#led lighting statistics

[verricherri]

spencer taking care of reader during/ after a miscarriage

Something to Remember Me By

A/N: this one… this one hurts. about grief that no one else sees. about what it means to love someone who never got the chance to stay — and what it does to you when you try to carry that alone. if you’ve ever lost quietly, this is for you. Warnings: miscarriage, mentions alzheimer’s and silent mourning. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

It wasn’t pain that woke you. It was wetness.

The kind that made you freeze in the middle of rolling over, because somewhere deep in your body — under your ribs, under your pulse — you already knew.

You threw back the blanket. It was everywhere.

Your thighs were slick. The sheets were soaked through. Red. Deep. Alive. Still warm.

And for a second, you just… stared.

Because maybe if you didn’t scream, it wouldn’t be real yet.

Your hand shook so hard it took three tries to reach for Spencer.

He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, humming under his breath — just a man starting his day.

“Spence,” you called.

You didn’t say it like you were scared.

You said it like you were already broken.

He was there in seconds, toothbrush still foaming in his hand, mouth full of paste. He didn’t see it at first.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice light with sleep.

Then he followed your eyes.

He dropped the toothbrush.

“Okay,” he said, hands already out, already searching. “Okay. Okay. It’s going to be okay. We’re okay.”

But he was pale.

And his hands were shaking harder than yours.

—

They sat you beside a woman with a full belly and a knit blanket draped over her lap. She rubbed it absently while talking about her baby’s kicks. Her mother sat beside her, smiling.

You stared at the floor and dug your nails into your thigh until the pain replaced the nausea.

Spencer sat beside you with his hands folded like a prayer. His lips were moving — not audibly — but you knew he was listing symptoms. Risk percentages. Possible causes. Ways to spin it.

They called your name.

He stood too fast.

—

The exam room was cold.

You were still bleeding. You could feel it sticking to the back of your thighs as you lay on the paper-covered table.

The tech tried to smile. You didn’t try back.

The ultrasound machine flickered to life, screen filled with grey static and ghosts.

Spencer reached for your hand and whispered, “Remember, the fetal heartbeat isn’t always visible early on—” “Spencer,” you said. “Please don’t talk right now.”

The tech pressed the wand harder. Shifted.

You looked away before the screen could tell you anything.

Spencer didn’t.

He watched every frame like he was waiting for it to change.

It didn’t.

“I’ll be right back,” the tech said quietly, and left the room.

You knew what that meant.

You said, “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Spencer closed his eyes. “Don’t—” “Don’t what?” “She could just be—” “She’s not.”

The doctor came in five minutes later. You didn’t catch her name.

She sat beside you like a friend and said the words anyway.

No cardiac activity.

Non-viable pregnancy.

I’m so sorry.

You were still bleeding.

The screen was still on.

No one turned it off.

—

You don’t remember the drive home.

You remember Spencer’s hand on the gearshift, clenched too tight. You remember the way the seatbelt pressed across your stomach, too snug, too late.

You remember the way he kept whispering things under his breath — facts about uterine lining, statistics, blood volume, anything to stop the silence from becoming unbearable.

And then you were home.

He opened the door like the car might shatter if he touched it wrong. Helped you out like you were something holy and broken.

Blood was dried between your legs.

He said nothing about it. Just wrapped his arm around your waist and led you inside like it was the end of the world and he was afraid of stepping on the pieces.

—

In the bathroom, you tried to undress on your own.

You couldn’t.

Your fingers wouldn’t work. Your legs wouldn’t move.

You peeled your shirt over your head and sat on the toilet lid, half-naked and shaking, and whispered, “I can’t.”

That’s when he knelt in front of you.

Still dressed in his work clothes, hands trembling, face pale. He didn’t speak.

He just reached for your leggings, slow and careful, peeled them down your thighs like he was touching something sacred. Your underwear followed. Blood soaked. Heavy.

He folded them once and set them in the trash. Not out of sight — just away.

Then he lifted you — actually lifted you — and guided you into the shower.

You leaned on the tile as the water came down. Warm, then hot.

He stood behind you, fully clothed, shoes and all, arms curled around your waist.

You collapsed against him before you realized you were falling.

And then you cried.

Not pretty. Not quiet.

You howled.

You clutched his shirt and sobbed into his chest like you wanted to tear him open and crawl inside — and he let you. He held you tighter. Buried his face in your neck.

And cried with you.

Loud. Ragged. Ruined.

“Why?” you choked. “I don’t know,” he whispered, voice soaked. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

His tears ran down your collarbone. Yours soaked through his tie.

“I wanted her so much,” you said. “I know,” he breathed. “So did I. So did I. So did I.”

He repeated it like prayer. Like apology.

You both stayed there — soaked in grief and steam — until the water turned cold and your legs stopped holding you.

—

He helped you out.

Toweled you off like he’d never touched anything more fragile. Helped you into clean clothes — loose shorts, an old shirt. Carried you to bed when your knees buckled again.

Then he changed the sheets.

Threw away the towel you bled through.

Sat on the edge of the tub and scrubbed the grout with bleach and shaking hands.

And that night, when he climbed into bed beside you, you didn’t face the wall.

You faced him.

And you cried again.

But this time, you cried together.

—

You hadn’t told anyone.

Not your family. Not the team. Not even your best friend.

You were waiting—just a little longer. Past the risky weeks. Past the doubt.

Just until it felt safe.

But safe never came.

Only blood. Only silence.

You and Spencer made a choice, without ever saying it aloud: To keep it between you. To carry the grief alone.

Because if you spoke it, if you said “We were going to be parents,” someone would ask what she looked like.

And you’d have to say you never got to find out.

So when Penelope texted to say she missed you, you replied with a smiley. And when JJ said gently, “You’d be such a good mom,” you just nodded, smiled, and fought the scream in your throat.

No one knew.

So no one asked why you lost weight.

Why your laughter got quieter.

Why Spencer flinched when someone said the word miracle like it meant anything.

—

He went back to work four days later.

You told him he didn’t have to, but he kissed your temple and said he’d fall apart if he stayed home one more day with the empty crib space and the folder of prenatal emails.

He came home that night and told you about the case in Nebraska. Then cooked your favourite pasta. Folded your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

But every time he passed the hallway closet — the one with the bag of baby things you’d started to collect quietly, shyly, stupidly — he looked like he wanted to open it, then thought better of it.

He touched the handle once. Just once.

You saw it from the kitchen.

And you didn’t say anything.

—

You bled for nine days.

Longer than they said you would.

And when the bleeding stopped, you thought you’d feel… clean. But all it did was leave a terrible emptiness.

You sat on the toilet that tenth morning, looked down at nothing, and cried until your ribs hurt.

Because she was gone.

Not just dying.

Not just maybe.

Gone.

And now your body had caught up to what your heart already knew.

—

You coped by pretending.

By making lists.

By brushing your teeth exactly two minutes.

By hiding the sonogram in a box you couldn’t touch but couldn’t throw away.

Spencer coped by watching you closely. Too closely.

He hovered without hovering. Refilled your water glass. Made your side of the bed.

Put vitamins on your nightstand like the ones you’d stopped taking never mattered.

And you both hid.

From your families. From your friends. From each other, sometimes.

Because naming her would make her real. And real meant gone.

—

It was over something stupid.

Tea, again. Always tea.

He brought you a mug. Your favourite.

You looked at it and said, “I said I wasn’t hungry.” “It’s not food.” “I don’t want anything.”

He set it down too hard. Not enough to shatter the ceramic. Just enough to make your bones flinch.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to be the only one grieving.” You stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?” “I’m sad too,” he snapped. “I’m angry. I’m exhausted. And I’m walking on eggshells like you’re the only one who lost her.” “I was the one carrying her.” “We both were!” he shouted. “Just in different ways.”

You froze.

He looked stunned at his own voice. Like he didn’t mean to say it that loud.

You whispered, “She died inside me.” His chest rose and fell, wild and miserable. “I know,” he said. “I know that. But please… don’t lock me out like I don’t miss her too.” You stepped back. “I didn’t know I was doing that.” He deflated instantly. “I didn’t know I’d yell.”

You were both quiet.

Then you crossed the kitchen and wrapped your arms around him like you were drowning.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “So am I,” he breathed into your shoulder. “I just… I don’t want to pretend I’m okay.” “You don’t have to.” “Then let’s not pretend anymore.”

And for the first time since it happened, you sat on the floor together, legs tangled, heads pressed together — not talking, not fixing — just breaking.

—

It happened on a Tuesday.

You were putting away the box.

The one with the socks. The stuffed elephant. The tiny little dress you couldn’t resist when it went on sale.

You folded each item slowly, like they were fragile, like they could still bruise. You whispered to each one as you set it into the storage bin.

“I’m sorry.” “I love you.” “Thank you.”

When you placed the pregnancy test — double-lined, smudged with tape — on top, you sealed the box shut and pushed it under the bed.

You didn’t cry.

Not that day.

Not until you opened the drawer in the hallway desk, looking for packing tape.

And found the notebook.

Black. Softcover. Moleskine.

You recognized his handwriting immediately.

You knew what it was before you even touched it.

You carried it to the kitchen. Sat on the floor. Crossed your legs.

Opened to the first page.

Star — You don’t exist yet. But I think you might. Your mom looks different this week. She moves different. Her hands hover near her belly like she knows something. I think she does.

Star — She told me today. It felt like being handed the whole universe. I kissed her stomach even though you’re smaller than a raspberry. I don’t care. I’m already in love with you.

Star — We haven’t told anyone. I think I like it that way. You’re our secret. Ours and ours only. You get to belong to us first.

Star — Today she bled. I didn’t know what to do. I held her up in the shower while she sobbed and I whispered science into her skin. Not because it would fix it. Just because I didn’t know what else I had.

The entries kept going. Each one worse than the last.

Then one page — near the end — was just torn at the corner. Half a sentence.

I should’ve known.

The final page was dated one week ago.

It read:

If I forget her, forgive me.If I forget myself, remind me who I was.If I forget you—Please, don’t let me.

You didn’t realize you were sobbing until the ink began to blur where your thumb had pressed too hard.

You held the notebook to your chest like a lifeline.

That’s how Spencer found you.

On the floor. Shaking.

He dropped his bag and dropped to his knees beside you.

“I—” you tried to speak, but no sound came out.

He gathered you into his arms without asking.

“I wanted to remember,” he whispered, voice shredded. “In case it happens to me.” You pulled back, eyes burning. “What?” “My mom,” he said. “You know how it started. You know what it could mean for me. I was scared I’d… lose her all over again, in my head. Lose you. Lose this.” You cupped his face in your hands. “You won’t.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, fingers curling around your wrists.

“I already am,” he whispered. “That’s why I wrote it. To make her real. To make us stay real.”

You kissed him like it was the only language left.

And that night, for the first time, you both whispered her name aloud and didn’t flinch.

—

It happened back when you were still glowing. Before the blood. Before the silence.

You were lying on the couch, curled under his cardigan, a half-empty bowl of grapes on your chest. You had a hand on your stomach already, and he was watching it like it was the most fragile thing he’d ever been trusted with.

You said, “She’s going to need a name.”

He looked up from the book resting on your knees.

You added, “I mean, obviously not yet. But I want to give her something that belongs to us. Just us.”

He hesitated. Tucked a bookmark in and closed the cover slowly.

Then said, “Can I tell you something stupid?” You smiled. “Always.” “When I was a kid,” he started, “I used to sneak these oversized astronomy books under the covers. I'd read them until my eyes burned.” You tilted your head. “Of course you did.” “I didn’t read them for science,” he said. “Not really. I read them because… I thought the stars remembered things.” You blinked. “Like what?” “Everything,” he said. “I thought they recorded the days no one else did. I figured if I could see them, maybe they were watching me too. Keeping track. So if I ever forgot something… or if something ever happened to me…”

He trailed off.

You reached over and touched his hand.

“I thought,” he said quietly, “that maybe the stars would remember the things I couldn’t.”

You didn’t speak. Just felt your throat pull tight.

He looked down at your belly. “That’s why. That’s why I keep calling her Star.”

You felt it then — that slow, quiet naming.

Not in ink. Not on paper.

But real.

Because if she couldn’t live, she could still be remembered.

Because maybe she would be the one to remember you.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | one

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, teasing, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate statistic talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.1k

authors note: a little introduction to their dynamics before everything gets started 😌 As always english is not my first language so if I have a spelling error, kindly let me know :)

01 | 02

“One more time…” you talk to yourself. You quit the program and open it one more time to see if it will work now. It doesn’t. You know You should’ve done this days ago, but in your defense, you thought it was going to take you less time. 

“Come on!” you groan and throw your head back. You grab my phone to check the time: 2:15 AM. Hopefully, someone was going to be awake, that someone being Kelce. Who else were you supposed to text?

