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bookworm551 · 4 months

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Take the Edge Off | Part 9 | Stitches

Summary: After a failed mission, Miguel needs to patch you up.

A/N: well, new year, new chapter (finally). I’m getting real close to finishing up this series, maybe 2 more parts. This took forever bc I needed a filler and had no idea what to do, and this is also the longest part so far. At least I know where to go from here, so I should have the next part up relatively soon 💀

Warnings: smut (duh), canon-typical violence, wound care

10.2k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10

You had grossly underestimated how difficult catching Ghost would be.

The main issue was finding him. He was smart, and he seemed to realize that anytime he spent too much time in one dimension, you and the team would pounce, and like water in your hand, he always managed to slip away. The closest you came to catching him was about three weeks after your bet, and it was an absolute shit show.

"Fuck me," you grunted under your breath when another explosion knocked you into the wall. Ghost came from a universe with hammerspace, and every new dimension he traveled to, he managed to store away more and more dangerous equipment. Now, you were there in some alleyway, half your team missing, fighting off a barrage of missiles, bombs, and sharp projectiles.

Across from you, Ben was tangled in a net trap, and Malala was groaning on the floor as she recovered from an intense electrical shock. Clenching your jaw, you leapt off the wall at Ghost. You were getting aggravated by how difficult this was. Why couldn't he be a regular villain and let you catch him?

Anticipating your move, Ghost jumped out of the way. You webbed him and yanked him toward yourself. Rather than fighting your pull, Ghost flew at you and pounced on your form, knocking you flat on your back. He drove his fists into your ribs, and you cried out as electricity coursed through your body. He held his fists, adorned in makeshift gauntlets, to you as you lay paralyzed by pain.

"Where's the big guy?" He asked you, his voice low and silky. "He's always a good time." You weren't even able to breathe from the shocks pulsing in your ribs, but before you would've been able to answer him, your attention was captured by the sight of a yellow portal to your right.

For one dreadful moment, you thought it was Ghost's escape. His slippery nature was due to the watch he had stolen from Ben all those months ago, and it seemed almost impossible to keep him in one dimension long enough to catch him.

To your tremendous relief however, Miguel's muscular form flew out of the portal, knocking the anomaly off of your body. You took a ragged breath as the two men tumbled to your side. "Oh! Here you are!" Ghost laughed, pushing himself off the floor to face Miguel. "We were just talking about you."

Miguel turned his head for a moment to assess your form still gasping for breath. "You're late," you wheezed to him as you rolled onto your side to stand up again. You'd been here fighting alongside Ben and Malala since the alert from Lyla had gone out, and Miguel was only just now showing up. You didn't even know where Jess and the others were.

Seeing that you were well enough to give him sass, Miguel turned back to face Ghost, shooting a web that Ghost easily avoided. "You missed," he teased, but he was quickly eating his words when Miguel yanked the dumpster he had webbed instead and slammed it into the arrogant anomaly.

While Ghost was still recovering from his hit, Miguel threw his containment unit device at Ghost’s form. It slid right next to him, but a microsecond before it deployed, the anomaly rolled away, causing the orange force field to envelop nothing.

"Interesting," Ghost stated, sounding genuinely fascinated as he observed the glowing orange cage. You huffed in irritation, finally managing to sit up now that your muscles weren't spasming anymore. As much as you usually enjoyed banter with your enemies, you were not in the mood.

Miguel lunged after Ghost, who pulled another weapon seemingly out of nowhere and fired a spray of spinning razors at him. Miguel began twisting through the air, managing to evade every blade with expert precision.

Unfortunately for you, your screaming muscles weren’t able to move quite as fast as you needed. You leapt through the air to try and dodge the razors, but midair, one clipped you right in the shoulder, cutting deep from the front of your shoulder down almost to your back.

You cried out in pain, slamming hard into the ground as you fell. The wind was knocked out of your lungs, and you lay there struggling to breathe while hot pain blossomed in your shoulder.

Hearing your pained cry, Miguel froze, his body automatically turning to find you. You lay there a moment before moving to roll onto your good side. You pushed yourself up with a groan, and you were surprised to find Miguel at your side and pressing you back down to the floor. “Don’t move,” he urged as he gently held you down.

Even though his face was hidden, you could see he was examining your wound. “I’m fine,” you grunted, moving to sit up again. Miguel must’ve seen that you weren’t too terribly wounded and watched you carefully while you sat up off the ground before finally saying, “Okay.”

Together, you turned back to face Ghost. He was standing with a curious look on his face and an unsettling smile on his lips. “Now, that is interesting,” he said. Before either of you could move at him, Malala came swinging in a blur and knocked the anomaly off his feet. “I’m getting real tired of his gabbing,” she muttered, sounding as aggravated as you felt.

