#surgery regret happens dude

[kalkydra]

in 12ish hours i will be getting up and starting to get ready for my doctor appointment... and then i will come home and get high for the first time in a month.... oh baby

[drdemonprince]

Can you really not experience misogyny anymore if you transition? I thought that even if you were a trans man it would follow you forever, but from your posts it sounds like most people just treat you like a cis man now? Last week, I just barely managed to escape a situation where my "friend" tried to rape me, and I've been thinking that if I was a cis man that would be a much less likely situation. But maybe being a trans man would also make that less likely. I feel like i could pass pretty well with top surgery and T, I'm tall and narrow-hipped. Basically the only fear that's stopping me is that I might regret it and develop gender dysphoria. Would it be a bad idea for me to go ahead with transitioning anyways? I'd rather dislike my body than deal with constantly being aware that everyone else thinks I'm lesser because I have boobs

Honestly? Yes. I don't get street harassed, I don't get talked down to, I don't get hit on by random people, and any time that I have experienced a sexual consent violation as a man it's been because I've put myself in a pretty outlandish relatively high-risk scenario where I acknowledged to myself at the outset that it was a possibility (and because of my own stuff, I desired things playing along the fringes of consent).

If you can manage to be stealth at work, you'll remove a lot of sources of harassment and sexist from your life pretty much forever. That's not feasible for everyone, that's a huge caveat that I want to throw out (and if I didn't other people would raise it). Passing as a man is easier to attain among random members of the public than within social groups that get to know you well or spaces where you are vulnerable such as work or schooling institutions (though it's still possible and happens for many of us). Even if you never pass a cis dude specifically, transitioning to male does change how people see you and interact with you and it limits a lot of the entitlement that people show to your body.

I assume that if you are considering this, you are in a place in the world where transitioning is possible and some number of trans people do exist, because obviously that changes things. But honestly? I've found it easier to escape sexism and pass as a dude in space where people know *less* about trans topics. I pass virtually all the time in cisgender society and super normie places where they just don't think about people like us. It's in more self-consciously queer spaces where people do weird wack shit about it.

Honestly I'd tell anyone who envies that trans men get to escape a ton of sexism to give it a try, because you can have a lot of this for yourself. It rules to not have to think or worry about. Not having periods is very cool too.

[therealsasori]

To emotions and good coffee Part 1 (a hidekane story)

Hide thought the world must be playing a joke on him. How exactly does he always end up in these unfortunate situations?

Don't get him wrong. Seeing Kaneki alive and relativly well, is something Hide feels glad to witness. And regaining contact with his best friend after 4 years, and when he isn't some kind of monster rampaging trough tokyo is a blessing to him. He does not take it for granted. Really.

He's glad he was able to help Kaneki in any capacity. Glad he could be of use to him and his friends. Glad neither of them is rotting in the ground. Honestly, Hide feels blessed.

However - there is a certain strain, an akwardness, in their interactions that is unknown ground for both of them. After Kaneki was outside of dragon and the war was over and things had been said and done - the initial flowing conversations between them have come to a halt. There is no longer negotiations or strategies involved in their talks. When thinks get personal, they struggle.

And not because of what you would usually think to be the reasons- like a torn off face. Sure, Hide admits his recovery was painful, long and hard. Memories of skin ripping and blood spilling make him shudder. Nightmares haunt him every other night. Looking in the mirror hurts - even though after plenty of grueling surgeries his face resembles a face much more than it did during the war.

But Hide can't regret the decision he made that day - not after it saved Kanekis life, not after everything he's done the past 4 years was for Kaneki. Not after it meant kissing Kaneki.

No, fuck, shit, stop thinking that Hide.

There's an awkward cough and some shifting. Hides had snaps up, staring wide eyed at his best friend who's uncomfortably fumbling with the sleeve of his black turtleneck. The converence room they're in feels so much bigger than Hide remembers. It's honestly funny how everyone left so quickly and how they ended up alone. Super funny. Especially how they use the space of this room to be as far away from each other as possible.

Hide has to surpress a snort - really. Two bros in a room, 5 feet apart because one of them is decidedly not gay and has a wife. Haha. Ouch.

"So...", Kaneki breathes. Hide feels almost sorry for him. Almost.

"Good meeting huh?" an uncomfortable chuckle.

Hide tilts his head to the side. Really?  God, this is painful. Hes unimpressed though.

"Sure. If you're into that kind of stuff." Hide sighs. He wants to bang his head on the table. Kaneki looks- sad. Defeated. Until he doesn't.

The man he loves takes a deep breath, straight backed, determined eyes and he strides. Two long steps and hes in front of Hide. Did the room shrink?

Hide has always prided himself in being good at reading people. At reading his best friend. But 4 years of distance and pain can and will change a man. And Hide isn't sure what he's searching for in Kanekis eyes. Recognition maybe? The boy Hide spent nights with talking on the playground, the boy who cried when they found a hurt bird in elementary school. His Kaneki. His? Please, Kaneki has never been his. Hide has to swallow the bile thats coming up at that thought.

Staring back at him is a somewhat scary, confident man, with beautiful grey eyes that- Huh?!

Eyes that are suddenly swarmed with tears. A trembling mouth - a sob. What is happening?

"Yo, Neki, is that really how the most feared and strongest man of tokyo should behave? Haha, shit dude if I tell the press about this they will go wild."  Hide feels honestly overwhelmed.

This is not how he thought this would go.

Kaneki bites his own lip to surpress the sobs. And, ah, shit- Hide wants to do that. Stop!

"H-Hide.." Kaneki tries to speak but he just ends up crying more. Hide almost laughs, if he wasn't also very much concerned.

"Hey, man if this is about my face again - really Kaneki we've been over it. It's fine ok? I am not mad or anything.." he tries to reassure the beautiful man infront of him. But he's having a hard time focusing on anything but how gorgerous Kaneki is.

Man, the gay is strong again today.

Hide sighs, "Listen dude, its really fine. And it's kinda getting late and you should probably go home to your wife. I am sure you'll feel better. I mean, nothing a pretty lady can't fix, right? "

Hide feels a headache coming on.

Everything stops. The sudden silence makes goosebumps rise up on Hides skin. Kaneki is still, staring at the ground. Hide isn't even sure if he's breathing.

"Why?... why do you keep doing that?"

The sudden question combined with those steely grey eyes take Hide aback. There is so much hurt in those eyes and Hide wants to melt into the ground.

"What? " Hide asks, voice somehow barely louder than a whisper. But in the all surrounding silence he might as well have been screaming.

Kaneki makes a sound, something between a chuckle and a sob, shakes tears out of his eyes and forces Hide by sheer willpower to look at him. Hide can see how so many people follow this man- he commands the room. But then again, he's always done that for Hide.

"Talk about Touka. You always talk about Touka whenever we are around each other. You avoid having an actual conversation with me. Why?"  Kaneki hands are trembling, he pushes them trough his hair and folds them together. Hide swears he feels the vibrations of Kanekis tremble on his insides.

"I- I don't understand. She's your wife. You love her, so why is this a problem? I am just happy for you man." Hide scratches at his face. Part of him wants to scratch out his eyes.

Kaneki still looks so so sad and Hide can't handle this much longer.

"Because it's not about her! You keep avoiding me. I, fuck Hide, I miss you. YOU. Thats who I want to talk about." The tremble has reached Kanekis voice, to Hide it's shaking the whole building.

Hide swallows, hard. Tries to breathe. It doesn't work. Ok no more lies. It hasn't helped them in the past.

"I miss you too. I just- don't...know how to be around you.."

He might as well have punched Kaneki in the face. The love of his life flinches. Looks at him like a kicked puppy. Like Hide just broke his heart. Funny how that works.

"Hide, I would never hurt you. Never again. Please, what can I do to prove it to you?" He's almost begging, desperate. Needy in the worst way.

Hide laughs, a sad broken sound and shakes his head. "I am hurting Ken. All the time. And it's not fair, not to you or me."

Kaneki comes impossibly closer, searching for answers in Hides eyes. "Why?" a soft touch to Hides cheek. Stormy grey eyes- and they're full of love just not the kind Hide wants. An angel, really, thats what Kaneki looks like to him.

Hide can't stand it, how weak he has become. A dam breaks.

"I managed it so well, for years. I could handle it. But I am afraid too much has happened since. I don't know how to keep it in Ken. You know, I've been thinking - Maybe I should have died in those sewers. " wet cheeked he tries to stiffle his noises, keepin his dignity.

Kaneki looks alarmed. "What?! What are you talking about? Hide y-"

Ah. It's soft. Warm, allthough a bit too wet for Hides liking. Their tears combining on their faces. But Hide isn't one to complain. He takes it, every last drop. Bathes in the warmth. Embraces the ache. And he wants. He wants so badly. But he can't have what he wants, and it kills him.

Hide pulls away, disconnecting lips. He so craves to remain right there. But it isn't right. Those lips aren't his to claim.

Thread rushes into him, realization of his mistake setting into his brain. He's ruined it. The last bit of connection they had.

And Hide runs. Only for a second before he bolts for the door he sees wide grey eyes. Stunned. Confused. Shocked. And surely in a moment disgusted and Hide really doesn't want to see that.

He doesn't get very far. Admittedly he isn't sure why he thought he could outrun a ghoul. Even less so the one eyed king. But a part of him had hoped Kaneki would just let him go.

Instead there is an iron grip around Hides left wrist- sending ice crawling trough his veins. Hide closes his eyes.

"Don't run from me." A surprisingly soft voice begs of him. The grip on his wrist loosens a bit. "Hide... I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you. Please."

Hide feels like he might explode. He spins around, eyes fierce. And is met by Kanekis soft stare.

"How haven't you atleast punched me yet?" Hide demands. He is confused, scared, angry and in love. He's so so so in love.

The love of his miserable life just laughs. "Why would I do that? I don't intend to use force, unless you try to run away again. I am sure we'll figure something out, Hide. Don't you think?"  And Kaneki smiles. Smiles at him with so much love in his eyes it makes Hide forget how to breathe. And he takes his hand and squeezes, pulls. Hide stumbles. Kaneki sighs and murmurs against Hides temple:

"Let's go home, Hide. I'll make us some coffee."

[fairylando]

ever since the west end version of next to normal came to life, all i can think about is an adjacent au (but not really cause it would be somewhat canon) solely based on "i am the one (reprise)" where valentino throws marc so hard away from his life after 2015, whether he's actually scared of him or scared of what marc could end up doing to himself by racing like this, that at some point after marc truly doesn't acknowledge him anymore, the incidents, the arm surgeries and such... valentino spirals and he starts seeing the ghost of young marc (marc's not dead, but that version of him is dead to valentino) and it drives him insane but he ignores it until he can't anymore and we're talking about 46 years old valentino who can't let go of something that happened ten years before because of regret and guilt that get's personified in the little dude that idolized him. and haunts him.

"but i know you know who i am"

[kaye-go-moo]

Shapes and Strange Ciphers AU: Twins

SaSC by me

Shapes and Pines by @/void-dude

Next Part

Background

Stanley and Stanford Pines are twin Euclydian ovals with eye mutations. Stanford has two eyes, one on his side, the other on his face. Stanley has one eye on his side with a split pupil. Both could see the stars, Stanford better than Stanley, but they wanted others to see them.

After years of planning, Stanford had devised a way to show everyone the stars, and Stan's help was crucial. However, when it came time, Stanley wasn't there. He was late and Stanford had grown impatient. He's waited all his life to show everyone what they could see, to prove he and his brother weren’t crazy.

He justified doing the plan without Stanley, telling himself that it was nothing more than an insignificant role he could easily fill. So Ford [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]. It was all gone.

Stanley

Stanley found himself outside of his now destroyed dimension. He remembers bits and pieces of what happened – hearing [][][][][][][], seeing [][][][][][][], and feeling a searing pain in his right shoulder before everything went black. The only thing he knew for sure was that Ford and his plan had caused it. However, Stan didn't blame Ford for what happened. He blamed himself. If he had been there, Ford's plan would've worked. He was a genius whose plans never failed, and Stan was the idiot who dragged him down.

-

Stan traveled the multiverse, plagued by guilt and regret. For years, he tried to rebuild his life, but his self-hatred led to self-sabotage, leaving him back at square one. Eventually, Stan turned toward a life of crime, fueling his cycle of self-destructive. Each prison sentence made it harder for Stan to find a reason to keep going. If he was going to rot in a cell or be on the run for all of eternity, then what was the point? It wasn't until he discovered Ford was still alive that Stan finally found a reason to keep moving.

Stan wanted nothing more than to find his brother and apologize, but he held back, telling himself he wasn't good enough. In their time apart, Ford had who had become a powerful and well-known figure, while Stan had only become a low-life criminal. He needed to prove to Ford that he wasn't the same screw-up, that he could be better–he could be perfect.

Stan spent the next hundred eons improving himself–even got surgery to fix his eye, though he still needed glasses. Along the way, he heard plenty of great things about his brother, but he also some alarming ones. Still, he would convince himself that people had gotten the details wrong or just didn’t understand Ford's intentions. After all, Stan's brother was kind and caring. Sure, Ford had his moments of lashing out, but who hasn't? And, yeah, a lot can change in the years they spent apart, but certainly not enough to turn Ford into some kind of monster… right?

-

Stan's past criminal actions were catching up to him, bringing some very angry people along for the ride–old partners Stan had burned and were now looking for revenge. If Stan could deal with them first, he'd have a much easier time improving his life. He thought getting more money would help him pay them off, so he tried finding a job, but his criminal history made that nearly impossible. This forced Stan to keep committing crimes. He didn’t want to, fearing Ford would disapprove of his criminal past, but he wasn't left with much of a choice.

By the time Stan was confronted by one of his former partners, he still hadn't managed to collect much money. He was chased down, cornered, and on the brink of receiving a brutal beatdown when a 'backdoor' to another world opened nearby. Without hesitation, Stan jumped in.

Stanford

Stanford was left with the wreckage of his home. His mind went into immediate damage control, deluding himself into believing everything was Stanley's fault. If only Stanley listened to him and had arrived when told, none of this would've happened. They could be watching the stars with their family if Stanley wasn't such an idiot. Stanford is a genius whose plans never fail, but Stanley ruined that. He should've never trusted Stanley with such an important plan because now Stanford was alone, his entire family was dead.

-

Stanford traveled the multiverse, using the knowledge he gained and the things he researched to distract himself. Forget stars. They were nothing more than balls of gas, and there were greater things to discover. He began to seek not just knowledge but power. His unchecked narcissism led him to conquer worlds, doing whatever he pleased.

Along his travels, Ford met many creatures. The few he found interesting or useful would be offered to join him and gain knowledge. However, if they no longer served use or started to become burdens, Ford would [][][][][][][][][][]. He didn’t need anyone slowing him down, he didn’t need more Stans.

Ford would do anything to further his research and allowed nothing to get in his way, not even himself. Only one of Ford's eyes could see in front of him, the other was on his side, 'getting in the way.' With the help of one of his 'friends' he got rid of his 'useless' eye. The surgery left Ford with a chunk of his form missing. However, his eyesight did not improve. He'd lived with both eyes all his life, so his eyesight needed time to adjust. As a result, Ford started wearing glasses.

Ford had made quite the name for himself. He was either a bringer of great knowledge or destruction. People created shrines, some out of respect and many out of fear. Ford had traveled far and wide, leaving a scar of devastation that crossed the multiverse.

However, Ford eventually became bored. He had access to so much, but it all felt so small. He wanted to explore places he couldn’t reach but realized his form was too limited. He needed something better. He deserved better. He needed pawns and knew exactly where he could get them, from a place he could only access through the minds of lower beings. It had been years since Ford's last visit, but he had already left his mark. It was only a matter of time until someone useful came along and found it.

_____

Lore comments

[cononeillbreastingboobily]

I heard a phrase once that goes something like "growth lies outside the comfort zone".

And holy shit my dudes. It's right.

In just 9 days I've spent at a hospital, I changed. I can't say "completely", but... Wait, no, I can!

I came out of the hospital a different person than the one who entered it, and I genuinely mean it. I described it in many ways. "As if somebody broke me out of my shell", "like I don't have a layer I used to have" or simply "I'm back". It feels... So good, yet so unfamiliar.

Everyone I talked to since I came home who knew me before then, is shocked. They say I smile more, I have a completely different energy, they say I got my spark back that I used to have when I was a child.

I think what happened was the result of many, many things, but mainly:

• Being forced to confront my trauma head on

Hospitals. I had some very painful surgeries, as well as painful and humiliating testing done when I was a child. It screwed me up in so many ways that I can't even articulate to this day. I experienced A Lot of physical and emotional pain during this recent hospital stay. I didn't run from it, couldn't. And I do have to say it contributed to my experience, can't describe in what way exactly just yet.

• Having no privacy and thus, no space to suffer in silence. And thus, having no choice but to let people in

Sharing a room with 4 people, I hardly had any space for myself, except for my bed and nightstand. I tend to cry all by myself when I'm going through something. At the hospital I was going through A Lot, and yet I couldn't hide from curious eyes.

• Having people do many uncomfortable things to my body, and having to just go with it

Well, it's not like I didn't have a say in whether certain things happened to me. I could potentially protest if I didn't want to have some testing done or didn't want someone to wipe me down etc. But my desire to reach a diagnosis was so strong that my limitations in that regard dissolved rapidly. Plus, like. These people are at work. I'm not gonna let my embarrassment keep them from getting their jobs done. Otherwise we would be here all day.

• Being taken seriously, but gently

I was faced with so much kindness during my hospital stay. It helped me remember that somewhere out there the world can be really kind and that there are good people out there. I think I completely forgot about that.

• Being given hope

I didn't realise just how much I had given up on myself and just life in general, over the past few months. And yet I had people gently hold my hands on 3 separate occasions and tell me "It's gonna be okay". How does one not start to believe it even just a little bit after that?

• Being reminded of my passions

I had a very intense talk with the head of the department that took me in. He asked me about my gifts and abilities, and pointed out other ones I missed. I kept finding myself thinking of more I could've mentioned days later.

• Being shown a way forward

This ties in with the point I made two paragraphs before, but I do think it deserves it's separate section. Along with the hope that I might get a full diagnosis, and that what I'm suffering from right now is reversible, I had a spark lit up in me, one that I lost a long, long time ago. I was reminded that I love to learn new things, and that I want to go and study new topics. I'm going back to uni! This time a post-graduate program tho, I'm not pursuing a degree (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

So, there you have it. I knoooow that these are highly personal and subjective, but I'd regret if I didn't share my experiences and observations even a little bit. If by sharing this I inspire just one person to do and change something, or to look at things differently, I would consider it as a job well done.

[gravityghosts]

Review of the debate:

Trump, unsurprisingly, kept going off about complete bullshit

Harris looked like about how I did but kudos to her for not laughing in his face bc I absofuckinglutely would’ve. Better than Biden looking like he wanted to kill himself several times over.