A yawn escapes your mouth as you turn off your computer. You feel the sleep creeping in already, you had felt it hours ago. You grab your phone to put the sleeping playlist you had carefully curated all those months ago and get into your bed to finally sleep.  

Rafe was also tired but he had to make a note or he would forget to tell Kelce about it. Thankfully he didn’t have early morning practice or class until noon so he could sleep in.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @masonmountme69 @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[chadobi]

I promise guys , I’ll get to your requests soon! But for now, I hope you’ll enjoy this one💜

“Under a Blanket of Code”

Bayverse!Donatello x Reader

The power had flickered out about an hour ago.

Mikey screamed something about the pizza oven dying and Raph immediately took it as a sign of the apocalypse. Leo was trying to organize a response plan, but Donnie had already disappeared into the darker parts of the lair—heading toward his lab like a man on a mission.

You didn’t even ask. You just followed him.

It was quiet in his workspace. He had a few emergency lights wired up, casting everything in deep purple and gold. Small LEDs blinked from different shelves, some flickering faintly like fireflies. In the middle of it all, Donnie was crouched beside a stack of servers, furiously typing on a portable rig.

You leaned in the doorway, watching him. He muttered something about “backup fuses” and “secondary distribution lines,” and then paused.

“I know you’re there,” he said without looking. “And I’m not mad. Just… mildly panicked.”

You smiled. “I brought tea.”

That made him glance up. His glasses caught a soft glint of blue from a nearby monitor, and he blinked, surprised. “Oh. Uh. Thank you.” He took the thermos from you awkwardly, hands still faintly buzzing with static.

“Want some company?” you asked gently. “I figured you might need backup.”

Donnie hesitated for a second too long. Then he nodded. “Actually… yeah. That would be nice.”

He gestured to a low platform on the floor surrounded by wires, toolboxes, and glowing screens. You kicked off your shoes and stepped carefully between cables. A fuzzy blanket was already half-draped over the space, clearly something Mikey had tossed aside days ago.

You plopped down, crossing your legs. “So what’s the damage?”

“Main power grid’s fried,” Donnie murmured, sitting beside you. “Generator’s holding up, but I’m going to need to do a manual reroute.” He adjusted his glasses with a tired sigh. “In the meantime, I figured… might as well make the place livable.”

He grabbed a small remote and tapped a button. A string of soft purple lights lit up overhead—cheap LED strips, flickering slightly, but warm in their own way.

“Donnie,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you build yourself a tech blanket fort?”

He looked flustered. “No. I mean—not intentionally. I was optimizing work conditions, and the blanket just… enhances acoustic absorption and comfort for long-term programming sessions.”

“So,” you grinned, “a blanket fort.”

He huffed. “Fine. Yes. A highly advanced blanket fort.”

You giggled and tucked the edge of the blanket around your shoulders. “I love it.”

He blinked. “You do?”

“Of course. It’s kind of perfect.” You leaned back slightly. “It’s warm, quiet, glowy… and it smells like solder and coffee. Very ‘you.’”

Donnie was silent for a beat. Then, he mumbled, “I wasn’t sure you’d like it down here.”

You turned to him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shifted awkwardly, fingers fidgeting with a loose wire. “Most people… wouldn’t exactly enjoy sitting in a dark lab full of failing circuits and overheating processors.”

“I’m not most people,” you said softly.

Donnie didn’t respond at first. He looked down at the blanket, at the way it pooled around the two of you, and then carefully set aside the laptop.

“You know,” he started, voice lower now, “sometimes I forget there’s a world outside this lab. Not in a dramatic way, just… I get stuck in my head. The math, the logic, the endless systems I can’t control—sometimes that’s all I focus on.”

You were quiet, letting him talk.

“And then you show up,” he continued. “With tea. And sarcasm. And blankets.” His gaze lifted to meet yours. “And suddenly the world feels… a little quieter. Like the code finally compiled.”

You smiled, heart thudding gently in your chest. “Is that your way of saying you like having me here?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. Then cleared his throat. “I mean—logically speaking, your presence has a statistically significant impact on my overall mood and cognitive focus.”

“Donnie,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “just say you like me.”

He went red. Deep red. The color crept all the way to his bandana. “I—okay—fine. I like you. A lot.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. He froze for a second, then slowly, slowly relaxed under the pressure.

“I like you too,” you whispered.

Donnie didn’t say anything, but you felt it—the soft exhale, the way his hand curled just slightly closer to yours under the blanket. He didn’t need grand declarations. Not tonight.

You sat together in the tech-fort, surrounded by quiet buzzes and blinking lights, with the world outside temporarily short-circuited.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[livvv-218]

Bound By More Than Rope

Synopsis - A member of your tug of war group tries to kick you out and Sangwoo stands up for you.

Pairings - Fem!reader x Sangwoo

Warnings - contains a bit of an argument, mention of death and mention of gambling addiction

Contains - some fluff

Authors note - Mi-nyeo is not apart of the group as the reader is the tenth member of the group. This is my first one shot so please leave some feedback. This is proofread but there are probably still mistakes and also sorry if the actual tug of war is slightly rushed, I just wanted to focus on Sangwoo and the Reader 💕

When I was writing this it all got deleted which was a bit annoying so I had to rewrite it so hopefully it’s still good 😭

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

You stuck close to your group as the guards led you into an eerie white room where the next game was going to take place. Your group consisted of: you, Gi-hun, Ali, Sangwoo, the old man and Sae-byeok who joined recently. You have been part of the group since you helped save Gi-hun, with the help of Ali, from falling in red light green light. The silence between you and the other players was suffocating, each of you desperately trying to figure out what the next game could be.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a monotonous voice crackling through the loudspeakers. “Players welcome to the third game, for this game you will play in teams. Please divide yourselves into teams of ten people, your time limit will be ten minutes”.

People began nervously glancing at each other, some taking small, cautious steps to form groups. The rest of your group began forming a circle, but you hesitated, unsure on whether your group wanted you to be apart of their team so you stood there awkwardly. Gi-hun, sensing you uncertainty, grabbed your hand and offered you a reassuring smile and gently pulled you along with him towards the rest of the group.

Once your team of six stood in a circle, you all agreed that four of you should split off to recruit four more players to join your group. It was decided that Sangwoo, Gi-hun, Sae-byeok and Ali would go to find more players. Before the team separated off, Sangwoo spoke up “Our team already has an elderly man and two women already” he said, his gaze landing briefly on you, “I think we need to find some more men.”

“What if they make us play Gonggi or Elastics? Then what do we do? Girls are usually the good ones at that-”, Gi-hun said doubtfully before he was cut off by Sangwoo. “That’s true, but statistically speaking usually men are better at these games, each of us are betting with our lives, and we got to win.” Sangwoo replied firmly. You found yourself trusting Sangwoo, despite the fact he had never really spoken to you before, he knew what he was talking about and he did have a point.

The group then split up, each member going a different direction. You leant against the pristine wall and briefly closed your eyes, silently praying this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have the chance to do so. Just as Sangwoo was about to turn to leave, he glanced over at you and gave a subtle nod. The unexpected gesture left you momentarily shocked, offering a strange sense of comfort and reassurance.

Five minutes later, all the members of your team had returned with a player each. You all had gathered in a circle, like the other groups around the room, and began counting to ensure you had the correct number of players. Whilst Gi-hun was counting, you were quietly observing the people in your team. There were three girls, including yourself, one of whom you assumed Sae-byeok had bought back, and the rest were men.

It seemed that Sangwoo was also assessing the new members of the team on whether they were worthy enough. Once Gi-hun had finished counting, Sangwoo had turned to the new girl, “Who bought you here?” He asked displeased. The girl motioned unbothered to Sae-byeok with a slight tilt of her head. “I said to only bring men back here, didn’t I?” Sangwoo addressed Sae-byeok, slightly condescendingly, who just ignored him completely.

“That doesn’t sound good. You want me to go?” The new girl asked. She started to stand whilst saying “I’ll go now”. Before she could leave, another member of your group stopped her, a man who looked like he was in his mid forties and appeared as though he was praying a moment ago. “You can stay where you are” he said to the girl.

But then his gaze shifted to you, and his expression hardened in an instant. You felt the change in the air and realized with a sinking feeling that this was the same man you had rejected earlier in the day. The resentment in his eyes made it clear—he hadn’t forgotten.

“I think you should’ve the one to leave, don’t you” he said to you in a mocking tone. “I mean what do you actually bring to this team, at least the other two girls look like they could be strong. You just look like someone who is going to ultimately cost us our lives”. His words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you felt your chest tighten. You were not going to let this man speak to you like that, not after everything you had endured to make it this far. But before you could stand up for yourself, a sharp voice cut through the tension, echoing around the group.

“Enough”, Sangwoo’s voice rang out, cold and firm. “How dare you speak to her like that” he said glaring at the man before you. If looks could kill, the man would be six feet under. “She was here long before you and she has earned her spot in this group, unlike you”. He spoke again, his voice laced with authority. “If you have a problem with her being a part of the group, take it up with me”. Sangwoo’s tone was sharp and left no room for an argument.

You were taken aback by Sangwoo’s response to the man. Sangwoo had barely spoken to you before, you were almost certain he didn’t like you. Yet here he was, standing up for yourself without hesitation, his words sharp and protective. The thought of Sangwoo, a man you would never admit out loud you found incredibly attractive, standing up for you made your heart flutter.

The man, visibly taken aback by Sangwoo’s words, hesitated for a moment before muttering something under his breath, clearly choosing not to challenge him further. As you looked around the group, it was clear you weren’t the only one taken aback by Sangwoo’s outburst. Everyone seemed shocked—Gi-hun was wide-eyed, Ali’s brow furrowed in surprise, and even Sae-byeok, who usually maintained an unreadable expression, looked stunned for a brief second.

You smiled slightly at Sangwoo, silently thanking him for his defense. Without saying a word, you nodded your head in acknowledgment. To your surprise, he returned the gesture—a subtle nod—and for a split second, you could have sworn there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. It was so brief that you almost doubted it had even happened, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Suddenly, the announcers emotionless voice crackled through the microphone again. “The time for forming your teams is over. All players, please line up with your team mates at the entrance to the game hall”. Your heart dropped at the sound of those words, the weight of what was coming crashing down on you. You were faced with the terrifying reality that you were about to fight for your life again in a mystery game.

Your team stood lined up next to the others at the entrance of the game hall, the air thick with tension. Everyone waited in silence, eyes fixed on the closed doors, each of you bracing for whatever the next game would bring.

The doors slid open with a heavy, metallic screech, revealing a dark, ominous room. The air felt colder here, as if the pitch black walls absorbed all the light and warmth. Above, a suspended platform hung hundreds of metres in the air, looming in the center of the room, with a gap in the middle with a rope connecting them. Below the platform, there was nothing but a vast, pitch-black abyss, its depth unknown, swallowing any light that dared to touch it.

It then hit you like a brick. You were playing tug of war with the weakest team there.

All the groups sat down in a line and were numbered. The guards then drew numbers out of a box on which groups would face each other first. You let out a small sigh of relief when you realized that one of the strongest teams had been chosen to go first. At least for this game, your team wouldn’t have to go up against them.

Time felt like a blur as the first two teams fought. The team with player 101 in, a violent and cruel man who had beaten someone to death in front of your own eyes, had pulled the other team into the abyss in less then a minute. You covered your ears once the team reached the end of the endless darkness, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Then before you knew it, your team was drawn. And to you and yours team horror the opposing team consisted entirely of men. The realization hit hard, and a cold dread settled over you. From that moment on, everything felt like a blur—disjointed, surreal, as if you were watching from the outside. The tension in the air thickened as your team stood, hands gripping the rope, each of you linked together in the grim anticipation of the game. You turned your head to face Sangwoo, standing just two people ahead of you. His eyes met yours, and without a word, he gave a subtle nod. It was brief, but it was like an unspoken promise that you could win this.

This game was nothing like the one before. It dragged on, each tug of the rope feeling like an eternity. Both teams seemed to have the upper hand at different points, the struggle shifting back and forth. The old man’s advice from the elevator earlier echoed in your mind, guiding your movements and helping your team hold steady. But despite your efforts, your team began to inch closer and closer to the edge. Panic surged through you, sharp and sudden, as you realized the platform’s edge was getting dangerously close.

Sangwoo then suddenly called out to take three steps forward when he says too. You didn’t argue as you knew that this could be the last hope of you making it out of this alive. He called to take three steps forward and the whole team cooperated, resulting in the other team being thrown off balance which allowed you to pull until their team toppled over the edge.

The ride back down was eerily silent. No one spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air.

You headed straight back to the main room after stepping out the elevator, too tired and numb to think about anything else but sleep. Your team followed close behind, each person sporting the same expression of exhaustion. The only person showing any emotion was the old man, who was grinning like a kid given candy.

