#pain under the kneecap

[drandrewstherapeuticblogs]

How do you apply kinesiology tape to a knee?

While applying kinesiology tape to a knee, it is critical to follow the legitimate method to guarantee that the tape is successful and agreeable. Here is a general guide on the most proficient method to apply kinesiology tape to a knee:

Set up the skin: Ensure the skin is spotless, dry, and liberated from any moisturizers, oils, or creams. In the event that this is fundamental, shave any hair from the region where the tape will be applied.

Measure and cut the tape: Slice the tape to the proper length, considering an additional length to make anchors.

Apply the anchor points: Apply one end of the tape to the skin simply above or beneath the knee joint. Stretch the tape somewhat and apply the opposite finish to the skin on the opposite side of the knee, making an anchor point.

Apply the primary strip: Beginning at the anchor point, apply the principal portion of tape at the edge of the knee, extending it somewhat as you go. Try to apply the tape uniformly, with no kinks or overlap.

Apply the X-strip: Cut one more segment of tape and apply it askew across the knee joint, making an X-shape. This can offer extra help and strength to the knee.

Rub the tape: Rub the tape with your hand to enact the glue and assist it in adhering to the skin.

Check for comfort: Make sure the tape is agreeable and not too close or prohibitive. In the event that it is essential, change the strain or reapply the tape.

It means quite a bit to take note of the fact that the particular strategy for applying kinesiology tape to a knee might differ based on the individual's necessities and the nature of their physical issue. It is always a good idea to consult with a medical services expert or a kinesiology tape master for guidance on the proper procedure for your specific situation. 

[fingertipsmp3]

I was really sitting here like “2023 is the best year I’ve had in a long time in terms of ‘not trying to kill me’, I haven’t gotten sick once” and then I remembered the fucking catastrophic knee dislocation that’s had me limping since May

[respondedinkind]

" you don't scare me. " / from Carol Marcus over at @daretr3ks

The way she speaks those words out into the air between them - you don't scare me - causes a hint of amusement to bubble up behind a firm sternum; Khan's clear gaze, which had briefly averted seconds ago, trails back to Carol's own about a second later, accompanied by a hint of a knitted brow and a quiet exhale of breath.

---Assessing her. Wondering. Contemplating, even.

"As long as you don't give me a reason to scare you, Miss Marcus..." That name leaves a bitter taste at the back of Khan's tongue, an oily residue sticking to the roof of his mouth, "...I don't see a reason for why I would attempt to do that."

Even though much people claim he is - Khan actually is not a monster, after all. He can be, if he needs to, but... he'd prefer to not be one, for the matter.

"And since you certainly don't scare me either, we seem to be in agreement here."

Nimble fingers reach for one of the two freshly poured cups of coffee... and then he holds it out for the lady to take, offering it to her.

@daretr3ks

[thenameisjem]

Choosing pain and discomfort over shame

I bought myself a cane, because I sometimes have strange flare ups in my legs (knees feel weak and hurt), but I never use it…

Because I feel embarrassed about it. Not because I think people with canes should be embarrassed, but because i feel like I haven’t earned the right to use a cane in public.

I always tell myself „it’s not that bad. I can walk fine! It hurts a little, but you’re just exaggerating“ and I really wonder why I have that mindset…

The cane would HELP me to walk, but I refuse to use it because i feel like u haven’t earned it.

I don’t want people to ask me about it either. Why would a 25 year old person need a cane?

I don’t know. Guess I’m just giving myself some extra trouble

[nope-body]

.

[avocado-writing]

Hi gorgeous could I request a Deadpool x reader x Wolverine smut where it's basically the car fight in the movie and the reader is in it? Reader can regenerate just like them but during the fighting things for a turn? Also female reader :)

sure - I’ve seen a few takes on this, so here’s my brief one too! (I am not an action writer. I am a smut writer. Be kind).

words: 2k

rating: explicit. minors dni. spit roast; oral (reader giving); p in v sex; violence as foreplay; excessive use of the word ‘fuck’; a LOT of dirty talk

If you could trade all your powers for the ability to make Wade Wilson shut the fuck up, it would be no contest. You wouldn’t be a mutant and Deadpool would be silent. 

Fucking hell, how many holes has his mouth dug you into? He’s a dear friend, of course - one you’ve definitely not been nursing a crush on, don’t look at that too deeply - but come on. The guy’s an idiot. You don’t know how he managed to get someone as ruggedly handsome and emotionally constipated as the Wolverine to come along with you (not that you’re complaining, he’s pretty good eye candy too. You’ve had a thing for the idea of him for probably about a decade and, though this particular variant is as rough as they come, he’s still hot) but there has to be a time limit to this success. This is only accentuated when Logan slams the brakes on the Odyssey, throwing you forward from your position in the captain’s seat. 

“Fuck!” you mutter. You definitely just broke your nose from the way you slammed into the cup holder. Turns out seatbelts are made to be worn, who knew? As you focus on twisting it back into place, feeling the cartilage heal and blood congeal, you’re vaguely aware of the argument happening up front. 

Logan’s finally cottoned on to Wade’s bullshit, and it giving a pretty savage monologue about how much of a fuckup he is. You frown. 

“Come on, dude, chill out, he was only trying to —”

“You can shut the fuck up too! You’re just as fucking bad as him! Jesus Christ he may be shoe-in for the world’s biggest asshole but you’re the one trailing around after him with the fucking puppy dog eyes,” Logan snarls. You see Wade frown from under the mask, letting Logan’s vitriol towards you sink in.  

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that.” His tone is serious. Deadly. Logan laughs. 

“Or fuckin’ what, mouth?”

He does not see the sucker punch Wade throws, and then his nose is bleeding. He lunges for your friend with his teeth bared. A wild animal.   

“Stop-!” you shout, darting forward to grab him. An elbow collides with your already sore nose and you yelp in pain. Wade has a knife in his hand immediately and is sinking it into the soft meat of Logan’s thigh, who hisses and extends his claws. One set goes through your calf, the other into Wade’s chest. 

“You fucking cunt!” you scream, grabbing your gun from your belt and unloading it into Logan’s centre mass. The force makes him retract his hand but doesn’t stop him from grabbing your hair and slamming your face into the console. 

“Shit!”

“I told you that you needed a haircut, pookie,” sighs Wade as he shoves baby knife into Logan’s jugular, having to reach over your body to do it. You shoot him in the kneecap. 

“Ow! What the fuck, I’m on your side!” he shrieks. 

“Don’t talk about my hair Wade! It’s a very! Sensitive! Subject!” You punctuate your sentences with fists to the Wolverine’s abdomen. He doesn’t even seem fazed. Instead, Logan lunges for your friend, pressing his groin into your face - and that makes it very obvious that he’s having a… reaction. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, not loud enough for anyone to hear. 

Logan throws Wade out of the car, the sound of breaking glass a symphony behind you. Some of it decorates your hair. The two of you are left with a second alone; when you reach forward he goes to punch, but when you cup him through his suit he freezes. 

“What…?” Logan snarls, half taken aback, half turned on. 

“Sorry, old man, all the fighting working for you? Surprised you can even get it up any more…” you breathe. From the way his pupils dilate the answer is yes. Pain shoots from your chest as his claws stab you through the heart, but you grin and reach in to lick a line up the side of his face, burying your tongue in his beard. 

“Fuck… you…” he manages, growling when you bite the shell of his ear a little too hard. 

“We don’t have to fight, Lo.”

The door is ripped off Wade charges back in, throwing you into the back so that he can get at Logan. Clearly he mistook your flirting for fighting, when it was definitely the other way around. He unloads a clip into the other man’s stomach, but you grab his arm and redirect, sending a spray of bullets through the Odyssey’s ceiling and grazing your shoulder. 

“What are you—?” asks Wade, but then his face is in your hands and you’re kissing him over the mask. A pause as he registers what’s happening. Then he buries his sword through Logan’s chest to keep him pinned as he wrestles with the fabric, freeing his mouth so that he can kiss you back. 

“I don’t understand,” Wade breathes, taking you in, eyes wide and breaths heavy. 

“Don’t try to,” you argue, pulling his blade out of Logan and cleaning the blood off it with your tongue. Wade clearly isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but from the way his mouth drops open, he’s never been so horny for something so weird his whole life. 

You turn to Logan and kiss him with his own blood on your lips. He grunts beneath you, sinking a claw into your hip to keep you in place. It hurts, but also…

“Fuck. Sadistic old man,” you breathe, sinking your nails into his face.  

“Little fuckin’ freak,” he replies, biting your lip so hard it bleeds. 

“Holy shit, is this happening?” Wade asks. You manoeuvre so you’re aimed towards his lap, grabbing Logan’s arm and forcing it out of you. Your blood spills down your flank. 

“Stop commenting about it and fuck me, Wade,” you sigh.

He looks across the length of you to Logan who gives a curt nod. 

“Put your fuckin’ money where your mouth is, bub,” he hisses. This is all the permission Wade needs. You hear him tearing at the belt of his suit, positioning himself so that he can free his cock. There’s no time to strip. This is going to be rough and dirty and mostly clothed. 

You’ve never been so glad to dress in a two piece in your life. 

Your fingers work with Logan’s at the fly on his suit as Wade’s hands drag your pants down; he traces the cheeks of your ass, kneading your flesh and giving a running commentary of how fucking pleased he is. 

“Holy shit, baby, look at you. Thought honey badger was the kinky one here but you’re dripping wet,” you hiss as he slaps down on the meat of you, throwing a look over your shoulder at him. He shrugs as if to say, what did you expect me to do? Logan’s hand on your jaw quickly guides you back. 

“Eyes on me,” he growls, finally able to pull his cock from the confines of his suit. It bobs in your face, thick and heavy and delicious. The fingers still cupping your face press down, popping your mouth open for him. When Logan’s thumb presses inside you suck on it so hard that his eyes go wide; it tastes of blood and dirt and fuck you can feel yourself leaking down your thighs as Wade rubs his length against your folds. 