Had to watch it for my social psychology class and trumps “it never would’ve happened under me” or whatever he said is literally a perfect definition for the FAE tho so at least I know what I’m talking abt for my assignment

The moderators also had me fucking dying re: “okay but the question was: do YOU have any regrets” being asked multiple time and the passive aggressive “we know the peaceful change of power is vital to our democracy” dude probs wanted to go OFF. Love the “there is No state where you can execute a baby after it’s been born” as well

Genuinely have no clue where the transgender illegal immigrants prison surgery came from but can i have one too

[starry-skies-116]

ROTTMNT HEADCANONS BECAUSE I WATCHED AND LOVE THIS SHOW AND AM HYPERFIXATING AGGRESSIVELY ON IT NOW:

They keep the surnames of “Hamato” despite abandoning the strictly traditional practices of the Hamato clan whilst also taking more eclectic inspiration from their arts to their own.

They all brumate btw. Pry this from my cold dead hands. Every time brumation season comes, the Disaster Twins Inc. hog the couch.

Donnie, because he’s autistic and is a softshell turtle, has sensory issues and is very picky about what food he eats and which clothes he wears, as well as what surfaces he touches. He secretly has a casual list catalogued about what sensory things he loves versus what he hates, and there’s a small area in his lab that’s sensory heaven for him.

All the turtles have different eye colours. Leo has natural heterochromia, one eye being cobalt blue and another eye being bright amber. Post-movie Raph has heterochromia from being turned into a Krang zombie for a short amount of time- one eye is emerald green, and another is a bright magenta purple. Donnie has warm brown eyes, and Mikey has baby/cornflower blue-ish grey eyes. April has hazel green eyes.

Teenage Mutant Intersex Turtles, anyone?? They’re all different variations of intersex on the intersex spectrum. Leo was presumed to be a guy and does have some male traits, but is biologically female- he’s both intersex and a trans dude (and I’m all here for it).

Raph is an aroace bigender (both transfem and demiboy), Mikey is genderfluid and greyaroace pansexual and panromantic, Donnie is nonbinary, asexual and greyromantic biromantic, and Leo is FTM trans, demisexual and gay (did I mention they are all intersex).

Yes I do headcanon disaster twins, and that Donatello was taller than Leonardo when they were younger but Leo is 3 and a half minutes older than Donnie and takes every damn opportunity to brag about it.

“We need CaCa and Maggie~!” “JUST SAY CALCIUM AND MAGNESIUM GODDAMNIT-”

In the future, all of the turtles have cloaking brooches and stable jobs that earn them great income. They also have apartments close to the sewers that is their home.

Okay, we all know Donnie’s canonically autistic. But what if all the turtles are on differing parts of the spectrum. More at 5.

Donnie in addition to being autistic has insomnia, BPD and misophonia and does have sight issues and is prone to migraines due to staring at screens and not getting enough sleep, Raph has panic disorder, dyslexia, OSDD-1a and GAD, Leo has ADHD-I, autism, GAD and is bipolar, and Mikey has ADHD-HI, dyscalculia and autism. All of them have some form of PTSD post-movie.

Leo does know how to play chess please and thank you. He just does it for fun and doesn’t really practice.

Splinter has PTSD, is autistic and is bisexual (the most unrealistic thing is young Lou Jitsu/Hamato Yoshi in his 20’s NOT kissing men and enby hoes in addition to women). He’s not a bad father, he just passed some of that generational trauma of everything that’s happened to him, as well as his regrets and grief, down to his kids without even knowing and feels terrible about it once he realizes. He may have made so many mistakes as a father, but he deeply loves his sons beyond what they could ever comprehend, and he’d send anyone to the shadow realm if they laid a finger on his beloved turtle children.

Donnie and Leo (mostly Donnie) bite each other for no reason at all- not enough to hurt or draw blood, but enough for the bitten to yelp and want an apology from the one who did the biting.

April O’Neil is an also autistic lesbian polyamorous demigirl. She’s saving up enough money by working at The Foot shoestore partially for her top surgery. Sunita is her best friend soon-to-be girlfriend. They’re gay disasters your honor.

Cassandra Jones is MTF trans. Fight me on this one.

Sunita, despite being a teenage slime yokai, does celebrate and participate in Indian culture and does consider herself Indian (let me have my rep I’m starved of please). She’s also a lesbian demigirl, and is asexual and autistic. She also has the ability of superhuman bodily elasticity, even in human form (though it is restricted somewhat in human form). Sunita WILL call pilaf ‘biryani that needs therapy’ okay, she’ll fight you if you say they are the same thing.

Queerplatonic/non-romantic Apritello where they have a super close relationship greater than best friends but cringe at the idea of being in a romantic relationship together wya <3

April’s African American, we all know, but what about her being of Afro-Iranian Jewish descent and her mother’s Shakshuka and Latkes and Rugelach and Sufganiyot being her absolute favorite among all the stuff she makes. She gets MAJOR hyped by the time Hanukah comes around and tells the Turtle boys and Splinter about it.

And there’s more, but I’ll tell y’all about that later, or we’ll be here all day.

[nightwingsfantasies]

Yandere BNHA Boys pt 2

Okay, this is a continuation of the first yandere ones I did because I wrote that in basically a night and was too tired to do more, I'm probably gonna post some after for the pro heroes and villains if I have time, I might finish those on the weekend then post it.

This is just a bunch of headcanons I have about the boys in BNHA and what they’d be like as yanderes. Only the really fluffy or good things about them listed here. Neither of these works are a good depictions of a real yandere and make sure to be careful to identify yandere traits in real people around you. It’s a very dangerous world and stay safe!

sorry if you were waiting for me to come out with these and I literally took forever lol, link to the first one is here. It's basically just me comforting myself with the sweet things that I think they would do as yanderes.

Warnings: Brainwashing, blood, gore, death, trans headcanons, body dysmorphia, nonbinary they/he Sero, they/them pronouns + nonbinary headcanons for Tokoyami, he/they nonbinary headcanons with Shinsou, a little NSFW because if I don't specify then they are aged up (around 20-25 is where I imagine the timeline that they actually captured you and have a hero carrier going for them already), manipulation, regular yandere things, kinda just turns into dumbass horknee headcanons at some point after Shinsou (sorry lmfao), objectification

Sero Hanata

so basically the first time they saw you they immediately wanted to come up to you

they love to give you back hugs because once you stop trying to fight them he's gonna be so honored you finally trust him

Big time slut [non-derogetory] for you

Likes to have an apartment that's high up, probably a secured penthouse with lots of windows

If you're afraid of heights they will get a ground bed for you two, they would also vibe with a low hanging hammock if you allow it

they really really like just putting you on a custom made leash, not inherently in a sexual way just in general likes to have it look like that with their tape on you at all times

they really really like it when you come to them for hugs and comfort

If you're a trans reader, if you want a binder he will get you one as soon as you ask, cried when you told him about it.

they cried way more than you though...

Was very accepting as an nb person as well

they custom made you a tape binder of his

Kinda as a joke but high key felt like they were gonna combust at the thought of you wearing that for them

Takes you to pride but you cannot speak

only takes you to pride after they are 1000% sure that you're not gonna speak to anyone but them

Takes you to it as a part of their float because they'd been invited onto the Hero Float

You are in a costume that's exactly like his, helmet and everything, you aren't allowed to be looked at

After that though, it's gonna be your choice to go or not to go

they trust you a little more after you run away from some assholes though and after that sometimes lets you take your helmet off during pride, you have to give them a lot of kisses though

When/if you ever consider any type of surgery he is 110% on board

they demand that you have to have it performed by someone who has done this a million times before, trusts no one else

If there's a way for you to go through it without the surgery they're excited but he's more excited if there is surgery because they love the idea of you being so cuddly and clinging to them for their comfort

Tokoyami Fumikage

haha they're in love with you

like, intensely in love with you the moment they first meet you

Dark shadow thinks you're adorable but says nothing more about their obsession with you

when you met them before UA they absolutely cannot handle being around you in a 10-foot radius

Eventually, though they do try and become a friend of yours

After that, it's a hop on the manipulation train, my dude

they basically make you see them as your savior from a mean uncaring world

they love talking to you about things that make you happy and loving you in little ways

hugs, hand holding, a lot of time it's just a little peck (haha) on the cheek

they love living with you though, like really love it

they like baking and making dinner for you

but especially baking

like really, baking

the manipulation they use makes it seem like everything is okay when you only talk to them so that's what you do and to you, it seems so much better than anything you could do

they haven't come out to you by the time you come out to them so your trans journey really helps them figure things like that out as well

The first time you explain that gender is a made-up construct they're like "yeah......isn't that how everyone feels? Like, not a gender????" we love this for them

you both kind of heal each other through this process

they like seeing you when you're most comfortable so they get you as many binders as you need

also gets you a custom binder like Sero but with feather designs, not like stupid printable patterns but something that is soft and the softness isn't feathers it's regular fluffy cloth

idk I'm not a designer that's why I gave up and became a writer lmao

they also get you a compression corset because they're emo

if there is surgery it takes a lot of time to convince them

they don't ever want you to regret anything they helped you with so it takes a lot of long-winded conversations about it

there was a lot of nervousness on their part because (this is just my headcanon) they were almost convinced to get surgery to construct their face to look human-like

they had a lot of their family tell them that, because of the way they looked, they had less of a chance to become a hero, they were immensely traumatized by this and thus wants to make absolutely sure you were okay with this

but when they finally find themself comforted by you about it it happens quickly and in the safest way you could possibly imagine

Shinso Hitoshi

Shinsou didn't want to approach you at all, he was so scared you'd run away or tell him he's a villain

they always thought that they weren't good enough for you

he loved you but you needed to say hi first

and you did

so he whisked you away

they like to just brainwash you into tasting certain types of food when you're craving them instead of just getting you food

he likes to talk to you in a voice like he would talk to a kitten, not like husky or anything sexy, but something cute and adorable

especially when you're brainwashed and can't say anything to him

He likes to give you lots of soft stuff like I'm talking pillows upon pillows and squishmallows

once he gets his own house they get it in a place that's more comforting in the dark than in the light

they really like the dark and outdoorsy vibe anyway so if they choose a place somewhere in the forest to keep you what's the added bonus if no one can hear you scream?

a little bit of spice; he has this whole a/b/o fantasy (idk it's his vibes that he'd read that fanfic and stuff lmao) and kinda treats you like you were an omega

sometimes if you guys do have sex they'll brainwash you to act like an omega or once he's more experienced with bodily manipulation involving their quirk they'll make you do all of the......omega things

when you come out to them, if you're trans, they're definitely gonna not care

like if you need comfort and stuff about it they will not make a big deal about it

he legit is like "okay .....can I still fuck you or?????"

HE JUST GIVES OFF REALLY HORKNEE VIBES OKAY?????

definitely brainwashes you into not feeling dysphoric anymore though

like loves it when you come up all sad to him and uncomfy just to ask them to brainwash you

he melts over you cuddling them after those times though

if you want surgery they're gonna make sure that it's between him and the doctors that y'all are there

like no one knows you're there, completely off radius, in and out like nothing (he's basically a cryptid in the woods by the time you guys have the surgery, so they wanna make sure no one questions it)

Monoma Neito

bold of you to assume that man can express literally anything when he wants to just sit you on his lap and look at your pretty face

love at first sight taken literally but not in a shallow way

he loves just having you around him

kinda treats you as an accessory at times, talks like you're a purse or something and people don't really comment but it's really freaking them out sometimes when you don't speak up on it

likes to say he's the only one to understand you cause he's afraid you'd leave him

a hardcore fan of collars though

definitely has lots of jewelry that represents him even though you don't go out he still loves the idea of it

big time cook

loves providing for you, never lets you do a damn thing other than watching pre-approved cartoons and hobbies

absolute fucking disaster about hugging you

always has to be touching you

he thinks you're so fucking gorgeous and body worships you even out of the bedroom

if you're trans he will definitely be weird about it at first

he's just diet transphobic

he's not denying it but sometimes he's like "Are you sure???" and stuff

he clears this up with the help of you being pissed enough to not eat or talk to him until he apologizes

he then educates himself on it and comes to the conclusion that he was in fact being an asshole

talks to you about binders and stuff like that

doesn't really believe in surgery, he would never allow you to do that just because it would be too painful for him to see you go through

he instead literally searches the whole fucking globe for a person with a body-altering quirk to make sure you don't get hurt

he seeks out homophobes, transphobes, and other dumbasses on the regular just to kill them like literally it just started out for your approval but now it's just for fun

Anyway, the villain one (if I do it) will probably become just horknee brain rot cause I am a slut. Request some stuff and I'll try to put up some works if y'all want ig.

[yniswaifu]

The bet - 5

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, millions thoughts running through your head.

Will you see us off before we leave for the game?

Even if the message from Suna, whom you had been very close to these past days following the incident, it still didn't change the fact that he was part of the volleyball team.

The team that also had Osamu, your (ex) boyfriend.

It had taken everything in you to not jump in his arms when you saw him at the practice the other day. You had completely forgotten that there was a chance you'd encounter Osamu when you went to deliver Ginjima something your mom sent.

And boy did you regret going there.

Maybe deep down you had wished he wasn't. And that he got a plastic surgery to change his face or something, since you weren't sure what you'd do if you saw him. So when his deep voice echoed through the gym calling for Suna, your eyes instinctively connected with Osamu's face and you were thinking just why it had to be this way.

He was still the same as you remembered him. Except, his eyes looked hollow. You were observant, and you knew he wasn't doing any better than you, but you still was a wuss to confront him.

Loser of the year award goes to y/n.

Looking at the text again, you breathe out and reply with a yes. The circumstances were against you, but you could still meet your friend and cousin before they go for the game, even if Osamu would be there.

You'd be in and out in a flash.

Determined to avoid Osamu, you shut your phone to retire for the day when it pings again. And the text is from someone you least expected.

Can we talk?

***

You don't what went in her head, when f/n came all the way to your house to talk about something in the middle of the night. Even though you two belonged to the same neighbourhood, it was weird and dangerous for her to be walking around alone.

"you could have spoken to me in school tomorrow as well." you say, frowning. Somehow you always had a protective streak towards f/n.

F/n blinks up at you, her lips on the straight line. "but...it was urgent."

"so urgent you had to come all the way here in the middle of the night?"

Rolling her eyes, she lets out an impatient sigh. "yes. And it's only 10pm. Now listen."

Taken aback by her tone, you stared at the girl in front of you. The air around her had a slight change. She still looked sweet and kind, but that also held a firmness that wasn't present earlier. Did something happen?

F/n searched your eyes for something, but you just kept quiet and looked at her. You were extremely confused by this sudden meeting and became more confused by her next words.

"I want to be friends with you."

Huh?

For a few seconds you weren't sure what you heard. She wants...to be friends? What?

"I'm sorry?" you say aloud, trying to comprehend what's happening.

F/n fiddled with her hands and looked away. "you heard me?" she mumbled.

"yeah. Yeah I did. But I don't understand. Why?"

Giving you a side glance, f/n sighed again. "because I think you're really cool."

You were beyond confused at this point. You were one of the reasons f/n had a shitty love life, and here she's standing and asking you to be friends again?

"But–"

"I know." she cuts you off. "I know what you did. What you all did. And I pray no one has to go through it." taking a step towards you, she holds your hands. "but these past few days I've been thinking, and watching how you're trying to take all the blame on your shoulders. You were the one who told me the truth, when you could have hidden it forever. You could have blamed Ginjima for being part of the scheme too but you went out of your way to tell me he's innocent. And you could have pretended things are alright when they're not. You sacrificed your love for me and chose the truth, and I don't know who could be more admirable than you at this point. "

You hadn't even realized the tears gathered in the base of your eyes when f/n finished her speech. You hadn't realized how her words struck a cord in you and how the cord snapped. You hadn't realized how much weight you carried on your shoulders for this.

Tears wouldn't stop flowing from your eyes as you watched f/n, speechless. A soft sob breaks out as you palm your face, trying to hold it in. But it wasn't really possible when a pair of warm hands wrapped around you and you let out all the pain you had stored in you.

You hugged f/n back and cried till you couldn't physically cry anymore, and f/n just held you, rubbing your back in silence.

After you calmed down, you part from her and wipe your face before saying, "yes I'll be your friend."

It was so random and straightforward that your new friend couldn't help but laugh. "I'm glad." she says, shedding a few tears herself. She didn't have to tell you that she has forgiven you, and you didn't have to thank her for forgiving. It was all conveyed through your actions.

You both giggle and smile at the newfound friendship when you suddenly remembered.

"ah, I'm going to meet the volleyball team tomorrow before school starts, you wanna come?"

At that f/n's face drops. You knew what she was thinking so you add. "you don't have to if you don't want to." you knew you could handle yourself by avoiding Osamu, but the same couldn't be said about f/n. Or Atsumu for that matter.

F/n gives you a sheepish look. You understood she still wasn't ready. And that meant she's also not attending their games.

"sorry." she says.

You shake your head and squeeze her arms lightly. "that's fine. Take your time. It's not easy, I know."

She nods. "are you attending the game?" she asks.

You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe not."

"you won't cheer for gin?"

You smile. "of course I will. From the four walls of my house. Because there are other people in the team I don't want to meet...yet."

F/n makes an 'o' and suddenly giggles. "boy problems suck huh."

You join her and giggle too, nodding. "it sure does."

You suddenly get a wave of deja vu as your meet with Suna comes to mind. It's like you found a friend in f/n again, after him.

It's not bad at all.

***

You stand a little far from the volleyball team, hiding behind the building. There was everyone, including the twins. Your eyes lock on Osamu, who is looking as handsome as ever. Gosh, if only you could hug him. You missed hugging him.

Shaking your head, you take out your phone and call your cousin.

"hello?"

You see Ginjima standing with Atsumu. Shit. "hey, have you guys left for the tournament?" you ask. You seriously weren't ready to see them all together.

"no. We're waiting for coach. Where are you?"

You see Suna walking up to Ginjima and you heard a voice in the background asking who it is, to which Ginjima says your name.

Suna takes the phone from his hands and says, "I thought you said you'd come to see us off? Where are you?"

Trying to stop the smile forming on your lips, you reply. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Suna nods to no one in particular. "hopefully we don't leave in those few minutes."

You giggle at his tone. In the time you hung out with him, you noticed Suna had the ability to make you laugh for no reason. It's just the way he spoke, or his way of thinking, that amused you.

Your eyes turn to Osamu, who was eyeing the two boys curiously. Your heart wrenched at the thought of not being able to greet him, and you curl your hands in a fist. The impulsive part in you said screw it and go to them. But the anxious part of you reminded you of all the worst case scenarios if you did that.

"oh whatever." you mutter and straighten your uniform before stuffing your phone inside the back and appearing from behind the building. The boys hadn't noticed you yet, so you try to plaster a smile and walk towards them.

Shit, what are you doing! Turn back! Turn back!

The voice inside your head screamed at you to return and say you couldn't make it on time. But you chose the reckless option. You just wanted to breathe the same air as Osamu, even if that sounds creepy as heck.

Speaking of Osamu, he was the first one to spot you. Your eyes connect and they widen for a moment before turning back to normal. At least for you it does.

As for Osamu, poor dude cannot look away. All the determination he had gathered to make up with you crumbled as soon as he spotted you. You were beautiful, even if you were in the school uniform that he has seen a million times. It still doesn't change the fact that you made him weak in the knees.

You made a beeline for your cousin. "Gin!"