As you entered the main room, you walked quietly over to your bed, the exhaustion weighing heavily on your body. It was placed next to where your group was gathered, deep in conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join them. The feeling of death so close left you numb, almost paralyzed. Every part of you was drained—physically, mentally, emotionally. You sat down on your bed, the fabric cold against your skin, and shut your eyes.

You were woken up a couple hours later by the announcers voice that informed you that lights out would be in five minutes. You sighed and walked over to your group, who seemed to be building a makeshift fort.

You approached Gi-hun with a soft smile. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t help you guys move anything, I was asleep. Next time you need my help, just wake me up,’ you said gently. Gi-hun returned your smile, his expression kind. ‘I understand, it’s not your fault.’ He hesitated for a moment, almost as if weighing his words before continuing. “We were going to wake you up, but Sangwoo insisted we let you sleep. But next time, we’ll wake you up.”

You smiled at him gratefully, but internally, you were taken aback. Once again, Sangwoo was looking after you. Each time you thought back to Sangwoo defending you and looking after you your heart fluttered and a small blush would creep onto your cheeks.

Minutes later, the group gathered to decide who would keep watch first. “I don’t mind taking the first shift, I just had some sleep so I won’t have any problems with keeping awake” you volunteered. Everyone nodded in appreciation. “I’ll also keep watch, I’m not tired anyway so I might as well keep watch” Sangwoo says. You smile at him, happy he is the one you will be keeping watch with, not the rude man from earlier.

As the others settled into their beds, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. The silence was thick, only broken by the occasional shifting of the others trying to get comfortable. You sat on the stairs next to Sangwoo, a bit of distance between you two.

There was tension between you both, it wasn’t hostile, just slightly uncertain. You decided to break the silence. “Thank you for standing up to me earlier, it meant a lot”, you said gently whilst looking into his eyes. He stared at you for a moment, like he was debating on how to respond. He settled on smiling at you, “you’re welcome”, he said softly. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, you didn’t do anything wrong”.

Thankfully, the darkness helped hide the blush creeping onto your face. You shifted slightly, trying to mask the slight nervousness you were feeling. “So, how are you holding up?” you asked, the words coming out a little awkwardly as you tried to find a way to keep the conversation going.

Sangwoo chuckled, the deep sound of it making your stomach flutter. It was a light, almost amused sound, and you couldn’t help but smile, despite yourself. “Sorry that was probably a stupid question” you said slightly embarrassed. “No, it’s okay,” he said reassuringly, his tone softer now. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before speaking again. “I’m just trying to get through this.”

You nodded, sensing there was more to what he was saying, but he wasn’t ready to fully open up just yet. After a beat, he continued, his voice quieter this time. “I need to get this money for my mother.” You smile sadly in understanding, you were in here for you family too.

“I’m here for my family too,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You try to find the right words, but it’s hard. Sangwoo noticed your struggle, and without a word, he gently reached out and took your hand in his. His thumb rubbed over the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his touch calming your nerves. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and continued, “My dad… he’s always had a gambling problem. He’s taken out so many loans from bad people. And if he doesn’t pay them back soon… I’m really scared they might hurt him.” Your voice trembled as the weight of it all hits you again, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to fall.

Sangwoo’s gaze softened and he then lifted your chin gently, tilting your face towards him. His touch was tender and soft as he wipes your tears with his thumb. Despite his hands being calloused and rough from the game, his touch felt incredibly gentle. His eyes locked with yours and for a moment all of your problems disappeared. He then pulled you into his chest and placed his chin on your head and rubbed your back. “It’s okay, I got you, we’re going to make it out of here together. You’ll be able to help your family, and I’ll be able to help mine.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t hesitate to trust him. You realised as you rested your head against his warm chest that you had never felt safer before. You just hoped you would both be able to make it out here alive.

He seemed to sense your worries, his arms tightening protectively around you. “I’m not going anywhere I promise”, he said softly and leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your forehead.

For the next few hours, Sangwoo held you tightly. His face was buried into the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Every so often, he placed gentle kisses into your skin and told you that you’re both going to make it out of here, no matter what. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace - like you were home. You nuzzled closer to him, your hand instinctively resting on his, and for a brief moment, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you, and that was all you needed.

[realhotgirlshitah]

Getting high with Luigi… yeah I have thoughts and none of them are clean.

The party is a mess of flashing LED lights, sweaty bodies, and the kind of cheap beer that leaves a sticky residue on the floor. The bass is pounding so loud that you can feel it in your ribs, the whole house practically shaking with the weight of the music and the drunken chaos of a hundred different conversations clashing all at once.

But none of that matters.

Because you and Luigi have long since peeled away from the noise, slipping into the one place in the frat house where nobody ever thinks to look—the upstairs bathroom.

The only light in the room is the golden glow from the cheap vanity bulbs above the sink, casting everything in a warm, hazy filter. There’s a half-used bar of soap by the faucet, someone’s forgotten makeup bag sitting next to it, and a faint lingering smell of cologne and shampoo in the air.

But the real highlight of the room is the bathtub.

It’s an old clawfoot, deep and wide, big enough to comfortably fit two people. And that’s exactly what it’s doing.

Luigi is stretched out on one side, all long legs and lazy confidence, his broad shoulders propped against the porcelain, one arm draped casually over the edge. His other hand is occupied with the joint between his fingers, lazily bringing it to his lips before exhaling a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

You’re perched on the other end, back pressed against the opposite side of the tub, knees drawn up slightly, watching him.

Or, more accurately, trying not to watch him too obviously.

Because Luigi is always attractive—annoyingly, unfairly attractive—but high Luigi?

That’s something else entirely.

His sharp brown eyes are a little hooded, half-lidded and unfocused, giving him a sort of effortless, dreamlike quality. His usually furrowed brow is smooth, his sharp jawline relaxed, and the dim lighting makes the natural golden warmth of his skin look even more intense. His full lips, usually quirked into an arrogant smirk or a cocky grin, are slightly parted as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

And when he tilts his head back slightly, exposing the column of his throat, his messy curls falling away from his face, you’re pretty sure you could die happy in this exact moment.

Of course, you can’t tell him that.

So, instead, you take the joint from his fingers and raise an eyebrow. “Jesus, you look like you’re about to start reciting slam poetry.”

Luigi snorts, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were anti-intellectual.”

“Oh, I’m very anti-intellectual,” you tease, taking a slow drag, holding his gaze as you inhale. “I’d much rather listen to you talk about, I don’t know, the merits of beer pong strategy.”

Luigi exhales sharply, shaking his head. “See, this is why I have to educate you.”

“Educate me,” you repeat, voice dripping with mock offense. “I am way smarter than you.”

That earns you a lazy, knowing smirk. “Are you?”

“Mmm.” You nod, holding his gaze, blowing a slow stream of smoke toward him. “That’s why I don’t waste my time pondering whether or not we’re all just someone’s science experiment.”

Luigi’s smirk widens. “It’s not a waste of time. It’s probability. Statistically, it’s more likely that we are in a simulation than not.”

You tilt your head, rolling the joint between your fingers. “I don’t know, dude. I feel like if we were in a simulation, my life would be a lot more interesting.”

Luigi huffs out a laugh, tapping ash into an empty red solo cup on the sink. “Oh, yeah? What do you want? More aliens? More explosions?”

You shift slightly, adjusting your position in the tub, the porcelain cool against your skin. “More orgies, honestly.”

Luigi chokes on a laugh, his smirk faltering as he coughs out a bit of smoke. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “That’s what you’d change if you could reprogram reality?”

You grin, passing the joint back to him. “I’m just saying, if we’re really being watched by some higher intelligence, the least they could do is add some better entertainment.”

Luigi hums, taking another hit, eyes flickering over you as he exhales. “I think you’re just bad at finding your own entertainment.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, knowing, something just beneath the surface of his voice that makes your stomach tighten.

The thing is, Luigi has always been like this with you. Teasing, cocky, challenging you in ways that make your blood run hot. It’s been your dynamic for as long as you can remember—constant bickering, constant one-upping, constant tension that neither of you have ever really addressed.

And yet, it’s never felt dangerous before.

But right now, sitting across from him in this tiny little bubble of smoke and warmth, his voice low and his gaze heavy-lidded, you can feel something else threading through the usual banter.

Something thick and electric.

Something dangerous.

You shift again, not even thinking twice about it, and then suddenly, you’re moving over to his side of the tub, your knees pressing into the firm muscle of his thighs, your hands bracing against his broad shoulders as you settle yourself right onto his lap.

Luigi doesn’t say anything at first.

He just blinks at you, his long lashes fluttering slightly, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second before he exhales, slow and measured, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

Then, finally, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “What, not enough space on your side?”

You inhale deeply, the scent of weed, cologne, and something uniquely him filling your lungs. You exhale just as slowly, fingers curling slightly where they rest against his solid chest. “There’s never enough space when you take up, like, ninety percent of it.”

Luigi huffs a quiet laugh, his hands instinctively finding their way to your hips, fingers settling warm and heavy against the curve of your waist. It’s an innocent touch, something he’s done a thousand times before. But right now? Right now, it feels like a live wire pressed against your skin.

And then you feel it.

The slow, creeping realization of just how firm he is beneath you.

How solid his thighs are against the insides of yours, pressing up exactly where you’re sensitive, where you’re already way too warm.

And just like that, the air shifts.

Because you can feel it now—all of it.

The heat of him, the slow, easy rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips, the way the rough denim of his jeans is pressing exactly where it shouldn’t be, igniting something slow and insistent low in your stomach.

Your breath hitches, barely noticeable, but he notices.

Of course, he does.

Because Luigi feels it.

He feels the way you stiffen slightly, the way your thighs instinctively press tighter around him, the way you hesitate for just a second too long before shifting again, just a little, but enough that the movement sends the slightest friction sparking against your core.

Luigi notices.

And when he does, his smirk widens just a little.

His fingers flex against your hips, like he’s testing the weight of you, like he’s grounding himself.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with amusement.

You swallow, forcing yourself to breathe. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” His thumb strokes along the fabric of your dress, slow and teasing. “You just got really quiet all of a sudden.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your pulse stutters at the deliberate touch. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Luigi hums, considering this. Then, without warning, he shifts his leg slightly beneath you, just a minor adjustment, something so subtle it shouldn’t have an effect on you.

But it does.

The movement sends a slow, unexpected drag of friction right against your already sensitive core, making your breath hitch before you can stop it.

Luigi’s smirk deepens. “Huh.”

You clench your jaw, narrowing your eyes. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he muses, dragging the word out, his voice lazy, knowing. “Just funny.”

You raise a brow, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “What’s funny?”

Luigi tilts his head slightly, considering you. “You.”

You scoff, shifting slightly, which is a mistake, because the movement only presses you down harder against him, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to shield you from the sensation of rough denim pressing against where you’re starting to throb.

Luigi inhales slowly through his nose, and when you look at him, really look at him, you see the way his pupils are blown, the way his jaw is a little tighter now, the way his hands are gripping you a little firmer, like he’s holding back from something.

Oh.

Oh, he’s feeling it, too.

The realization sends a hot wave of satisfaction rolling through you, emboldening you.

So, instead of pulling away, instead of laughing it off, you decide to test him.

You shift again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Luigi’s fingers dig into your hips harder.

“Jesus,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-exhaling. “Didn’t even realize you were doing it at first.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

Luigi exhales sharply, his fingers sliding lower, down to the curve of your ass, gripping firmly.

“This,” he murmurs, and then he moves you.

It’s subtle at first, barely more than a slow drag of your hips against him, but the sensation is enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands tightening against his shoulders.

Luigi grins, slow and lazy, watching you. “Feels good, huh?”

You don’t answer at first, too focused on the delicious friction, the way the heat is building, slow and insistent, the way every little movement is sending sparks licking up your spine.

Luigi leans in, his voice nothing but a soft, teasing murmur against your ear.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, fingers pressing into your ass, rolling you against him again. “Didn’t even realize, did you?”

Your breath stutters, a soft sound escaping your throat.

Luigi chuckles, low and dark, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” he coos, gripping you a little tighter. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You swallow, trying and failing to control the way your hips stutter against him, your body desperate for more.

Luigi feels it.

And that’s when he decides to help.

His grip tightens, his hands guiding you now, slow and teasing, dragging you against his thigh in a way that makes you whimper.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you, watching the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter. “Go ahead, baby. Take what you need.”

Luigi’s grip is strong, firm, guiding you with deliberate slowness, teasing you with lazy drags of your core against the rough denim of his thigh. Every movement sends sparks licking up your spine, the friction igniting something deep and insistent inside you. The joint in his fingers smolders lazily, sending another soft swirl of smoke curling into the air, but his attention is all on you—watching the way your breath stutters, the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part in quiet, shaky little gasps.

You’re barely even aware of how lost you are in it—how desperate you’re starting to sound, little whimpers slipping past your lips as your hips move in slow, rhythmic rolls, grinding against him in search of more. It’s not enough, not quite, but the teasing build is making your head swim, the steady pressure turning your brain to static.

And then he stops.

