasn’t just about the physical connection–they were communicating in ways words couldn’t express. It was overwhelming, and Y/n couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“You’ve got me... so wrapped around you,” Y/n whispered, her voice thick with both amusement and a hint of awe. “I wouldn’t let anyone else hold my hips down like that.”

She could feel the moment shifting between them, an undeniable bond growing with each touch.

Kyra smiled at the admission, her lips brushing against Y/n’s jawline as she leaned up, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side of her neck.

“I like the sound of that,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

The pace between them picked up, the movements synchronised with a fluidity that felt natural.

And in that moment, as their bodies moved together, there was nothing but the overwhelming sense of being completely present with one another. 

It took only one more movement of Y/n’s hips for Kyra and Y/n to cum together, their hearts beating fast as they caught their breath.

“Fuck,” Y/n said, laying down on top of Kyra, feeling her breathing on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Kyra said, almost in a whisper. “That was good.”

“You can never leave this bed–my bed– again,” Y/n said teasingly, smiling.

Kyra’s lips met hers in a kiss. “I would never.”.

“I guess that’s one way to celebrate a first run,” Y/n murmured, her voice soft with contentment.

Kyra chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s forehead. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/n smiled against her chest, the weight of the day’s victory and the intimacy of the moment settling in. 

She didn’t have to hold back anymore. 

Not in her recovery, not in love. Not with Kyra.

Y/n didn’t move right away.

She stayed right there, stretched over Kyra’s body, their skin still slick with heat and closeness, her forehead resting gently against Kyra’s.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet, back to a slower rhythm.

Kyra’s eyes fluttered open, lashes damp, her gaze soft as it met Y/n’s. She reached up, caressing Y/n’s cheek tenderly.

Y/n leaned down, slow and deliberate, brushing her lips against Kyra’s in the gentlest kiss imaginable. 

No urgency. No heat. Just feelings. Just her, Kyra, and the safe space they had carved.

She kissed her again, longer this time. Pressing her body close like she couldn’t get close enough–like she could sink into her and never come back up.

Kyra’s hands slid from Y/n’s hips to her back, fingertips tracing soft circles along her spine.

“You okay?” she whispered into Y/n’s mouth.

Y/n nodded, eyes still closed, lips brushing against Kyra’s as she murmured, “More than okay.”

“How’s your leg?”

Y/n huffed a laugh, eyes opening just enough to look at her. “Kyra, you can’t ask about my leg every time we have an orgasm. It ruins the mood.”

Kyra smiled and kissed her again, soft and sure. “No, it doesn’t. I just care about you.”

“I know,” Y/n said, kissing her back before moving down to Kyra’s neck, right behind her ear–her favourite spot. 

“Can I give you a hickey? Please?”

The politeness in her voice surprised them both.

Kyra laughed under her breath, cheeks flushing. “No. The girls will see and make fun of me.”

“Please?” Y/n whispered again, her hand sliding lower until she found Kyra’s cunt, still wet.  Her fingers moved gently at first, teasing, circling her clit with maddening patience.

Kyra’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on Y/n’s hip.

“Please?” Y/n said again, voice lower now, more coaxing, her movements growing more deliberate.

Kyra whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. “Ju-just one–I mean it.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Y/n’s face. “Good girl,” she whispered, lowering her head.

“I knew you would cave.”

Her lips found the spot just below Kyra’s jaw, and she sucked gently at first, then deeper, watching the skin bloom purple beneath her mouth. 

Y/n didn’t move from Kyra’s neck right away. 

She kept kissing softly around the fresh mark, tongue flicking lazily over it as her fingers continued to move in slow circles that had Kyra’s breath hitching with every stroke.

“You’re so sensitive,” Y/n murmured against her skin, her voice a low tease. “I barely touch you and you’re already shaking.”

“I’m not–” Kyra gasped as Y/n pressed just a little harder, dragging two fingers exactly where she needed them. “–shut up.”

Y/n grinned, lips brushing along her jaw. “You love it when I talk to you like this.”

Kyra tried to glare, but her eyes were fluttering closed again, her back arching ever so slightly off the bed as her hips rolled into Y/n’s hand. 