Ginjima and Suna, as well as the others look in your direction. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow when you felt a pair of gray eyes on you, boring holes. Not only that, but his blonde twin was doing the same. You hadn't any contact with either of the twins, and this is the first time after the fight that you were so near them.

Suna's face breaks into one of those rare smile he gave when he sees you. To anyone, specially a gray head, it may look like you're someone special to him, or that he had a thing for you. But it really wasn't that. Sure, you were special because you were cool enough for Suna to openly respect you, but that's all. He saw a good friend in you and you did the same.

"so you came." he states, the smile still playing on his lips.

You give him a small smile yourself. "of course. I did tell you I'll come."

You throw your arms around Ginjim's shoulders, who looked nervous. His expressions were so open you couldn't help but laugh at him sometimes. "what got you so nervous kid?" you ask.

Scowling, he mutters. "I'm just three months younger." but makes himself smaller in your embrace.

"Aw. Don't worry. You'll do well."

Suna laughs at the baby voice you use on Gin. You didn't treat him like a baby, but sometimes just to tease him you used that voice.

"hopefully." he says, and you let go of him to greet the third years when they come around you.

You fall into a casual conversation with them, and the twins were the only people away from the group. Atsumu had his eyes narrowed at you, and Osamu looked like he had entered the sad Romeo stage again. There was longing in his eyes to hold you, but alas, what could he do about it.

Atsumu eyes his brother and rolls his eyes. He looked pathetic. He wasn't any better, but what's with that expression. He couldn't bear to see his brother like that.

Letting out a huff, he shoves his twin towards your direction. "go and talk to her."

Osamu turns to look at him with surprise. "I thought you hate her?"

Atsumu didn't say anything. He didn't hate you. He never did. He was just mad at you on that day because he wasn't seeing anything except the break up, and that you caused it. But when he calmed down and assessed the situation, he knew what you did was noble. But his ego was big and he didn't want to let go of that just yet.

"just go." Atsumu replies in a soft voice, almost a whisper as he shoved his brother again. Osamu gulped and gave him one last look before dragging his heavy steps towards you.

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He wasn't this nervous even when he asked you out behind the gym after gawking over you from afar in the morning assembly every day since the day you helped a girl who had passed out. Something about you just caught his attention. Maybe it was the serious aura about you, the 'no-nonsense' attitude but also a softer side that was very discreet. His eyes would look for you in every assembly after that. After getting shuffled during the new year, Osamu finally managed to stand in the row beside you. He would catch glances when one day you caught him staring. And he took a leap of faith.

Good thing that leap worked.

But the leap of faith he took in the present scene didn't take him far, for he was just a couple feet away from you when he saw their coach arriving and instructing the team to enter the bus. It was time.

A small part of you broke when you saw Osamu's approaching steps falter at the sound of the coach. You may be a loser, but he sure as heck wasn't and you were grateful for that. You wanted him to approach you, talk to you. Because if he started running towards you, your feet would soon follow. But sadly that wasn't the case.

Osamu contemplated whether he should continue his trek towards you or go to the bus. He was almost tempted to forget the darn game and run to you. But your next words stopped him.

"you got it."

His eyes flicker to you in surprise. The rest of the team was already on their way to the bus, so they were out of earshot, except for Atsumu who was behind his brother. You turn to the older twin, and smile. "you too Atsumu."

Atsumu wasn't surprised, he was touched. Anyway, he was guilty for misbehaving with you, and didn't find the courage to apologise, but if you're giving him the smile you always did, like a sister to a brother, he takes it as a sign of forgiveness.

He couldn't help but smile. Maybe you two didn't even need to talk, maybe this was the closure. "I'll do my best. And name a serve after you." Atsumu says, as he walks past you with a pat on your shoulder.

You chuckle at his words and wave him goodbye before looking at Osamu, whose lips quivered slightly. Dang, it's not the time to get emotional. That's not what you intended when you took the step first towards him.

"go." you say, amusement lining your eyes when you see him struggle to not hug you. Things weren't completely okay, and you two had a lot to talk. But that comes after this tournament.

Osamu nods, wiping his eyes with his jersey jacket. He puts on his mask and eyes crinkle at you, indicating a smile. You give him a smile of your own before he walks away, glancing at where you were standing a couple of times.

Step 2, check.

Things are coming to an end guys. One more chapter to go. It's the first step towards getting back together. For both the twins. Stay tuned.

[k1ckback]

this is more of fig psychoanalyzing eef

it’s a bad thing at this point to be left with a keyboard and a raging fixation

tw: talk about ephraim’s past abuse and trauma, spoilers and his eventual last scenes 

-anyway ephraim’s like running theme is a fear of being left vulnerable because one of the last time’s he was, his dad literally displaced his shoulder,  -this runs through the book as the constant replacement of vulnerability to anger, whether it’s caused by confusion, fear, ect, he’s always going to be the first one to argue about something.  -not to mention the amount of trauma this kid already has?? like his dad, and he literally saw a dude half alive after an accident. -ephraim does not process things like the rest of the kids do, because anger’s always been his first reaction. if he can make the other person fear him there’s less of a chance he’ll get hurt.  -this runs into his “stunts” and haphazard dangerous things he does to cope with the amount of anger he has yet to process, i’m sorry but does the “i do stuff that could easily get me hurt or killed to suppress other emotions” sound familiar to anyone who struggles with mental health issues?  -HE HAS LIVED HIS WHOLE LIFE BEING CONSTANTLY COMPARED TO HIS ABUSIVE FATHER. he looks like a mini version of him, his tempers like his, + the impulsivity. not to mention his mother being terrified of him turning out like him. leading him to have the same fear, and try to further suppress his emotions to not have them come out like they do. he didn’t get a chance to process the shît that happened to him, nor his own emotions living as someone predisposed to traumatic events, ptsd, and MAJOR stressors. most of his life he hasn’t been able to readily communicate this stuff with his mother because he’s too scared of reminding her of his father.  -Not to mention when he was talking about that tiger, he literally asks if feeling that way about it was alright,  -He never got the chance to process, nor work through his emotions and had a mother who more so feared the display of those emotions more than what could be making him feel those ways 

-so you pick up a kid, with unprocessed emotions and trauma, and put him on an island, where one of the only ADULT men he looks up to at this point gets a deadly unknown illness, and there’s a threat he’ll get it to?? he’s literally a bomb waiting to go off.  yk how people reacted when covid first came?? now picture it 10x, on an island, and as a kid with no authority members but the one you just watched make your friend perform makeshift surgery on, before locking him in a closet and having him DIE.  -PLUS watching tim, the only decent male role model start to unravel into panic and doing shit that outright put the boys in danger, which probably outright reminded him of his father 

-don’t even get me started on shelley, this man was manipulating half the group by the time tim was relatively near the closet. -he had genuine regret about his fight with kent + max, i mean max was one of the only people he had put his trust into being vulnerable around. but within seconds shelley was right next to him, pulling the strings and blatantly reminded him of his dad before he planted the seed of eef being sick into his head.  -by the time eef was by himself? and by the time shelley had slipped him the radio? eef was basically already long gone.  -eef’s fear of being vunerable and not regaining the control hit him again, shelley stood being the only one listening to him about his “symptoms” which at that point were part of his brain falling prey to gaslighting (thank you so much shelley you ass) -he took it into his own hands to fix, because he was so scared of not knowing what was gonna happen to him that he needed to prove to himself that he was gonna be okay.  -the brain does this funny thing when you’re in traumatic situations, have not eaten or consumed water in awhile, not to mention being gaslighted by someone who was supposed to survive with you. he hallucinated.   -when the boys find him again he’s held onto this theory that shelley’s right so hard that regardless of them knowing he’s probably not infected, they kinda have to go with it  -he than for the first time trusts someone with his life, sadly this is shelley and it’s because he’s so convinced the hallucinations are true that shelley seems to be the first one on the trip that has tried to “help him” and continued to “support him” throughout that event.  his last thoughts are ridden with such stubborn belief that shelley wouldn’t lead him down the wrong path (which, truthfully is ridden with being in shock from his wounds, shock from the past traumatic events and the amount of manipulation that he’s been through, not to mention the lack of food)  and there and then there he lights himself on fire, in a risky stunt, seeing no other way to drive the parasite out of him.  let me take a minute to mourn him again bc this whole scene had me sobbing during my first read through. 

ephraim manages to trust one person with helping him, in a state of fear, panic, shock and overall terror from the past events and he’s repaid by being manipulated to the point of dying.  UGH. i will never fully get over how fucking tragic his character is to me. i trauma bonded so hard to him bro. 

[super-secret-sick-fics]

hi! i loved your iwaoi fic so much!! if you’re still taking requests, i would love to see more iwaoi!! idc who’s sick but emeto is a yes :) no pressure and thank you! <33

Hi! I hope this is to your liking :)

I can’t promise that I’ll alway respond to requests this quickly or that they’ll always be 1000+ words. I’ve just been in the writing mood recently!!

Usually I hc Oikawa as super super overly-doting as a caretaker, but I think when it comes to Iwa’s migraines, he is so used to them (unfortunately) that he’s just like. “Okay this is what I gotta do.” If that makes sense?

Migraine: an IwaOi sick fic

Pair: sick Iwa, caretaker Oikawa

Word Count: 2,234

Warnings: vomit, swearing, slightly ooc Iwa

——————————————————————

Iwaizumi leaned against the wall of the elevator lethargically. He held the strap of his bag loosely as it leaned against his leg, suddenly too heavy to keep on across his shoulder. Why in the hell he and Oikawa chose to live on the 10th floor was beyond him. He was regretting the decision as each beep of the passing floors sent sharp, stabbing pains through his skull. The prospect of his bed called to him enticingly.

It had been a terrible day.

He woke up late and ran into someone on his way to class, spilling his coffee all over his notes. Then in each one of his classes, he found out that he did the homework for the next class instead of today’s, so when he was called on, he didn’t know any of the answers and each one of his teachers scolded him for not doing the readings.

During his lab, some dude passed out when they were practicing first aid assessment on a dummy who cut open his leg. (Apparently even fake blood was too much for the guy). Which wouldn’t bother Iwa usually, but when the kid fell, he knocked over the iodine and got it all over Iwa’s arm (which was now stained brown).

Then, during his clinicals, he was observing one of the trainers with rehab for a patient who only recently recovered from her shoulder surgery enough to start physical therapy. All he needed to do was watch so he could take notes on different types of treatment plans for shoulders. He was actually pretty relieved after such a rough day.

The universe was out to screw him apparently because the pain was a bit too much for the poor girl and she ended up throwing up down Iwa’s chest.

To top it all off, when he was writing notes for one of the certified trainers a little later, black spots started popping in and out of his vision and his upper arms started tingling. Anxiety immediately settled in his chest. Of course; the only way to end such a terrible day was with a migraine. He had at most thirty minutes from the start of the tingling to get home and take his meds before it became too late.

And of course that didn’t happen.

His notes took longer to finish because of the black spots interrupting his typing and the increasing difficulty he had starting at the blue light of his computer. Then his usual train route was under construction so they took a detour.

Now, here he was, an hour later, standing in the elevator, hating his very existence as the pulsing behind his eyes increased and nausea made his stomach churn.

Finally the doors to his floor opened and he stumbled forward, fighting his vertigo towards his apartment. The hall lights blinded him.

His fingers fumbled with the keys as he leaned against the door and when he finally got the door open, he all but fell inside. He dumped his stuff messily by the door (Oikawa would yell at him later for that) and made a beeline for his bedroom.

Iwaizumi could have cried when he finally got to his room. He didn’t bother with the lights and collapsed onto his bed. His head pounded relentlessly. He curled into a ball and whimpered.

“Iwa-chan? That you?” Oikawa’s bubbly voice from the hall cut through his brain like a knife and he brought his knees even closer.

“Iwa-chan, are you okay?” his voice was closer now. He was most likely standing in the doorway, a hand placed on his cocked hip.

“Migraine,” Iwaizumi moaned. Oikawa was quiet.

“Did you take your meds?” he whispered eventually. Iwaizumi was hella grateful for their life long friendship because Oikawa dealt with this before and knew exactly how to make Iwa more comfortable. Including toning down his usual obnoxious tone.

“Too late,” Iwa responded weakly.

“Tch. That’s not true and you know it,” Oikawa chided softly. Iwaizumi heard him moving around in the room before he felt the bed dip.

“Here. They might not prevent it from happening anymore, but you know as well as I do that it might lessen the symptoms,” he heard Oikawa much closer this time. He groaned in response but sat up.

He clenched in eyes shut to fight off the dizziness before prying them open again to look at Oikawa in front of him. He was holding the water bottle from Iwaizumi’s bedside table and his migraine meds. The look on his face resembled a chastising mother.

“I don’t know if they will,” Iwa said, “the aura started over an hour ago.” He took them anyway.

“You didn’t have anything with you?” He shook his head and winced at the motion.

“What’s on your arm?!” Oikawa screeched and Iwaizumi hissed when it sent sharp pains through his skull.

“Sorry, sorry I’m sorry,” the bastard whispered.

“Just iodine,” Iwa responded and looked down at the brown stains on his arm.

“Oh.”

It was quiet again then and Iwaizumi settled back in bed.

“Wait, do you want to change?” Oikawa asked and stood up. He moved towards the dresser before waiting for a response.

“I want to sleep,” Iwa grumbled, getting increasingly more annoyed. He knew Oikawa was trying to help, but he hasn’t had a migraine this bad in a hot minute and the swirling in his stomach was only getting worse. Throwing up always made it worse, so he wanted to try and avoid that if he could.

“Sit up,” Oikawa said and Iwa would smack him if he had the energy.

“Oikawa, please,” he moaned again. He sat up anyway, his legs dangling off the side of his bed.

Oikawa pulled his shirt gently over his head and replaced it with a soft sweatshirt. It smelled like Oikawa and Iwa felt comforted despite himself. Next his jeans were pulled off almost clinically, as if he would break if Oikawa went too fast or pulled too hard.

Oikawa helped him into a pair of basketball shorts and then finally allowed him to lie down.

Iwaizumi wouldn’t ever say it out loud because it would give Oikawa too big of a head if he knew changing out of his school clothes made him feel just the slightest bit better. His jeans had been adding to the sensory overload.

“We were supposed to meet up with the guys tonight. Want me to cancel?” Oikawa asked, scratching Iwa’s head gently with perfectly manicured nails. It gave him a temporary relief from the pulsing that threatened to crush his head.

“No. You go,” he slurred, falling asleep.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa hummed and continued running his hand through Iwa’s hair. It didn’t stop the pain, but it diminished it enough that eventually, he fell asleep.

***

Iwaizumi woke up with a strangled breath when pain exploded through his skull and down the back of his neck. He blinked a few times, staring into the dark room trying to clear his blurry vision.

This wasn’t right. No, sleep was supposed to make him feel better, but an intense pain covered his entire head. It felt like someone was squishing his brain in between their hands. Why why why.

Suddenly he was nauseatingly dizzy and he realized he was panting, depriving his already struggling brain of precious oxygen. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to calm down his breathing.

His body didn’t want to give him a break though because as soon as the world righted itself again, his stomach contents swirled sickeningly in his gut. He tried to ride out the nausea. He didn’t want to throw up. That would make the pounding worse. The more he thought about it, the more his stomach turned and he realized he was fighting a losing battle.

In a vain attempt to stay in bed, he thought to try and call Oikawa into the room only to put together that the roaring sound that was hammering nails into his skull was the shower. So he was on his own. He needed to make it to the bathroom. Needed to make it to Oikawa.

With heavy limbs, he forced himself to sit up and almost lost it. He gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. It pounded in his skull. He swallowed it down and slowly made his way out of bed.

By the time he made it to the bathroom, he almost lost it three times and the pain in his head was unbearable. His eyes stung with tears and he pounded on the door before throwing it open and tumbling into the room. He collided with Oikawa who squawked loudly, painfully. Iwaizumi ignored him and collapsed in front of the toilet.

As soon as he moved his hand away from his mouth, he heaved once and vomit poured from his mouth. It burned the back of his throat and his chest. The torture stopped just long enough for him to catch his breath before he lurched forward with another gag and threw up again. His chest was on fire and the lights in the bathroom seared into his brain and he really just wanted everything to stop.

The sound of the lights clicking off registered through his haze somehow and he opened his eyes (when he closed them, he wasn’t sure). Then, a gentle hand was on his back.

“Oh, Iwa-chan. It’s a pretty bad one this time, huh?” Oikawa said tenderly from beside him. He turned his head slowly and found himself face to face with his best friend. He was wearing pajamas, so he must have gone to change at some point since Iwa entered the bathroom.

Oikawa smiled sympathetically and something in Iwaizumi cracked. Suddenly, the flood gates were open and he found himself launching himself into Oikawa’s chest. Thin arms wrapped around his back as he sobbed.

“It h-hurts s-so b-bad,” he weeped.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry, I wish it didn’t.” Oikawa buried his face in Iwa’s hair.

“You need to calm down though. It’s only going to make you feel worse.”

As if on cue, Iwaizumi’s stomach lurched again and he tore himself away from Oikawa’s arms to wretch once again.

The nausea and pain made him dizzy. He was having trouble keeping himself upright, but thankfully, Oikawa placed a hand on his forehead to keep him from banging it on the toilet seat.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Oikawa soothed as Iwa stared into the toilet. His stomach still turned dangerously but he was on the verge of collapse. The tightness in his head only got worse and he really wanted to cut his own head off. He cursed his brain for being messed up and causing him such pain.

He started heaving again, but nothing was coming up and it hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Make it stop make it stop make it stop.

“Hajime, breathe,” Oikawa commanded quietly, rubbing between his shoulder blades. It did nothing though. His stomach kept rolling and turning thanks to his stupid stupid head.

Finally, the back of his throat gurgled and a wet hiccup brought up bile and the rest of his lunch. He coughed and sputtered into the toilet and gasped for breath. Maybe it was over.

A minute or two after the episode ended, Oikawa spoke again.

“Ya think you’re done?” He spoke so softly and so tenderly it made Iwa’s heart soft. He nodded.

Oikawa helped him lean back against the wall and a second later, handed him some water and his toothbrush. He lazily rinsed his mouth and brushed the nastiness away before spitting in the toilet. Oikawa flushed it and turned to help him up.

Once he was standing, the pain magnified tenfold and his knees buckled.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he mumbled and Oikawa caught him before he could fall.

“Hey, no. Not allowed,” he said and ran a wet wash rag over Iwa’s face (where did he get that?)

“Okay,” Iwa slurred, “not this time.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa chuckled. Together, they made it back to Iwa’s bedroom. Oikawa helped him under his covers and kissed his forehead.

“My poor Iwa-chan,” he sighed and scratched at Iwa’s head again.

“Stay here?” he asked pathetically. Oikawa blinked at him.

“Of course. I’ve already called the guys and told them we weren’t coming,” he said. He walked around the side of the bed and sat against the headboard, nestled beside Iwaizumi. Iwa turned and buried himself in the setter’s stomach and immediately, Oikawa’s hand was running through his hair. He sighed contentedly. This was by far one of his favorite positions.

“Go to sleep, Iwa-chan. Hopefully your migraine will be gone in the morning.”