No more encouragement is needed as you open your mouth and swallow as much of Logan down as you can fit. He groans above you, hands burying into your hair. 

God, he’s big. Fucking threatens to dislocate your jaw. Oh well, you could click it back into place anyway and keep going. It’s the sort of thing you’re willing to compromise on if you can keep getting him to make those noises - filthy, laboured, desperate. Bucking his hips upwards into your mouth to make you take more of him. You moan around him and the rumble of your throat makes him hiss, pulling your hair so tight he threatens to rip it out. 

You don’t care. 

You wonder why Wade hasn’t pushed inside you yet, and your question is answered when you hear him spit. You’re aware of the feeling of saliva dripping down your cunt, thick and halfway to sordid. Wade rubs it into your clit, marking you as his, before finally sheathing himself with one thrust. 

Ohhhh fuck. Yeah. There it is. 

You moan around Logan’s dick as Wade stuffs you absolutely to the brim. You’ve never been so full. Your mouth is stoppered and so is your desperate pussy, and when Wade starts to piston himself inside you it only serves to force you forward into the older man’s lap. The hair at the base of his cock presses deliciously against your lips and he makes a choking sound that could be your name. His hand, still present, is less strict now. He holds you in something akin to a caress. 

“Fuckin’ look at you…” he breathes. You want to roll your eyes at him pretending this is anything other than gratification. You leave his cock with a wet pop. 

“You just want something warm and tight to cum in, old man,” you say, letting your hand take over for a second while your jaw rests. 

Wade laughs as he holds you even tighter, but there’s something tinging it. Bitterness?

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice, pookie. Looks like our Wolvie is smitten.”

You glance up at Logan from where you’ve started kissing the length of his cock, and he looks… disgruntled. Oh shit. Wade’s hit a nerve there. 

“She’s clearly fuckin’ in love with you, you idiot,” he snarls. 

Wade’s hips stutter as he’s pistoning in and out of you, this unexpected revelation interrupting his pace. 

“You are?”

Aww man, this isn’t the time for this, but it looks like it’s happening anyway, huh?

“I like both of you,” you say, simply, because you do. “That’s why both of your cocks are inside me. Now put them to work.”

There’s a beat as they digest this information; then Wade starts fucking you twice as hard, lifting his leg up on the gearstick for leverage, and Logan pulls you mouth-first back into his cock. You make a pleased noise as they fill you, happy to let yourself go brainless for a moment as they use you however they want. There’s a warm feeling building in the pit of your stomach and you can feel an orgasm wanting to crescendo. 

Soon you hear Logan begin to breathe heavily, and you’re pretty sure he can’t be far. You make a show of looking up at him with your biggest, most fucked-out eyes. 

“Cum in my mouth,” you say, pulling back and sticking out your tongue as a target. He is powerless against that, spilling down your throat as you grin at the taste of him. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking filthy, so fucking hot, holy shit, holy shit,” Wade breathes, thrusts getting erratic. Suddenly Logan is lifting you up by the shoulders, pushing you into Wade’s embrace.  

“Make her cum or I will,” he says, and you’ve never heard an orgasm be used as a threat before but fuck it does it for you. Wade’s hand scrabbles to your clit and it only takes a few desperate circles to have you coming all over his cock as he fills your cunt with his spend. Logan manages a boneless grin at the show. 

You collapse between them, and they support you. For a moment there is nothing but the sound of breathing and the smell of sex.

For a moment. 

“Are we a polycule now?” asks Wade. You roll your eyes fondly at him and slap his arm where it’s slinked around you. 

“Shut up,” you and Logan say in unison. 

“Okiedokie, guess we can address that if there’s a part two.”

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[skauni]

They Had The Wrong Traitor….

!!WARNINGS!!: Torture, Explicit Descriptions, Gained Trauma, No Happy Ending.

They didn’t know.

How were they SUPPOSED to know..?

Two months ago, Task Force 1-4-1 realized they had a traitor amongst themselves. Someone giving information about them to Shadow Company. They didn’t know who, until all signs started to point to you. Since then has been hell.

They tied you to a cold metal chair with ropes so tight they rubbed your ankles and wrists raw. You still remembered the day it started. Waking up with a splitting headache in the cold, dim lighted, concrete room. A table in front of you. On it you saw a hammer, pliers, a metal bat, sets of knives—even a damn corkscrew.

That first day was hell. You shrieked at the top of your lungs that you were innocent as your main tormentor, Ghost, broke your fingers slowly. Knuckle. By. Knuckle. When you still didn't confess he took the pliers and slowly ripped your nails from your broken and mangled fingers. Making you scream louder in agony.

The rest of the days blurred. Hardly any food or water; just barely enough to keep you alive. Every time a wound scarred they re-opened it. Soap held your jaw open today as Ghost slowly ripped out your teeth. Your voice long gone from hours of shrieking before this. No fight left in you when their radio's crackled to life. "Soap, Ghost, hall. Now." Price spoke. His voice sounded uneasy.

When they left you tilted your head forward. Letting the blood from your removed teeth drip slowly from your lips. It was painful to breathe. Bruised, cracked, and maybe even broken ribs and a broken nose they kept targeting so it never healed. A broken hand and forearm from three harsh strikes of the hammer. Several deep gashes from some of the knives Ghost used on you. A dislocated kneecap from being bashed in by the metal bat.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about out in the hall. But you knew it was something shocking based on the dead silence that came after Price’s muffled voice. In all honesty, over these two months, you started thinking it was your fault this happened to you. Thinking it was your fault you were framed; you just made yourself too easy a target to frame as the traitor.

You heard rushing feet and the sound of vomiting in the trash can down the hall. You guessed Gaz since you heard Soap ask Price something, you heard Price’s gruff grunt and Ghost’s Manchester accent as he swore under his breath. Your eyes fluttered in exhaustion but snapped open on instinct as you heard the door open again. They’d caught the real traitor, a newer recruit who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Price had entered the room.

“I didn’t do it…” You whispered hoarsely. Your captain nodded. “I know, Y/N… I know…” he whispered softly. You flinched as he unsheathed his knife from its holster, he moved slowly as he cut your hands and legs free. He tried to pick you up but you cried out. He carefully set you back down and radioed for a few medics. They arrived a short while later as Price kept you awake to be sure you couldn’t slip away before everyone could apologize at the very least.

The medics came soon enough and moved you carefully onto a gurney so as to avoid shattering any bones further. They moved you to the med bay as fast as possible to get your wounds tended to and disinfected. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sat outside of the med bay as they listened to your agonized shrieks and whales of pain from the medics setting your already healing knuckles back in place.

It took a few hours after your corrective knee surgery for the boys to be allowed to finally see you. The medics said you’d be out for a few days so your body could regain a small bit of strength. None of the team wanted to leave your side. They all had set themselves up so they could sleep by the cot the medics placed you on. In and out, they would individually go on missions or go in pairs so two of them could still keep their eyes on you incase you woke up.

A few days turned into a few weeks. And you finally woke up. But not as easily as the team would have wished. A cold sweat soaking your forehead as you groaned in agony in your sleep until you woke up shrieking and tried to curl into yourself for comfort, only causing yourself more pain. The boys had to pin you down so the medic could inject the pain killer.

Through the times you were awake, you refused to let any of them remotely try to touch you. They could see it. The distance you put between yourself and them. The distrust in your eyes. The anger and hurt in your furrowed brow. You had trusted them with your life. And now you were beginning to think you should have never let your guard down. Not for one damn second. But a small part of you thought it was somehow your own fault…

Gaz spent the most time with you. No touching, just trying to get you to talk. Even if in anger. He was slowly piecing your trust in him back together bit by bit. When physical therapy came around you asked him to help you because your knee hurt too much to do it alone and the medic seemed busy with another soldier. The rest of the team saw this, beginning to hope they had a chance at forgiveness as well. They weren’t aware that you never forgave Gaz. You just trusted him enough to count him as a person you will let help you. Not a friend. And not a teammate. Not anymore.

Soap was the second to earn the right to help you, then Price not too long after that. Ghost… was a different story. All he did was glare at you, as if he still thought you were the traitor. To which you returned the hostility. He hadn’t let it show, but he was devastated. He wished he’d have never believed that false evidence. He couldn’t even look at you because all he saw was his work etched into your body. That was why he glared. It wasn’t meant for you, it was directed at his work that scarred your body.

When you could walk on your own without crutches, you went to Price in the break room where everyone was. Expression cold and dead serious as you handed him resignation papers. He froze. “You can’t… we need you on this team Y/N—“ he started but you cut him off. “Need? Or want me here because you loathe yourselves so much you need me to reassure you that you’re forgiven with my presence?” He staggered back. “I never forgave any of you.” You added.

“There isn’t a day we’ve woken up without regretting—“ he tried again. “You don’t get to play that card! Do you know how many times I woke up crying in agony from wounds that are already healed because of you four!? Oh, or how about the fact I can’t stand to be touched by ANYONE anymore!” You snapped back. “Y/N…” Price started to beg. “No. I hate you. All of you. For what you did to me. Don’t even contact me. If you have something to tell me, keep it to yourselves.”

The team was silent. You walked to your barracks and packed. Booked a flight back to your hometown. And walked out the doors of the base. Giving none of them the time of day to apologize or try to fix things between you and them. You hadn’t even told them you neglected to sleep most nights out of fear someone would come out of the shadows and beat you half to death again…

[reallyromealone]

Request where alpha ran and omega reader are expecting a child?

Title: peanut butter squares

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: ran Haitani, Rindō Haitani mentioned

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: ran x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, light sexual innuendos, swearing, mpreg, Omega male reader

Notes: I just want to mention to everyone you can request gn and ftm readers right?

Summary: who knew peanut butter squares could induce pregnancy

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

If there was one thing Ran Haitani couldn't stand, it was being woken up, especially after work.

But something he hated more was not having his mate in his arms while sleeping, his beloved Omega was going to give birth any week now and Ran didn't want him out of his line of sight whatsoever. Grumling, the Alpha pushed back bis long hair out of his face to go hunting for his mate, wearing nothing but a loose pair of briefs that hung barely under his v-line. Kanto paid well, so well that the Alpha could afford the nicest things for his mate, an accudental pregnancy nothing for him to worry about.