His hands fall away from you completely, leaving you suddenly weightless, untethered, forced to chase your own pleasure without his guidance.

The sudden lack of control—the absence of his firm grip—is a shock to your system.

Your movements falter, just for a second, your body aching for that solid pressure, for the way he was rolling you against him just right.

You blink, breathless, tilting your head to look at him. “Luigi—”

“Hm?”

His tone—that lazy, teasing mockery—sends a fresh wave of heat shooting through you.

You huff, shifting against him again, trying to find the same friction, the same pace, but without his hands holding you down, it’s not enough.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His smirk grows. “Somethin’ wrong, baby?”

You glare at him, shifting again, but it’s not the same, it’s not enough, and it makes you whine, frustration slipping into your voice.

“Luigi.”

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, watching you through hooded, knowing eyes. “Dunno why you’re looking at me like that,” he muses, tapping ash into the empty red cup beside the tub. “You were doing just fine on your own.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re such a—”

“What?” His fingers brush against your thigh, just barely, the ghost of a touch that makes your breath catch, but it’s not enough, not even close. His smirk is all sharp edges, cruel, his voice mocking. “Go on, baby. Say it.”

You glare at him, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, both embarrassment and frustration curling tight in your gut. You want to slap that smirk right off his face. You want to grind down against him harder, make him feel how fucking wet you are for him.

So you do.

You roll your hips deliberately, dragging yourself along the solid heat of his thigh, your movements slow, calculated, and needy all at once.

Luigi exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t touch you.

His hands remain limp at his sides, one still holding the joint between two fingers, the other resting lazily against the rim of the tub. He lets you do it, lets you hump his thigh, lets you grind yourself against him, but he doesn’t help you.

And it’s driving you insane.

Your breathing gets heavier, your whimpers turning softer, breathier, your body desperate for that extra pressure.

Luigi hums, tilting his head slightly, eyes flickering down to where your dress has ridden up around your thighs, where your damp panties are soaking through the denim of his jeans.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, grinning, his voice thick with amusement. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, heat flooding beneath your skin, but you don’t stop—you can’t.

Because you’re so close, the pressure building, the friction making your thighs shake, but it’s not enough, you need more, you need him.

“Luigi—”

Your voice is a whimper now, pleading, breathless, and he fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens, but he still doesn’t touch you. “You’re whining, baby.”

“Shut up.”

His laugh is low and slow, vibrating through your skin, and when you move again—when you press down harder, desperately seeking that perfect angle—his hands twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to grab you again.

You see it.

You feel it.

And it makes you even needier.

You let your forehead drop against his shoulder, whimpering softly into the warm skin of his throat, pouting against him as you continue to grind yourself down.

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, the scent curling around the two of you, wrapping you both in a thick, heady fog.

But he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until you break.

Not until your voice turns soft and needy, your whimpers shaky and desperate, your hips stuttering as you chase it, as you beg for it without words.

And then—finally—he gives in.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough now, the teasing edge starting to fray as his hands snap back to your waist, gripping you hard, pulling you down against him, dragging you against his thigh deliberately, roughly, guiding you exactly the way you need.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds you against him, the pressure perfect, the friction intense, his voice turning low and thick, dripping with filthy, taunting satisfaction.

“There you go, baby,” he coos, dragging you against him harder, feeling the way you’re soaking him, feeling the way you tremble in his grasp. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

You whimper, barely able to breathe, your pleasure climbing higher and higher, a hot, pulsing coil threatening to snap.

“You gonna come just like this?” His voice is a smirk, mocking but low and wrecked all at once. “Grinding all desperate on my lap?”

You whine against his throat, your hips stuttering, your body losing control.

Luigi groans, feeling it, feeling how sloppy you’re getting, how soaked his jeans are beneath you. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, gripping you harder, dragging you against him roughly, deliberately, pushing you over the edge-

And then you snap.

Your body locks up, your thighs trembling, your breath breaking as liquid pleasure spills over, soaking completely through his jeans, your pleasure ripping through you so violently that you sob against him.

Luigi stills.

Then he laughs, low and breathless, running a slow hand over the soaked denim of his thigh.

“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, grinning, his voice wrecked and pleased and fucking feral. “Did you just squirt all over me?”

You groan, mortified, hiding your face against his neck.

His grin grows.

Then, with zero hesitation, he takes another slow drag from the joint, exhales against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

“Next time, I wanna feel that on my cock.”

A/N: yall im sorry i just saw the messages the messages between max and lu where he says he’s high and i had to take 20 minutes out to word vomit out my nastiest thoughts about stoner Lu. That’s it. I’m a whore and one that has a whole fic needing to be finished but I did this instead. Crazy.

[bybobbysbeard]

Offered Comfort

Day 14 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: Valentine’s Day - since I basically slept through Valentine’s this year, I chose the alternate prompt: Showering together read on ao3 read other days here

Even though Air Support left the scene hours before the 118, Evan still beats him home. Considering his airtime today, the post-flight checks are a necessary evil, but anything keeping him from falling into bed is officially on his shit-list. He white-knuckles his way through traffic, and can finally relax at the last turn onto his quiet street. The Jeep parked in the driveway and the softly glowing porchlight is the best ‘welcome home’ he can imagine. 

He drags his sorry carcass out of the truck and towards the front door. It’s unlocked, Evan’s shoes stacked neatly on the rack in the foyer. The living room is dark, lit only by the exterior porch light shining through the front door, and a small strip of golden warmth on the far side of the room. Familiar yellow light from their matching bedside lamps shines across the hardwood, around and under the unlatched master bedroom door. The rest of the house is quiet and dim. Peaceful. The perfect reprieve after a long day.

He wanders through, into the kitchen, and sets his lunch bag down on the counter. There’s something fragrant in the oven, the smell of roasting veggies and poultry spices pervading the room. Tommy’s ancient rice cooker is ticking away, little red LEDs glowing faintly.

He heads towards the bedroom. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, there’s no sign of his boyfriend, but the faint sound of running water reaches his ears. The ensuite door is open too, steam slowly curling up from the floorboards. Tommy drops his duffle by the closet and starts peeling his clothes off. He can tell from here the bathroom pot lights are dimmed, and there’s no sounds other than the consistent noise of spray hitting the tiles.

Hopefully Evan hasn’t fallen asleep in the shower; it’s happened to both of them before.

Naked now, Tommy eases his way into the room. Warmth crests around him, steamy air fogging up the mirror and the shower glass. A familiar form, edges blurred, takes up space in the stall. Evan looks completely still, long body leaning up against the wall, away from the glass. Tommy steps closer, knocking softly on the vanity top. If Evan is asleep, he doesn’t want to startle him. First responders know the statistics for bathroom accidents better than anyone. 

The knocking is audible over the water, but Evan doesn’t move. Tommy slides the stall door open. His boyfriend is leaning up against the tile, but he isn’t asleep. Blue eyes are slitted open, watching Tommy tiredly. Both arms are curled around his own middle, a self-soothing gesture Tommy recognizes from bad calls and nightmares. His curls are plastered to his forehead. There’s a few scrapes on his forearms, a thin scratch that has already scabbed along his jaw. The bags under his eyes are a deep, deep, purple. He looks exhausted. Tommy didn’t look in the mirror, but he is sure he doesn’t look much better.

He steps into the stall. The spray makes contact with his hips and legs, warm water soothing his aching feet. His boyfriend still hasn’t moved, or spoken. Tommy is loath to break the little bubble of quiet Evan has created, so he reaches up, trailing a finger along that thin line of scab and meeting weary blue eyes.

Eyelashes gone dark and spiky in the water fan out over his cheeks as Evan closes his eyes. Tommy moves closer, reaching out with his other hand for one of the arms wrapped around that tattooed torso. He makes contact with an elbow, slides his palm slowly along ribs and warm muscle until he can press his fingers into Evan’s spine and pull him away from the tiles. He tips him forward, Evan’s forehead making contact with Tommy’s shoulder. A heaving sigh cools his damp skin. 

Tommy shuffles them both back a step and to the side, getting fully under the spray. His own hair is soon plastered to his skull, and water is running into his eyes, but Evan’s arms have unspooled from around his own abdomen. Hands that shake with fatigue clutch weakly onto Tommy’s hips. 

They’re pressed together, head to toe. Miles and miles of heated skin and warm water. Stubble itches against his pectoral as Evan turns his face into Tommy’s neck. Tommy turns too, his mouth ghosting over an ear and pressing a kiss to the round curve of a cheek. They breath together slowly, chests brushing. He smooths a hand down Evan’s back, feeling the minute tremors of his exhausted body.

Later, when they’re getting changed, he’ll thank Evan for making dinner, and remind him that his living here is not transactional. He doesn’t always have to cook; especially after a day like today. 

Later, when they’re lying in bed, they’ll talk about their shifts. Tommy will mention how the probie pulled her weight today, and Evan will brag a little about how well Ravi is doing, back on A-shift finally. They’ll discuss the last call: the good, the bad, and everything between. 

Later, when Evan is snoring softly into his shoulder, Tommy will think about how nice it is to have someone to come home to. And how much it means to him that Evan seems to need his offered comfort too. 

But for now, he’ll grab the loofah and bodywash, and he’ll clean the long day off of both of them.

[wordsarelife]

—hey stephen

pairing: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

summary: you and peter have to fix a little mistake one of the avengers made. luckily you're a great team

warnings: flirting, theft lol

note: i realized too late i hadn't put it in the queqe lol!

the night sky loomed above you, a soft haze of stars disappearing into the city’s light pollution. a high-rise office building stretched into the clouds, and at its base, peter was already halfway up, scaling the glass like it was nothing. your fingers tapped the device your dad had insisted you bring, ensuring your escape route was intact—just in case.

"the probability of falling to your death is one in three," you called out, voice laced with dry amusement as you watched peter's slow climb from the ground.

from above, peter’s voice crackled through your earpiece, laced with sarcasm. "what do the statistics say about people with spider-powers?" he paused to look down at you, clearly rolling his eyes beneath the mask.

with a smirk, you tapped the small stark tech device on your wrist, instantly teleporting yourself from the ground to the roof he was climbing toward. when you appeared, you peeked over the ledge to see him still climbing, almost there. "they say, that they're kind of slow."

peter stopped climbing and turned his head in your direction, scowling up at you. "ha ha" he muttered, clearly unimpressed. still, you could see a grin forming under the mask as he climbed up the last few feet. "and what do they say about people with teleporting powers and stark-level egos?"

you quirked a brow, amusement dancing on your lips. "that we don’t have time to climb up buildings for fun," you shot back.

"whatever" he replied playfully, as he walked around you, to look through the glass of the roof and into the room beneath it. "do we have any information about the security system?"

"vision’s already taken care of the alarms and cameras," you answered, eyes still locked on the space beneath. "but we’ve got a problem."

you and peter stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down through the reinforced glass at the one obstacle neither of you had expected: larry, the security guard. he was patrolling the museum’s halls with an intensity that would put some SHIELD agents to shame.

larry was infamous for taking his job way too seriously, a fact that had somehow kept this museum entirely free of robbery attempts.

peter let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "that’s larry, isn’t it? guy’s basically the captain america of museum security.”

"yup," you sighed, arms crossed as you watched larry methodically sweep each room like he was guarding the crown jewels. "this mission is supposed to be high-stakes, not high-annoyance."

your father had pulled you into this last-minute mission, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of his over-the-top explanation for why this was necessary.

thor had accidentally packed one of tony's and bruce’s experimental devices in a gift box meant for this museum, and now that same device was on display, tucked away in some artifact. to tony, this was practically a world-ending catastrophe.

"couldn't you just, you know... build another one?" you had asked at the time, exasperation dripping from your voice.

tony had responded by rolling his eyes dramatically, as if you’d just suggested throwing away the mona lisa. "do you want the wrong hands getting this tech? because that’s how we all end up in serious, world-ending trouble."

that, of course, had been enough to get you and peter on board. especially after the last world-ending trouble, your father had been involved in, had led to robots invading sokovia and ripping it out of the ground.

but now, staring at larry pacing the hallway like he was auditioning for an action movie, you were starting to regret that decision.

"we’ve got to get him out of there" peter whispered. "or this is going to get messy fast"

you nodded. "and vision can’t mess with his comms or knock him out—he’s just a regular guy, after all. we can’t exactly web him up and call it a day"

"yeah" peter agreed. "but we can’t just waltz in either. larry’s about three steps away from spotting us and sounding the alarm. and there goes our quiet heist"

peter shifted beside you, fidgeting like he always did when he was thinking up a plan. you could practically see the gears turning in his head. he turned to you, his face half-hidden under the mask, but you could feel the grin even if you couldn’t see it. "how good are you at distractions?"

you raised an eyebrow. "depends on the distraction. what are you thinking?"

peter leaned down, pointing at the far end of the hallway where a ventilation shaft led into the room larry was patrolling. "you teleport down there, maybe drop something—make some noise. when larry goes to investigate, i’ll slip in and get the device"

you glanced at the vent, calculating the distance between it and larry’s patrol route. it could work. you could make just enough noise to pull him out of the main exhibit area without alerting him too much.