These migraines really knocked him out. They stripped him of his usual personality and left him a sniveling, pathetic, clingy, mess. But he was a mess Oikawa was familiar with and Iwaizumi was eternally grateful for that. Oikawa knew what he meant when he couldn’t use as many words as he’d like. He knew how to make him comfortable, what foods he could tolerate and how to comfort him. There was no one else that Iwaizumi would ever want around when he got migraines. Hell, there was no one else Iwaizumi wanted around at all. As long as Oikawa was there, he’d be fine.

[hurricanery]

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 1

Apologies for the long A/N: This is the start of an AU fic inspired by this prompt & this prompt. It follows Amelia & Link, along with many others, in their first year as interns at seattle grace hospital. Thank you for sending character requests about this one! I settled on a few, but other characters are likely to show up later on as residents/attendings. Also, sidenote: this is completely an AU, meaning I just kind of grouped people together based on my interpretation of age (not that age really makes sense in the greys world anyways). This chapter is somewhat boring, basically just a set up for the characters and dynamic of the story. Thank you as always for feedback and prompts <3

In summary, the main interns in focus are: Amelia Shepherd, Atticus Lincoln, Maggie Pierce, Winston Ndugu, Jo Wilson, & Lexie Grey. The ship this focuses on is Amelink <3

_______

That's how it starts

We go back to your house

We check the charts

And start to figure it out

_______

(Hour 1)

“No, no, no,” she mutters impatiently, hastily climbing out of her car, her jacket catching in the door as she slams it shut. “God dammit, son of a-”

She tugs her jacket free and sighs in exasperation as she begins walking at a pace that could quite possibly challenge olympic level speed-walkers.

Amelia Shepherd was a lot of things.

Sharp. Cunning. Confident. Prepared. Most of the time.

But, throughout her lifetime, she’d also been described in less elevating ways. Unpredictable. Impulsive. Irresponsible. She laughs bitterly when her mind settles on the last adjective, as she scurries through the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital.

Because she was a lot of things. And late for the first day of her surgical internship was now getting added to the list.

_______

“Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, Shepherd!” Chief Webber’s voice booms through the chaos of the crowded locker room. Interns begin stepping forward as their names are called. “Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, and Shepherd,” he beckons again, “Your assigned resident is Dr. Karev.”

Alex scowls intimidatingly as five out of his six interns approach him by the door.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, starting to walk swiftly through the corridor of the hospital while the interns trail behind him.

“I have five rules,” he stops walking suddenly, and the sound of halting sneakers squeaks behind him. “First rule…” He trails off, turning around to look pointedly at each of their faces. “There are five of you here, who’s missing?”

The group looks between each other in confusion, shrugging amongst themselves. Alex peers down at each of their ID badges.

“Where’s Shepherd?”

More shrugs.

“Where’s Shepherd?” He repeats, louder this time.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Amelia’s breathless voice chimes distantly behind the group as she jogs to meet them. She comes to a stop, huffing out a breath as she pushes strands of her long, dark hair out of her face.

Alex glares at her, arms folding across his chest.

“Okay forget the rules, we’re out of time,” He growls. “You five,” He looks between those of his interns that were on time today. “You’ll be joining me in the gallery for a groundbreaking surgery.”

There’s excited murmurs throughout the group.

“I’m serious. The surgery you’re about to witness….you will likely never see anything like it again. You will be silent. You will take notes. And you will not embarrass me.”

The excited murmurs turn to anxious nods.

“Shepherd,” Alex continues, an evil smirk taking over his expression. Amelia gulps. “Your last name is not going to save your ass right now.” He laughs. “I have this dude who’s taking up a bed down in the pit. He won’t stop throwing up. He’s a junkie. You’re gonna go clean him up, give him an IV, and send him home. And then maybe you can come find us.”

Amelia sighs, stepping forward slightly to defend herself. ���Are you sure? Don’t you think I should see-”

“I didn’t ask for a response,” he interrupts her. “I asked you to head to the pit.”

Amelia blinks, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat. She watches as the rest of her intern class hurries off to witness a groundbreaking surgery without her.

_______

(Hour 8)

Amelia slowly shuffles through the dimly lit basement of Seattle Grace, following the sounds of her fellow interns’ voices.

“Ugh, Atticus,” Jo laughs loudly. “Call him Link. I have never heard anyone call him Atticus.”

Jo’s laugh echoes through the hallway and Amelia uses it to guide her.

“Sorry,” Lexie giggles in defense. “It’s not like I knew that. Not my fault you all know each other already.”

Amelia finally approaches. And sees everyone sprawled out across the abandoned hospital bed in the hallway. The bed rests against a large window by the vending machines.

“Who all knows each other already?” Amelia huffs as she slides down against the opposite wall, settling herself on the floor and leaning her head back in exhaustion.

“Everyone, apparently,” Lexie responds as she takes a bite of a granola bar. “Maggie and Winston went to Tufts together. Jo and Link did the same undergrad program, and even worked at the same restaurant. I’m the loner here.”

“Well,” Amelia mumbles, eyes closing as her head rests against the wall. “I’m a loner with you, then.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that you’re a Shepherd,” Lexie laughs.

“And you’re a Grey!” Amelia bites back playfully. “We’re in the same boat here.”

“Wait, you’re a Grey?” Maggie gasps, practically choking on the handful of chips she’d just consumed. Winston leans forward, concern crossing his features as he rubs Maggie’s back. She slowly gets a grasp over her coughs. “You’re a Grey, too? Like….Meredith Grey?”

“Yeah….I’m her sister….” Lexie frowns. And Maggie’s eyes go wide. “What’s wrong with being a Grey-”

“Is everyone here somehow related to an attending or resident?” Jo interrupts, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “What in the nepotism….”

Maggie settles back in her seat, her eyes still wide as Winston watches her. Quiet falls between them all and Amelia resumes her previous position, eyes coming to rest as she leans back against the wall. She listens to the voices among the group as the conversation picks back up.

“I heard that every year, they pick the most promising intern on the first day to scrub in on something.” Jo announces. Amelia’s adrenaline kicks in a little bit at this information, but she keeps her eyes shut.

“During our first shift?” Lexie gasps.

“Mhm.”

“No thanks,” Lexie mutters. “I’d definitely screw something up.”

“I might ask Karev about it,” Amelia can hear the smirk in Jo’s voice. “Try and get a leg up on it.”

“Nah,” Link cuts in. “Don’t do that. Whatever happens, happens. You wanna be a shark about it?”

“Okay, Mr. ‘go with the flow.’” Jo laughs. “That kind of attitude is not going to get you anywhere.”

The comfortable silence that fills the hallway again makes sense. It reflects everyone’s current exhaustion.

But then a question gets voiced, and it takes Amelia a moment to realize that the question is directed toward her.

“How’d your patient in the pit go?”

Amelia’s eyes snap open as she searches for the face that voiced the question. Her eyes land on Link’s bright-eyed and sympathetic gaze.

“I….didn’t end up discharging him.” Amelia mutters. And she watches as Link raises his eyebrows at this information.

“Karev is not going to be happy about that.”

“He….uh,” Amelia sits up, bringing her knees to her chest as she explains. “The patient….he’s not a junkie.” She outwardly cringes at the word. “It’s not withdrawal. It’s something else.”

“What makes you think that?” Jo inquires doubtfully.

“His symptoms,” Amelia mumbles, somewhat self-consciously. “They’re not withdrawal symptoms.”

“Maybe Shepherd’s right,” Link offers, a kindness to his voice that surprises Amelia. She expects him to be more arrogant. Or maybe a little full of himself. Just based on his looks. But, everything she’s heard from him so far, has been nothing but positive.

“You going to tell Karev you didn’t discharge the guy?” Jo questions.

“I am,” Amelia responds matter-of-factly. And the hallway grows silent again.

“I could just take a nap right here, right now….” Winston eventually mumbles out.

And there’s a general hum of agreement. Before the quiet moment is interrupted by a chorus of pagers going off.

_______

(Hour 12)

They finally get a lunch break. And by the time it comes around, Amelia isn’t even hungry. After being vomited on in the pit all morning, her appetite is completely diminished.

She walks through the hallway towards the cafeteria and sees Maggie walking a few feet ahead of her.

“Hey!” She catches up to her.

“Hey,” Maggie smiles. “You grabbing lunch?”

Amelia just groans, shaking her head. “Not after the morning I’ve had, no.”

Maggie gives her a sympathetic look before she stops in front of the bulletin board outside of the cafeteria. Amelia watches curiously as Maggie pins a flyer to the board, then she reads the posting.

“You’re looking for roommates?” Amelia inquires, slowly becoming more animated as the idea settles in.

“Yeah, I have three rooms to fill in my apartment. My other roommates moved out but I want to re-sign the lease.”

“Um, wow,” Amelia is stunned by the obviousness of it. “Okay, me? I will be a roommate.”

They continue walking towards the cafeteria and Maggie turns to her, giving her an incredulous stare.

“We’re in the same intern class….” Maggie frowns. “We’re going to be around each other literally 24/7….you wouldn’t actually want to….live together, too?”

“I would,” Amelia persists. “I’m….crashing on my brother’s couch right now,” she mutters, embarrassed by the confession. “I would quite honestly rather live anywhere else.”

“I barely know you.” Maggie exclaims in disbelief.

“So! I’m great. I’m...I’m the best. Best roommate ever. I promise you won’t regret it.” Amelia grins hugely, wiggling her brows, trying to sell herself. And Maggie laughs, shaking her head.

They sit at a table, and Maggie unpacks the lunch she’s brought with her.

“Really,” Amelia tries again. “I’m a clean person. I do the dishes...most of the time. I pay rent on time. Always. And I’m fun, and-”

“Okay!” Maggie laughs. “Okay. You….you’re overselling it now. You can have one of the rooms.”

“Yes!” Amelia loudly squeals, and the outburst makes heads turn throughout the cafeteria. She quickly pipes down. “Sorry….you won’t regret it.”

Maggie just shakes her head, taking a bite of salad.

“So….” Amelia speaks up again after letting Maggie get a few bites in. “What do you have against Meredith Grey?”

And similar to earlier, Maggie almost chokes on her food again. She slowly works on swallowing her bite of salad before she speaks.

“I don’t have anything against Meredith Grey,” she mutters.

“Ha,” Amelia laughs sarcastically. “Your eyes just about burst through your head earlier when you found out Lexie was related to her. What’s up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Hey, we’re roommates now. Spill.” Amelia folds her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat.

Maggie glances around the room before she leans in, beginning to speak softly. So softly Amelia almost doesn’t hear her. “I came here….to Seattle Grace….I applied for this internship because my birth mother worked here. She was kind of….like a legend here.”

“Okay….”

“And I didn’t think I’d actually land the internship….”

“Okay….”

“And then I got the internship and….and I didn’t think I’d actually see her, or be working with her-”

“Who? Your mom?” Amelia interrupts.

“No,” Maggie breathes. “No….Meredith.”

Amelia just frowns, still not understanding how this ties together.

“Ellis Grey is my birth mother.”

And now it’s Amelia’s turn to choke on her food. Except she’s not currently eating anything. So, it’s more like she’s choking on air as she grips the edges of the table in shock.

But before she can voice her surprise, Winston approaches the table, sitting down to join them. And Amelia breathes out a huge breath. Glancing at Maggie and miming the motions as if she’s zipping her mouth shut.

Winston definitely notices the strange energy, and he looks between the two in confusion.

“I’m….” Amelia pipes up. “I’m going to go check on my patient in the pit. You two enjoy lunch.”

Amelia stands up, winking at Maggie mischievously, before heading for the door.

_______

(Hour 16)

16 Hours in and Amelia finally decides it’s time to eat something. She’s been on her feet all day, running labs and doing scut work for Karev. The patient she was supposed to have discharged earlier, is currently waiting on the neuro consult she’d ordered. So it feels like the perfect time to take a small break.

She’s been so busy, she’s barely even thought about food. Her stomach rumbles loudly as she makes her way back through the dimly lit basement, seeking out the vending machines she knows are down here. She could have picked any of the vending machines in the hospital, honestly, but she’s chosen this route because she likes the quiet, and hopes to have a moment to herself to unwind.

She rounds the corner, letting the subtle hum of the vending machines bring her comfort. But the moment doesn’t last.

“Hey, Shepherd!”

Amelia jumps, clutching a hand to her chest as her eyes settle on Link, where he’s once again sitting on the abandoned bed in the hallway.

“Shit, you scared me.” She exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then turns back to the textbook in his lap.

Amelia walks past him, continuing towards the vending machines. She considers the options in front of her, before deciding on a granola bar and an energy drink.

“You kind of stole my idea,” she mumbles as she turns around to face him.

“Hm?” he looks up from his book.

“I was going to come down here, and be all quiet and alone for a minute,” she smirks.

“Well, great minds think alike, I guess?” He laughs. “You can sit.”

Amelia gazes up at him through a pointed stare, biting the inside of her cheek as she weighs her options. She truly had been seeking a peaceful moment to herself before she realized Link was down here.

“And I can be quiet,” he adds, watching her think it through.

But she decides. She gives in and climbs onto the mattress, resting her back against the wall. She yawns hugely as she settles in a comfortable seated position, legs outstretched in front of her, mirroring Link’s current position.

“Those aren’t very good for you, you know,” he smirks, nodding towards the energy drink in her lap.

“What are you, a doctor or something?” she bites back sarcastically.

“Trying to be.”

Amelia smiles, popping open the drink and taking an exaggerated first sip. Link just shakes his head at her, turning back to his book.

Amelia sighs a few seconds later. “Is it just me....or do you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing?”

Link turns his head to the side, lifting his eyes from his book to her tired expression.

“I get that.”

“I mean,” Amelia lets her head roll to the side too, in his direction. “I was top of my class at Harvard. I really thought I’d have an impressive first day.”

“You….were late this morning….” Link stifles a laugh, squinting at her.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Yeah….not off to a great start. You’re right.”

A moment later Link slams his textbook closed, muttering something about trying to squeeze in a nap while he can. He leans his head back against the wall, letting his eyes shut.

“Oh, come on,” Amelia mutters playfully. “Sleep is for the weak.”

“Sleep is extremely important,” Link responds, eyes still closed. “And I’m not sleeping, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Amelia laughs under her breath. “Sure.”

“Really,” he continues. “Resting your eyes? Feels fantastic. You should give it a try.”

Amelia doesn’t respond to this, instead taking another sip of her drink.

“Afraid you’ll fall asleep?” Link inquires a moment later, opening his eyes to glance sideways at her.

“No. I can rest my eyes without falling asleep.”

“Sure.”

Amelia watches as he resumes his previous position, his eyes slipping closed as he rests against the wall.

“Is this some sort of competition?” She mutters.

“I’m not competitive.”

He’s smug, Amelia thinks, as she stares at his restful expression. She sets her drink on the windowsill behind her, and lets her own eyes come to rest. It feels good to close her eyes. Way too good.

A moment later she hears Link whisper “I told you.” At least she thinks that’s what she hears. Her consciousness is beginning to slip away from her. And it’s hard to pull herself out of it, or to even think about separating exhausted imagination from reality.

When Link’s pager goes off several minutes later, his eyes shoot open. The sound of it doesn’t even cause Amelia to stir. He turns to look at her. Her long hair covers half of her face, but he can tell by the pattern of her breathing that she’s fallen asleep. Link smiles to himself, deciding not to wake her. She had initially come down here seeking a moment to herself, and Link was going to let her have it. His pager beeps again and he stands up, quickly on his feet and moving through the hallway.

_______

When Amelia eventually wakes up, she has no idea how much time has passed. The first thing she notices is that she’s alone now. Link’s abandoned textbook sits open next to her. It’s much darker in the basement now, with less light coming in through the window. She frowns, checking her pager.

And that’s when she notices the red blinking light.

Signifying her pager is dying. Or needs new batteries. Or something. She doesn’t know. It’s her goddamn first day and she has no idea how this works.

She curses to herself, springing up from her seat and practically running towards the stairwell.

_______

By the time she reaches the pit, she’s completely out of breath. Her eyes scan the ER, trying to locate her patient from earlier. The patient she was supposed to have discharged. But instead of following Karev’s orders, she had called a neuro consult, because she knew that the case was something more. And now, as she stands in the ER, she completely regrets her decision to venture off to the basement and wait for a confirmation page from neuro. That decision was currently biting her in the ass.

Because now her eyes settle on the current situation.

She watches as Karev begins transport of her patient. Her mouth drops open, stunned as Karev kicks the hospital bed into movement, beginning to transport her patient to the OR. She grows even more stunned as she watches Link grab the rails on the other side of the bed, moving with Karev towards the elevator.

“Wait,” she steps forward. “Wait! That’s my patient, what-”

“Not anymore,” Alex growls. “It’s a tumor, Shepherd. No longer your case.”

“Right,” Amelia keeps pace with them. “I’m the one that called the neuro consult. I knew it! I knew that-”

“Shepherd-”

“That’s my patient!”

She stumbles backwards a bit as they navigate the bed to enter the elevator. She makes eye contact with Link as she watches them step into the elevator.

“Like I said,” Alex mutters, pressing the elevator button to the OR floor once they’re settled inside. “Not anymore. Maybe answer your page, next time.”

Her shock turns to anger as she holds eye contact with Link, and Karev’s words settle in.

“Beds 1-4 need stitches, can you manage that?”

The elevator doors come to a close and irritation flashes through her hot and fast. Because Atticus Lincoln, mr. ‘I'm not competitive,’ had just stolen her patient. Tricked her into falling asleep and then stolen her surgery.

_______

She tries to suppress her anger as she does scut work for the next few hours. As the time passes, she focuses on her bedside manner, and tries to improve her suture technique. Her anger subsides, and it gets replaced with disappointment. Mostly disappointment in herself. Because this was nobody’s fault but her own.

This was a surgical internship at one of the top hospitals in the country. It was allowed to be competitive. They were allowed to be sharks.

By the time she discharges her last patient in the pit, she’s feeling a lot of things. The feeling that stands out the most though, is the exhaustion.

_______

(Hour 24)

Amelia basically moves on autopilot as she exits the locker room, shrugging her jacket on and moving through the hospital’s corridor.

Her eyes feel heavy and all she can think about is going home and immediately going to sleep.

Her anticipation is interrupted, though, when she sees Link walking a few feet ahead of her. She stares at the back of his head, trying to remember any of the angry words she’d had for him earlier. But she’s just so tired, and she’s drawing a blank.

He comes to a stop in front of her, pausing in front of the bulletin board just outside of the cafeteria. Amelia slows her pace as she watches him read something on the board, and then he’s ripping off part of a flyer.

She catches up with him, not managing to walk slowly enough to avoid him completely. He notices her approach and almost instantly, a remorseful expression takes over his face.

They fall into step with each other. And Amelia clears her throat.

“Will you at least tell me how it went? With the tumor?”

Link nods sheepishly. “He’s in recovery now. The other Dr. Shepherd, who I’m guessing is your brother?” Amelia nods. “He removed it all, no problems.”

“That’s good,” Amelia mutters.

They approach the exit, and Link holds the door open as they make their way into the parking lot.