Especially with all the baby proofing they did, he had to admit watching his brother struggle for ten minutes to open a cabinet was pretty funny. Six bedrooms and a room for (name)s hobbies and a closet for Ran, everything was perfect... Mostly.

The Alpha was looking into mansions outside of the city for the pups, a nice backyard and maybe a pool so they could learn to swim... God if you spoke to him two years ago and told him these were things he was considering he would have shattered your kneecaps.

He couldn't help but watch with pure love and adoration in his eyes while his mate made what seemed to be peanut butter squares with honey and hot sauce? He wasn't gonna just his mates food choices, he was making sure their babies were fed after all.

"Oh did I wake you?" (Name) Broke the man's thoughts with a sweet expression and crumbs on his lips "you weren't there with me, sweetness" Ran sauntered over and wrapped his lanky arms around his mate, large hands cupping the omegas round belly before kissing him "the baby wanted a snack" (name) took another bite and then offered some to Ran who snuggled into his beloveds neck "nah baby, you have that... Gotta make sure our kids are well fed right?" A good save because ran did not want to ingest that, it was too late to put his butt through that pain.

"Finish that up, get a drink and get your fine ass back in bed" Ran ordered his mate while kissing up his neck and licking his scent gland, the other whining "I heard fucking can induce labor" what? His mate knocked up with his kids wearing nothing but one of rans shirts was hot as hell!

"Baby, you better enjoy my ass while you can because after I give birth you aren't coming near me with a ten foot pole"

"I got a ten foot po--"' you know I'm not feeling it after all tonight" (name) said simply while water leaked down his legs "Babe go get the go bag"

(Name) Had never seen a man nice that fast, the Omega watching amused while eating the treats he made, realizing he should put sweatpants on before going and maybe grab Ran clothes.

Well, time for the worst pain in his life times two.

[cowgurrrl]

Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this. 

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles. 

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls. 

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle. 

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head. 

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates. 

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise. 

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be. 

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face. 

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired." 

"Why didn't you tell me that?" 

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you. 

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head. 

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you. 

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod. 

"Okay." 

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to. 

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles. 

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss. 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

[hannyoontify]

your cherry flavored kisses - choi seungcheol

member | basketball player!seungcheol x student medic!reader ft. the rest of svt

genre | fluff, high school!au, established relationship!au, secret dating!au(?)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

warnings | cursing, kissing, minor injuries, one joke about sex, reader is a bit shy when it comes to relationships and pda, a bunch of romantic cliches but pls js let me have this one 🥲

notes | realized that i can’t write intimate scenes for shit!!!! but also happy (late) birthday to the best leader!! hope your day was full of laughter and love because you deserve all of it and more <33

The entire gym seemed to grimace collectively when Player #1 was shoved over by the opposing team member, and so did you. Choi Seungcheol, the captain and star player of your school’s varsity basketball team rolled over onto his back, clutching his knee and face scrunched up in pain. 

The stands booed when the zebra-patterned referee blew his whistle and signaled it as not a foul. Students and other on-lookers from both sides began to yell, petitioning that it was a flagrant foul, but the referee stood his ground. You and your friend Vernon ran out onto the basketball court with the stretcher as your school’s head coach tried to reason with the referee.

“Hey, hey. Seungcheol, where does it hurt?” Vernon asked as you set down the stretcher. You reached over and scooped your hands under the sweaty athlete’s shoulders, ready to lift him into the gurney. When you first joined your school’s new sports medicine and therapy program, you thought no one actually used the medical device and the school had invested in one just for show. Obviously, you now stand corrected.

“The area-” The brunette gasped for air. Every square inch of his face was glistening in sweat, the collar of his jersey absolutely soaked through. Seungcheol had been giving it his all this entire game, scoring almost 21 points and it was only halfway through the second period. This aggravated the opposing team, who were losing exponentially, enough for them to push Seungcheol over when he was dribbling down the court. “The area below my knee cap. Hurts like a bitch.”

Vernon nodded in understanding and glanced over at you. You returned his gaze with a determined nod of your head and the two of you gently lifted shifted him onto the carrier. 

“Sorry. Would try to help but-” Seungcheol’s words were cut off with a loud groan. “Can’t. Right now.”

You tightened your lips at the sight of his face stricken with pain and with the help of Vernon, heaved him up and carried the injured player out of the gym to the nurse’s office.

Once Seungcheol was laid down on a cot, Vernon ran off to find Ms. Jung, the school nurse who had momentarily left her post to “get some fresh air” while you looked for an ice pack. As soon your friend left the room, Seungcheol grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer from where he was lying down, forcing you to sit on the edge of the cot he was lying on.

You rolled your eyes and tried to pull away but he kept an iron grip on your wrist as he tried his best to make eye contact with you. “Are you mad at me?” He asked with a small pout.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You huffed, refusing to face his direction. From where he was lying, Seungcheol could catch a glimpse of your side profile. Your lips were jutted out into a firm pout and your cheeks puffed out. 

“I’m sorry, love. I tried to take it easy but you know how I get-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… don’t like seeing you get hurt,” You said, in a much softer voice this time. “Damn you and your competitiveness. It doesn’t hurt to lose sometimes, you know.”

Seungcheol smiled when you turned around to finally face him. “Look at me, I’m all fine! I was just fibbing on the court to- OW WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your boyfriend yelled out in pain when you poked at his knee, right below the kneecap where he said it was hurting earlier. “Fibbing, my ass. Stay here while I get an ice pack.”

Seungcheol whimpered in pain, rolling around on his back with his arms clenched around his leg while you searched through the mini freezer. He watched from behind, staring at your hunched over form. Despite the extreme pain he was currently feeling, he felt a warm feeling blossom in his chest that spread throughout his body all the way past his limbs to the tips of his fingers. God, he cared for you so much.

“Here, I think we ran out of ice packs so you have to use this bag of peas,” You came back with half a bag of iced peas, offering it to your boyfriend who looked up at you with teary heart eyes. 

(FYI, they were only teary because he was in immense pain.)

After sitting up, Seungcheol accepted the makeshift ice pack and pressed to his knee, knowing how to treat his injuries better than you or any other sports medicine and therapy student. You sat down next to him, gathering your knees close to your chest and lightly resting your head on his shoulder. It felt like your heart was going to leap out of your throat because of your close proximity.

You’ve had a crush on Choi Seungcheol for as long as you can remember. In elementary school, you found yourself drawn to him because of how he selflessly gave away all of his candy during lunch. (Looking back on it now, you might’ve been attracted to the candy not him, but that makes it sound less romantic so you like to leave that part out). In middle school, you always caught yourself staring in his direction because he was good. He excelled at whatever he did. He always knew the answers in math and shared interesting perspectives in English for a middle schooler. But he shone in gym class. Choi Seungcheol looked invincible with a ball in his hands, somehow pulling off the tacky and scratchy gym clothes that smelled like a mix of sweat and old socks. It was in eighth grade when you started doodling ‘[Name] Choi’ in the back of your math notebook before erasing frantically whenever your teacher walked by.

In high school, it was no different, except Choi Seungcheol just got really, really tall and really, really, really attractive. He was scouted into the school’s junior varsity basketball team as a freshman and became a point guard for the varsity team as a sophomore. He was completely out of your league. Choi Seungcheol was the star player of your school’s basketball team while you were just a staff member in your school’s newspaper. The closest you’ve ever gotten to Choi Seungcheol was when you assisted Seokmin in interviewing him after winning a game. 

That was, until this past summer. You were taking summer school classes to make room for sports med. and therapy in your schedule, and your seat partner was none other than Choi Seungcheol, who had failed Economics the semester before. It took you by surprise that the smartest boy you knew since third grade had failed a class, but you thought it was impressive that he even managed to take Economics as a junior. 

You found yourself bonding with the star player, joking around during class and taking turns to take naps so someone could take notes while the other slept. The system worked, and the teacher looked like they weren’t being paid enough to be there, so the two of you considered it a win. The entire summer flew by like that, talking and hanging out with Seungcheol, even outside of class. This was when you learned about his performance anxiety, his self-doubt, and the pressure he feels from not only his coach and teammates but also the rest of the school. You offered him the most comfort you could possibly muster; a few words of encouragement and a big, big hug. 

When Seungcheol asked you out on the last day of summer school, you didn’t see it coming at all. From what you knew, he only recently broke up with his past girlfriend, the captain of the cheer team. Everyone had said that they were like a match made in heaven, but evidently not, considering how messy their breakup was. But who were you to say no?

Fast forward two months, to your current situation. You guys weren’t intentionally keeping the relationship a secret, rather you were just shy and Seungcheol understood that. He promised you to wait patiently until you were ready. 

“Can I see your knee?” You asked softly. Seungcheol nodded and took off the bag of peas, revealing his now bruised knee. The skin was discolored in different shades of blue, black, dark purple, and green and you drew in a sharp breath. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Seungcheol pouted and pointed to his cheek, where he had a small nick, probably a scratch from the other player as he fell. You smiled and cautiously brought your hand up to his face. Despite having been dating for well over 2 months, PDA still felt a bit awkward for you. You occasionally held hands and hugged, and you liked to rest your head on his broad shoulders. Seeing Seungcheol’s face this close to yours made your stomach erupt into butterflies and you could feel the heat quickly spreading up to your cheeks.

“Let’s get some ointment on this,” You left your spot and began digging through the medicine cabinets, ignoring the hot burning on the apples of your cheeks. Going through every cabinet except the one that actually held the ointment, you talked loudly to yourself and Seungcheol held back a laugh at the sight. He thought it was cute, how flustered you got at the smallest amounts of physical touch. “Here it is!”