“fine” you muttered, already prepping yourself. “but you owe me.”

peter chuckled, tapping the side of his mask. "i’ll pay you back in kisses. how’s that?"

"disgusting, actually" rolling your eyes, you disappeared in a flash, teleporting down into the vent, making sure to land as quietly as possible. the cold metal of the air duct pressed against your knees as you crawled toward the room below, spotting larry a few feet away, completely oblivious.

reaching for your utility belt, you pulled out a small stark gadget—a harmless little device designed to make a loud noise when activated. with a quick flick of your wrist, you dropped it through the slats in the vent, watching as it clattered to the floor.

larry’s head snapped toward the sound immediately. his footsteps echoed through the room as he headed toward the noise, flashlight in hand. you teleported yourself back to the roof in time to see peter lower himself through the glass on a webline, slipping into the room like a shadow.

“good?” you whispered into your comms.

peter’s voice came back soft but smug. "good. i'm heading to the artifact now."

you watched from above as peter made his way through the room, quiet as ever. he moved between the display cases with ease, his eyes trained on the object in question—a small, unassuming vase, inside of which was the deadly device your dad had carelessly gifted to the museum.

"you think they’d put the dangerous stuff in a more secure spot," peter whispered, now crouched by the display.

"it’s a vase," you whispered back. "nobody thinks vases are dangerous."

peter snorted. "clearly, they’ve never been on a mission with you.”

“clearly, my dad is just as smart, considering he gave a kid a multi-million dollar suit” you teased.

"oh, shut up!" peter shook his head, but you could hear in his voice that he wasn't actually angry or offended at the joke. he carefully removed the vase from its display, switching it out with an identical replica tony had provided. “got it,” he said, holding the real one up to the light.

but just as he turned to leave, larry came back into view. peter froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the closest hiding spot—a decorative column far too narrow to be much help.

“uh, y/n?” peter’s voice was tense. “i think larry’s about to spot me”

“how close are you to the exit?” you asked, already preparing to teleport in if things got messy.

“close enough... but not without being seen” peter muttered. he shifted, trying to move around the column without larry noticing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. "fine. hold tight."

in an instant, you teleported into the hallway just a few feet behind larry, making just enough noise to catch his attention. he spun around, his flashlight sweeping the area where you had appeared.

peter took the opportunity to slip past, barely making a sound as he darted for the exit.

larry's flashlight landed on you for just a second before you teleported again, this time to the roof, heart racing as you reappeared beside peter.

"that was close," you breathed, watching as larry scratched his head below, completely unaware of what had just happened and probably blaming the hint of your figure on his sleep deprivation.

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you realize this was extremely stupid, right?”

you raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “what, you worried about me?”

peter shrugged, not quite meeting your eyes. “i mean, if you got caught, who else would pull me out of this mess?”

you gave him a playful shove. "please. i’d just teleport out, and you’d be stuck explaining to larry why you’re playing spider-man in a museum."

he grinned behind his mask, shaking his head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, well, you’re the one who drags me into these missions,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “besides, i saved your butt down there.”

peter held up the vase, the light glinting off it's surface. "i think we're even now. how about we call it a tie?"

you smirked. "tie? not a chance, parker. you owe me big time for this"

peter's eyes crinkled at the edges, the grin behind his mask unmistakable. “all right, all right. i’ll buy you dinner.”

“dinner?” you arched an eyebrow. “is that how you plan to repay me?”

he shrugged, but the mischievous spark in his eyes was impossible to miss. “seems fair, right?”

before you could reply, vision's voice chimed in over your comms. "y/n, peter, congratulations on a successful retrieval. the quinjet is ready for extraction."

peter gave a mock salute. "see? mission accomplished. we’re golden."

you couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes. "fine, but next time, you get to deal with larry."

peter paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “you sure? i think larry kind of likes you. he was definitely staring a bit when you teleported in behind him.”

you scoffed, shaking your head as you turned to head for the extraction point. "do you ever stop staring at me?"

peter’s voice was soft but completely sincere as he jogged to catch up beside you. “no, not really.”

you shot him a sideways glance, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. "smooth, parker."

he grinned again, slipping the vase into the protective case tony had provided. “hey, can’t help it. you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

"right," you muttered, suppressing a smile. "let’s just focus on not getting caught next time, yeah?”

“deal,” peter agreed, but his voice held that familiar teasing edge. "but maybe we should stick to flirting only after we’re out of danger.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe you should stop flirting in near-death situations.”

peter shrugged, a playful glint still in his eye. “what can i say? i work best under pressure.”

[calaisreno]

Death in the Gingerbread House

by Calais Reno for @lisbeth-kk

“What are you doing?”

Sherlock doesn’t look up from his task, which seems to be placing tiny, blood-red gumdrops inside a house made of gingerbread. He’s wearing magnifying spectacles and using tweezers to reach inside the  walls of his creation. 

John stifles a giggle. “Erm. Are you…?”

“Obviously.” Without moving his head, Sherlock looks over the tops of his glasses at John. 

John moves closer, peering over the walls. The roof hasn’t been attached yet, and he can see inside, where a tiny gingerbread man lies bleeding red icing. 

“I think it was the fox,” he says. 

Sherlock frowns, sets down his tweezers. “What fox?”

“The murderer.”

Sherlock looks like he wants to say something, but can’t quite figure out what that might be. 

“The fox ate the gingerbread man,” John says. “That’s what happens in the story.”

“Our victim has not been eaten,” Sherlock says, picking up a tube of white icing. “He’s been stabbed.” He picks up a tiny dagger (obviously filched from the Cluedo game) and points it at John. “The murder weapon.”

John watches as Sherlock draws a line of icing around the corpse. “He was already dead when somebody stabbed him. There’d be lots more blood if he was alive when it happened.”

Sherlock sets down the icing and regards John. “Mrs Hudson ran out of red food colouring.”

John smiles. “I can run to the shop and get more.” He pulls out his phone and begins typing with one finger.

Sherlock shakes his head. “No, I’d like to hear your theory about the fox.”

“Okay. We must assume that the fox wanted to eat the gingerbread man. Statistically, gingerbread men are more often eaten than stabbed. The fox offers him transportation across the stream, expecting him to accept. This particular gingerbread man, however, was able to outwit the fox.”

“What evidence has led you to that deduction?” Sherlock is smiling now, reaching for his phone as it buzzes with an incoming message. Looking at it, he laughs. “If gingerbread man has a boat, arrest fox.”

“I think you’ll find a tiny oar if you look in the gingerbread shed,” John says. “As for the fox—”

Sherlock’s eyes light up. “He’s hiding in the shed! We’re going to need more gingerbread…”

A trip to the shop (brown sugar, ginger, cinnamon, butter, vanilla, flour and food colouring) and the baking begins. 

To be continued...

(Right now I need to cut down a tree... 🌲)

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @notjustamumj @copperplatebeech

[transdian12]

💔 LGBTQ+ Refugees in South Sudan Are Still in Danger — We Need You

To our friends in the United States, Canada, UK, and beyond—please hear us.

In the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan, LGBTQ+ refugees—especially transgender individuals—continue to face intolerable violence, isolation, and trauma. The fear hasn’t stopped. The discrimination hasn’t ended. And the world has gone quiet.

Two powerful articles recently shed light on our reality:

📰 News: "LGBTQI refugees in South Sudan trapped between a rock and a hard place" (76 Crimes)

> This investigative report exposes the threats queer refugees face in Gorom—abuse, harassment, and lack of protection even within UN-run spaces.

📝 Blog: "When I Needed a Neighbour, Were You There?" (Humanist World)

> A deeply personal reflection on the pain of abandonment and the moral cost of global silence in the face of queer suffering.

We at Trans Initiative Gorom, a grassroots group led by and for transgender refugees, are not asking for much—just safety. Just the right to live in peace and dignity, like anyone else.

What can you do?

🇺🇸 In the U.S. – Contact your elected officials. Ask them what they are doing to protect LGBTQ+ refugees in South Sudan.

🇨🇦 In Canada – Urge your MPs to advocate for international LGBTQ+ protections.

🇬🇧 In the UK – Write to your local MP. Your voice matters.

🌍 Everywhere – Share. Speak. Act. Let others know we exist. Use your platform for those who have none.

We are not statistics.

We are human beings, survivors, siblings, and souls in need of refuge.

Your silence is powerful—but so is your solidarity.

📢 Share this. Talk about us. Help us survive.

[pedripics]

Pedri: «I like being a leader, it's a role that doesn't scare me at all»

(via EFE - February 11, 2025)

Sant Joan Despí, (Barcelona) - Despite his youth, midfielder Pedro González 'Pedri' (Tegueste, Tenerife, 2002) is not afraid to become one of the leaders of Hansi Flick's Barcelona, ​​a coach who, as he explained in an interview with EFE, asked him at the beginning of the season to take "a step forward" as head of the engine room of the Blaugrana team.

With the arrival of the German coach last summer, the Canarian footballer has not only left behind the muscle injuries that have slowed his progress in the last three seasons, but, positioned a little further away from the area, he has become the conductor of a team that is "feasible" to fight to win all the titles, he says.

Happy with his new role on the field

"I really like this position because I'm in contact with the ball, I touch the ball a lot, the game goes through me. I feel more comfortable and I've learned how to position myself better in defensive tasks," he says.

The advanced statistics prove him right. Of all the players who play in the five major European leagues and European competitions, Pedri is the one who has given the most pre-assists, with 7 pre-assists that have led to a goal assist.

According to the Spanish international, Flick's confidence has been key to his improvement - "he told me he wanted me to dominate the midfield," he recalls - and he naturally assumes being one of the leaders in the dressing room.

"There are a lot of young players and because of my experience I should be one of the leaders. I like being that, it's a role that doesn't scare me, not at all. I just want to face it to try to make Barça win titles," he added.

He feels “very light” on the grass

In addition, Pedri has found continuity in his game this season, something that he had been lacking in the last three seasons due to the muscular ailments he had been suffering from.

In this sense, he says that he currently feels "very light" on the grass, where he can make "several efforts in a row" without fear of breaking.

"The way we train," he admits, has been one of the main reasons why he has played in 35 of the 36 official matches that Barcelona has played this season - 33 as a starter - surpassing the 34 he played last season.

"It doesn't mean that the other way of training was bad, but it's just that it suits me very well," he says. After the arrival of Julio Tous as head of physical preparation last summer, the first team of the Blaugrana, says Pedri, does strength exercises "much more measured" for each player and their needs. "It's a job that suits me better personally and, that's why I'm feeling so good," he says.

In addition, genetic tests were carried out which, according to the Tenerife midfielder, determined that he needed to play the matches in a row, with hardly any breaks. "I prefer to play, since my body finds it harder to get going when it stops for one or two weeks," he added.

Good atmosphere in the locker room

And that is what Hansi Flick is doing, asking him to "stay calm, maintain possession and from there create opportunities" in a team in which there is a "feeling" between the players, he highlights.

"We're always laughing and joking around, because there are many players who aren't even 20 years old. We laugh a lot and the good relationship we have off the pitch is transmitted on it," he says.

In addition to Pedri, another of Barça's footballing leaders is the Brazilian Raphael Dias 'Raphinha', the team's second top scorer this season with 24 goals, who is praised for his work capacity.

"He deserves it a lot, because there was a time when he was being criticized, when he wasn't at his best, but you always saw him training, wanting to improve, wanting to have those opportunities that you knew were going to come to him because of the way he worked, he's spectacular," he added.

He also praises other colleagues such as Pablo Páez Gavira 'Gavi' and Fermín López - "they seem to be going crazy, but the work they both do is incredible," he says - as well as his friend Ferran Torres, who this season is reaping "the fruits" of his work.

Optimistic about the selection

Since his breakthrough in the elite with Barcelona in the 2020-21 season, Pedri has also established himself in the Spanish national team, with which he won the European Championship last summer.

“Whenever you win a tournament like the Euros, you always think: I hope the World Cup comes soon, we are doing very well. We have to wait, they are dynamic, we have a great team. It is good that Rodri (Hernández) and Dani Carvajal - both injured - can make it to the 2026 World Cup and so we have everyone available,” he says.

The Barça player also highlights the influence of coach Luis de la Fuente, who he says knows “almost all” of the national team's players due to having trained in the lower categories of the national team.

“That is very important when it comes to transmitting. He believed in you when you were little and he continues to believe in you in the absolute. That gives you a lot of confidence” he points out.

He doesn't forget his roots

Beyond his day-to-day work as a professional, Pedri does not forget his roots, not even when he chooses to join forces with a brand. This is the case of Plátano de Canarias, a product from his “land” with which he is very proud to collaborate.