“I didn’t mean to steal your surgery, you know,” Link speaks up again, his tone apologetic. “I just….answered the page.”

Amelia smirks.

“Don’t feel bad. If you want to be a shark, be a shark.”

Link genuinely looks conscious-stricken at her words.

“I’m kidding,” Amelia adds. “It was pretty much my fault.”

Link looks down, crumpling the paper he’d taken from the bulletin board, and twisting it in his palm.

“What’s that?” Amelia inquires.

“Roommates wanted,” Link exclaims, smoothing out the paper and reading the brief description.

Amelia’s face falls.

“No,” she’s laughing now. “No way.”

“What?”

“You can’t be one of our roommates.”

“Who is ‘our’?” Link frowns.

“That’s Maggie’s ad,” she laughs. “And I already claimed a room, so I get a say here.”

“Well I think I’m going to inquire with Maggie,” Link smirks. “I just so happen to be looking for a new place right now. So, I kind of feel like I was meant to see this,” he holds up the paper.

Amelia sighs.

“I’ll get to her first,” she mumbles, beginning to turn towards her parked car. “And give her my input.”

The sun is starting to come up. 24 hours since the last sunrise. 24 hours since the start of their first shift. Amelia gazes up at the sky, grateful that it’s over. But grateful that it happened. Grateful to have the first day under her belt.

“Shepherd,” Link interrupts her thoughts. “I think I’ll be getting to Maggie first.”

“Huh?” She turns to him, and notices how he’s started walking in the opposite direction.

She catches up to him.

“We’re going to Joe’s,” he states, as Amelia steps into pace with him. “The bar across the street. Apparently it’s open 24 hours….but that’s on the down-low.”

Amelia halts, coming to a standstill.

And Link frowns, slowing to a stop when he notices her hesitation. “Jo, Maggie, Winston, Lexie….everyone, I mean. To celebrate a successful first shift?”

Amelia’s heart sinks. She hates this part. Hates having this conversation with anyone her age.

“I don’t drink,” she admits, clawing her palms with her fingernails as her arms drop to her sides.

“Okay,” Link says simply. “They have food there, right?”

She has to question whether she’s heard him right. Because she was waiting for the ‘why not?’ For the confused stare. Or for the uncomfortable chuckle. Which he offers none of. She was so prepared for the interrogation, that his reaction actually stuns her a little.

“Or music?” Link adds, when he realizes that Amelia is stuck inside her head a little. “Food. Or music. Or games? Shepherd, I know I said I’m not competitive, but that’s a whole different story when it comes to darts-”

“Okay,” she finally breathes, trying to hide her smile.

“Okay, you’ll come?”

Amelia nods, starting to walk again. Link catches up with her and she guides them towards Joe’s. They cross the street just as the sun comes up.

//

[starrybethany]

I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 1

Word count: 3.3K

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I heard about Adam before I met him. The guys had hung around my office, claiming they wanted to catch up with me, but I really know it’s just because they want to gossip. Hockey players are like that. We were catching up on how their summers went.

“Hey, did you see who was drafted, Y/N?” Dylan asks, wandering around the small room and staring at various objects.

“Nope,” I pop the ‘p’, scanning over the email recently sent to me. “Who was it?”

“This Swedish kids with sick hands,” Alex gushes.

“Really? Is he gonna be the next Patty Kane?”

“Please, like anyone could be like Showtime,” he scoffs.

Dylan pulled up some videos of his highlights, showing them to me.

I nod in approval. “Looks like hockey.”

They give me unamused looks.

We’ve had this talk plenty of times- they think that since I work at the United Center, I should understand hockey more, I think that since I work for United Center and not for the Blackhawks, it really doesn’t matter.

Adam had spent that season in London with the Knights. I had heard about him sprinkled into conversations here and there but really, I just focused on my work as being the suites advisor and making sure everything went smoothly. It was a great year for bookings, and apparently a great year for him.

Alex tried explaining the kid’s talent to me when we were on a double date with our partners, but I still couldn’t understand hockey that well, so I just smiled and nodded. He let that slip by.

It wasn’t until he was here in Chicago that I got it.

For some reason I had been down at the rink, watching practice take place. He had spent a few weeks with the Hawks- weeks that I had taken off to take care of my boyfriend after his knee surgery- and was sent down to Rockford almost as soon as I had returned.

The boys were really upset that I hadn’t met their new friend, Kirby especially, who was a new addition to our group almost as soon as Dominik introduced him to me.

But then there he was, back on the ice. I squinted my eyes, not remembering a ‘27’ on the team. The last name clicks, and I watch as he flies around on the ice, joking with the guys and passing the puck skillfully.

I got it. I understood then why the boys thought he was so talented and why he was back in the NHL at the mere age of nineteen. He played with confidence and speed, a conscious defenseman- something the boys tell me they’ve been struggling with.

Then I un-got it.

Alex had invited a couple of us over for drinks one night and my boyfriend, as he did often, accompanied me.

“Oh, you guys haven’t met yet,” Alex comments, pouring glasses of wine for all of us. “Y/N, this is Adam, the defenseman we’ve been telling you about. Adam, this is Y/N, she works as a suites advisor for the UC.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reach out, shaking his hand. I thought he was attractive, I won’t lie. From the detailed tattoos to the messy hair, he was just my type. But my boyfriend was sitting right next to me, so that was a line I didn’t want to cross.

It didn’t matter to Adam, though. He winked at me as we shook hands, which I found distasteful, but allowed myself to send him a tight-lipped smile.

“And this is my boyfriend, Steven,” I emphasis, resting my hand on Steven’s thigh.

“Oh yeah,” Alex mutters.

Alex always tended to forget about Steven. In fact, everyone seemed to forget about Steven.

“So, suites’ advisor?” Adam questions, ignoring the man sitting next to me. I could feel my boyfriend freeze up at the clear dismissal.

“Yep.”

“What do you do? Just say hello to all of the rich investors?” By the smirk on his face and the small sip of wine, I can tell the dig is intentional.

He knows there is much more that goes into this job than that, so I don’t know why he’s trying to get under my skin. Especially when we just met.

“Um, no, actually, I schedule who books suites for when, what suites are available, who caters what suite. A lot goes into it, actually,” I send him a fake smile.

His smirk just widens, digging under my skin even more.

Steven and I had left early that night.

~

I ungot it again at the family skate. I’ve never learned how to skate- the guys tried to teach me, but I get frustrated easily so they stopped attempting. I’m stumbling around on the ice by myself, the boys stopping by once and a while to check on me but quickly rushing off to be with their significant others. Steven has work today and we had an argument a few days ago, so I didn’t even bother inviting him to the family skate.

A hard body runs into me from behind, causing me to become unbalanced and hit the boards, catching myself before I fall right onto the ice.

“Ow,” I turn around to glare at the person who pushed me, narrowing my eyes even more when I see the familiar blonde boy and the smirk that he’s always wearing. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“What do you mean?” His accent is thick with his words, making my stomach flutter but the irritation replaces the fluttering quickly.

“You’ve just been rude to me for no reason. What’s up with that?”

He gives me a surprised look, like he didn’t expect me to confront him on it. But I don’t know why he would think that- if you’re going to be a dick, I have a right to call you out on it.

He scoffs quickly, an annoyed expression quickly replacing his surprised one. “You’re overthinking everything.”

I watch as he skates away in annoyance, Kirby replacing his spot next to me.

“You two are close, right?” I question.

He nods.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

He laughs at that and I’m the one who’s shocked now. “Isn’t it obvious? He likes you.”

I give him an unimpressed look. “You’re saying he’s acting like an asshole because he likes me?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was logical,” he puts his hands up in defense, skating away.

I’ve always thought that was ridiculous. If you like someone, just tell them. And if you don’t, just avoid them. There is no reason that meanness is needed, especially if it’s because you really like that person.

I try to avoid Adam after that.

~

It doesn’t last long. About a week of avoiding him goes by before I find myself out at a bar with him and a few other players. I had just broken up with Steven, discovering that I no longer did my ‘in love’ giggle with him or smiled when I saw his name pop up on my phone.

But just because I fell out of love with him didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. It hurt. It really hurt. So that’s how I found myself one, two, three, four drinks in at the bar, too drunk to remember what I was saying and too drunk to care about how I might feel the next day.

I went on the dance floor to blow off some steam, swaying along to pop songs and screaming the lyrics.

Arms wind around my waist and I look down at them, spotting a familiar sleeve. I turn around in his arms, careful to not move my hands. I’m worried of what I might do if that happens- even though Steven and I had just broken up, I’ve been touch-deprived for weeks.

“What are you doing, Adam?” I question, leaning closer so that he can hear me.

“You’re single now, right?”

“Yes, but did I give you permission to touch me?” I raise my eyebrows.

He takes a step back with amusement, raising his arms defensively to show me that he’s respecting my boundaries.

Then I can’t help but think: fuck it. After being in a committed relationship for years, why not mess around with some guy I have intense sexual chemistry with? He’s hot, he’s sexy, sure he’s an asshole but I’m sure that confidence would do wonders in bed.

So, I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling in his blonde locks as I pull him as close to me as he can get. One of his hands rests on my ass while the other rests on my hip, tugging me closer and closer to him.

He’s staying with Alex and Lyndsey, so we end up at my apartment in my bedroom. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t regret it.

I regret it when I go to work the next day. He gives me a knowing look every time he passes me in the hall and even Kirby sends me a look or two.

It happens for a couple more days until one day he finds himself in my office with Dylan and Alex Nylander, another young rookie.

I’d been struggling with work all day, people bitching at me on the phone and numbers not adding up so all I really wanted was to finish the last hour of work and go home.

Then Adam gives me a look.

“What’s your problem?” I snap.

He gives me a confused expression, causing me to elaborate. “We slept with each other once and now you think you know so much about me? Do you think you can hold this over my head or something?”

Dylan chokes on his spit and Alex stifles his laughter, Adam flustering with words.

I organize a stack of papers on my desk, not even bothering to make eye contact with any of them. “I think it’s best if you three leave.”

They respect my wishes. An hour later I lock my door with a deep sigh, turning to make my way towards the parking lot. A body pushes me up against my door suddenly, causing me to gasp and dart my eyes up to see who my attacker is.

My eyes meet familiar blue ones and my body relaxes at the sight, then freezes up again when I realize I’m stuck in between his arms.

“You know, I didn’t really like that stunt you pulled earlier,” Adam breathes out, breath fanning over my face. His head leans down and he nibbles at the skin on my neck teasingly.

I hold back a moan at the action. “You didn’t?”

“No,” he bites down a little bit harder, causing me to wince. “I think you’re going to have to be punished for that.”

“You think so?” I whisper out.

“I think so.”

“Then I think we should get started on this now, don’t you think?”

“I agree.”

~

And that’s how I began sleeping with Adam Boqvist. Neither of us are looking for anything serious- I want to live the single life after being in a committed relationship for so long and he wants to enjoy his single, youth years in the great city of Chicago.

Plus, he would be the last person I would date.

He’s cocky, selfish, obnoxious, loud- I could keep going.

But either way, the relationship between us, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t end game. He isn’t the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. He’s not the one I want to raise children with or sit with on rocking chairs on the porch.

He’s just a guy I want to have sex with until I find the right person for me.

So, tell me why I’m sitting in my shitty apartment bathroom with two pregnancy tests sitting on the small basin of the sink.

I crisscross my legs on the toilet, fiddling with my fingers anxiously. They have to be negative. They have to be.

I can’t have a child right now. I want to focus on my career and build my reputation in the field. I don’t want to have a baby just a couple years into starting this job. I can’t afford a baby anyways; Chicago is an insanely expensive city and I can barely afford to live by myself.

Hell, I live in a loft.

Besides, I can’t be connected to Adam for the rest of my life. I can hardly stand the guy as it is.

As the minutes slowly pass by, I convince myself that I’m not actually pregnant. The ache in my ankles and lower back are due to stress from work and the vomiting is because my eating habits haven’t been as consistent as they usually are.

I’m just going to completely ignore the fact that I let Adam have sex with me without a condom while I was off my birth control for a while due to the weird side effects it was giving me.

It’s like I’m watching from outside of my own body as I reach forward, grabbing the sticks and holding one in each hand.

Positive. Positive.

My heartbeat fastens and I can feel my breath getting shallow. I try to focus my breathing, counting to four over and over and it slowly helps.

My eyes open back up as I ground myself and I can’t help but just stare at the sticks, switching between the two. I’m pregnant. I’m having Adam Boqvist’s baby.

~

I really didn’t prepare myself for the next time that I’d see him. I’ve already prepared myself to deal with this on my own- whichever way I decide to do that. I haven’t really decided that yet either.

“Hey,” he grins at me as he enters my office, shutting the door behind him. “I have about ten minutes before Kirby starts to look for me, let’s have a quickie.”

“No, Adam,” I sigh, swallowing the lump in my throat. The words are just begging to come out. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad.

“Why not? Is it because we’re at work? We’ve done it in your office before,” he protests.

I set the pen down next to the pad of paper gently, crossing my hands on the top of the desk and turning to focus him with a serious expression. His mischievous grin fades when he notices that I’m not in the playful or teasing mood that I’m usually in when I see him.

“What’s up?” He questions.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

His reaction is not one I expect. His face turns to one of confusion, like he’s genuinely unsure why I would be telling him this.

“Congratulations?” He says it more like a question.

My eyes narrow into a glare at the word. He doesn’t believe that it’s his child. I feel hurt, disrespected, and angry. Who does he think I am, the type of girl who has unprotected sex with everyone who walks?

Not that there’s anything wrong with those girls, more power to them, it’s just- he knows me. We’ve been in each other’s beds most of the time for the past couple of months. I spend practically every night with him, and he has the nerve to doubt paternity?

“It’s yours, idiot.” I can’t help but let that dig slide.

“Well how do you know that?”

“Because if I’m not working, I’m having sex with you,” I say slowly, like I have to spell it out for him.

“Well how do you know it’s not- uh- what’s that guy’s name- Steven’s kid?” Adam inquires, his eyes showing that he’s searching hard for an excuse to not take responsibility.

I scoff, leaning back in my chair. “Whatever, Adam, I don’t care if you believe me. I’m going to figure it out.”

“You better.” And by the way he says it, I know what he wants me to do. I know that he doesn’t want to be a father- although actions do have consequences, there is a reason that abortion and adoption are options.

I can also tell that now he knows for sure that he is the father. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to be the father.

~

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just scheduling an appointment- I can always cancel or reschedule.

But my finger rests over the call button for a long time, ‘Planned Parenthood’ looking up at me, mocking me, taunting me.

Do you want an abortion or not? Do you want to be a mother or not? Do you want to go through this pregnancy or not?

There are so many questions flashing through my head. Quite frankly, I don’t know what I want to do. I have no one to turn to- as much as I love the team, I don’t want to cause a rift between them and Adam, and I don’t want to think that we’re closer than we actually are.

I cut out my family years ago.

My friends are all party girls, they wouldn’t know the first thing about a baby if it hit them.

Everything is telling me that I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want to raise a baby on my own, I shouldn’t want to be a single mother.

But why do I so desperately yearn for it? Why did I feel joy when I looked at those sticks and why do I get excited at the thought of little footsteps running around on hardwood floors?

I press the call button.

It gets two rings in before I end it, knowing I’ve made my choice despite all odds.

I need to keep this baby. I know Adam won’t be there for me, but he doesn’t need to be. All this baby needs is to feel love and support and it’ll get that from me and me alone. I need to start fresh, though, to make sure that I’m the best mom that I can be.

~

“I can’t believe you quit, just like that,” Alex states with a disappointed tone.

I told the guys I quit because I want a change in scenery. That’s not a lie, I’m excited to be moving to the beautiful state of Colorado to start new. But I also hid the news about the baby. They don’t follow me on social media, so they’ll never know- unless Adam says something to them about it. But I doubt he will.

“We’ll miss you,” Dylan adds.

“I’ll miss you guys too,” I respond, closing the cardboard box containing all of my office supplies. Picture frames, pens, cool knick-knacks. All packed into a box ready to be shipped to the mountain zone.

“Hey Adam, Y/N was just getting ready to say goodbye,” Alex says, making me look up from taping up the box with wide eyes.

Sure enough, the blonde is leaning in the doorway, looking unsure for the first time since I’ve met him. It’s weird to see him so hesitant. It’s not him.

But I also don’t feel bad for him. A real dad would step up and want to be there for their kid. A good dad would do that. But clearly, and unfortunately, I was right. Adam Boqvist is and always will be selfish.

I say my goodbyes to Alex and Dylan, the box in one arm while I lock the office with the other hand.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Let’s just get this over with, Adam,” I start, turning to him. He winces when I look him in the eye, seeing all of the resentment and anger I feel towards him. “I’m keeping the baby. I’m raising the baby on my own. Don’t worry, I won’t put you down on the birth certificate. You’ll never see us again.”

His mouth opens then closes. “Are you sure?”

I scoff at the question, shaking my head in disbelief. I go to push past him. “Oh, trust me, I’m sure.”

[betweentheracks]

Heyo! Not to be too nosy here but you mentioned you're in bad health and recovering, and I just wondered what happened? Also how would it impact your career since, from how you've made it all seem thus far, it's a highly active and demanding job?

Hope you take care and get well! You appear quite strong and not like you'd take whatever has happened just lying down, so here's to you!! 🙏💓

No sweat and no worries here, I dont find this particularly invasive. If anything, I'm flattered you care to ask after me lol. 😁

A few weeks back I met a friend I hadn't seen in some time for lunch. This was against my better sense of caution that I've held firmly to throughout the pandemic, but I would feel regretful and dismissive if I didnt agree to see her while I had the chance. I should've listened my gut and stayed safely at work because this "friend" failed to mention she had tested positive (she knew already by the time of our lunch date, she has since admitted) and had figured since she had no symptoms there was no harm in being in public.

FF only a few days later and I was feeling a little unwell but had put it off as an effect of the winter blast that had just hit where I live. I'd spent half a day out in the cold and snow for a photoshoot only the day before and thought it was probably due to that since I'm susceptible to weather influenced head colds and bronchitis. Fortunately, my job mandates a rigid COVID-19 screening twice a week due to our high profile clientele and as an assurance of health and safety for us all. Mine read back with a positive and with the way I had been feeling I was immediately sent home and the company closed its doors while the building was sterilized and our clients notified.

Thankfully I managed not to infect anyone I work with nor my son. Regrettably, I did infect my best friend since we're horrifically incapable of maintaining personal space and have weak shit immune systems. We both agree it is a wonder we made it this far into plague times without it catching us.

So I went and got looked over and sent on my way with my prescription of potent anti-virals and steroids. I was well prepared to abide the quarantine guidelines and had sent my son to my mother's home for the duration so that he was out of the danger zone. It was fine, I was kinda cool and keen on getting a few days to myself to rest up and all that jazz. But it wasn't meant to last and I found trouble in the form of being unable to remain conscious much at all and would pass out constantly. After a few times of this I gave my brother (he's a doctor and vaccinated) a ring and told him that my fatigue was no joke dude and needed him to come give me a better once over than the one I'd gotten before bc I was sure I was not meant to feel this badly. He found me unconscious in the shower that night, my head battered from crashing to the basin.