You ceremoniously held up the treatment and bandage box up in the air with a triumphant grin and Seungcheol couldn’t help but return the smile. Sitting back down next to him, you ignored the fluttering in your stomach again as you dabbed on the ointment onto your boyfriend’s face, trying your absolute hardest not to stare into his dark, chocolate-y brown eyes or his pretty pink lips-

“[Name], sweetheart, the scratch is on the other side,” Seungcheol said softly and you wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and stay there forever. Your lover simply chuckled at your quiet ‘sorry’. “You’re cute.”

Now you really need to dig a hole. This was getting too much for you.

“Psh. Whatever,” You mumbled under your breath as you finished applying the treatment and brought out the bandage kit. “Stay still or else I won’t finish treating you.”

Seungcheol tried his best not to move when he felt your fingers lightly grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. It tickled, and he giggled.

You bit back a smile and lightly hit him in his shoulder for laughing. “I told you not to move.” 

“I couldn’t help it! It tickles,” With a small shake of your head, you put the kit away and sat back down next to him. Seungcheol stared at you for a minute before speaking again. “[Name], I think you’re forgetting something.”

You looked at Seungcheol with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms across his chest with a pout. “Aren’t I supposed to get a lollipop for being a good patient?”

God, he was not good for your heart.

“How could I possibly forget?” With a fond smile, you handed him a bright red heart shaped candy on a stick. “You have been a good boy, have a lollipop!”

Seungcheol’s eyes twinkled at your reference to one of his favorite movies and gratefully took the candy. “Okay, now one last thing.”

“What?”

He pointed towards his injured knee. “You need to kiss it to make it feel better! It’s a part of the official medical procedure. My mom said so, and she’s a nurse.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s childish antics but nonetheless bent over to kiss his knee. “And when’s the last time she’s said that to you?”

Seungcheol thought about it. “When I was four or five. But it’s you, so it’s gonna work, I promise,” He beamed triumphantly and pointed towards his right wrist, where he had injured it last season. “Here too.”

Thus began a little game, where Seungcheol pointed at all of his injuries, new and old, and you would follow wherever his finger pointed to kiss it and make it feel better. It was his knee, then his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder blade, his collar, all the way up to his cheek.

Your face is inches away from Seungcheol’s and you were pretty sure he could hear your accelerating heartbeat that thrummed loudly in your chest and ears. The sudden close proximity makes your breath hitch as you glance down at the candy stick that stuck out past his pretty lips. The warmth that radiated off his body sent chills down yours as you locked eyes with him. 

You felt sick. You really, really needed to dig a hole.

With your hands fidgeting in your lap, you leaned in closer, almost feeling drawn to his presence, like a moth drawn to a light or a sailor drawn to the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice. You wondered if Seungcheol would also lead you to your demise, just like those sirens. 

He leans in even more, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. The lollipop was nowhere to be found but you could still smell the overly sweet artificial cherry flavor and you licked your lips. If you moved just the slightest bit, your lips would graze his. 

“Cheol... can I kiss you?” The words leave your mouth without thinking and you want to kick yourself. 

Seungcheol pulls away for a second to get a better look at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. “I’d be pretty sad if you didn’t.”

That was all the confirmation you needed before you screwed your eyes shut and pressed your lips against his. You felt your teeth knock against his and you winced, but Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind. His hands naturally find the side of your face and waist as he gently pulls you in deeper into the kiss. Your hands remain in your lap, ever fidgeting and fussing at the new feeling. 

His lips tasted like cherry. A swirling combination of the cherry flavored lollipop and his cherry flavored chapstick he always wore before his games. He claimed that his lips get chapped easily during the game when you questioned him about it once. You decided that this was your new favorite flavor. Combined with the feeling of his soft lips against yours, you wondered how you made it this far without kissing him. 

Seungcheol pulls away hesitantly, his hands still on their respective places on your cheek and waist. “Too much?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You taste like cherries. I like it.”

He took that as a sign to continue and pulled you back in. This time you were prepared and angled your face so as to not bump your teeth with his again. You smiled into the kiss, the fluttering feeling in your stomach making you feel even more giddy than before. One hand slowly made their way onto Seungcheol’s shoulder, gripping onto his jersey as his lips captured yours.

“So that’s why our captain’s been in a good mood lately.”

You basically shriek as you frantically pull away from Seungcheol, who seemed just as surprised to see his entire (sweaty) team standing by the entrance. In the front leading the group was Yoon Jeonghan, another star player who co-captained the team and Seungcheol’s best friend. He stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. You could see the rest of his teammates standing behind him, noticing Mingyu and Soonyoung who seemed excited out of their minds to catch their captain in love.

“Go awayyyy,” Seungcheol complained, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Go bother someone else, I was doing something!”

You heard someone mumble, “More like doing someone,” that was immediately covered up with a cough.

“I heard that, Boo Seungkwan.” 

Jeonghan uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “We all came to check up on you but it seems like you got all the kisses you need to make your boo-boo feel better. I expect you to be on that court once halftime is over!”

You basked in the silence that followed soon after the 10 rowdy boys left. Guess the cat was out of the bag then.

“... Can I seriously play after halftime?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Choi Seungcheol?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!” A moment of silence before, “Can I kiss you again?” 

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[drandrewstherapeuticblogs]

How is kinesiology tape better than a knee brace?

Kinesiology tape and knee supports are the two instruments that can be utilized to offer help and dependability to the knee joint, yet they have a few key differences.

Kinesiology tape for pain in the knee is a slender, stretchy, versatile cotton strip with a glue backing that is applied straightforwardly to the skin over the impacted region. The tape is intended to offer help and strength to the muscles and joints while not taking into consideration a full scope of movement. It works by lifting the skin and making space between the skin and hidden tissues, which can assist with diminishing strain and agony in the impacted region. Kinesiology tape is likewise used to further develop flow and advance mending.

Then again, a knee support is an unbending or semi-inflexible gadget that is worn around the knee joint to offer help and dependability. Knee supports arrive in different styles and can be produced using a scope of materials, including neoprene, metal, and plastic. They are intended to restrict the development of the knee joint and offer extra help to the muscles and tendons around the knee.

The decision between kinesiology tape and a knee support will depend upon the individual's particular requirements and the nature of their knee injury. As a rule, kinesiology tape might be a superior decision for individuals who need more adaptable, lightweight help that considers a full scope of movement. It can likewise be a decent choice for individuals with delicate skin or sensitivities, as it is produced using hypoallergenic materials. Knee supports might be more suitable for individuals with more serious knee wounds or precariousness, as they provide more unbending, organized help. Eventually, the decision between kinesiology tape and a knee support ought to be made in consultation with a medical professional who can assess the patient's necessities and suggest the most appropriate therapy.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Fucked Up Leg

Wanted to throw my hat in the proverbial ring and try out writing about St. Matthew Murdock. This fic is a little dark as it deals with what I go through with my chronic pain. This is why I am Leg and leg is Me.

Ship: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 1,733

Warnings: cursing, depressive thoughts, talk of doctor visits, talk of dealing with medical issues, an extremely comforting and loving matt murdock

It was half past 9pm when your leg started aching. You sat on the leather couch with a book in your hands and a blanket over your lap. The billboard across the street shined blinding yellows and blues in through the windows, shadows chasing each other along the edges of your vision. The scent of the dinner you’d shared with Matt, fettuccine alfredo with roasted chicken, floated through the air and settled around you. You could hear commotion in the apartment below you. You assumed there were some new neighbors moving in with how much foot traffic there was, but you weren’t quite sure. You, of course, didn’t have Matt’s senses. 

At first, the pain was just a slight twinge, a dull ache. A deep rooted uncomfortableness that seeped from your hip socket and spread throughout your upper thigh. Knowing this was only the start of a quickly worsening night, you retreated to your and Matt's bedroom in an attempt to keep weight off your leg.

Matt was out on his nightly patrols. He had left at around 8, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead and promising to be back before 2am. At the time, the firm deadline appeared a blessing. Usually you would be left in the dark as to how late Matt would be out. Hearing him give you a set time made you breathe a sigh of relief. Now, however, you thought of how far away that curfew seemed as you settled into your shared bed, bracing for the pain to get worse.

You laid on your right side, gingerly placing a thin pillow between your thighs. The little bit of separation between your legs tended to help relieve some of the pressure on your hip socket. You let your knees bend naturally as you tried to get comfortable. The lights from the billboard were less bright in the bedroom. Partially due to the angle of the beacon in the night, but also due to the paper you’d taped to the windows in an attempt to block out any and all light. You could feel the silk sheets slide against your bare legs as your shorts hiked up beneath the covers. You plugged your phone into your, thankfully, long cord that stretched long enough for you to use it on your side. 

You faced the bedroom door, the right side of the bed empty. Not intentionally, as you’d keep off your left leg anyway, but because Matt would lay on the side of the bed between you and any danger. He was sweet like that, always putting himself in harm’s way for you and others. You chuckled to yourself as you began scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You knew for a fact that if Matt could take your reoccurring pain and put it in his leg to give you relief, he would. He would in a heartbeat. Sacrifice his own fighting ability to give you a chance of being able to dance again.

God, you missed dancing. You used to go to dance classes every week, sometimes multiple nights in a row. Letting yourself flow to the music as you followed choreography, bouncing from foot to foot, swaying your hips, laughing when you would mess up. For years that’s how you kept active, kept busy, kept happy.

Until your leg decided to say “fuck you,” that is. The doctors assumed it was “just too much dancing” that did your leg in. What started as a tear in the cartilage in your hip joint spread throughout your thigh as other problems arose. Stress fracture in your femur, a worn ACL, torn muscles under your kneecap. A seemingly never ending list of problems made you debilitated, forcing you to use a cane and, in extreme circumstances, a wheelchair. The doctors tried physical therapy, medication, and even surgery. But the problems kept reappearing. You would have fine mobility and limited aches for a good few months, maybe even a year. But sooner or later that dull ache would find itself rooted in your hip. And you’d just have to strap in for a long ride.

About 10 minutes after you’d laid down the pain got worse. The ache turned into a sharp jab, like someone had stabbed you in the hip and kept the knife there, sliding and slicing to create waves of pain that lasted for minutes at a time. You clenched your jaw as you tried to remain focused on your phone. This wasn’t anything you hadn’t been through before. You could handle this. Of course it felt like a hot poker was stuck in your hip socket, but that was just a regular Tuesday for you.