“Don’t–” Kyra breathed, voice cracking. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

Y/n shifted slightly, her body still straddling Kyra’s, keeping her steady as her fingers slid lower, finding just the right rhythm, the one she knew would push Kyra over the edge. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Kyra whimpered, her hands gripping at Y/n’s thighs now, grounding herself, chasing the high that was building with every stroke, every brush of Y/n’s lips against her skin.

“You’re close,” Y/n whispered, and Kyra nodded helplessly, too far gone to speak.

Y/n leaned in again, kissing her–deep, slow, possessive.

Her fingers didn’t let up, circling faster now, slick and steady, the tension in Kyra’s body winding tight beneath her.

“Let go of me,” Y/n whispered into her mouth. “Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”

And Kyra did.

Her body tensed, then trembled as her orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through her as she gasped into Y/n’s mouth. 

Her nails dug into Y/n’s thighs, her breath coming in short, broken bursts as she clung to her, head tipped back against the pillow.

Y/n slowed her movements, coaxing her down from the high with gentle, loving touches. She kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the mark she’d left on her neck.

Kyra blinked up at her, cheeks flushed, still catching her breath. “I hate how smug you look right now.”

Y/n just smirked, brushing a strand of hair from Kyra’s face. “You love it.”

Kyra didn’t even argue–just pulled her down into another kiss, lazy and full of warmth.

“Okay,” she whispered after a beat. “Maybe just a little.”

“I’m tired,” Kyra murmured, voice a little hoarse, a little dazed.

Y/n smiled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I know, baby,” she whispered, brushing her fingers gently down Kyra’s side. “Come here.”

Kyra didn’t move. “No,” she said quietly, her hand trailing up Y/n’s bare back. “I want you to feel good, too. Let me take care of you.”

Y/n kissed her again, softer this time, just lips against lips. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Seeing you like that was enough.”

Kyra gave her a look–half sceptical, half touched.

Y/n cupped her cheek and smiled. “Now come here. Don’t fight it, baby. Just let me hold you.”

She lay back slowly, pulling Kyra with her until they were chest to chest, skin to skin. 

Kyra hesitated for a beat, propping herself up on her elbows, looking down at Y/n.

“Go on,” Y/n said, voice low and breathy. Her hand traced a lazy path up Kyra’s spine. “I’m all yours, you can lie down.”

Kyra dipped her head slowly, lips brushing along Y/n’s collarbone. She paused, then lowered her mouth to Y/n’s breast, her tongue circling the soft peak before pulling it gently into her mouth.

Y/n inhaled sharply, her hand threading through Kyra’s hair.

Kyra took her time–slow, wet kisses, gentle sucks, the kind of attention that made Y/n’s relax.

“Just like that,” Y/n whispered. “You’re so good to me.”

Kyra looked up, her lips parted, her breath warm against Y/n’s skin. “You deserve it,” she said, and then kissed her again, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Kyra’s mouth lingered at Y/n’s breast, kisses growing slower, softer, until she was just nuzzling there, breathing warm against skin. 

Y/n’s fingers combed through her hair gently, scratching her scalp the way she knew Kyra loved.

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing and the soft rustle of sheets when they shifted closer.

Y/n pressed a kiss to the top of Kyra’s head. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me like this, huh?” she whispered, teasing but fond.

Kyra mumbled something unintelligible into her skin–something that might’ve been ‘don’t care,’ or maybe just a contented sigh. 

Her arms were wrapped around Y/n’s waist now, holding her close like a blanket she didn’t want to let go of.

Y/n smiled, her free hand pulling the duvet over them. “You’re such a baby when you’re tired,” she murmured, voice already heavier with sleep, too.

Kyra shifted just enough to bury her face into Y/n’s chest. “Warm,” she mumbled, lips brushing over her skin. “Smells good.”

Y/n chuckled, low and sleepy, her hand slowing in Kyra’s hair until it just rested there, fingers curled gently. “I love you,” she breathed, almost like a secret.

Kyra didn’t answer right away–but then she shifted, just enough to tilt her head up and press the softest kiss to Y/n’s jaw.

“Love you too,” she whispered, already halfway asleep.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, hearts calm. Until sleep took them both.

Y/n woke slowly, blinking against the early light slipping through the curtains. The room was quiet, the air still, warm under the covers. 

She could feel the weight of Kyra draped across her chest, soft breaths ghosting over her skin.