After ensuring I wasn't concussed and jokes on what a hard head I have to take such a beating and show no signs of registering it beyond bruising (a joke between us due to him having once accidentally put a golf club into my forehead and fracturing my skull but that's a different story) he told me to call him regularly so that he can review how I feel and the progression of my symptoms and left. By the morning I had already had two more instances of sudden fatigue and collapsing in on myself. I had been posting on my main blog here about how I was doing and due to this I caught the concern of @peekbackstage and upon their suggestion to have my O2 levels tested it was revealed that I was having issues with my blood not circulating oxygen as it should and nearing hypoxia.

Here's the rub. I have a heart condition that is already very dangerous and bleak which limits my heart's capability of delivering blood through my body as it should. Cardiomyopathy or, as it seems better known, congestive heart failure. I've had surgery for it and it has been a while since it caused me any real issues as long as I stick to my routine of care and manage my health, but when COVID-19 infiltrated my body it immediately snagged upon this weak heart of mine and sank its fangs in.

Within a day of being admitted to the hospital I had a grand mal seizure due to the constant fluctuations of oxygen in my blood and the way my body was working double time to supplement for it. And only 2 days after that and when my nervous system had finally quieted down, I went into full cardiac arrest with a heart attack at my young age.

My next weeks were spent connected to machines doing more for me than my own body could. I developed pneumonia in my lungs, acute though it was it was still another complication that my wrecked body had to overcome as it made my already ragged breathing even worse. I was steadily shedding muscle tone and definition due to a lack of mobility and the fact that my body felt like a deadweight I could hardly take command of, and generally very weakened. My heart, the horrible thing, was inflamed and trying too hard by beating too fast, too hard.

FF some more and I was doing fairly well and treatments were showing some improvement. My heart was still being an ugly and gnarled beast in my chest and throwing weird spikes on the monitor that raised alarms. The pneumonia was retreating and I had no further seizures. It was the dawning light of my first signs that I was recovering!

It took a while more and so fucking many tests day in and day out for me get cleared for release. I tested negative for COVID-19 and was ashamed that I actually forgot that that was why I was even in the hospital to begin with, given all that happened. I have to undergo physical therapy and counseling; PT for heart happy exercises as well as to manage to my depleted muscles, counseling bc I was rocked mentally from all the almost dying and the depressive haze of being holed up in the hospital and surrounded by people who, like me, came in with COVID-19 but unlike me did not come out of it.

I'm home now. I had to have a pacemaker implanted and must stay vigilant for any showing that my heart is not performing as it should. I still have some severe inflammation and chest restriction in my airways as well as my blood vessels but nothing too daunting. I also have a full battalion of prescriptions, most for my heart, and a nebulizer to ease any breathing issues. The worst is honestly that I still am very weak and have severely limited reserves of energy.

My job is required to make me take 12 weeks of leave for rest and recuperation. This is very upsetting since I had been requested by name to be an assistant stylist at the Grammys this year which is truly a dream (especially with BTS in the mix 😩😩) and also bc I'm just a workaholic by nature and love my job. When I return I am expected to learn how to properly delegate tasks that do not directly require me to handle and slow down the pacing of my projects. My boss terminated a contract with a client that was nearing the scheduled end of our agreement and was also incredibly problematic to help lighten my workload. It's imperative that I reign in my stress levels or my heart will not last until the next surgery I'll need, so I'm gritting my teeth and letting my job be picked apart to reduce my responsibilities.

My post awaits my return but I will not be returning to full activity for a while after, which means no rifling through the racks for hours alongside the archivists in search of the perfect piece. I'll be welcome to meet with my clients and oversee the glam teams, will still be the command tower for final verdicts on which styles to use. But I will not be running around showrooms nor personally handling matters any competent trainee could be tasked with like I've always done. I will no longer be able to fly out anywhere for destination shoots or fashion shows.

If, after my next surgery, things are better and my heart stable to the point that they are hopeful of things will be reevaluated. While it is difficult beyond measure for me to relinquish the reigns of my career and be restricted in what I can do now, I am very thankful to be alive and upright when that wasn't a certainty just a little while ago. This is such a humbling experience to have survived when my stats kept dropping every day. I've been told to expect that I will never make a full 100% recovery and to expect to stall out around the 70%-90% range, with 70% being the most realistic.

My best friend (the one I gave the plague to) will be moving in with me so that I am never on my own if things go tits up and to assist in wrangling a toddler since I am currently without the energy to do so as my child is, sincerely, a crazy gremlin spawn with limitless battery life. Slowly, my life will regain some normalcy 💖

[writingsbychlo]

runaways | mafia!void

word count; 12,365

summary; mob-boss Stiles Stilinski owns the neighbourhood, and the city, and he knows it. but, someone new moves in across the street to his building, and flips his world upside down, with her own secrets to hide.

notes; oddly romantic for void, but still definitely a lot darker than normal stiles would be. 

warnings; violence, death, injury, gore, drug dealing, torture, murder, reference to abuse, reference to animal abuse.

With a frantic breath, nails digging into his chest as he jumped awake, Stiles tried to focus on where he was. There was clammy sweat covering his palms, fists clenched tightly with marks from his nails on the skin, and his forehead was shining and wet too. He felt uneasy, crawling in his own skin as he adjusted in the uncomfortable chair, blinking himself back to consciousness.

He didn’t feel at all well-rested, or relaxed, but he only seemed more on edge. The flashes of your injury were playing like a loop in his mind, the sounds of your screams, the horrid images of your blood staining the wool in handprints and the pool of it you’d been lying in when he found you. It all felt like slow-motion, reliving the events in his mind.

In his nightmare, though, he’d been slower. Feeling like he was moving through tar as he’d tried to get to you, every second dragging out in a painfully long time that made every second feel like hours, like he’d never reach you in time to save you. As he settled down, his heart rate calmed, no longer threatening to beat so hard that it would burst right from his chest, and he lifted the hand closest to him in both of his own.

Smoothing his thumbs over the back of your skin, he let out a ragged cry. Shuffling the chair loser to your bedside, he gave a weak attempt at comforting himself, pressing your palm over his cheek in a way you had done so many times to him before. Your hand was limp this time, though, and cooler, and he hated that tears were lining his eyes.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he acted or behaved, and he hated himself for it. Part of him hated that he’d ever let you in at all. Falling for the woman who had run away, seeking shade in his shadow that would hide you from the world, all the trouble it had caused him, but he didn’t regret even a second of it.

If there was one thing that Stiles was absolutely positive, it was that he loved you with everything he had. You’d stepped into his life, angering him at first as you moved into the building across the street, buying up property he wished to own. Quickly, though, you’d won him over. Every hello as you passed on the street, every sweet with a smile that had made something within him clench, every flirty comment and skim of your hand when you touched him that made him feel like he was on fire.

When he needed you most, you’d walked into his life and changed everything. You’d accepted him for who he was, a lifestyle you were no stranger to, but your innocence remained. Every blush and shy stutter he drew from you made him feel empowered, every time you’d squeal a little when he swept you off of your feet, and every shocked look you’d give him when he’d let his hand fall low rough to your ass in public.

Somehow, at a time he couldn't place, he’d let go of his ‘never sleep over’ rule. The morning when he’d wake up beside you, whoever’s side of the street it was that you stayed on, were the best mornings of all. The sleepy smiles you’d give him, the way you were just a little more clingy before your morning coffee. Your hands would smooth down his front, always waking up later than he did and finding him in the kitchen or working. Your arms wrapping around him from behind, a kiss placed between his bare shoulder blades, tracing his moles with soft lips until he let out the kind of breathy laugh he’d never let anyone else hear from him.

This was all wrong. Your hair didn’t flutter around you on the pillow like it did when you were at home. There was almost a frown on your face, wrinkles formed around it instead of the tranquil look you held when it was just the two of you. Your skin was colder, your hands never reached out lazily to find him when he sat close to you, and there were no giggles that told him you were awake when he leaned over to kiss your cheek.

The constant and droning beep of the heart machine was steady beside the bed. Stiles had one hand squeezing your own, the other lifting up to his mouth, and he chewed on the nail of his thumb as he looked over you. Letting out a ragged sigh, he stood from the chair again, unable to even keep still. Brushing stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear carefully, he let out a low sigh, hand trembling as he ran the backs of his fingers along your cheek.

The blip of the machine didn’t falter in the slightest, and he pulled the chair back up behind himself, collapsing down into the seat. He wasn’t sure how he got here, how he got in this state, but he was still covered in your dried blood, his clothes ruined and hair messy from having a hand constantly running through it.

“Baby, I know I said some things, but I need you to wake up and yell at me for them now, okay?” His voice trembled as he spoke, the sound of his own angry voice in his head making him wince. He could barely even remember now why he’d been so angry, because, in retrospect, it wasn’t all that big of a surprise. He’d done a background check on you, and nothing about the lifestyle you led had been normal. Long before he’d fallen in love with you, Stiles had realised that you were no stranger to a gang lifestyle. “Please, darling. I don’t care if you hate me, if you scream and yell, I don’t even care if you never want to see me again. I just need to see those pretty eyes again, and know that you’re gonna’ be alright.”

He blamed himself. Every second of it was like torment in his mind, like scars on his body that would never properly heal. The surprise of finding out just who you’d been on the run from, all that time ago when you’d originally sought freedom within his territory, and it had sent him into a full-blown rage. Red vision blacked out of his feelings, he’d said things he didn’t mean, and the idea of never getting to apologise to you now was eating him alive.

“I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise.” He didn’t know how he was going to keep that promise, but he was determined to. He’d do whatever it took, he would protect you, or avenge you, or set you free somewhere that he knew you’d be safer than by his side, but no matter what, he knew that he would never let you get hurt like this again.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open, nor the sound of it clicking shut, and he jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He gripped it at the wrist, spinning around with a scowl and bracing himself as he prepared for a fight, and Scott stood before him, wide eyes and a panicked look on his face. Lowering down the fist he had on the offensive, he released Scott, and his tanned best friend took a step closer, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder once again.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“S’ not your fault.” He whispered, voice hoarse from his screaming and shouting the night before, demanding the best doctors and medical care for you as he watched you be rushed away into surgery, hands still smeared with blood.

“It is. It was my ID that was used to get in, if I had jus-”

“Dude, how were you supposed to know? I’m the one that let a fucking traitor into the building, into our lives. If it’s on anyone, it’s on me.” His friend fixed him with a pitiful look, the pair falling into silence, and he made his way across the room, pouring himself a cup of freshly filtered water, a smirk of vague satisfaction flicked at his lips as he looked around the private room that you had been set up in. Clearly, his idle threats and aggressive shouting in the waiting room had achieved something.

He wandered back across the room, collapsing into his seat and sipping the water, his foot tapping agitatedly against the floor, twice as fast as the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor beside your bed. He took up a glare at the machine once again, the same glare he’d had all night. It wasn’t long before the cup was empty, and he shook his head, fingers tightening around the plastic cup as it crumpled and cracked in his hand.

He did the best he could to fend off a yawn, but it wasn’t working, the exhaustion of having been up all night watching over you was finally catching up to him, and he shook himself down, blinking rapidly as he did his best to stay awake.

“You should go home.”

“And leave her here alone?” Stiles scoffed at his best friend, rolling his eyes at the suggestion and the tanned boy chose to ignore the snappy attitude of his best friend. “Yeah, because that went so well the last time.” He laughed emptily, but tears were lining his eyes, the tapping of his foot only getting faster, and he reached for your hand again. Your fingertips were a little cold, the lack of movement meaning your circulation had reduced, and he folded your fingers under to be able to press a timid kiss to your knuckles.

“She won’t be alone, I’ll stay. You should go home and shower, you look like you committed a murder.” The two shared a small chuckle at the irony, and sat up to pull the shirt away from himself, the pale blue material ruined with deep stains of your blood. He’d washed them since, but there was still blood up on his forearms, and in all honesty, he was utterly exhausted. “If she wakes up, I’ll call you. Go and get some rest, and I’ll stay and watch over. Nothing will happen to her.”

“Everything already did happen, Scott.”

“Nothing else will happen to her.” Scott fixed him with a stern glare, and Stiles caved, getting up from the seat and rubbing a hand over his face. Picking up Scott’s discarded jacket, he pulled it over his shoulders, zipping it up securely around his own body.

“I’m taking this.”

His friend merely waved him off, and he made his way down to the front desk after a lingering look at you over his shoulder, making sure that everything had been taken care of. He signed his name at the bottom of the statements, getting a copy of all of his receipts, before fishing for his keys in his back pocket. It was with a deep sigh that he realised he hadn't driven here, he’d gotten in the ambulance with you when the paramedics had arrived. He was about three seconds away from breaking down, when he caught sight of a familiar head of curly hair and a ridiculous scarf, despite the heat.

“Need a ride?”

Stiles shook his head fondly, wandering over to his friend and watching as he shifted from leaning on the car to the driver’s seat, and Stiles fastened himself into the passenger seat, his head lolling onto the comfortable leather. The drive felt shorter than it had been last night, but perhaps that was because every second that Stiles had watched on helplessly, it had felt like an hour, and so he didn’t have any real grasp on how long the trip had been.

He didn’t normally estimate the trip to the hospital. When he hurt someone, they were always dead before paramedics even arrived, just how he wanted it. This time, though, he’d been grateful that hadn't been the case.

When the car finally came to a stop, Stiles peered up at the tall building he owned, swallowing thickly and purposefully avoiding looking at your own across the street, but dragging himself from the car on tired limbs instead. Making their way inside, Isaac pressed the button for both his floor and Stiles’. The numbers clicked up, Stiles’ hand gripping the edge of the elevator to steady himself, and wishing his friend well as he stepped out on his floor. He yawned again, the stress of keeping his eyes open and his body upright was beginning to show, but his mind was still wired.

He needed coffee.

He needed food.

He needed a hot shower.

He needed you.

It was a painful reminder when he stepped into his apartment of just what had happened. His laptop was still open, blinking with the low-power warning and he trudged over to it, toeing off the pair of old trainers he’d pulled on in the race to find you after watching the shot go off. He could still see the flash in his mind, still hear your cries of pain each time he pressed down on the wound, could still feel the weak press of your hand over his as you tried to hold onto your consciousness.

Closing the laptop lid and plugging it in to charge, his phone following as it had long since run out of battery. It had died somewhere around 3am, when he’d been instructing Kira and Allison onto a manhunt for Malia and Theo, to track them down, Derek going with them as Lydia stayed behind.

The redhead had spent the entire night instructing a team to clean up your apartment. She’d sent him pictures to confirm once the blood was scrubbed from the floors, the sheets on the bed swapped out, and the broken door taken down from its hinges. Placing an espresso mug under the spout of the sleek coffee machine he had never before been so grateful for, the familiar clicking of heels on the hardwood floors of the penthouse suite he called home echoed out.

“Lydia?”

“The one and only.” She sighed, appearing around the wall with a dazzling grin, looking far better after an entire night of being awake than he did, and he cocked a brow at her. Pushing the green ‘go’ button on the machine as he set it off, the dull churning sound of beans and the drip of string coffee started up. “Her place is clean, the door is totalled, a real joiner or carpenter will have to fix that.”

“Not to be ungrateful, because I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done tonight, but why are you here?”

He couldn't hide the slightly snippy tone to his voice, and the woman before him cocked a brow, but smirked knowingly at him anyway as she sauntered on past to take her coat from the hook she had put them on. He felt almost stupid for not noticing it when he’d stumbled through the door. “I was unpacking, of course.”

“Unpacking what, exactly?”

She looked at him like he was some kind of idiot, pulling her perfect curls loose from under the collar as she pulled on her coat, tying the belt around her waist a second later. “Some of your girl’s belongings. I assumed you’d want her within your sights when she was discharged, I wasn’t thinking you’d want her going home to a place with no front door and the fresh memories of almost being murdered in her sleep?”

He winced at how bluntly she spoke of the accident, but nodded his head. He hadn't even thought about that, he was so preoccupied with just making sure you were alive that he hadn't even processed what would happen after you got out. She teetered over to him on very tall heels, leaning up enough to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders loosely, pressing a kiss to her temple in return as he hugged her. “You’re an angel, Lydia. Thank you.”

“Hey, what can I say? Just make sure I get a decent payout on our next job.” She winked at him cheekily, and he rolled his eyes, knowing she was already up in the highest figures he gave out. She was soon leaving, pulling her phone from her pocket and immediately texting, never looking up as she stepped into the elevator and disappeared. The beep from the little device beside him broke his reverie from staring at the closed silver doors, and he picked up the little porcelain mug. Sipping the bitter liquid within and cringing at the heat, he choked it all down in a single mouthful, nonetheless.

A sound of satisfaction left him, and he trudged through to his bedroom, his lips flicking up at the sight of two pairs of pyjamas sitting out on his bed, rather than only his own. Little things that didn't belong to him but matched surprisingly well with his decor were scattered around.

A hairbrush on his dresser, makeup brushes and a makeup bag, a suitcase tucked away in the corner of the room from where Lydia had brought over your belongings, and he stripped himself down, dumping his clothes in the laundry hamper and wandering through to the bathroom.

The hot water had never felt so relieving, and he let out a deep sigh, tipping his head down and bracing himself with an arm against the wall, watching as bloodied water ran away into the drain. He reached around blindly for the soap and sponge, scrubbing at his skin until it was red, raw and stinging, but clean.

Blood had never bothered him before, especially not in his lifestyle, but this felt different. It was your blood staining his skin. It didn’t bother him when it was someone else’s life in his hands, when he got to make the decision on whether they lived or died, but he didn’t get to choose with you. With you, he had been powerless. Every title, every kill, every notch on his belt and dollar in his bank hadn't mattered, because when you’d been dying in his arms, even with all of his power, he’d not been able to do a single thing to help you. To save you.

His fist swung back, an angry cry leaving him as he powered his hand at the tile before him, his knuckles letting out a sick crack and his skin tearing as he punched at the wall. Despite the pain, he did it again and again, until blood was dripping along his wrist and the only thing he could picture would be your face as you looked at him, telling him to stop before offering to patch him up.

His hands were already battered and bruised, this time yesterday he’d been spattering his crisp white shirt with the blood of a dealer who hadn't yet paid up, a life he had control over, and had ended without remorse. He’d been in a bad mood, having lost a lot of money as well as a reputable dealer when. His hands had been stinging, head pounding from where the boy had tried to make a run for it after hitting him across the back of the head, and he blamed himself for everything that had happened afterwards.

The cuts on his hand made him hiss from pain when hot water and the suds of shampoo washed through them, but he deserved that, it was his fault for letting his temper get out of control. He closed his eyes, head tipping up toward where the spray of water was coming from, letting the water wash over his body and soothing the tension he held.

It melted away, skin flaring at the heat and turning bright red, the steam getting thicker and thicker in the room until it was hard to even breathe, and he finally stepped out from the water. He was swaying, the warm water having cleared his mind, and now that his thoughts were no longer rattling his brain, tiredness was beginning to crash in. Ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel, he merely let it fall away to the floor, tugging a pair of boxers onto his legs and collapsing face-first into his pillow as soon as his knees met the edge of his bed.