“Many times it is personal issues, emotional issues, that make one thing satisfy you more than another, and not so much because of the economic value or other things. You value sentimental or emotional things more than anything else,” he says.

The Canarian footballer has also been involved in a campaign to promote healthy habits among young people through the consumption of fruits such as bananas.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | five

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate school system talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.6k

authors note: we're back, literally. there will be more flashbacks in the future so stay tuned. Also I made a playlist with the songs up to this part.

04 | 05 | 06

Sophomore year - 2022

Statistics. You weren’t the biggest fan of the class, yet you took it every semester of your major. One positive thing this class brought you was Kelce. You and Kelce had met thanks to your moms when you were kids and had also gone to kindergarten together. You had moved houses, and when it was time for elementary school, you belonged to a new district, so you didn’t attend the same one as Kelce. But life brought the two of you back together last year in this very same class. As a freshman, you thought you wouldn’t know anyone, but there was the familiar face with whom you had shared so many memories. Kelce didn’t hesitate to talk to you, and it felt like no time had passed. 

This was supposed to be the second class, but the professor was sick last week, so there was no class. Even if this was the first class, he was already assigning a project. It was small, but it had to be done in groups of no fewer than three people, and those groups would remain for the rest of the semester. 

“You can work with us,” Kelce said. 

“Us who?” you asked, confused; he was alone. 

“He is late; he had an impromptu basketball meeting.” Just as on cue, the guy Kelce had been talking about walked into the class, excusing himself to the professor and standing in front of you. 

“You’re in my seat,” he said in a gentle tone. 

“Well, you weren’t here.” You gave him a little smile and added, 

“I think I can forgive you just because of that smile,” he smirked. 

“Just sit down, Rafe,” Kelce motioned to his friend, and you just stared at him. 

After the class ended, Kelce formally introduced the two of you and mentioned that he would create a group chat to talk when needed. You said goodbye to both and left for your next class.

“So, how long have you known her?” Rafe asked Kelce.

“Since when do you care how long I’ve known someone?”

“Since today,” he paused. “Now answer.” Kelce chuckled.

“Since we were kids; our moms are friends. You would’ve met her if she hadn’t moved away before we started elementary school.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Why would I mention it before?… Wait! You liked her,” Kelce laughed as they walked out of class.

“Not to be that guy, but have you seen her? Why wouldn’t I like her?”

“Have some backbone, would you? You don’t even know her.”

“And that’s your fault! Why have you kept her hidden?” Kelce laughed out loud again.

“I haven’t kept her hidden.”

“Do you like her?”

“Calm down, would you? No, I don’t like her. She is pretty, but she’s not my type, and I’ve known her for so long I can’t see her that way.”

“I didn’t know you knew Rafe,” Sarah says as you both make your way inside the coffee shop.  

“I don’t; Kelce introduced us yesterday in statistics class, and now we are working together as a group.”  

“That’s nice. He’s pretty good with numbers.”  

“Good to know. I’m not a big fan,” you said, chuckling softly. “How do you know him?”  

“Oh, he is my cousin. We were born almost at the same time and grew up together,” Sarah smiled.  

“It’s like you are siblings.”  

“Oh, we definitely treat each other like siblings sometimes,” she laughs.  

You both continued talking and decided to order because the guys weren’t showing up, and Ruthie had told you that she was going to be late because she had forgotten to buy groceries. After you two had ordered, you sat and continued talking while scrolling through your phones.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @drewstarkeyspecs @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry @ursogorgeous13 @pr3tty-pink @lmaowhatt @reeseswirl @xoxosblogsblog @lili-swagalicious @ayy1234567 @rihannamars @congratsloserr @moonywhisp3rs @iamheretoread1234 @rafesdrew @bee-43 @pogueprincesa @cokewithcameron @landososcar @drewstarkeyslover @wintersoldierslover @rafecqmeronslove @defnotayonna if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything i write

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[magnetothemagnificent]

In light of Resurrection of Magneto's latest issue and blunder of the Jewish belief that "if you save one life it's as if you saved an entire world"....

It doesn't mean that Jews are all saintly protectors who must save everyone and never kill anyone. It doesn't mean that all. In fact, there's an equally as important belief that goes along with the aforementioned one which is that "if you allow a murderer to escape, the blood of their victims is on your hands." We Jews are not naive. The life of a murderer is not worth more than their victim- if you had a chance to stop a murderer and didn't, yes, even if it means killing them, the blood of their victims is on your hands.

Which is why Magneto saying "to save one life is to save the world" about Tony freakin' Stark is not only out of character, but also not what the phrase is about. Tony Stark has proven numerous times that his actions have led to disastrous things. Magneto is under no theological or moral obligation to help him. And Magneto himself as a character wouldn't *want* to help him.

"oh but he's had his redemption arc, Magneto is good now uwu"

Magneto doesn't have to be a doormat to have a redemption arc. Him not killing Tony for his actions inadvertantly causing the destruction of mutantkind by Orchis is enough of a "redemption". He doesn't have to save Tony to prove he's "good" now, and in fact, helping him would statistically most likely end up with more destruction in the future. Magneto can just. Not do anything. That would be more in-character.

Jews are not naive doormats. *Magneto* is not a naive doormat.

[supernovafics]

waiting for steve harrington to show up to your party

wc: 889

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you weren’t waiting for him. 

after thirty minutes of actually waiting for him, you decided to convince yourself that you weren’t waiting for him to show up to the party anymore. in fact, you told yourself that you couldn’t care less if steve showed up or not, and you definitely didn’t want to think about how much of a lie that was. 

instead of thinking about him and wondering if he would ever come, you allowed your friends to pull you into the kitchen to take a shot and then you watched from the sidelines as a few of them got involved in a very heated game of beer pong.  

you hated how your eyes kept traveling back to the front door every so often— waiting, expecting— but you truly couldn’t help it.  

“it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t come,” one of your friends told you, her voice loud enough so you could hear her over the music. “there are other hot guys here. and no offense but probably better than steve.”

you rolled your eyes at her statement. yes, there were guys there, some of whom were in a few of your college classes and were very attractive. but, there was something that you really liked about steve, and it made you not want to give any other guy the time of day. it had been like that since the moment you first bumped into him outside of family video— his shift had ended and you were going inside to find a comedy to rent. it was a short interaction that somehow managed to affect you so much. you felt like you were back in middle school with this crush that at times felt hopeless. 

steve was either completely oblivious to the fact that you liked him— which you thought you made quite clear with how much you frequented family video after that first encounter, and how you excitedly invited him to this party that you and your friends were having at the house you all rented together for school— or he just didn’t have the same feelings.

you’d rather think that he didn’t see your obvious flirting cues than the latter.

your friend could practically see how fast your mind was moving, thoughts fully consumed by steve. 

“let’s get another drink,” she said and you didn’t protest as she led you to the kitchen. 

you grabbed a cup and filled it with the punch you helped make earlier that was almost completely alcohol but still a little bit sweet. 

when your friend got pulled into a conversation with a guy that you recognized from your early morning statistics class, your eyes couldn’t help but travel back to the front door. 

and finally, there he was. walking into your home and closing the door behind him. 

you quickly drank the rest of your drink and discarded the cup before going over to him. 

“you actually came.”

steve gave you a small smile. “yeah, of course, you invited me.” 

you wanted to play it cool and act like his words did nothing to you, but it was really hard not to smile at that. 

“wanna see my room?” you asked. your slightly inebriated brain couldn’t see how much of an innuendo that question was until you said it and you quickly tried to recover. “i didn’t mean it like… that. it’s just really loud out here.”

steve nodded and let out a small laugh. “yeah, let’s go to your room.”

you grabbed his hand and started walking in the direction of your bedroom.

“my humble abode,” you said when you walked in and flicked on the lamp that barely gave any light to the space. 

“it’s nice,” he responded as he started looking at the random trinkets you had sitting on top of your dresser. 

you smiled at him. “thanks.” 

it was then that you realized that you two were still holding hands. you gave his hand a light squeeze and he did the same to you, a small smile on his face. 

if the circumstances were a bit different and your mind wasn’t a bit fuzzy, you don’t think you would’ve taken the plunge, but you did. instead of overthinking everything, you leaned in close to him and pressed your lips against his, but he almost immediately pulled away.

“you’re drunk right now,” he said softly. “i wanna do this when you’re not.”

in that moment, you felt offended that he was kind of rejecting you, but later you would think about this moment and feel glad that he didn’t kiss you right then. 

because it would make the first time you actually kissed each other a thousand times better. 

“i really like you,” he said. 

you smiled at him. “i really like you too.”

steve smiled back at you. “cool, great. glad to know we’re on the same page about that.”

maybe it was your slight inebriation, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was a little nervous right then.

“you really didn’t know this whole time?” you asked. “that i have a crush on you?”

in your mind, it always seemed so obvious to you that you liked him.

steve shook his head. “sometimes i’m an idiot about this stuff.”

“yeah, me too,” you whispered.

“you wanna get some food? i know a great diner that probably serves the best pancakes.”

you smiled and nodded. “pancakes sound amazing right now.”

[unholyhelbig]

I for one would not mind more werewolf kate

Title: Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot [6/?]

Summary: After reader is attacked by a strange animal in the woods, her world is flipped upside down. Now she must navigate a new life filled with strangers and myths.

Trigger warnings: Hunting, the actual werewolf transformation, restraints (hands, legs, neck), bloody & Gore, pet names, let me know if I've forgotten anything pls.

[Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six]

[A/n: I was really fucking sad when I wrote this, and for that, I apoloigize. This isn't a gentle chapter, so please read with caution. And as always, I did not proof read].

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

A rot of leaves coated the forest floor, filling your lungs with an unsettling pungent scent. The world had blurred edges, somehow caving in on itself with each passing second. The trees whizzed past you, an ache that once covered your entire being had ebbed away the faster you ran.

There was such an intoxicating scent that led you blindly. It was floral and sweet and screamed above all the deteriorating vegetation. You’d run so far, so fast and without hesitation. What was that? You needed to sink your teeth into it, to taste it. You would simply die if you didn’t.

It was a girl. Yes. A girl.

She was running too, but not nearly with enough speed as you. She stumbled over fallen logs and branches dug into her skin. They created gashes of dripping red that made you salivate. She was cornered against a fence, fingers curling around the chain link.

You regarded her, taking a moment to register the hot pain in your chest. How far had you followed her? It was ways from home, you knew that much, but none of that seemed to matter. No- because she was right in front of you, and she was captivating.

In your excitement, you took a careful step forward and a small noise escaped her throat. Her eyes were frantic as she took in your hulking and animalistic stature. She was afraid, and part of you was too. Something had led you to her, to this sadistic chase that had cornered you both.

Her blood tasted sweet just like her scent. Your teeth crushed bone, tore through tendons with such a simple ease.

She was yours.

Sweat had soaked through your sheets and clung to your bare legs, even as you shot up and pulled in a helping of air. Your skin buzzed as if it were set ablaze with fever.  The waning moon cast a sickly pale light against the room. Your heart pounded ruthlessly against your chest.

That dream had left you antsy, and horrified. You never remembered your dreams but this one was vivid, almost like it was a memory. The coppery taste made your mouth dry. You were restless, wide awake despite the red numbers on the clock indicating that it was just past 3:00am.

You couldn’t hear anything through the walls that had been doubled down in strength despite your enhanced senses. The house was as good as silent, though you figured it statistically impossible for everyone to be asleep.

The hallway was dark compared to your room, filled with moonlight. You padded a few steps before you stopped in front of Kate’s door. It pained you to be here, begging for some type of comfort. The dream had left you rattled. Afraid.

It was getting closer to the full moon and your thoughts had been plagued with the pain that you’d read about so diligently. Scanning the inked words on a yellowing page was nothing compared to the experience of it all.

Swallowing your pride, you knocked twice, knowing that she could hear you. It took Kate a few moments to untangle herself from her blankets. You could pick up on her stumbling her way across her room until she swung the door open.

The girl tried to be suave, giving you a tired smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Her hair was sleep-worn and springing in various directions. She wore a pair of boxers with little purple arrows against the fabric and a tank top that was riding up enough to expose the smooth expanse of her stomach.

“Hi,” You swallowed the dryness in your throat, pulling your eyes from her muscular frame. Her cheeks were blooming with a fond pinkness. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were freezing, that the sweat you’d produced during the odd dream had dried taught against your skin. A shiver worked its way through you, and you crossed your arms over your midsection, trying to preserve what warmth you had left.

Kate lilted her head and stepped to the side without a second thought. She beaconed you into her room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light of the moon. Her comforter was drawn back, pillows scattered against her bed. She must have been engulfed in a deep and comfortable sleep, one that you had broken.

It helped, not being able to see the looming structure of the moon. It made you squirm, but the scent that engulfed you, the pure warmth of Kate’s mere presence, calmed your nerves. When she shut the door softly you knew that you were safe with her.