Ghost didn’t stay down for long. “It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he observed. He quickly typed something into his watch, and a portal opened up beside him. “No!” Miguel snarled, leaving your side to lunge after him. You also stood up, grinding your teeth in pain as you leapt after him.

To buy himself time, Ghost threw down two small capsules that flashed brightly, making you balk. When the sun spots faded from your eyes, there was still a thick cloud of smoke around you, causing you to cough weakly. Your eyes scanned the alley for your rival, and you found him scooping up the containment unit device Miguel had thrown.

You flung yourself at him, trying to web the device from his hands. Hitting his arm, you pulled him forward with all your strength. He flew at your body, but when you raised a hand to hit him with your bad arm, pain flared from your shoulder and caused you to stumble, and you only managed a weak punch.

Seeing your pain, Ghost pulled a knife out of who-knows-where and severed the line between you. Scrambling away, he jumped for the portal and fell inside it just as Miguel tried to catch him, and within a breath, the portal to an unknown dimension closed.

“No!” Miguel shouted in frustration, his fist punching the wall where the portal had been mere seconds ago. You let out an aggravated breath. This was the closest you had ever been to catching Ghost, so frustratingly close that it made your chest burn in anger.

There was a tense second where nobody spoke. You could see that Miguel was breathing hard. At your side, Malala stood up with a heavy sigh and moved over to help Ben who was still entangled in a net.

Miguel whirled on you. “What happened?!” Miguel shouted at you. You gaped at him incredulously. “You’re asking me?!” You shot back angrily. “Where the hell were you when the alert went out?”

Miguel’s mask retracted to reveal his scowling face. “We had him!” he snarled, ignoring your question and directing his anger towards you.

Your frustration boiled in your chest. Not only had Miguel been late to the call, but his accusatory words were some of the first that he had spoken directly to you since he added you to the team. It had been weeks since you had spoken to each other. It seemed as though since your last encounter, he had been avoiding you. Your interactions had been brief and relevant only to the mission, and you hadn’t even spent any time alone together since you had been added to the team.

“Yeah, we had him,” you repeated angrily, your own mask retracting. “We had him until you stopped going after him.” His face contorted into a scowl, and his figure towered over you. “You had plenty of time to incapacitate him,” he argued.

You scoffed. “Yeah, I had plenty of time waiting for you to show up,” you shot back. “And as soon as you do, you turn your back on him.”

“You were hurt,” he stated sharply. His eyes fell to your shoulder, and you thought that some of his anger dissipated from his face. “You are hurt,” he corrected himself, his voice still sharp but a bit less angry.

You almost scoffed again, but when you looked down at your shoulder, you grimaced. Your suit had retracted around your cut, exposing the deep slice in your shoulder. In your adrenaline-fueled state, you had only briefly felt it, but now, seeing it slowly oozing blood, the pain was suddenly very noticeable.

"Shit," you sighed under your breath. You were used to dressing your own wounds, but this one was in a spot that was going to be difficult to treat. "I'll be fine," you said dismissively.

Miguel seemed to compose himself a little bit. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh before looking back at your shoulder. "You need stitches," he said.

You rolled your eyes. "I said I'll be fine," you repeated firmly. "Don't be stupid," he replied in a flat voice. "And don't try to tell me you can do it yourself." You closed your mouth and huffed. That's exactly what you were about to say.

"Fine, I'll get Jess to do it," you stated in exasperation. "Happy?"

"Like hell you will," he muttered, typing something into his watch. A portal opened beside you, and Miguel looked back at you, irritation still evident on his face though perhaps not so much as before.

"What?" You asked expectantly. He shot you an impatient look. "Go," he told you sharply. You shifted your stance defiantly, stubbornly remaining where you were. "I don't want to go with you," you argued. He sighed in exasperation. "Would you stop being so damn stubborn and go through the stupid portal?" He snapped.

You stared up at him in contempt. His demanding tone and harsh mannerisms made you feel resistant to accepting any of his help. After ignoring you for weeks and snapping at you during this failure of a mission, he was the last person you wanted seeing you in pain.

You both continued staring at each other, each refusing to look away first. You felt blood oozing down your back, and the pain was really starting to radiate in your shoulder. Miguel stared at you with a deadpan expression, knowing it was only a matter of time before you would give in.

You realized with a wave of aggravation that he was going to win your staring standoff. With a sigh, you grit your teeth together and looked down in defeat. "Fine," you muttered sourly. Pushing past him, you walked into the portal and didn't bother looking back to see if he was coming.

You weren't quite sure what you were expecting on the other side of the portal, but you were somewhat surprised to find yourself standing in Miguel's room. It was just as you remembered it from weeks ago— simple, neat, and barely used.