Your pyjamas were sitting out on the pillow beside him, his fingers reaching out, pads running over the soft and silky material of the pale purple night set you wore. His eyes were closing, and instead of letting the guilt sweep away at him once more, he chose instead to let his mind drift, to imagine you were laying by his side instead. He hugged the pillow with your sleepwear on closer to his chest, nose dipping to bury in the silk top, and the smell of you comforted him more than anything else had yet.

Stiles awoke with a jerky startle, his back aching from the hospital seat he was sitting in, and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. It was nothing new. That first night of good sleep he had gained sleeping beside the smell of you had quickly passed. Now, that fading smell of flowers and spices had become haunting, reminding him every night through painful nights of fitful and paralysing nightmares of his failures. 

The week you’d been in the hospital had been much the same. Sleeping by your bedside in the hospital when he’d visit, only ever getting the chance to relax when he could rest his head beside your hand on the itchy blankets of the hospital bed.

On the second night alone is when his nightmares started. That night, Stiles saw your first date. He could taste the ice cream on his tongue, the flavour you’d chosen for him when you’d let him come with you to see one of the small businesses you used as a cover, he could still feel the chill of the brain freeze he’d gotten that day. It started out as it truly had, his hand wrapped in yours, slightly pink cheeks when you introduced him to the older woman behind the counter as ‘the man trying to win your heart’, and the feel of wrinkled leather on the booth you both sat in. Except, in this version of his dream, it didn’t end with kisses that tasted of cherry sorbet and vanilla ice cream. This time, it ended with your eyes lifeless as he tried to save your life, windows shattered and glass in your sternum from a robbery gone wrong that had never happened. 

He woke up clutching his shoulder that time, feeling along his skin for the ghosts of wounds that were never real. 

The third night he was alone, he saw a twisted ending to the first time you’d stayed at his place, and on the fourth night, he was shaking when he forced himself out of his dreams, a conjuring of your death once again in his mind, another date gone wrong, another treasured memory ruined. Some dreams came to repeat themselves as the days plodded on, and some days just brought the torture of reliving the nightmares that made him wake up in tears. 

Last night, he dreamt of your first meeting. It was comforting at first, and he eased himself through a morning shower to wash away his tears and sweat by thinking of the real events. In his nightmare, it had ended by his own hand, your sweet face flashing behind his eyes, his mind screaming at himself as he watched a vision of himself take your life. He woke up in a shock of screaming cries, reaching out to your side of the bed only to remember that he was alone. Tears on his face, voice hoarse, and the chilling aftershock of what his mind had conjured up with his guilt left him trembling and unsteady. 

He’d been too scared by that vision to even try going back to sleep. Rather, he’d showered down, ice-cold water stinging as it beat down against his skin, waking him up enough to shake off the pain of it. He’d pulled on some clothes, his car keys and his phone being all he needed, working on autopilot as he had driven to the hospital. Stars were still in the sky, visiting hours were far from opening for the morning as the sun hadn't even risen, but he knew there was a nurse that was taking pity on him behind the desk. 

Or perhaps, it was fear? 

No matter what made her do it, she always opened up your room for him, guiding him through the halls on a path he knew well, until he could slump down by your side. His breakfast continued whatever he could fish out of the vending machines, spare change from his pockets or the card from his wallet. He was certain that at this point, they were refilling the machines just for him. 

The last decent meal he’d had was the night before your argument. Happy, full of life, a recipe you’d learned when you were young as you shared it with him. Now, it was just whatever he could fish out of his freezer to point in the microwave, when Scott, Isaac or even Derek had forced him to go home and rest, as if that was even an option. The only decent sleep he got was in naps, when he got home after driving the city for hours or busying himself with business, only to get a few hours of solace in his unconsciousness with a dead sleep that contained no dreams. 

It was during one of these times that he got the call from his best friend, your tenth day in hospital recovery that you woke back up. He’d been showering at the time, having just missed the call as he’d stepped under the water. Emerging from the spray thirty minutes later and finding a series of missed calls from the hospital, Stiles felt like his heart may actually have stopped in his chest with fear. 

It had taken only two rings for Scott to pick up, and Stiles was already pulling shoes onto his feet as he fished around for his car keys, insisting he was on his way back, when his friend told him to stay home.

“Dude, relax, she’s totally fine.”

“She was shot, Scott.” He couldn't help the bitter tone in his voice, his friend laughing down the line, shuffling as his voice faded for a second. He was talking to someone on the other end, and Stiles could make out the many different voices of nurses, doctors and patients around him. There was the scratching of a pen on paper, and a gentle ‘thank you’ from his friend, and Stiles was waiting anxiously for the whole time. “Scott, what is going on? I’m freaking the fuck out over here. You know what, I’m coming to the hospital-”

“She woke up. About forty-five minutes ago.”

“She did? Holy shit.” He let out a breathless chuckle, wiping a hand over his face as his shoulders sagged, tension leaving his body like a sudden rush of bliss, just hearing that you were awake.

“Yeah. She’s good, she had some water, my mom’s checking her over, I just signed her discharge papers. I’m going to bring her home, alright? She’s a little bit groggy, and quite grumpy.” 

His friend was teasing you, and Stiles didn’t even have it in him to argue, instead, Stiles looked around, making a mental note of everything that he needed to tidy up and clean before you got here.

“We’ll be there in about half an hour, alright? Try to contain yourself between now and then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, I can sense your shaking with anticipation through the phone, buddy. See you soon.” 

He scowled as his friend hung up on him, but his hands were shaking, he couldn't deny that. Rather than thinking too hard about it, he chose to toe-off his unlaced shoes, placing them neatly on the rack and rubbing sweaty palms on the sides of his sweats, glancing around at the room.

That half an hour passed him by quicker than he would’ve liked. He had put away all the crap that was filling the room, tucking away every wire, and on a few occasions he’d almost felt like he was baby-proofing his apartment, but he wasn’t willing to let anything else hurt you. He’d moved everything from the highest and lowest shelves up to a middle level, easily reachable, and pushed the furniture slightly further apart to make sure you had plenty of room to move around.

Your pyjamas were laid out neatly on the bed, waiting for you for when you arrived, ready to change out of the dingy hospital gown you had been in for the last ten days since your accident. He’d laid out a skin sensitive, wound friendly soap and shampoo set on the edge of the bath, ones that he’d had to dig out from the back of the cabinet, assuming you’d want to soak, or at least have a shower.

He felt almost nauseous with worry when the elevator opened up, silence filling the room as Scott pushed the rented wheelchair along, a pair of crutches balanced across your lap and held loosely by your hand. Before he could drop to his knees to see you, Scott was holding a hand out, a lopsided smirk on his face as he shook his head.

“She fell asleep on the ride over here, she’s out cold.”

He laughed weakly, kneeling beside you quietly and brushing your hair back behind your ears, delicate breaths leaving you as your head tipped to the side. “She fell asleep? She was unconscious for ten days! Somehow, that seems completely on brand, though..” It was spoken fondly, one of his palms brushing gently over your hair as he smoothed it across the back of your head. 

“She was in some pain when she woke up. My mom gave her some pretty heavy painkillers, she got a bit loopy, and then crashed.” Stiles stood to his full height, nodding as he took in the information, before taking the crutches and standing them in the corner beside the coat hooks. A large paper bag of instructions and different medicines was handed over to him, and he glanced inside quickly at the various medications. “Different ones, for any discomfort she gets, some to fight off infections, all that. Mom wrote a list of instructions for you, so you can read those.”

“Thank you, Scott.” Scott shrugged, brushing off the gesture, but Stiles didn’t want that. “No, man, I mean it. Thank you. I would have gone insane without you there to boss me around.”

“Well, someone had to do it, since the normal owner of that position was out cold.” Scott teased, rubbing a hand over your shoulder as you slumped in the wheelchair, and Stiles glanced back to you fondly. “She should wake up in an hour or so, be ready, she may be moody still.” 

His best friend shot him a smile, the two sharing a quick hug, heavy pats on the backs and a quick squeeze before parting. The tanned male was soon disappearing into the elevator, leaving him alone with you once again.

Wheeling you through to the bedroom, he lifted you from the chair, the robe he’d left for you being a struggle to get off, and he undid the ties on the loose hospital gown, before trying to ease you into a soft set of pyjamas, fresh from the ones he’d spent the week sleeping beside. He left you above the covers, the heat of the mid-day hour undesirable to be tucked away, your hair fanned out around you as he let you lie down, adjusting you and propping a pillow up under your feet.

Pushing the wheelchair into the corner, he couldn’t help the relief that was filling him as he finally had you back, safe in his arms where he could properly protect you. Sitting beside you on the bed, he pushed up the edge of your shirt just enough to reveal the bandages on your torso, regret and guilt filling him as the pads of his fingers brushed over the wrapping.

“I’m so sorry I let this happen to you, baby.”

His words fell on deaf ears, but he’d been waiting too long to apologise, and he needed to speak the words to you, now that he had you home and within his grasp once again, the place where you should always be. His lips pressed to your forehead, a lingering kiss placed there before he swiped his thumb over the skin. He stayed a moment longer, before hauling himself to his feet and heading for the exit of the room. As he went, he flicked the lights out and drew the curtains, darkness filling the room as he left you to sleep, pulling the door shut but leaving it open enough to be able to hear you if you were to need him.

His first call was to sort through all your medicines. Unstacking each bottle methodically and reading over them, he checked them against the notes Melissa had left for him, reading up on each one before tucking them all into the first drawer on the island in the centre of the kitchen. Alongside them were the instructions, in case he forgot any, or you wanted to check yourself. He then took his laptop to the couch, collapsing across the plush leather seats and balancing the device half on his lap, half on his stomach, propped up with his head laying on the armrest.

He had been doing his best to keep your businesses in order for you, he’d kept up with any work he knew of that you did, and he’d made a conscious effort to visit each and every store during those ten days, to check that everything was going well with them. Despite it all, over these past few days, he had become progressively more impressed with your ability to contain them all. Never did a full thirty minutes go by without someone from somewhere needing something from you, emails and concerns regarding the businesses, and trying to keep track of all of the figures was dizzying. 

There was a reason he had Lydia running the books.

“Do you have eggs and bacon?” He’d been so caught up in sending a passive-aggressive email to the boss running your Brooklyn coffee shop, that when your voice came, it had shocked him so thoroughly that he almost fell from the couch.

“You’re not allowed!” His words had only confused you, and he jumped up from his seat, placing his laptop down on the kitchen counter as he made his way over to you. You shuffled further into the room as he watched, leaning against the wall for support as you went. His feet slipped and skidded on the floors to get to you, his hands hovering over your hips as you raised your brows at him.

“I’m not allowed eggs and bacon?”

“You’re not allowed to be out of bed!” He retorted, hands on your forearms as you grasped him in the same way, and he tried to make you walk back to the room, but you held your ground. Walking him backwards and into the open plan kitchen, he let out a sigh as he gave in to what you wanted. “Please go back to bed, I’ll make you any food you want, if you just go and rest.”

“I’ve been resting for a week and a half, I want something to eat.” You grouched, and he sighed reluctantly at your stubbornness, scooping you up underneath your legs and placing you into one of the tall seats at the kitchen island. 

He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge, alongside everything else he needed to make you a breakfast fry-up, a small smile pulling on his lips, back turned to you. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as you tugged his laptop toward you, fingers swiftly typing in the password as the black screen lit up, and he didn’t even bother questioning or trying to stop you. Your eyes were moving quickly over the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you contemplated his email draft. He waited for your response, heating oil in the pan and waiting for it to begin sizzling, while he prepared a tray of food for the oven in silence. 

“You’ve been managing my businesses while I was out?”

“Of course.” His back was still turned to you, and you closed down the draft, only humming in reply, but choosing to log into your account and checking through the notifications there. Your stomach rumbled loudly as the smell of food drifted into the air, plates clattering and eggs sizzling as he cracked them on the edge of the pan, tipping them into the hot oil. “I did most of the paperwork, too. You’ll probably want to check over it, but I did the best I could.”

“I’m sure you did fine. It’s all good.”

Silence fell between you both again, something that was tense and uncomfortable on his end because he had no idea how to interpret it. 

It felt like he was choking on the air, the sounds of your fingers on the keyboard, the occasional sizzle or pop from the food as he worked breaking the quiet. He turned, pushing a plate of steaming food toward you as soon as it was ready, and you gasped happily.  Taking it from him, Stiles pulled out the seat opposite to you, poking at his meal as you dug in quickly. 

You had finished half of your food before you broke the silence again, clearing your throat and forcing him to look up to you.

“Why are you pouting so much?”

“I’m not pouting. I don’t pout.” He scoffed, and you simply watched him, his body deflating under your stare. He scooped up a mouthful of food onto his fork, chewing it and letting his eyes leave yours for a second, swallowing audibly and looking back at you. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

Your voice was light and chirpy, and you happily sliced off another large chunk of bacon and hash-brown, his head shaking as he twirled his knife between two fingers, the tip of the cutlery pressed to the plate. “That you got shot.”

Your cutlery clattered against the plate, and he jumped at the sound, his eyes snapping to you. You were scowling at him, somehow still managing to look sympathetic and sweet as you watched him, but there was anger laced underneath. “That is such bullshit!”

“No, it’s not.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you shifted in your seat, rubbing your fingers over your stomach gently as you waited for him to try and find his words. “I care about you, so much. I was so angry that I left you there, and I’m the one who told Malia I wasn’t going back, when I saw her in the elevator, and now she’s gone. I told her you would be all alone, I left you after shouting at you. I shouldn’t have.. have-”

“Have what, Stiles?” You reached out across the table, and he choked back his feelings as you placed your hand over the top of his, tips of your fingers tracing each knuckle and veins on his hand. The simple touch was calming him more than he would care to admit, simply because it was you. “She would have just come back another day, when I was alone. This was a planned attack, and you can’t blame yourself. She would have just waited, they would have just waited. I don’t blame you, and I forgive you for what you said that night.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. How could I not?” You glanced down at yourself, a ghost of amusement beginning to manifest on your face, tempting him into the same. “You put me in my favourite pyjamas, and made me breakfast even though it’s mid-afternoon.” You gave a wry smile, and he shook his head, but the expression was soon dropping as he watched your face curl into a frown.

“What, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” He was up from his seat in seconds, the half-eaten meal left abandoned as he rounded the marble countertop to get to your side, and you shook your head, anger stitched onto your features, instead.

“Nothing, it’s just that.. I’m pretty sure Theo stole my cat.”

“What?”

“Scott said Lydia told him that he was nowhere to be seen when she got there. I think he stole my cat.” You mumbled, finishing up your food, and running a hand through your hair, cringing when you pulled it away from your greasy tresses, all while he stared at you incredulously. “What are you staring at?”

“You know, he probably just ran away.”

“My cat isn’t the runaway type, okay? I’m absolutely sure he took him.” You were insisting, trying to hop down from the seat. Stiles leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before scooping you up into his arms delicately, ignoring your protest about his actions. You gave in, your arms wrapping around his neck, the plates abandoned on the island to be cleared away later, your head falling to rest on his shoulder. “I want a bath, or in the very least a shower. I feel gross.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up, I’m greasy.” You growled, but he laughed at your words, trying to keep you steady in his arms as he made his way toward the bathroom. Placing you down on the counter, he ran the taps for you, plugging the bottom of the tub, before turning back to you once the water was gathering. 

You lifted your shirt up and over your head, wincing as it fell free and stretched out your core just enough for you to feel the pinch at the hole on your side. You lifted your hips, getting to the floor and wiggling your shorts free from your body, before turning to the mirror. 

“You have spare bandages and wrapping, right?”

“I get shot at for a living, of course, I do.”

“Right, ‘course.” You muttered, peeling back the tape holding the patch over your stomach and dropping the slightly bloody pack into the bin, before examining your wound in the mirror. Red flesh was surrounding it, your veins standing out, and you twisted to get a better look at the injury. It was somewhat scabbed over, the patch dark red and purple, and you ran your fingers delicately around the area. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

He stood behind you, letting you lean back into him for support as he wrapped an arm around your hips, hand resting on your side as he avoided going near the spot. “It’s going to leave a badass scar. I think it’ll be pretty sexy.” He pressed a kiss to your neck, smirking when he heard you chuckle, before he was pulling away, swirling his hand in the water to test the temperature as the tub filled quickly with several inches of water. “We need to try and keep it dry, okay? So, I’ll tip water over you, and you can cover it with your hand, alright?”

You didn’t respond, simply turning around in his arms, and his hands moved to sit against your lower back instead. His eyes were wide on yours, a sweet gaze that made your heart flutter. Leaning in, you cupped his cheeks in your hands, pulling his face up until you could brush your nose with his. His lips puckered, barely brushing your own as he groaned needily under his breath when you snapped away suddenly.

“Why be such a tease, doll?”

“I wanted to kiss you.” You mumbled, breaking free from his hold to root through the cupboards, picking up your toothbrush from the sink, a huff leaving him as you soaked the end of your toothbrush.

“And yet, you didn’t.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth in almost two weeks.” You muttered, sticking the brush into your mouth, relishing in the minty taste that covered your senses, and scrubbing at your teeth as he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I wou’ haf’.” Your words were distorted as you spoke, and you continued to clean until you finally felt satisfied. Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth out, you rinsed off your brush and placed it back in the stand beside his. When you turned again, he was standing behind you, towering over you once again as his hands cupped your face, brows raised.

“Now?”

“Now.”

His lips descended onto your own, a moan leaving his lips as your smooth lips worked against his chapped ones, dragging together in a sweet gesture that he had missed so much since the last time he’d had the chance to kiss you. He pressed further into you, pulling you closer softly, your front meeting his as he tried not to push against your wound. A gasp left you when his hands slipped down from your face to wrap around your waist, and he took the chance, his tongue dipping into your mouth to find your own.

The muscles tangled together, your hands bunching the material of his shirt under your palms as he took control of the kiss, and your body loosened under his touch. Your heads were tipping to the sides, breathy moans leaving the both of you, and he dominated the kiss, every part of him covering every part of you. It was different from other kisses, it was slow and passionate but there was something more. Something that tasted like love on your tongue as he worked your mouths together, your nails digging into his chest.

It was full of lust and need, but also want and care and everything within you melted. The scruffy stubble on his jaw that had gone unshaven was scratching at your skin in the most delicious way, his fingers spreading out over your back and tips digging into your body as he tried to pull you impossibly closer. The two of you were trying to wrap yourselves up in one another, for all you were worth, until the burn for oxygen was just too much for you to handle.

When you pulled back, he ran a finger over your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes still closed as the two of you panted for breath. “I missed the taste of your mouth. God, I missed you so much. Ten days of pure fucking torture.”

You grinned, tipping your head enough to press a scattering of small kisses to his cheek and jaw, burying your face in his neck. “You’ve never kissed me like that before.” He pulled back, grinning at you, before sweeping you off of your feet as he lifted you up and over the edge of the tub. Your toes tingled as warm water lapped over your feet, up to the bottom of your calves.

The water only went up to just over your thighs when you sat down, and he tugged his shirt off over his head, kneeling on the floor beside you as you took a sponge and soap. Lathering yourself up and dipping it under the water, his larger hand closing over your own as he took it from you, cleaning your skin as you covered your bullet wound. 