The wolf, that’s what Wanda had called it, knew what it wanted. She said that there was a blind trust that would flow through you with the girl that you’d crawled to and that feeling was only multiplying as the full moon got closer and closer.

“Don’t… say a word.” You turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest.

Despite your warning, she smiled wolfishly at you, lifting both of her hands with an innocent shrug. She looked adorably miffed by exhaustion, and that thought annoyed you more than anything. God, you really should hate her. But she looked so warm, so accepting and every inch of your body was howling for her skin against yours.

Kate settled back into bed and peeled back the duvet with an expectant look on her face. Why were you fighting her so hard? Clearly, you were tired. You’d knocked on her door and you hadn’t done that without reason. If you wanted conversation, you would have found Peter and interrupted his late night gaming.

Or maybe even Natasha who couldn’t sleep, just like you. But you did value your life, just a little bit. So Kate it was, a magnet that drew you in. The more exhausted you got, the harder it was to pull away. And really- she had been trying. Right?

Almost as if on instinct, you took her up on her offer and slid into the encompassing warmth of the duvet. There was the scent of lavender, of freshly washed sheets and the metallic breath that she drew in, almost as if she was just as shocked as you were at the action.

Kate cautiously lowered the blanket and the two of you stared at the little glowing stars on her ceiling. You hadn’t seen them since the fifth grade. America didn’t’ have the deep green celestial patterns, but instead a garden of pulsing orange and purple, and yellow flowers.

You could feel the heat of Kate’s shoulder close to yours. You were so cold, even under the blankets and she seemed like the only source of comfort from the dream that lingered so heavily on your mind.

“Do you think…”

The words died in your throat. She turned her head to face you, and after a few moments of building up the courage you turned your cheek against the pillow too, staring into a cloudy grey stare that was marred with sleep, pockmarked with questions.

“Will I ever be able to see them again?” your voice was pinched with emotion. It was fear, the both of you recognized it. Her eyes glossed over, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to stop it from trembling. You felt emotion well up in your own chest. “I know things will never be normal again, but do you think there’s a chance?”

Kate swallowed the thickness in her throat, voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

You nodded and dislodged the tears that were fighting for dominance. Kate didn’t’ hesitate to reach up and wipe them away with her gentle touch. Her thumb was calloused, but soft. A whimper escaped you as you leaned into her touch. Kate shivered at the contact herself.

“I get why I’m here and I’m grateful for it. The last thing I want to do…” you trained off, listening to the shuttered sound of her breathing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, ever.”

“You won’t, y/n.”

The immediacy of her statement brought you comfort. It wasn’t necessarily a reflex, but a belief that she felt deep in her core. You clenched your eyes shut and scooted closer until you felt the full effect of Kate’s presence.

The movements were gentle as you slotted yourself against her, hand laying on her stomach and moving over the softness of her shirt. She held her breath for a moment, instinctively wrapping her arm around you. You pressed your nose against the naïve of her neck, slick with tears of her own.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She quivered with guilt.

You were starting to understand, against your better judgement, why this had happened. Kate found you for a reason, and that tension, that discomfort, that was your wolf fighting for a way to get to her. And you had.

The tears that wet her shirt, the ones that coated your cheeks, they were those of relief. You curled into Kate, taking in her scent, the two of you gripping onto each other like a vice, eventually drifting towards a fitful sleep, shadowed by stars.

There was no such thing as privacy in a house with eleven people. Not when so many of them had a strict regimen of exercise, and healthy eating. There was a stark difference from life at the dorm where people rarely arose before twelve in the afternoon unless they had class, and even that was a gamble.

Instead, you stirred to the sound of a blender and the hushed voices of an indiscernible conversation. That was followed by a very discernible sound of a cell phone camera. Even without advanced hearing, you clocked it in moments.

A small groan escaped you. It was much too early to wake up. You had never been more comfortable in your life, your nose pressed flush against the crook of Kate’s neck. She shifted in her sleep, pulling you closer with an adorably tiny breath.

“Go away,” she grumbled, the words vibrating against your palm.

 You tightened your grip on the fabric of her shirt. God, it was so bright. They’d pulled the curtains back and the sun was in full force. Despite the comfort, there was no way you’d drift back into sleep. That fact alone was solidified when you bolted up at the clearing of someone’s throat.

An odd hurriedness shot through your spine, forehead knocking against Kate’s chin and leaving a throbbing spot in its wake. The girl that was under you let out another small noise at the back of her throat, rubbing her jaw while depriving the world of her stormy stare.

Natasha Romanoff leaned against the doorframe of Kate’s bedroom. Wanda had been very clear about the rank in the house, and it was of no shock to you that Natasha was pretty high up there. It was why her simple sound of alert had made your entire body tingle. You knew- your wolf knew- that she was in charge, and that she was there for you.

“I checked your room first,” She stated matter-of-factly. “Obviously, you weren’t there.”

Your cheeks reddened at the predicament you’d found yourself in, and the fact that you were sure you’d heard the click of a cell phone camera. It was almost like your parents walking in on a sleepover that got a little too cozy.

Kate sat up groggily, testing her jaw a few times, “Good morning, Nat. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You can go back to sleep. I’m here for y/n. We’re going on a run.”

The wary look you got from the girl in bed next to you wasn’t exactly easing your nerves. She must have gone through this before, and she would truly object if she thought it was something you couldn’t handle. Instead, her hand found yours under the safety of the duvet and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

You knew better than to object to Natasha, so you followed her orders and changed into the closest thing to workout clothes that you’d packed; a pair of royal blue gym shorts and a t-shirt that was from your last trip to the west coast. Sun, fun, and Sand.

She waited by the edge of the front yard, lifting a perfectly sculpted brow at the shirt, but didn’t say anything in acknowledgment. “We’ll do six miles up, and six miles back.”

“Up?” You squeaked out, finally earning a genuine grin from her. She started to jog ahead of you, and it took you a few moments to register that you were meant to follow her. “Back?”

The two of you kept a steady pace under the heavy hand of the sun. You felt sweat slick the back of your neck, legs screaming out in protest. You weren’t much of a runner, and had admittedly eaten one too many boxes of instant mac and cheese. But your body seemed to mold to the pace with no problem. Your muscles strained for just a moment before relaxing into he burn.

“I’m sure you’ve heard from everyone in the house how they handle a full moon.”

“No, actually,” You panted out, “everyone seems to be keeping their distance.”

“We haven’t had anyone new join our pack for years. Certainly, never this violently. Can you blame them?”

No, you really couldn’t’. They had all been so welcoming and understanding. Even Kate to a certain degree. None of that eased the fear and you figured it wouldn’t’ until you actually lived it, until every single bone in your body rebroke and reshaped until you were this insatiable creature that would seek nothing but blood and carnage. It was inside of you now, you felt it just below the surface, and that terrified you.

Your chest was beginning to burn viciously, but Natasha was showing no intention of slowing down. There was an odd need within you to please her, to make sure that you kept up with her pace despite how hard it was getting as the slight incline became a little less slight.

The woods had thickened around you both and you let out a relieved breath when she trotted to a stop on the dirt trail. The collar of your shirt was damp, and you pulled your arms behind your head to fill your lungs with more sticky air. Natasha smiled fondly at you.

“Kate tapped out about three miles back.”

“This some sort of test?” You asked, working your hand through your hair.

“A test, a tactic. Whatever you want to call it. Some of us believe that if you wear yourself out before a transition, it’ll be less excruciating on the day.”

“I read about that the other day, though, they didn’t use the word excruciating.”

“That’s what it is. Don’t let anyone sugar coat it for you, kid. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to feel every second of it.”

You plopped down on a fallen log, pressing your fingertips to your temples. You clenched your eyes shut and felt your heartbeat pulse through your entire body. Never in a million years would you figure you’d be here. Natasha’s scent strengthened when she gave your shoulder a squeeze, prompting your eyes to open.

She was rimmed in the early morning sun, ringlets of russet hair fell over her shoulders. “Come on, I didn’t make you run all the way out here for the hell of it. I want to show you something.”

Before you could object, she started down the path again, this time in a brisk walk. You let out a groan and hauled yourself off the log. When you got to where she had been, you saw nothing but a thick wall of greenery and wood. Natasha was nowhere in sight.

You closed your eyes and tried to pick up the scent of her, the detergent and the lavender and the sandalwood. Upon your second inhale, you picked up in a general direction and frowned. This was all too surreal, you were physically sniffing out a near-stranger that had led you deep into the woods.

Still, you felt a blind trust as you went off the path and continued to track her down. She was about thirty feet into the woods, standing over a pile of leaves, arms crossed over her chest. You felt yourself warm at the proud half-smile she gave you.

When you reached her, Natasha knelt and pushed back the mix of muck and leaves. It revealed two metal doors that reminded you of a summer you spent with your aunt in Alabama. It was unbelievably hot and muggy, and they had a storm shelter that was carved from the earth, the walls damp and stocked with different canned food, though you had never seen a can opener. You didn’t think to bring it up as the two of you huddled close and listened to the howling wind and rain.

“This was a long-game murder plot all along, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not into the long-game.”

Her words weren’t exactly encouraging. The hinges of the doors screamed loudly from disuse and a musty scent washed cruelly over the both of you. Your nose scrunched and Natasha grimaced but didn’t say a word. An automatic light buzzed on, allowing you to see the opened space below.

It was exactly like the storm cellar, and it’s cool interior was a brief solace from the heat of the day. There was a divide a few steps into the space, a steel wall with a door in the center, sloppily welded but with enough strength to stop a beast the size of a mid-sized Sudan.

This door creaked too, and Natasha let it linger open for a moment, staring softly at you, and then back at the room. There was safety in her stance. You knew that she had the full ability to slam it shut and lock you in, but had a deep realization that she wouldn’t.

Another light was on the ceiling, casting a circle of deep yellow. There was a deep smell of dust and dirt, but there was something hard and metallic under that. Your eyes darted to the chains that were attached to the wall, large iron things that were screwed into extra support.

More than that, were the stretching claw marks that pockmarked the walls. They went deep, past the dirt and into the cement. The pads of your fingers ran over the one closest to you. Each mark stretched further than your touch. Chills shot up to your elbow, a breath lodging itself into your throat.

Your other hand clenched your stomach, digging into your ribs. Something significant had happened here. Several significant things. Tears started to form against your eyes and the worst part was, you had no idea why.

“Those are Steves,” she said quietly, joining you within the confines of the cell, lifting her chin to another set of marks. “And Tonys.”

There were dozens of markings, all different shapes and sizes. Some were digging into the clay walls, and the floors. There were distinct scent markings on each one and you found yourself able to identify ones that belonged to Yelena, and Peter, and even Bruce. They’d all changed here at least once.

Natasha crossed the room and shifted the door until it was only slightly ajar. You straightened up, heart pulling against your throat. The door was minced with deep slashes. You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. They almost ached.

“You feel something, don’t you?”

Words didn’t form, couldn’t. You couldn’t pinpoint the emotion that tore through you. It was akin to longing, but it was more than that. It was like the creature that was so restless within you wanted nothing more than to claw its way out and find the person who had made those marks. They were desperate and sad, and horrifying.

You closed the distance between them and pressed your touch against the deep gashes and fought back a pained cry. You dug your teeth into the back of your free hand to quell it, but a pathetic sound still escaped you.  

“Kate knew that something was wrong a few months before she escaped. She was experienced, knew as much as one could know about their wolf. But there was an unrest”

“She doesn’t like places like this.”

Your words were small. You remembered what she had told you, about how she had turned the first time alone and, in a room very similar to this one. You got the stark impression that she would never want to do something like that again. So, it begs the question of why these marks were so fresh. So fearful.

“No, she doesn’t. They scare her, make her panic before the moon has any effect. But she was conscious enough to know that if she wasn’t here, then she would end up hurting someone. It just proved not to be strong enough of a failsafe.”

Kate had felt an unrest weeks, maybe months, before she had escaped and sunk her teeth into your flesh. A wash of guilt pulled at you. You’d been giving her such a hard time, pestering her and fighting her every step of the way. She’d been in immense pain.

When the pads of your fingers touched the scratches, you felt only a fraction of the longing she must have. Grimacing, you turned away, crossing your arms over your stomach to shield you from the reality of your harshness.

You needed Kate.

“Is this where I’ll be tonight?” You asked, so softly Natasha almost didn’t’ hear it.

She nodded in response, the silence mulling between you both. A small breath escaped you, pained and held within your lungs for an abnormal amount of time. You crossed the room, picked up one of the leaden chains and weighed it against your own strength.

“I can be here with you, if you’d like.” Natasha said, filling the quiet “Or if you’d rather Steve… Wanda.”

You turned to face her, grip tightening on the chain. “Kate?”

“Kate.”

Her eyes were no longer shrouded in their silver, sullen beauty. As the sun began its descent, there was a strange tangerine glow that overtook them. It started at the center of her pupil, small whisps of neon color, and then started to ebb into the confines of her iris.  