Then the muscle above your knee twinged. A redhot spark of pain you could feel in your teeth. The pulsing shocks permeated throughout your entire leg, not just your knee. Stacked with the ache in your thigh it was beginning to be unbearable. 

Your phone fell from your hands as your eyes squeezed shut. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering and wincing. Nausea began to build in your stomach and your head began to spin. The muscles beneath your skin started to jump and twitch. You blew a sharp gust of air out of your nose.

“Fuck me,” you whispered. Why? Why, when things are going great, your leg practically lights itself on fire? Just last week you’d helped Matt take out a handful of bank robbers, dodging blows and landing punches like Black Widow herself. Matt had even been impressed at how well you maneuvered yourself. You kicked and squatted and jumped like there was no tomorrow. And not a muscle was out of place the next morning.

Laying in bed, arms wrapped around your trembling body, leg having a tantrum. All you could do was resign yourself to this neverending feeling of hopelessness. Will it ever get better? Is there some magical cure you just haven’t found yet? What are you doing wrong? You could feel yourself spiral in your depression, the minutes and hours blending together to become an ongoing existence of pain. It felt like a rock had sunk itself to the bottom of your stomach. Your heart was racing, anxiety coursing through your veins. Was this what would become of your life? You would be reduced to nothing, just a leg on fire attached to a motionless husk? Would you ever be able to dance again?

“Sweetheart?” a voice rang out from the living room. A familiar, tentative tone laced with concern. Your eyes snapped open to see Matt. Standing just beyond the doorway, all dressed in black, cloth mask in hand, chocolate eyes looking in your general direction. His dark hair was matted to his forehead from the exertion of his nightly outings.

You cleared the edge of pain from your throat, then said, “Yeah?”

Matt was kneeling in front of you on the bed before you could blink. His brow was so tightly furrowed you had the briefest thought it’d stay that way. Warm, large hands began flitting across your body.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Was someone here?” he asked in a flurry of questions. One of his hands landed on your jaw, fingers trailing across where your pulse flowed strongest. The other ended up tangled with your own as you tried to quiet him.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m okay,” you breathed. You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his bruised knuckles. Matt’s fingers held your hand tighter as he let his eyes fall closed, his breathing slowing. You knew this was what he did when he sent his senses out, listening and smelling and tasting and feeling your body better than you could. His awareness diving deep beneath your skin to seek out anything abnormal.

When his eyes fluttered open, his gaze landed on your chin and a frown settled across his lips.

“It’s your leg again, isn’t it,” Matt said, not posing the phrase as a question. He already knew the answer.

All you could do was nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You could feel the grief of decades of pain and sorrow build along the walls of your throat. Your breathing grew ragged as the tears broke free and slid their way down your flushed cheeks. What if he grew tired of you? Grew tired of constantly needing to take care of you, tired of dealing with the bursts of pain you needlessly endured. A man of his skill, his charisma, his fighting ability. Surely he wouldn’t want to stay with someone as encumbered as you.

No further words were exchanged between the two of you. Matt gingerly slid his arm beneath your head, letting you cuddle against his chest, as his other arm pulled your torso close to him. His body curled around yours, as if the pain you were feeling was an outside source and he was the shield that protected you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and breathed his comforting scent, cinnamon and smoke, in. Hot tears trailed their way from your eyes and stained his shirt.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, lips pressed to the shell of your ear, saying exactly what you needed to hear as if he knew. He slid one of his legs between your thighs, replacing the pillow that was there originally. At first the movement was a shock to your already agonized body. Then, the extra bit of space between your legs lifted some of the pressure on your hip joint. You sighed shakily against Matt’s neck.

The two of you remained that way, Matt’s leg between your thighs, his arm beneath your head, your face tucked against his neck, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into your side. He whispered sweet words of reassurance every now and then. Saying he loved you, he wasn’t going anywhere, he’d help you find a way to fix your leg. 

You knew that soon he’d have to get up to go to work. You knew he’d unwind his limbs from yours, would give you the softest kiss you’ve ever felt, and promise to be back with your favorite foods.

But until then, you would stay tucked in against your Devil. Your guiding light. Your comfort when things were dark. Your relief from a fucked up leg.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.3

TW: Blood, Torture, Violence

Summary: You get rescued(finally)

Part 1, Part 2

Silent. From the moment Price had found you in that dingy cell, broken and bleeding, that was all you had been. You were silent when they moved you, though it had to have hurt with how many broken bones and lacerations you had. You were silent when the medics asked you where you were injured, how you had been hurt. You were silent through the debriefings, through the desperate attempts to find out what you had been through, what secrets you had spilled. You were silent through all of it. 

It wasn’t your fault, not really. A mental barrier you had constructed during months of torture to keep secrets from spilling, a dam built with a mantra of DON’T TALK to keep your thoughts at bay as your captors repeatedly tried to draw them out of you. 

Even now, when the rational part of your brain knew you were safe, knew that these men, the men you served with, the men who had tracked you down and saved you, were to be trusted, the barrier would not fall. 

Every ‘what did they want from you, what did you see, did you recognize them, how many of them were there’ was met with silence. Anytime you opened your mouth you were hit with a wave of fear so strong it sent you into a panic attack. 

They understood, in part. They had seen recordings, seen the rooms, seen your broken body at the time of rescue. 

It took them 2 days to get to you after figuring out your location. They went in guns blazing, and tore the place to the ground. They split up, Price and Gaz taking the left with Soap and Ghost taking the right. They shot at anything that moved in their quest for vengeance, breaking down doors and checking every nook and cranny for where you might be locked up. 

Price found you about a quarter of the way into the camp. He took the bottom floor and Gaz took the top as they cleared the building. He had stopped before a door that was different, metal and welded shut with a small little flap in the middle, instead of solid and wooden like the others. It took him and Gaz some prying and metalwork, but they got the door open. 

Price almost cried when his eyes adjusted to the change in light. You lay curled in the corner, back to the wall as you shied away from the light. Your hair was tangled and matted with dried blood, your clothes were torn and dirty and your skin was crusted with so much blood and grime that he couldn’t even see you underneath it. 

“Y/n?” He had called, but there was no response. He crept slowly toward you, keeping his movements as open and relaxed as possible. He crouched in front of you, taking note of your dilated pupils, sunken eyes, obviously malnourished form. He winced at the weird bulges in your skin, indicative of broken bones. 

“Sorry love.” He whispered to you, taking a steadying breath as he slid his arms under you and lifted. Hise expected you to cry out, the action no doubt causing unspeakable pain, but you didn’t. In fact, you didn’t react at all. He didn’t dwell on it then, opting to get you somewhere safe and secure. 

“9 broken ribs, a broken left femur, both shoulders dislocated, pneumonia, dehydration and severe malnutrition, multiple lacerations that required stitches, broken wrists, all 10 fingers broken, right kneecap dislocated, multiple concussions, and a hairline fracture on their skull.” The doctor had said. It hurt all of them to hear how badly wounded you were. 

They gave you two weeks to recover before asking any questions. The first week you were unconscious, in a coma as your body tried to heal you. The second week you spent in worrying silence, saying nothing to anyone, not to your doctors, not to your teammates, not to your friends.

Price sent Ghost in first. He had had similar experiences and Price figured he would be able to relate. However when Ghost came storming out an hour later, slamming the door behind him, he came to regret that decision. 

“I got over it.” He had said, “Why can’t they?” Price reminded him that not everyone responds to trauma the same way and sent him away.

Soap tried next, and came out near tears after sending you into a panic attack after calling you ‘Little Bird’. He was confused until Ghost not-so-gently reminded him of the video they had seen, of the words ‘Pretty Bird’ being used over and over. Ghost pretended not to hear him throwing up in the toilet later. 

Gaz tried, to no avail. He ended up just sitting in silence with you, showing you videos of his cats. He counted it a victory when your busted lips twitched into a tiny grin for a few seconds.

And on and on it went, with refusing to speak to anyone. They were losing hope until the psychiatrist finally spoke with you. 

“GIve them time.” She said gently, “You trying to force a response will just make this worse.” 

So they do. The higher-ups still want answers, of course, but Price manages to dissuade them from asking until you are out of the hospital. They spend the weeks treating you as normal as possible, stopping by to give you updates on missions, show you a video of Soap absolutely biffing it in training, tell you the latest gossip of which recruit is sleeping with who. But even though they are trying, they still handle you with kiddie gloves, afraid that the wrong word or look will make you shatter irreversibly. 

Which brings you to now. It’s nearly 2 A.M, and visiting hours are long over as you stand unsteadily in the bathroom, staring at your pale, pathetic form in the mirror. You open and close your mouth, trying and failing to get words out, the barrier cemented in your mind by blood and tears too strong to break down.  

‘Speak, you stupid fucking bitch!’ You scream mentally at yourself, ‘You have to speak! If you don’t you'll be discharged and you'll never be able to serve again! They already think you’re broken, and if you can’t tell them different they’ll never treat you the same. Stop. being. So. Fucking. Pathetic.’

Tears streak your cheeks as you slide down the wall. You draw your knees up, hiding your face in them as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. Rationally, you know you are safe. Rationally, you know that if you were to speak, nothing would happen. But it’s not the rational part of your brain that is keeping you from speaking. 

Going dark in that hellhole you were trapped in had saved your life, and you couldn’t seem to get past it. Sure, not responding had almost killed you right at first, as Kravchenko became more and more ruthless in his attempts to get you to speak again, but eventually he grew bored. His little plaything had lost its sparkle, and he locked you in a cell and threw away the key as soon as he lost interest. But starving to death was still a better alternative to the all-consuming agony that had been your day-to-day. 

And now, the subconscious, irrational part of your brain was convinced that if you spoke you’d be dragged right back and strapped to a table, that you’d wake up to find that your rescue had all been a dream. That you-

“-/n! Y/N! Y/N!” You flinch, startled out of your reverie. You look down to see rivulets of blood running down your arms, your nails having gouged holes into your skin. You look up to see the eyes of a worried nurse, holding your hands in hers. 