He helped you wash your hair, and your face, pressing another short kiss to your lips every time he had the chance to do so, before he was lifting you out of the tub, standing you up and patting you dry with a fluffy towel.

Once you were redressed, he situated you on the couch. The small argument you both shared as he once again tried to convince you to go back to bed and rest was short-lived, your lips on his cutting him off and he quickly gave in. walking you slowly to the couch, making sure your legs were propped up on a cushion to reduce the swelling, and that you were wrapped up comfortably in a blanket.

Before he could settle beside you, though, his phone was ringing, and he searched around for it. It was located on the table nearby, and he swiped it up, answering it quickly while walking a few steps away from you. You watched as his jaw hardened, his eyes narrowing and body stiffening, flicking to you for a split second as he hummed. You watched on curiously, before moving your attention to finding the TV remotes when the line went silent as he listened to the half of the conversation that you couldn't hear. You found them at the other end of the coffee table, rolling yourself awkwardly toward them, shuffling down the couch until you could reach them, clasping them in your hands, and an arm under your waist was lifting you back up to a sitting position.

He rolled his eyes at you, his lips flicking up at the edges as you waved the devices at him, His free hand came to sit on your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he stood back to his full height, and continued to take in the information he was getting. When he had finished, he pulled away, staring down at the device in his hands for a good minute after hanging up, before turning to you.

“They found Theo?”

“You’re awfully intuitive.” He mumbled, nodding, a deep sigh on his lips as he turned to face you. “I have to go now. I’m going to rip his fucking throat out. I want to make sure he feels every ounce of your pain and every bit of mine, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, because the last time I left you went so well.” He poked a finger to your ribs through the blankets, and you barely felt it, but you slapped his hand away anyway with a small scowl, turning on the television. He paced away from you, disappearing into his bedroom to gather himself.

You had found a film by the time he had returned, and you heard him clattering about in the kitchen, before he reappeared in front of you. A pint of ice cream with a label you recognised was in his hand, a spoon too, and he held them out to you. Taking them quickly, you peeled the lid back, pushing the spoon into the top to retrieve a mouthful, you gave out a small moan as the icy flavours hit your tongue. You took in his appearance, black skinny jeans clad on his legs, a pair of dirty trainers and a black henley, rolled up on his forearms messily; a look you definitely approved of.

“I picked that up a few days ago when I went to check on your store in Manhattan.” You beamed at him, taking another spoonful of it and offering it out to him. He leaned down, taking the bite of the cold treat you offered him, before he was moving past the spoon, and leaving a long kiss on your lips. Your hand smoothed down his back, brushing the gun that was tucked into the back of his pants, a grin on your lips as you slapped his ass lightly as he pulled away. “I’ll be back soon.”

Your lips pressed to his again, and he sounded something between a grunt and a moan, one of his knees resting on the edge of the couch beside your legs, mumbling indiscernible nonsense into your mouth.

“I really have to go. We can definitely do more of that when I get back, though.”

He parted from you, finally, storming his way across the room to the elevator, and you watched him go. A smirk rose on his lips as his eyes connected with yours before the doors closed, leaving you alone in a silent room.

Stiles’ foot tapped agitatedly against the floor of the elevator as he watched the numbers overhead count down to the bottom floor, his team already assembled as they waited for him. Isaac was chewing gum, standing protectively by Allison's side as she sharpened her favourite knives while lounging in a chair. Lydia was avidly setting up comms with them all, passing them around as Derek and Scott fussed over one another’s vests, checking the straps and harnesses, and Kira, was quietly mumbling small prayers to herself, and spinning the first set of car keys on her finger. Isaac held the other set, and Stiles didn’t bother to speak to any of them as he swiped his protective vest from the side, pulling it over his head as he went.

The car he found himself in was being driven by the same man who drove him home for the hospital, sitting beside him upfront as Kira climbed into the back, a large bag of guns on her side.

Scott, Derek and Allison took the other, Lydia’s voice crackling in his ears as she tested all of their comm systems, and he rolled his shoulders, settling into his seat as stretching his legs out before him as he relaxed into the leather. There was nothing about this assignment he had to be nervous about, nothing he was worrying over, because there were no debates in this scenario. There were no ‘maybes’ and possibilities.

He was going to kill Theo Raeken, the man’s fate already set in stone.

He cranked up the radio as soon as the car hit the freeway, tapping his fingers against his leg to the tune, and he heard the sharpening of Kira’s sword in the backseat pause, Isaac’s gaze flicking over to him. He tipped his head to the side to face his friend, a grin on his lips.

“We’re listening to music on the way to a job now?”

“Yes, we are. Because today is a good day.” He mumbled, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and leaning even further into his chair, making Kira huff as she shuffled to it in the middle seat instead. Isaac squirmed in his seat, thoroughly unsettled by how calm and casual he was about what they were about to do. “Do you know why today is a good day, Isaac?”

“Because we’re going for Theo?”

“Correct! We are going to kill him, and it’s going to feel fantastic.” Stiles sighed, the journey seeming to melt away around them. The classic jazz coming from the station helped the journey to pass by, urban city scenes passing by in blurs as they turned to green trees. The other cars were left behind, the smooth tarmac pathways becoming dirt and gravel, bumpy as the car rolled across them, and Stiles at up further.

The car came rolling to a stop outside of a collection of large, recently redesigned warehouses, on the outskirts of Westhampton. “Is this it?”

“This is it.” Lydia’s voice rang in his ears, and he hummed, peering up at it.

“Lydia, I want to buy it once we’re finished here. He’s already done the buildings up, all nice for me, how considerate.” Getting out of the car, he stretched himself out, the second vehicle rolling up beside them as multiple doors slammed. Lydia was talking in his ear about their best approach, the intel she’d gathered online and from the camera’s internally that she had hacked, in order to guide them through the building best. Stiles was antsy, and he was already on his way up to the door.

Rapping his knuckles against the thick wood, he leaned on the wall, hand tucked into the back of his pants casually as he waited, and he could hear the rest of the team panicking as they tried to work out what to do. When the door finally opened, he was met with a face he didn’t recognise, a scar across their cheek as they sneered at him, demanding to know what he wanted, and his head tipped to the side with a chilling grin.

Pulling the gun from its place hidden in the back of his jeans, he pressed it up to his forehead, pulling the safety before his opposition even had a chance to react, the bullet cracking through his skull and straight through the other side. Chunks of skull, muscle and greymatter splattering against the walls inside, his body crumpling, and Stiles stepped out of the way as he fell to the floor. 

Stepping over his body, he moved past the blood-stained walls and further inside, dull music echoing from the higher floors as he looked around. Lydia was grumbling into his ear as he ruined her inconspicuous plan, the others flocking around him.

“Spread out, kill everyone you see, I don’t give a shit. But Theo’s mine.” He heard everyone leave, and he wandered towards the bottom of a set of stairs, peering at the level above. Climbing the metal stairs slowly, the sounds of pained screams came from below the balcony and down the corridors he couldn't see, boots running against grated metal floors and gunshots going off.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out where Theo was, hearing the music of the top floor switching off, muffled shouting taking over and he headed in that direction, searching for the next set of stairs. 

Nothing but sick anticipation filled his system as he caught sight of the blonde rushing down the stairs towards him, unaware of his presence at the bottom. He swerved to the side, covered by the shadows, and as she took off in a run, he gripped her by the neck. Her feet leaving the floor as he tossed her backwards with ease, her back and head slamming into the ground. Kneeling by her side as she blinked her vision clear, hand coming up to grip at her head, Stiles’ hand tightened around her neck, knees shifting to press into her bicep on each side and keeping her pinned to the floor. A cry left her loudly, agonising pain as the muscles twisted under his leg.

“Hello again, Malia.”

Her eyes widened, and she flexed under his hold, his eyes and face going red as she struggled; thrashing legs, body jolting, but the movements were of no use.

“Struggling to breathe there, Mal? That’s a real shame.” He tutted, tightening his fingers around her throat as the raspy gasps for breath were cut off altogether, her face turning almost purple. “Do you know who else struggled to breathe, Malia? The answer is; the girl I love, as she choked on her own blood after you shot her. Do you remember that?”

She nodded as best she could, and he loosened his hold, letting her suck in frantic breaths, spluttering and coughing for air as she heaved. Tears were in her eyes, leaking out onto the floor as she writhed, desperately. Just before she could catch her breath, he was tightening his hand once again, glaring down at her, his jaw clenching. His knee pushed down on her arms even more harshly, and she screamed out in pain, the veins in her neck and forehead bulging from the pressure.

“How does it feel? I can bring you to the verge of death, and then let you go, only to bring you right back. Tell me, Malia, was it worth it? Was betraying me worth your life? Because that is what it’s going to cost you.” He reached for the nearest rope, wrapping it tightly around her ankles, securing it there as she tried to regain her breath, red marks on the skin around her neck, slipping in and out of focus. “Luckily for you, your life isn’t my call to make. There is one person whom you betrayed even more deeply than me, and so he can choose your fate. There’s only one person on my personal hit-list tonight.”

He dragged her across to the edge of the platform, tying the other end of the rope to the metal barricades, her eyes wide as she looked up at him and he waggled his fingers in a wave, smiling falsely before using his foot to kick her over the edge. The rope quickly diminished, the sickening pop of a joint coming out of place sounding out and he smiled in satisfaction, continuing his way on to the place he wanted to be.

“Everyone meets at the office on the top floor. And, Scott? There’s a little present for you hanging out on the second level. Do with it as you will.”

He could already see the man storming about on the other side of a glass door. Nudging the door open with his foot, Stiles leaned on the doorframe, waiting to be seen. 

Upon being noticed, Theo scoffed, lunging for the gun on his desk. Stiles sighed, firing off a single round, the bullet bouncing off of the desk and deterring his foe from reaching for the weapon once again.

“Hi there, Theo. Heard a lot about you.”

“Stilinski. Do you know what you’ve started by coming here?” His words were growled out, and Stiles only shook his head, standing to his full height as he clicked his tongue.

“I didn’t start anything, I’m simply finishing what you started.” He hooked his foot around the wheels of a desk chair, kicking it towards the man as he picked up the other gun, tucking it into his belt securely and spinning his own around his finger, before using it to point to the seat; “Why don’t you sit down, hm?”

“I don’t want to sit.” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, and his lips formed a silent ‘oh’, and he grinned, tightening his fist and smashing it forward into Theo’s face. The man's head flew back, a mixture of spit and blood flying from his mouth, and he brought a hand up to clutch at his face, eyes wide as the first physical blow between the two was thrown. “What the fuck do you want?”

Blood was running down his face, and Stiles shrugged, pacing slightly as he pulled the chair back to himself, sitting down in it and spreading his legs out before himself. “I want you to feel every bit of the pain you caused.”

“What? You’re angry because I shot the bitch who ran away?” Theo offered a smirk with bloody teeth, trying to stand his ground. “You should be thanking me. Don’t tell me you were attached to the sloppy seconds who came crawling to you?” Theo licked over his lower lip as he considered his words. “Oh, you were? Such a shame, she was rather good in bed. Did you get a chance to fuck her, before I killed her?”

“Oh, you think you killed her? How sweet.” He stood, eye to eye with the man before him, stepping into his space, so close he could smell the coppery scent of the blood trickling from his broken nose. He moved, the weapon between them, the barrel of the edge of his gun pressing to Theo’s stomach. “Would you like to know how it felt when you tried to take her life?”

Before Theo could react, Stiles had pulled the trigger, a bullet tearing through his skin and into his guts, and Theo screamed out as he fell to his hands and knees. One hand came up to clutch as his middle, and Stiles pressed a foot to his shoulder, kicking him over onto his back, before crouching beside the blond man. Scratching at his jaw, he stared off into the distance, contemplating his words.

“Does it hurt, Theo?” He only received a grunt in response, blood pouring and staining the pale t-shirt his nemesis had been wearing, and Stiles’ hand curled into a fist, one finger sticking up. “She tried to get to her gun, she hit the floor harder than you did, she was alone. That probably felt more like this.”

He pushed his finger into the hole, blood spurting out as Theo squirmed and screamed, choked sounds of pain leaving him as he jerked under Stiles’ touch. Pulling his finger back, he wiped it clean of blood on Theo’s shirt, standing enough to retract the flip-knife from his pocket. The blade popped out, and he ran the tip of his finger over the sharp edge.

“Now you know how she felt, but would you like to know how I felt?” Theo sputtered, coughing on his blood and mumbling aggressive curses under his breath, all of which went ignored by Stiles. He waved his hand, flipping the knife in his hand and forming a fist around it as he gripped it firmly. Placing it over the man's heart, he pressed it down just enough to break the skin over the left side of his chest, tipping Theo’s face to look at him, ensuring that Stiles’ face would be the last thing he saw. Pulling his hand back, he plunged the knife straight in, twisting it roughly as he tore apart his heart from the inside, leaving the blade wedged in his body. “It felt like that.”

The life faded from his eyes, and once he was satisfied with the dead man before himself, Stiles removed the knife, wiping it on his pants before putting the blade away and tucking it into his pocket again. He could hear multiple sets of footsteps falling on their journey toward his location. The loud sounds of anarchy in the building had fallen silent, and he smirked, before looking down when he felt something bump solidly against his leg, shoving at his ankles.

A furry little skull head-butted his leg, a tail wrapping around his calf as a small cat weaved between his legs, and he let out a disbelieving laugh at the sight. “Son of a bitch. He took the fucking cat.” Leaning down, Stiles scooped up the animal into his arms, flipping him over to hold him delicately. He was lighter than he had been, fur not as glossy and body skinnier, but it was definitely the same animal, his paws curling around Stiles’ hand as he held the cat tenderly, claws digging into his hand. “Don’t fucking claw me. I’m saving your life. I could leave you here.”

The cat only meow-ed at him, somehow managing to sound snarky, as though calling his bluff, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Fishing around the room, he wrapped the trembling creature in the soft material, his team gathering in the doorway. He didn’t bother to explain the cat to them, he didn’t bother to ask Scott about what he’d chosen to do with Malia, he didn’t care for any of it. All he cared about was getting home, to where he belonged, with you.

The credits of your movie were just beginning to roll on the screen, and you kicked the blanket away from your legs carefully, trying to push yourself up from the couch, using the armrest for support as not to strain yourself. Grabbing the empty carton of ice cream, you took the spoon too, moving through to the attached kitchen to clear up after yourself.

Pulling open the dishwasher, you used your foot to lower it to the ground, pulling out the racks and clearing away the plates from your earlier meal too, trying not to over-exert yourself as you felt the slight stinging in your abdomen beginning to start. Once it was set off with cleaning the dishes, you searched through the drawers and cupboards for medications, knowing a bag had been sent home with you, handed over to Scott before you’d passed out in the car on the way home.

You finally found them, shakily filling a glass of water and reading over the instructions, not wanting to take something that would make you sleepy, you wanted to be awake when Stiles came home. Popping the correct dosage of pills, you swallowed them down, followed by a few sips of water, letting out a sigh as you waited for the pain to ease.

Only a few minutes later, the achy throbbing had dulled back to numb bliss, and you let out a happy sigh, just as the shrill tone of the elevator opening sounded out. Cracking your eyes open, you watched as a slightly sweaty, dirty, and fairly tired Stiles walked in, a bundle of cloth clutched in his arms.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was hoarse and tired, and you smiled, padding across the floors towards him. “I have a surprise for you.”

You lifted a finger, tugging down the edge of the blanket to reveal what lay inside, and a gasp left you at the squirming ball of fur within. A loud meow sounded out, and Stiles moved the blanket, holding the cat for you so that you could pet him, knowing that you wouldn't be able to support the weight. Your eyes lining with tears as you were reunited with the pet you so deeply adored. Scratching behind its ears, he let out a soft purr, and you leaned down closer to his face. “You’re so thin! What did he do to you, little guy?”

You sounded broken-hearted, watching as Stiles’ jaw clenched. He’d never gotten along with your cat, the two seemed to have some kind of unspoken tension that had always made you giggle, but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t love him. There had been days when you’d woken up, finding Stiles making breakfast in your kitchen and feeding tuna to the cat, or sitting with him on your couch and waiting for you to shower. Sometimes, Stiles would even show up with a bag of treats for the fur-ball. “I’ll take him to the vets tomorrow, he’ll be happy and healthy again in no time, I promise.”

He put the animal down, watching as it scampered away to begin sniffling about the home, exploring all of the rooms,  and disappearing from sight down the corridor as you watched it go. When you turned back to Stiles, he was already looking at you, watching you dutifully. You lifted your hands, cupping his face as you let out a watery laugh of sheer joy. “I love you so much.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply, you pulled his face down until you could press your lips to his, and he hummed happily against you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest and holding you close as he returned the kiss eagerly. One of his hands trailed down up to your cheek, fingers weaving into your hair as yours came down to hold around his torso, hooked under his arms to hold him close. Parting your lips, the kiss became messier, the smacking of your wet lips sounding out, noses bumping as your heads tipped in opposite ways to get deeper into one another's mouths, and his tongue poked out to tangle with your own.

The wet articles had barely met before he was pulling back, panting slightly and licking over his swollen lips, before leaning in to press his forehead to yours, grinning madly.

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Yeah. Problem?” You were still breathless, equally panting against his mouth and leaning up, stealing another kiss from his lips, and he returned it happily.

“God, no. I love you too.” He dipped down, kissing along your jaw and up to your temple, before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much.”

“How’s your pain?” Stiles mumbled, his arms smoothing round you a little further until he was tugging you into his chest. Clearly seeking comfort, as his nose buried in the hair at the top of your head, and he let out a sigh.

“Fine, I took some of my meds earlier.” 

“And how does the wound feel? Did you do much while I was out?” He hugged you closer, tightening the hug when your arms came up to wrap around him, and you realised you were seeking just as much comfort from him as he was searching for from you, right now.

“I watched my movie, and I put away the dishes from earlier. That’s it.”

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing through the clean but tangled locks, his lips brushing your forehead. Your heart was thumping steadily, pressed up to him as he held you close, and you snuggled into his shoulder.

“You know, I’m going to have to go home at some point. There’s no litter tray here. I’m pretty sure you don’t want the cat to pee on your fancy suits.” You both felt and heard the groan he let out, his cheek still pressed to the top of your head but he eventually pulled back from the embrace.

“You are home. I’ll send someone to fetch the litter tray.” His words were spoken tiredly, suppressing a yawn, and you reached up to brush stray hair out of his eyes, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I kind of already did move you in, I’d be pretty put out if you said no.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes at him, but the smile you wore only grew fonder. “Is that a yes?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer as your cat came running in, a loud meow being made as he charged at the couches. You watched him go, jumping up onto the plush leather, and moving around in circles before he settled down against a cushion. His claws flexed, kneading the sift filling and his eyes closed, a loud purr taking over. “I think that’s a yes from us both.”

The cat let out another small mew, and you giggled in response. Stiles’ hands dropped down to your own, lifting them up to his face so that he could press a kiss to each of your knuckles, eyes mixed on yours as he waited for your answer. “Okay, I’ll move in, but you have to change the litter trays half of the time.”

“Deal.”