It took her a second to register the exact position.

Kyra was still curled into her, cheek pressed to Y/n’s breast, very clingy, one arm wrapped around her waist. 

Her lips were parted slightly, still resting exactly where they’d fallen asleep.

Y/n blinked, then smiled, tilting her head slightly to look down at her.

“You’re literally still on my boob,” she whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

Kyra didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

Y/n snorted quietly. “You can’t use it as a pillow forever, babe.”

A soft groan came from Kyra, muffled into skin. “Don’t care. Comfortable.”

Y/n rolled her eyes affectionately, running her fingers through Kyra’s messy hair. “You’re such a menace.”

“Your fault for being perfect,” Kyra mumbled, tightening her grip slightly. “I’m tired. Let me stay.”

Y/n let her head fall back onto the pillow with a quiet laugh. “God, you’re spoiled.”

Kyra shifted just enough to nuzzle her a little closer. “Only with you.”

Y/n’s heart melted a little at that–okay, a lot. She exhaled slowly, her arm curling around Kyra’s back, holding her close.

“Fine,” she whispered, kissing the crown of Kyra’s head. “Five more minutes.”

Kyra’s only response was a contented sigh, and Y/n smiled to herself, eyes closing again.

..

It started with a video.

Y/n was lying flat on her back in bed, one leg bent awkwardly, her fingers pressing into her tibia in odd, circular patterns that made absolutely no medical sense. 

Kyra walked in with a cup of juice and froze in the doorway, staring.

“...What are you doing?”

Y/n didn’t even glance up. 

“I saw this physio guy on YouTube doing a deep tissue activation massage for tibial recovery. Said it boosts blood flow by 13.2%.”

Kyra slowly approached the bed, suspicious. “Okay. And why are you poking your leg like that”

“I’m following the video!” Y/n gestured to her phone, which was propped up against her water bottle on the nightstand. The audio played softly–an unfamiliar language Kyra didn’t recognise.

She frowned, tilting her head. “Wait…is that Mandarin?”

“No,” Y/n said, totally serious. “It’s Cantonese, Kyra.”

Kyra squinted at her like she was insane, which, in this moment, might not have been far off. 

“Y/n. Babe. You're not fluent in Cantonese.”

“No, he is,” Y/n said, like that solved the entire logic gap. “I turned on the subtitles.”

“You can’t even read it–your neck is turned to your back!” Kyra set down the glass and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her partner try to knead her own leg like bread dough. 

“But I can sense what he means,” Y/n said, defending herself.

“Okay. You're clearly spiralling. And I love that you want to heal fast. But we are not about to follow mysterious tibia tutorials in a language you don’t speak just because some guy online promised…magic blood flow.”

Y/n pouted. “I just want to feel useful.”

“I know,” Kyra said gently, brushing her hand over Y/n’s calf. “But healing isn’t a competition. You’re allowed to rest. You need to rest.”

Y/n deflated a little, muscles relaxing. “So what, I just... do nothing?”

Kyra smiled and shook her head. “No. You’re coming with me.”

“To where?”

“A walk. Just around the block. Nothing fancy. No magic tibia guy. Just me, you, and maybe Footy if he decides not to chase every pigeon in the city.”

Y/n raised a brow. “You’re giving me exercise as a distraction from my obsessive exercising.”

Kyra kissed the inside of her knee. “Exactly. But mine comes with trees and sunshine. And snacks after.”

And from then on, it became a thing.

Every afternoon, once Kyra got home from training and Y/n had finished her physio session, she would help her tie her shoes, leash up Footy, and they would head out for a walk. 

At first, it was just the block. Then it was the park. Eventually, they were walking for a long time.

It was the one time of day Y/n didn’t think about reps or protocols or ankle stability. 

She just walked, and Kyra stayed beside her, quiet, steady, hand brushing hers like a reminder that this, too, was part of healing.

It wasn’t just about the tibia anymore. It was about breathing. Moving. Laughing. Watching Footy eat a random leaf and then sprint in regret. It was about slowing down, not falling behind.

..

It was a Wednesday, and one of the physios had called in sick.

Y/n had immediately offered to go to the training centre on her own and do her session solo. 

She was a professional, after all. But the staff had just smiled politely on the phone and told her to “take the day off” and “enjoy the unexpected break.”