You focused on them. If you thought too much about the days leading up to this transformation, then you would work yourself into a panic. You were taking things one at a time today, and that included jogging back to the compound and shyly admitting to Kate that she was the only one you wished to have in your vicinity tonight.

Though, you hadn’t thought much about the logistics. The two of you trapped in a single cell. Yelena had walked all the way out here, keeping a silent eye on the tension that lingered against both of your frames. It wore your stance down, mind racing with the ‘what if’s’.

“Once I close this door, neither of you will be released until daybreak.” Her thick accent carried a sharp edge to it that made this finite. “There is an emergency radio, Kate knows where it is.”

They’d thought of everything, really. Yelena had handed over a sheathe of needles and a small vile that you knew had to be tranquilizer. It smelled acidic and nitrate in nature. Even your rational, human side, cringed away from it.

With a final nod that conveyed good luck, and a strong, ‘I’m rooting for you,’ Yelena exited the cell and slammed the metal door behind her. From there, she retreated, and another lock was put into place after she’d slithered a coil of chain around the outside doors. Your heart picked-up it’s pace, never one for confined spaces.

Kate seemed to hear the uptake and closed the distance between the both of you. One hand found your waist and you allowed her to give it a reassuring squeeze. The other cupped your cheek, guiding your stare. “Hey, listen to me. I know this is scary, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You believed her partially because you had no other choice. Her eyes were mostly orange now, glowing enough to cast a strange shadow against her face. You wondered dumbly if yours would do the same. Something was boiling inside of you, making your entire body sweat. It felt like you were in a sauna, breathing in the hot steam after water was poured listlessly over black coals.

“I’ll talk you through everything, until neither of us can talk. Then we won’t have to.”

“Okay, alright. That sounds good.”

She nodded at you and began to unzip her sweatshirt until the teeth of the zipper released their hold. She was wearing a black sports bra and matching bike shorts, stretchy material that hadn’t set her back too much financially. They would be torn to shreds by the end of the night, regardless.

Kate’s stomach was toned. It was tanned and showed all the stamina of a beast. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long, tried to ignore the small trail of hair that dipped below her waistband. Despite herself, Kate smiled at you cockily, but moved her hands to your own jacket.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed the dry metal taste in your mouth. “I don’t think my fingers will cooperate right now.”

 She let out a small noise in response and pulled your jacket from your shoulders, leaving you in much of the same. She’d promised earlier that the two of you would go out and get clothes that you were more comfortable in, but this suited you just fine. Her pupils dilated, rushing them in more sherbet color. A stuttered breath escaping her and fanning against your bare collarbone.

“What? Oh my god, is it starting?”

You didn’t feel any different, still extremely hot to the touch and a little riled up after getting a look at Kate’s mostly-bare form. Color petaled her cheeks. She was actually blushing. Even in the dim lighting of the cell, that much was clear.

“No, no. You’re just…” She shook her head, trying to clear it “really beautiful, is all.”

“Oh,”

More blush, her eyes slipping down to the floor. “Yeah. I should probably get you secured, though. It’ll be more comfortable to sit.”

You understood exactly what she meant. Your heart was thrumming through your entire body at the compliment, though you both welcomed the distraction of a task. This task was securing locks around your wrists, and your ankles. Large iron things that could stop a lion. They were bolted into cement, digging into the foundation.

You kept your back against the damp wall, allowing Kate to fiddle with the mass of restraints. She fastened the first cuff on your wrist and looked at you expectantly. “Is this too tight? We want it to be a little loose. You’ll fill out when the transformation is done.”

“It’s alright,”

Kate diligently fastened the other three; one more around your opposite wrist, and two around your ankles. The only thing left was a chain that was intended to click smugly around your throat. She stared at it warily, eyes meeting yours.

“This one isn’t comfortable, and after tonight, you won’t need it.” She stated, using her hand to brush a stray hair from your eyes. Something was coiling in your stomach now, an unrest. A parasite that seemed to want to bubble out of your chest. “Your body will be in fight or flight mode. All of your senses will be heightened more than they are now and you’ll want to get out of these.”

“And if I do?”

“If you do, you’ll have to go through me.”

She fastened the chain around your neck, listening for the heady click. Just like the others, she adjusted and pulled on it until she was satisfied with your capture. A slight noise pushed past your lips. It felt like you had a stomachache, a cramping that would send you straight to a heating pad on any other day.

“I know, baby.” She soothed, the pet name slipping past her. She frowned, then lightened her stare. “I know it hurts. I’m right here. I’m with you.”

Her words soothed you. She backed up and sat cross-legged in front of you. There was an admiration of her control. Sweat prickled against her upper lip and at her hairline. It was an indication that you weren’t alone in this. Though, Kate Bishop had more practice, pain was eternal.

“You said I’d have to go through you,” your words were trembling. It took a few moments to force them into existence, but Kate was patient. Your legs and arms were starting to ache, just a dull thrum that reminded you of destroying your muscles to wick them back together again. “What… did you mean?”

Kate smiled and you swore her teeth were pointed at the end. Your vison was starting to blur, and you blinked away tears that dripped from your chin. “We’re not going to fight, or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think our wolves- well, I think they’ll get along just fine.”

“Kate Bishop, are you insinuating something?”

“Me? No. Never.”

She let out a grunt, her hand going to her ribcage. There was a dull pop that jolted through her body and you clenched your eyes shut for a moment. Not wanting to see her in pain. Not wanting to see what was next for you.

You didn’t have to wait long. The pressure started to build in your forearm first, a tight pain that shot from your fingers all the way to your elbow. Almost as if your bone was straining against itself, and it was. The crack and splinter of it threw you off your balance with a dizzying amount of discomfort.

A scream tore through your throat, toes digging into the soft, damp floor. Kate let out another grunt of discomfort, dropping her elbow to the ground. Her chest was heaving, pulling air in greedily before releasing as if she never wanted it in the first place. Her efforts were punctuated by a deep and primal growl that took you back to the night in the forest.

All of your limbs were tightening now, two pops from your ribs and an extra one in your ankle. You were doubled over in a blind torment. Your cheek was pressed to the ground, the scent of dirt filling your senses. There was blood here too, so thick and potent that it was if it gurgled against your own tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you thought you heard her through your own strangled cries of pain. Her voice deep and words miffed by the growing teeth pressing against her gums. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!” You cried out, the last bit of human semblance you could form. Your own words were minced with agonizing cries and a rumble from the center of your chest that sounded anything but human. It was feral. It was hungry.

Your vison pulsed around the edges, darkness creeping in. You shakily lifted your hand, watched as your flesh became shrouded with gore. It was shredded, dark gray fur sprouting over your knuckles as your skin fell away entirely. Once human nails had been replaced by claws, dripping with your own blood and muscle tissue.

They shined as if you had been baptized once more. Teeth- your own teeth, filled your mouth as they were pushed out to welcome new ones. You’d spit them to the ground, relished in the sweet taste of the blood that filled your mouth, only for you to spit again.

There was a howl, one distant that made your entire body stiffen under its command. You weren’t wailing anymore, and neither was Kate. The two of you had silenced, breathed hard and tried to find your bearings. Your collarbone widened, seemed to stretch like the rest of you. The restraints were tightening as you grew. As you changed.

Another howl cut through the air, this time you had the urge to answer with one of your own. At least, that was the last humane thought you had, before everything went black.

[nerdygaymormon]

How can you support trans people transitioning given they may regret it? It's such a dangerous thing to do, especially since it isn't reversible.

If we were to take your stance that only procedures which are reversible and which have a 0% rate of regret can be performed, and apply it to other medical procedures, virtually no surgeries would ever be allowed.

Transitioning is a process and a person may stop anywhere along the way and not move forward, many never go as far as getting surgery.

For most people it begins by changing their name and the clothes they wear. For any transitioning beyond this, mental health professionals are involved.

The standards of care are that the individual be in therapy before they're allowed access to hormone treatments. In order to qualify for surgery, they need to do hormone therapy for a year and get approval from a mental-health professional. Then they can find a surgeon, do the pre-surgical appointments, and finally get the surgery. It may be that the individual's insurance won't cover the cost of the surgery, so the individual also needs time to raise the necessary funds.

This is not a quick or easy process, usually it takes years before the person gets to the point of having surgery. I don't know any other medical treatment that requires so much documentation and therapy before being able to proceed. This has led to the following joke:

How many trans people does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, but they need 3 specialists to sign off that the room is, in fact, dark, before they can make the change.

Some people do de-transition, I believe the statistics are about 8%. For about 2/3 of this group, the detransition is temporary, and usually it's due to external pressures, like difficulty finding a job, pressure from a family member, harassment, and so on.

Because it's such a gradual path supported by psychological counseling, the regret rate is extremely low. The studies I've seen put the regret rate between 1% & 3%. When regret does occur, the reasons vary and it could be medical complications, it could be dissatisfaction with the physical results, or someone could even say they were wrong about their gender identity and regret making the change. For whatever reasons a few people regret transitioning, the regret rate is far lower than other things we allow people to do all the time without getting mental health professionals involved, like getting LASIK eye surgery, knee replacement, getting a tattoo, having surgery for prostate cancer, or having a baby (8%~17% of parents say they regret having a child).

The positive benefit of transitioning (whether it's social, whether it's with hormones, or even with surgery) make such an improvement in the life of most trans people, that to outlaw it would be to cause harm to many people. Safeguards are in place to minimize the number of people who may later regret transitioning, and more data & studies are needed so that we can do better.

[prismaticpichu]

Had this lil’ fic tucked away in my drafts!!! Didn’t know what to do with it for a while lmaooo, but think the thing’s pretty cute—even if a bit unpolished. Just a nice little exploration of a *sitcom audience gasp* kinder Hojo and his relationship with a healing Sephiroth as his son begins to recover from his depressed, isolated state.

~

Muddy eyes all but glowered at the data on the scale, shards of light fragmenting off Hojo’s glasses like broken stars as he leaned forward, magnifying his view of the readings.

225.97lbs.

…Significantly higher than the last appointment, yes. Much so. At least twelve pounds had been gained, and that was without the added pauldrons. Without the leather coat or boots inflating his results. Yes, yes—this was his boy’s raw, unadulterated body mass. The composition of pure muscle and marrow. The culmination of powerful cells and flesh.

“Well?"

Scowling still, Hojo nudged up his glasses before they could slide off his nose.

"...You've gained a dozen pounds," he reported, stripping his answer to the bare data and fact. The objective matters. The statistics that required no additional thought to convey. "That leaves you in a perfectly appropriate place for your BMI." Which, congruently, meant he was finally within a healthy range of weight. A perfectly stable one.

That hadn't been the case since he was a teenager.

Peeling his gaze away from the scale, miry eyes were unreadable behind the shadow-black lenses.

“I presume you’ve been eating more?” Hojo surmised, almost hummed. It was far more of a curiosity than it was any kind of bite. Any kind of criticism.

And Sephiroth noticed. “…More regularly, yes.”

“Three meals a day?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you have an appetite?”

“Yes.”

Some silence stretched, long and strange. Just the distant belch of machinery. The gurgle of mako pods. The buzzing lights that were once the only noise the SOLDIER had both fallen asleep and woken to.

He watched as Sephiroth dismounted the scale, wistfully quiet.

Thoughtful.

…Studying him now, he could absolutely see the change in complexion—the healthier, brighter glow to the muscle and skin. The glow that had faded ever since Hollander’s toys deserted the company. And now that he was thinking about it, wasn’t it that same catalyst that led to his weight plummeting so drastically? Yes, yes it was. He remembered. That was when Sephiroth’s health had started to decline at such a rapid, startling rate. That was when he’d refused to train or even leave the building. It had all been a response to their betrayal; an emotional implosion. A bullet to his existence.

And now he was starting to heal.

…Which, of course, wasn’t a step backwards. Nor was he disappointed. Nor annoyed. Nor ashamed. No, no—he had wanted his Sephiroth to pull himself together, of course. He had wanted to see those readings increase. He had wanted him to survive—even if it had never been verbally expressed. And with that said: if he had never commented on Sephiroth’s weight or heath, how did this happen? He had lost the two people in his life who, while infuriating in their own rights, had kept him afloat. So what had changed? What was he missing? What variable was lost? Did Sephiroth truly do this by himself?

Or was there something in the equation that he was missing?

But the man didn’t get a chance to answer any of those musings before, donned in his coat and boots and pauldrons, Sephiroth’s cellphone rang, and he watched as his boy made his way to the elevator—PHS pressed to his ear, listening to some imperceptible chatter on the other side, a faint smile beginning to bloom as the babbling went on.

“Heh… I’ll be there soon, Zack.”

And the Professor watched him go, watching as the elevator doors shut and carried his son away, leaving him to dwell in the silence of a single alien thought:

Perhaps… just one friend couldn’t hurt.