“There you are. We lost you for a minute. Do you mind letting me bandage you up here?” Her voice is soft and gentle and you find yourself nodding, letting her lead you back to your bed where she cleans and bandages your upper arms. 

“What are you doing up so late sweetie?” Her voice is calming, almost hypnotic, “I mean, I’m awake cause I get paid to be, but you should be sleeping all your injuries away, shouldn’t you dearie? If I was you, I’d of been cryin’ too, being awake at 2 A.M. for free.” She laughs, the sound echoing through the room, “Course, I suppose you probably think I’m crazy for agreeing to work this shift anyways. Did you know I was supposed to have this shift off? But Roberta’s kids have the flu and so I agreed-” She keeps talking, her voice soothing your fears and helping you relax. YOu can’t help but mentally thank Roberta’s kids for being sick, for sending this wonderful lady who does not treat you like you're going to break at any moment to you tonight. 

“And that should about do it dearie. Just press that little call button if you need any more help, alright?” She says cheerfully. She squeezes your hand and heads to the door before pausing. 

“Make sure to get some sleep.” She leaves, gently closing the door behind her. Something about her makes you feel safer than you have since falling off that helicopter. Maybe it was her motherly demeanor, maybe it was the fact that she treated you like a normal human being, maybe it was the fact that she could have put you on a psych hold an ddin;t, but whatever it was, you loved her for it. 

And as the door closes and the room stills, you whisper a quiet “thanks.” 

Part 4?

~tags~

@louthedino @scarletdfox @dangerkitten1705 @warenai @spineless-spino @rainy-darling

[taergalive]

Even More Incorrect Radioapple Quotes to Fill the Void in My Heart

Lucifer: Can you please be serious for five minutes Alastor: My record is four, but I think I can do it -- Lucifer: I made tea. Alastor: I don’t want tea. Lucifer: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea. Alastor: Then why are you telling me? Lucifer: It is a conversation starter. Alastor: That’s a lousy conversation starter. Lucifer: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate. -- Lucifer, tending to Alastor's wounds from his fight with Adam: How would you rate your pain? Alastor: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend. -- Lucifer: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives Alastor: I wake up at 4:30 AM Lucifer: Lucifer: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives -- Lucifer: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back. Alastor: Of course. I can't flip this table by myself. -- Lucifer: I turned out perfectly fine! Alastor: Lucifer, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast Lucifer: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!!! -- Lucifer: Can you keep a secret? Alastor: Do you know anything about my life? Lucifer: No I do not. Good point. -- Alastor: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I’ve killed anybody important. I’m not an arsonist. I’ve never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground. Lucifer: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that. -- Lucifer: Hey Alastor, have you seen the reporter? Alastor: Nope. Have you seen the meat tenderizer? Lucifer, confused: What? Alastor, grabbing the meat tenderizer out of the drawer: No reason, cute girl things! -- Lucifer: Alastor and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us Charlie: * Sighing * What did Alastor do? Lucifer: He chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and... Alastor: Who wants a steering wheel? -- Lucifer: What time is it? Alastor: I don't know; pass me that saxophone and we'll find out Alastor: * Plays sax extremely loudly* Husk: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING?! Alastor: It's 2 am - Lucifer: I told Alastor his ears twitch when he lies. Charlie: Why? Lucifer: Look. Lucifer: Hey Alastor! Do you love us? Alastor, covering his ears: No! Charlie: -- Lucifer: Why are your tongues purple? Angel: We had slushies.I had a blue one. Husk: I had a red one. Lucifer: oh Lucifer: Lucifer: OH Alastor: Alastor: You drank each other's slushies? -- Alastor: Imagine being under 5’4’’ and thinking you have rights hahaha couldn’t be me. Lucifer: You wanna keep those kneecaps you better shut the fuck up! Alastor: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way down there, can you repeat that? Lucifer: I SAID FUCK YOU BITCH -- Lucifer: When are we gonna fuck? Alastor: What? Lucifer: Oh sorry autocorrect. When are we gonna hang out? Alastor: First of all, those two words aren't even close to each other. And second of all, this is a verbal conversation... -- Lucifer: As top in this relationship, I think we should- Alastor: I can't believe you're pulling rank on me. -- Lucifer: You have to apologize to them Alastor. Alastor: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

[fsuna]

MODERN LOVE SONGS

⊹ ⋆˚ 𓏲 – minors dni. fem!reader. heavy smut. cucking. cheating. slight voyeurism. daddy kink. unprotected sex. oral (m & f). pussy talking. fingers in a-hole. consensual recording. not proofread. just random song lyrics + hq boys <3 masterlist. tokyo rev version otw.

wakatoshi. bokuto. osamu. atsumu. sakusa. suna. kenma. kuroo.

WAKATOSHI

"never thought i'd leave my kids until i left them in her mouth,"

toshis above you trailing breathless curses as he watches you suck him off threw his lashes- jaw painfully aching as you blow his big dick while he keeps a hand on the back of your head, fingertips coiling within your loose hair. a pinkish hue blushes across his cheeks while your mouth slowly invites his whole length in your throat, the button of your nose nuzzling against his pubs.

your eyes are watery from the countless times his swollen tip had poked at the back of your mouth, spit escaping out from the corners of your lips to run down to his balls. a laugh so sinful that can make you cum untouched from beneath your panties exits from toshi once he notices your signature glittery lip gloss smeared all over the base of his cock and your pigmented mascara plastered past your under eyes.

“such a doll, suckin’ my dick so motherfuckin’ good- missed getting your faced fucked, didn’t you?”

his cock begins to twitch against the walls of your tight throat, panting and swearing nonstop till he’s cumming all up in your mouth, warm semen brimming over to both your lips and chin giving him the best fucking sight he has ever seen.

BOKUTO

"yeah i heard she got surgery, still wanna clap from the back just to see if her ass soft,"

raw dogs pussy from the back like it's the first time he's in one since the day he came out of one every. fucking. time. bo has your kneecaps dug deep in his king sized mattress- the tainted sounds of skin smacking plug your ears as he keeps a strong hand latched on your hip, rocking your lower back and forward against his pungent thrust. he's a tease too, you know- placing his two thumbs over your asshole to maul the nub just so he can feel your wet pussy clench and throb, his fat heavy balls slapping off your ass.

he’s the biggest you’ve ever taken. gosh his dicks so fucking huge, it’s like he gets even bigger every time you see him, but it makes you so wet. so wet you don’t even need to use any form of lubricant for him to stuff you up.

and now he's fucked you so damn stupid that the strength to talk has vanished for you- firm hands setting painful slaps on your naked ass before squeezing it sorely, making sure you'll be able to feel the flaming sensation his gigantic palms left on your bum for the next few days whenever you try to sit. you love it though- in love with how he stretches you out, making you feel so fucking full.

“yeah, you love that, don’t ya, pretty baby? ‘bouta fill this pussy up cause daddy knows that’s what ya want,”

SAKUSA

"you can call her phone and i'll probably answer,”

to him, the timing of this phone call couldn't have been more perfect- knowing you're so so close by the way your velvety walls pulsate against his hard cock on repeat.

“pick it up, baby. your man's callin' you. don't wanna ignore him now do we?”

a real meanie. takes it upon himself to answer your boyfriends phone call, picking up your phone before pressing the speaker button so you talk to the poor guy while he continues to fuck the literal living breathing shit right out of you. right on top of the shared bed with your boyfriend.

god he wants to laugh so freaking badly- pulling out of your messy hole dangerously slow only to pound back inside you with no word other then a sinning grin while he gives your tits a paining smack loud enough for your boyfriend to catch it crystal clear.

"we'll then, pretty? go head and tell him how kiyoomi fuckin' sakusas made you his bitch and you're about to cum all over his big cock, or i'm tellin' him myself."

couple seconds later he’s got you creaming all on his length as your boyfriend from the other line hears you have the most phenomenal, toe curling, life changing, spine tingling orgasm you've ever faced.

AKAASHI

“she callin’ me daddy, i’m somebodies father,”

keijis got your wimpy legs draped over his shoulders, his sweat lined forehead kissing your own as he watches your pretty face expressions shift while your pussy hustles to lure in every inch of his big dick in.

but now he's just as fucked out as you are- hips rutting against yours with more desperation each time- moans becoming more winded once he’s sure he's close to filing you up to the brim. he’s fucked you so good your brains turned into mush, little yelps slipping from your parted lips as you feel every last ragged vein located on his dick draw against your delicate walls.

“fuck- love your cock so much, daddy! don’t want you to stop!

your holding onto his biceps, the tips of your acrylics jagged in his bare flesh as he reaches all of your sensitive points till your poor ol’ cunt milks him dry, womb filling up with his cum before he’s fucking another one in you right after.

“and i fucking love this cunt, angel. want you to be a good girl and take daddys cock one more round for me,”

SUNA

"she came for me twice, i didn't even nut for her once, you know i'm a pleaser,”

the perfect mixture of sweetheart and asshole during sex. when he finds the need, he’ll be a fucking sadist. but he knows how to please you the right way.

rintarōs number one concern is for you to cum. and if he can make it happen more then once before he’s shooting his own load in either one of your holes, then he will.

he looses it once he feels your dripping cunt squeeze him in, hips bucking up and rocking in you harder and harder. just after two orgasms you were awfully cum drunk, eyes crossing ‘n rolling back while he’s got your tits bouncing back and forth as your almost exploding-grip on his varsity team t-shirt tightens.

sunas dragging dreamy moans and whimpers from you as he sinks in his cock deep in your tummy. he cant tear his gaze off the way your puffy folds are sprawled around his dick, sticky body stiffening once his stomach coils from the familiar feeling of his orgasm edging him.

but he doesn’t wanna give in just yet. especially since he’s sure you’re not far yourself from reaching your high once more.