Which was code for: no, you overachieving injured girl, go sit down.

So now she was lying on the living room floor, grumpy and betrayed, with a foam roller under her back and YouTube queued up again, this time with an English-speaking physio who somehow still managed to sound condescending.

The doorbell rang.

Y/n dragged herself upright, shuffled to the front door, and opened it to find a package on the mat. 

It had her name on it, which was confusing because she hadn’t ordered anything–she would know if she’d ordered anything. 

Carefully, she brought it inside, sliced it open with her thumbnail, and immediately recoiled.

Inside was a six-pack of the ugliest socks she’d ever seen.

Frogs. Bananas. Some kind of space-themed unicorn. She blinked at them. “What the fuck…”

She left the box half-open on the table by the door, too disturbed to process, and went back to her foam roller.

Ten minutes later, the door opened–Kyra.

Y/n rolled halfway onto her side to look at her. “Great. You’re home. What is this?”

Kyra’s face lit up the second she saw the box. “Yayyy it’s here!”

“Don’t yay me. What the hell is this box of… abominations?”

Kyra clapped her hands like it was Christmas morning. “Matching socks!! For us!!”

Y/n stared at her, expression flat. “Why do they have… prints?”

Kyra pulled out a pair and held them up proudly. “This one has a turtle with sunglasses!”

Y/n squinted. “It’s horrifying. You have ruined socks. Socks are meant to be white. Or black. Maybe grey on special occasions.”

Kyra gasped, clutching her chest. “You are no fun. The whole point is that they're ridiculous.”

“They look like something a kindergartener would wear.”

“Exactly!”

Y/n groaned. “I’m not even supposed to be walking today. They won’t let me come in. I offered to go do my session by myself, and they told me no, like I’m untrustworthy.”

“You are untrustworthy,” Kyra replied sweetly, already digging through drawers for scissors.

“What are you doing?”

“Modifying.”

“Kyra, please. You don’t have to destroy them, I don’t hate them that much!”

Kyra was already snipping little holes into the top of the socks. “Not destroying. Adapting. Innovation. I’m making them pet-friendly.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “No. No. Don’t you dare—”

Too late. Footy, who had been sleeping peacefully on the back of the sofa, was now being gently scooped into Kyra’s arms, looking half-asleep and 100% not onboard.

“You’re going to look so beautiful,” Kyra cooed as she slipped a sock over one of his front legs like it was a designer sleeve.

“Kyra, he looks like he’s wearing a tiny sweater! Cats aren’t meant to wear clothes!”

“He looks happy,” Kyra said.

Footy, now fully awake, stared directly at Y/n like he was mentally preparing to assassinate one of them in their sleep. 

His paw lifted and flopped against the floor in slow, dramatic protest.

“He looks like he wants to die,” Y/n said monotone.

Kyra grinned. “That’s just his face.”

Y/n shook her head. “Okay. I  do hate them. But if it makes you happy, I’ll wear the stupid frog ones.”

Kyra beamed, victorious. “I knew you loved me.”

Y/n sighed. “I don’t, but I do love you so…”

Footy meowed in quiet, tortured resignation, still wearing his one sad sock.

Later, after Footy had escaped his sock prison and retreated under the bed to plot his vengeance, Kyra flopped onto the sofa beside Y/n with her legs in her lap.

Y/n stared at the socks now on her own feet, defeated. The frogs stared back.

“I look like a children’s TV presenter,” she muttered.

Kyra grinned, smug as hell. “You look adorable.”

“I want you to know I’m suffering.”

Kyra leaned in, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Suffer prettier.”

Y/n groaned again, but didn’t kick her off.

And sure enough, two days later, when Kyra tugged her out for one of their now-daily walks, she made good on her promise: matching socks. 

Y/n tried to hide hers under her sweatpants, but Kyra made them roll them up halfway through, just to ‘let the frogs breathe.’

Y/n wanted to die.

But Kyra was happy, smiling so wide the whole walk, swinging their hands like they were in a teen rom-com.

And yeah, Kyra wasn’t the only one in the relationship who did things they didn’t want to do.

Y/n wore the frog socks. She wore them in public.

Because Kyra was happy.

And sometimes, that made it worth it.

..

a/n: Feedback is very important!!! <3

Next part here - part 14