“shit- ‘got the tightest little pussy. think you can cum for me jus’ one more time, angel? c’mon, know you got it in ya, wanna see you cream on me again,”

KUROO

"we gon' make a movie like ray jay and kim kardash,"

bouncing in his strong lap, kuroos iphone’s blocking half of his face as he focuses on recording his pretty girl getting herself off on his cock- filming how desperate you are for his cum while he words the dirtiest things known to man behind that phone of his.

gives your tits a couple smacks before he’s toying with your nipples, wet cunt pulsating around his length once you feel his cold fingertips on your skin. it felt like your pussy was being slip into half- your little hole always striving to compromise to his monstrous size no matter how many times it’s been fucked by his cock.

“soo pretty- my girl wanted to ride me on camera tonight. ‘missed this cute cunt, baby. all fucking mine,”

your sore hips are grinding on his dick, teary eyes closed tightly as you feel all those inches he’s packing inside what really felt like your literal gut. he was near to pulling your first orgasm of that night, cocktip piercing your cervix once you seat back down nice and slow on him one last time till your cums caking his throbbing length- phone getting inches close to your messy cunt that was sparkling from your sweet arousal.

“god look at that shit. f-fucking hell- you gonna make me cum, sweetheart, wanna fill you up so badly,”

OSAMU & ATSUMU

"that p get devoured, told my brother she ours,”

the heavy weight of osamus cock stretches your suffering pussy out, spasming walls never failing to make his dick feel blissed out inside your wet cunt. he can't take his eyes away from it either, watching how his mesmerizing pussy takes all of him in in one piece, your finger nails embellishing his firm back with pigmented scratches.

"look at you, taking ‘samu like a fuckin' champ. wet ass pussy leakin' all over the place. been that desperate for a cock up in you, huh?"

his hips grind up into your cunt, brushing over your cervix as you beg him to keep fucking you harder and harder- to which your wish becomes granted, skin slapping being the only thing heard as he coils your insides till you're completely slurring your words.

the blonde twins got his fingers invading your drooling mouth, chocking your small throat roughly with his middle and index, spit dribbling down your chin while the other twins hips thrust upwards uncontrollably- his tip scarping the sore point inside you.

his cocks so deep inside you it almost burns, making you feel so full. osamus emphasizing each and every praise he voices with a savage thrust, his sweaty abdomen tensing up from your pretty cunt pulsating.

your mouth's falling open dramatically once he lines your hole livid white, squealing noises of your sloppy pussy drowning in his ears while he fucks into you as his slit clears out his cum.

"such a needy slut for my cock. goin' all dumb after a quick fuck. now get up 'n let ‘tsumu fuck all this cum back in ya,"

KENMA

"then you'll end up sittin' all over my bottom lip, baby,"

eats you slowly cause he's sooo in love with your pussy. always savoring your aroma with each kiss and lick he plants on your fluttering folds. loves whispering praises sweet as candy knowing it only gets you wetter and wetter. his pink tongue swirls over your clit, slurping up your addictive arousal as you pull at his two toned strands from above, his hungry moans buzzing against your precious folds.

"holy shit you’re so wet, i make you feel good huh, princess? mmm- taste so fucking good, could eat this cute pussy every single day,”

converses directly with your pussy cause duh? she's got lips too yk- watching your glossy slick spill to your weakened thighs whenever he says something absolutely vile as his head stays buried between your two legs.

groans against your pounding sex as his finger travels to your clit, circulating at it to draw you closer to your orgasm- and you know his gamer fingers are fucking peerless. nothing will ever compare to the way he fucks up into your small hole with them, the tips trailing against your walls as his versed thumb rubs at your clit till he's got you pulling a picasso- painting his pretty fucking face with your cum before he gives you the same treatment back in return.

© FSUNA

[olive-may-write]

Hope

Hi! So this is the first time that I've wrote somthing this length in a while so this will be a bit rusty.

This is slightly self indulgent as someone who has chronic pain, I just thought I'd write someone up with a reader who has it in mind.

Anyway reader is someone who experiences chronic pain, it's a small insight into the mind of someone who lives with it. I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possoble, but other than that I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to give feedback of any kind, I just ask that you are kind <3.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton X Reader

Possible triggers: Dissusion of mental health problems, mentions of chronic pain and how it can affect someone's life, Mention of feeling sick / vomiting.

---------------------------------

The drawing room is not exactly the best place for you to be right now, you had initially thought that a spot of reading would be a sufficient distraction from the blinding pain shooting through your temple. unfortunately, the book you are reading, or trying to at least is not providing any useful distraction, with the words on the page becoming more blurred the more you try to preserver.

Huffing you close the book, trying to focus on something else to distract you from the burden you carry. The pain. 

You were never a sickly child, quite the opposite, you were always able to bounce back from any aliment that affected you, that was until sometime during your early adulthood. You cannot fully remember when it happened, just that one day it started, a sharp pain like a needle had been pushed through just under your kneecap and the stubborn thing would not go away.

At first, you had thought you had just over-exerted yourself during the social season with dancing, however, when that had ended, and you found yourself with more time to rest and recover you found that this pain remained. And it had gotten worse, it slowly moved upwards towards your other joints, sending sparks between all the different offending joints. 

A knock at the door breaks your train of painful thought, you slowly move towards the door, confused as you had confessed to your maid that if anyone needed or wanted you for anything to very gently turn them in another direction to not exacerbate your pain anymore with meaningless conversations. 

The door slowly creeks open, your maid’s face apologetically peeking around the frame.

“Apologies, I understand you did not want to be bothered; however, you have a visitor. One who is very adamant to see you, even after I explained that you had fallen ill today…”  she relays, she seems almost skittish, unlike her usual self. This visitor has put up more of a battle than others, who would see you? 

Sighing you looked towards her, trying not to cringe at a sudden stinging in your temples, you can’t very well be mad at her, after all, she can’t ultimately swat away everyone that wants to see you, though you had hoped that you would’ve had more time to try and calm down this headache before seeing anyone, alas, fortune is not in your favour today. 

“Please do not apologise, Ester, you tried your best,” you say sympathetically. “I do not think I would be so lucky to hide myself away for the whole day without interruptions, please do send whoever is most eager to see me in, if you would not mind.” With the housekeeper slipping back out the door you try to calm yourself, ‘breath, just breath’ you think, trying to calm yourself down, trying to calm the headache, as well as your body. 

You are not given enough time, as you hear the door opening again, this time more swiftly than before, footsteps moving quickly and a huffing breath. You then realise a slight error in your wording to your maid early, while you had instructed her to tell people that you had fallen ill, you mostly assumed that she would only need to tell people already aware of your ailment, and with that understanding they would know that you were somewhat alright and not gravely ill and not someone else. Someone who is not aware of your condition, someone who is now staring at you with anxious eyes trying to determine what it is that is wrong with you. 

With your body still positioned towards the door you fully take in your visitor, Mr Benedict Bridgerton. You watch as he steps into the room, the door slowly closing over, trapped. 

“I was told you were ill” he starts, stepping closer towards the chair you reside in, eyes still darting over you trying to determine the cause of your ‘illness.’ 

“I give my apologies for being so ardent in wanting to see you, I had initially come here under different pretences, however, the way your maid described your illness I was stricken with worry.” He speaks too quickly, staring at you with a slightly overwhelming concern.

“What ails you so?” he finishes almost crouching in front of you. The pause in the room is too stifling, this question that you hoped you would never have to answer while alone. In the past, you were always quite fortunate when the question had come up, with your father or mother there to quickly move the conversation along. Never bringing the truth to light. 

“A misstep walking down some stairs! The floors had just been washed and they were simply too enthralled within their novel to notice” was one such story that had to be shelved after multiple uses.

“Oh, you know they were just so concentrated with their needlework that they strained their hands; nothing to concern yourself about” another one, a slightly more believable story, and one that could be told repeatedly. However this time you were alone, there was no one to save you, no one to swiftly tell a half-truth. No, you were on your own, and with a mind-numbing headache in addition. 

“Ah, yes, erm please do excuse Ester, she does tend to exaggerate a little bit with her storytelling, I have but a simple headache.” You are not exactly lying, you do have a headache, you are simply omitting that the ache is also everywhere else within you. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” Benedict replies, visibly relaxing, almost bending in half with the sigh he lets out. 

“I thought you to be gravely ill with how your maid detailed your condition” he continues, “That you could hardly move, and you were racked with pain” he recounts, what you can only assume to be Esther's attempt at persuasion. And while true, you had hoped she would have chosen something along the lines of having a simple cold. 

“Yes, well, as you can see, I am in perfect health, you have nothing to worry about Mr Bridgerton, though your concern is duly appreciated. I do hope your time has not been wasted by travelling over here,” you respond, very much hoping that you can put this conversation to bed. You can feel the pain in your temples starting to come down towards your neck, you need to move, having been sitting in one position for too long but with Mr Bridgeton here you could not just up and move. You also had forgotten your cane this morning in your room, not thinking you would need it very much today, and you did not particularly want to be witnessed limping up and out of the room in front of a man who had no idea of your condition. 

Your only plausible solution was to grin and bear it, or rather, politely smile and nod along to whatever this man was about to ask you.

“Nonsense!” he exclaims loudly in a jovial manner, making the pain shoot through you once more.

“My time is never wasted when it comes to you” he speaks softly, as if he realised that by shouting, he would be causing you pain. 

“If you are in good health I was wondering if I might ask something of you?” Ah the question you have been waiting for, it could not have come quicker. 

“Yes, you may” Your response could be seen as quite rushed if you were in a normal situation, however with the pressure in your temples building and the pain slowly becoming more intense, you found yourself not caring how your actions could be perceived as by others of the ton.

There is a moment of silence where neither of you say anything, staring at him expectingly, you choose to prompt him by nodding your head towards him, hoping he catches onto your hint. 

“Oh Right!” he starts with a jump. “Well I came here today with a confession of sorts, I have witnessed you, wait! Ah!” he suddenly stops almost aware of how slightly strange he must sound. 

“Oh goodness, well- I, god” You take some pity on him as he seems to stumble over his words, ablet not enough pity to warrant sitting patiently in an increasingly uncomfortable chair. 

“Mr Bridgton, I do not mean to rush you but would you please simply ask this question” huffing slightly. 

“I know this is not how I am supposed to go about this, but I cannot ignore my feelings for you any longer! Please would you do the honour of letting me court you?”

There is a pause after his confession, stunned, shocked you are not sure how to respond. You almost think it is some cruel jest that he has been set up to follow through, but as you look at him, his expression and how he holds himself you realise that he is being as truthful. You feel as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over you, what does this mean? This cannot be real. This man of high stature wants to court you. While not lowly in rank, you certainly are not what you would expect a Bridgerton to go for and certainly not someone as seemingly broken as yourself. 

Sitting there for a few more moments you realise that he is still waiting for your response. 

“I, I cannot” you start “I am very sorry, but I cannot accept this offer.” You state, dropping your focus to the floor. 

“I. what?” Benedict almost laughs, stunned. 

“Why can you not? Are you intended to another?”

“No, I am very much not.”

“Are you interested in someone else?” You scoff at the question. 

“No, not that it matters either way” The pain starting to build up even more now that you are having to argue your case.

“I have refused your offer, Mr Bridgton, I do fear that Ester had some truth in her words and I feel a headache coming on. I think it best that you leave for the day” You aren’t lying per se,  you have had a headache for the best part of the day. 

“But why not? I do apologise, but I am simply confused. You are not intended to another, and you are not interested in anyone else, so why refuse my offer.” He states.

“At least agree to court me, and then you can make your decision afterwards, at least let me have a chance to show you how I care for you.”

You are starting to get frustrated, and the pain in your head has started to become unbearable, like someone smashing pots and pans together, you feel a ringing in your ears, and you almost want to throw up. 

“I am not well!” you explode, your breathing is ragged as your chest moves quickly. The pain in your temples is more present than ever, cringing you move to push your forefinger and thumb to either side of your nose bridge and start to pinch, hoping that brute force would almost will the pain to subside. 

‘Pathetic’ you think to yourself, ‘I can’t even argue correctly, must everything I do be muddled with pain?’ You try and calm your breathing, focusing on the feeling of your fingers on your face, the clothes you are wearing, your breathing, anything to try and calm the pain down before it loses control. 

There is a strange tension between the both of you, a quiet blanket that has been placed over the room as you do not know what to say. 

“I am not well sir… I have not been for quite some time” you start again, still pressing your finger and thumb into the sockets below your eyebrows. 

“Ester was right. I am riddled with pain, every day. I cannot dress without the pain, eat without it, speak, walk, laugh; live without it, I am tormented by it…” You begin to feel a sharp pain behind your eyes as tears start to fall onto your cheeks. Realising that by unravelling this thread that you would not be able to stop, you cannot tangle it back up again and simply throw it into your sewing box never to be spoken about again. 

“I cannot be who you want me to be, I cannot offer you anything. It hurts to live, and I cannot burden you with that, you would be throwing away your freedom if I were to agree to your request. Do you want that? To be saddled with an intended that cannot do the simplest of tasks without the burden of pain?” You seem to burst out into a frenzy of words. 

Without giving him a chance to argue back you move to stand, using a hand to brace yourself on the side of the chair you are occupying, you push down to give your body the momentum to move, your elbow shaking as it strains under the surplus of weight it is not normally used to. You curse yourself for not bringing your cane with you.

You pause while trying to catch your breath, frustrated that you simply cannot run out of the room and hide after such a shocking outburst, left to just stand there trying to muster up the strength and energy to try and move towards the door. With your head tilted down you were fortunate enough that you could not see his face, which was one of pain and shock. 

Starting again you move towards the door, gripping the backs of chairs and the edges of side tables, with your back turned you don’t see Benedict moving as well, like a kicked puppy wanting to be comforted he follows behind you, he does keep his distance, not wanting to upset you further than you already are.

As you place your hand on the door, dropping it down so you are grabbing the handle, you feel a presence behind you. From the corner of your vision, you see a hand place itself on the door. You slowly turn around to face him, you thank some part of him that he is not crowding you up against the door, that he has given you some space. 

“Please let me go, let me go. You can be free, you can move on, let me be.” you pleaded, looking up at him, your eyes flitting over his face looking for a sign, any sign that would indicate that he headed your prayer. You slowly focus on his eyes, looking within them, your breath hitches as all you see is a kindness so gut-wrenching it makes you feel physically sick. 

There is no malice, no pity, or any inclination that he will follow your word. All you see within his gaze is kindness, one of love and hope. You start to feel overwhelmed, having such a kind affectionate gaze homed in on you. You think back to all the times you caught his gaze; at balls, gatherings, when he would come to speak to you, when he came to visit today to ask to court you. You think about how there was no pity within his stare, no sympathy, no looks of “such a shame, one so young yet so ill,” none of that. 

You start to think about how you have brushed him off, how you have ignored him, at times even running away from him, too wrapped up in your melancholy to even look, actually look at how he was gazing at you, too scared to even admit that someone might even look at you within out an ounce of pity. 

You start to think about how you could allow this, the love and admiration of another person, how this could happen. Could this happen? Could you willingly put your anxieties aside and let someone in, could they be your rock, could they hold you when the pain becomes overwhelming, suffocating you, pulling you down into despair? 

Could you let him? As this question appears within your mind you feel a spark, like flint and rock smashing together, start within you. It is almost unnerving, unnatural. You have not felt this for an extraordinarily long time, almost losing belief that you could ever feel it again.

Hope. Hope that you could be loved and cherished, that you could have someone there for your bad days, as well as your good days where you could go for a walk or a carriage ride, where you could go to socials and visit family. 

This line of thought left you almost breathless, as you still stood within the drawing room of your home. Slightly pressed up against the door, with one of your hands behind your back on the handle as you were trying to escape…again. 

As this chaos was happening within your head, Benedict slowly brought his hand to your cheek, hesitating as if unsure if his action would cause you more pain than comfort. 

Pushing the feeling of guilt down, you take a leap of faith by slowly moving your head towards him, tilting it so your cheek rests within his palm. You flinch slightly, Benedict moving his band away from you, nervous that he might have caused you more anguish. Quickly you stop him, bringing your other hand to cage his, gently placing his hand back onto your face, cupping your cheek and jaw slightly through his hand.

“It…it did not hurt that much, I was just surprised is all” you whispered “It has been a very long time since anyone has held my face this way” You can feel your reserve beginning to crack, you pushed forward, that small spark of hope within you starting to burn brighter.

“It is quite lovely actually, I don’t have to use as much energy to hold my head up when it is being held for me” you ramble, trying to ease the tension and hopefully his nerves. 

“I see” he replies slowly, looking over you to make sure that his actions are not upsetting you in any way. Slowing analysing your features, sketching your appearance in his mind, unsure if he might get an opportunity to be this close to you again. 

Bringing his focus to your eyes he is startled at what he finds, hope. A small whisp of it, and while surrounded by what he can assume is anxieties and doubt, he is so certain that it is there. 

 “If you would let me” he continues “it would be an honour to hold your head for you if only for a moment, to provide but a small reprieve.” Realising that you are not stopping him from speaking, he continues.

“You are so extraordinarily strong, a remarkable person. Willing to take on so much and push through it all, despite the load you carry” he feels your head rest slightly more in his hand, seeing your eyes fluttering before you shut them for a moment. He is worried slightly that he might have messed up, saying something that pushed you down into the darkness rather than bringing you up into the light. However, as you open your eyes again, slowly raising your focus from his chest to his face, then to meet his gaze once more, he disregards his previous concern. He can see that spark burning ever so slightly brighter.

You gently pressed his hand between your own and your face, turning the latter into his palm so that your lips were ever so gently touching below his thumb. If he would be so bold he could move the digit with a feather-like touch across your cheek and wipe away any tear marks from earlier. 

“But you do not have to carry this load alone, I am not sacrificing my freedom wanting to be with you” parroting one of your earlier statements with earnestness.

“I am not sacrificing anything, I come forward willingly, I come to you after hearing about you and your life. I come to you as a willing partner if you would have me. Allow me to carry some of your load, let me hold your head and hands for you. Allow me the honour of holding you during your dark moments as well as your light.” 

“I want to be there for you, with you, I am not here out of pity, I am here out of admiration and love. I fear that if I loved you any less, I would be able to talk about it more, my heart is but a reflection of you.” He felt like he was rambling, struggling to find the words to convey his true feelings, how he was frazzled by you, in a way he had not been before. 

There was a pause and he started to doubt himself, his words, and his abilities before he saw a subtle movement from the outskirts of his vision.

As you looked into his eyes you could feel your grip on the door handle slipping, becoming less tense, less firm. Overcome with emotions from Benedict’s confession your hand goes limp, falling from the handle completely. 

As you stare into his eye you slowly bring now limp hand up towards his face, almost parallel to his still cupping onto your own. You move slowly, akin to a dazed animal who is wary of any sudden movements; as you reach, you settle your arm on his chest resting so that your palm now cups his jawbone. 

Benedict sees the movement, your hand dropping and moving up, towards him, he feels like he might faint, being able to touch you is one thing, but you, touching him is something he did not consider. He shuts his eyes, almost squeezing them closed not wanting to frighten you with how shocked he must look. 

When you finally rest your hand against his chest, he felt like his heart must have stopped beating, he froze, willing himself to take a breath, to steel himself before opening his eyes. 

For when he did, he was in awe, the spark that was once so dim, nearly stamped out was burning and it was burning bright. 

“Do you mean it?” you ask, voice shaking slightly.

“With my whole heart, with the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. I will be by your side till you are through with me, till I drive you mad, till we are grey and even then, I will still hold your head for you so you can rest for a while.” Benedict tries to convey every ounce of his emotions that he feels so you can be sure that you are fully aware of what he is experiencing. 

“I think I would like that” your reply is rushed. Not wanting to waste a moment, not letting it run away or hide. You finally made your choice, you would let hope win, you would lose the battle but win the war and your victory prize did not seem all that bad.