From behind you, Miguel stepped into the room, not even sparing you a glance before heading to the bathroom. You hesitated for a moment before reluctantly following after him. He pulled out a large black bag onto the counter space filled with all sorts of medical equipment. He was laying out materials for suturing as you walked in.

"Sit."

You scoffed in annoyance. "I know you know how to say please," you grumbled. He didn't respond, turning to his sink to wash his hands rather than answering you. If you had been in a pettier mood, you wouldn't have moved until he asked nicely, but you were in pain and ready to get it over with, so you pushed yourself up onto the counter by the sink and waited for him.

Miguel pulled a pair of gloves over his hands and inspected your wound carefully. "Your suit," he said flatly, indicating that it was in the way. Sighing, you let your suit retract just enough to reveal half your torso for him. It didn't matter that this man had seen you completely naked on several occasions, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you undressed now, even if he was only going to stitch you up.

Miguel began with wiping away the blood from the skin around your wound. You flinched hard. The pressure he used was light but still painful, and you closed your eyes to fight the grimace that was trying to show. It took you a second to realize that this was the first time he'd touched you in weeks.

Despite your irritation towards him, you couldn’t help but notice how closely he was standing to you. From the corner of your eye, you watched his face as he worked diligently to take care of you. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched as he focused his attention on your skin, and there was only the sounds of his soft, steady breathing in your ear.

When he was satisfied with how your skin looked, he sprayed antiseptic on it before asking, “Do you want something for the pain?” You considered it for half a moment before shaking your head. You had managed stitches before, and it wasn’t as painful as some other shit you’d experienced before.

He waited to see if you’d change your mind before lifting the threaded needle with his forceps. Despite your resolution against painkillers, you ground your teeth as the needle punctured your skin. "Sorry," Miguel murmured softly as he pulled the suture through your skin. He was obviously trying to work as gently as possible, but pain was inevitable with suturing.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you tried your best to ignore the pain, but with how slowly he was going and how thick the tension was, you knew you were going to need a distraction.

"Are you sure we couldn't have just used butterfly stitches?" You asked sourly as he pulled the thread again. "Yes," he replied firmly. "This is deep. You got lucky, too. If it had been just a few inches over, the blade would've hit your neck, and you'd need a lot more than sutures."

"It wasn't luck," you replied pointedly. "It was skill." Miguel gave a disbelieving snort as he pulled the thread tight. "If you really had skill, it wouldn't have hit you at all," he mumbled.

You huffed indignantly. "Oh, please," you began, "don't pretend like you haven't had to take a few hits before. It's practically in the job description."

Miguel didn't reply as he pierced the needle through your skin again, causing you to wince at the pain. You thought he was going to make some sharp bullshit retort about how he didn't get as hurt as you, but instead, he just sighed.

"This was too close," he murmured at last.

Your defensive attitude softened considerably at his words. Studying his face closely, you realized that he wasn't being critical, he was being protective. With your new understanding, you almost felt bad for being angry at him.

"I've had closer," you told him wryly. He frowned. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He asked in a dull voice. You have a small huff in amusement. "It's supposed to show you that you don't have to worry about me," you explained earnestly.

He didn't say anything to you as he continued sewing up your cut. The sting of the needle caused you to wince again, and you tried to think of something to talk about to distract you from the pain.

"At least I don't have to fix up my suit," you said at last, hoping he would pick up the conversation. Miguel hummed before replying, "It's almost impossible to destroy unstable molecule fabric."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Well if it was impossible to destroy, wouldn't it protect me from even getting cut?"

"That's not how it works," he told you flatly.

"So then how does it work?"

He gave a short sigh, indicating to you that he was not in the mood to entertain your curiosity. Nevertheless, he did. "The molecules work almost as a form of energy," he explained. "They assess the host molecules and change with them. The suit learns your body and reacts with it."

Another stitch was added, but you didn't feel it quite as much as before.

"When you were cut, it didn't destroy the suit," he continued, "it interrupted it. Your skin was damaged, and the suit left it exposed because your wound isn't the default for the molecules."

You studied his face as he spoke, a smile slowly growing on your lips. When he had finished explaining the science of the suit, he seemed to feel your stare and glanced down at you, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Nerd," you said at last.

That seemed to pull him out of his grumpiness somewhat, and he turned his attention back to your shoulder. "You asked," he mumbled, but the sharp edge that was in his voice was gone.

"So then how does the suit retract into my web shooters?" You asked, genuinely interested in knowing more about the fascinating technology you wore everyday, and it definitely helped distract you from the pain.

"Since the suit can take on an energy form," he explained, "it can be stored in the web shooters as a form of data." You stared down at the web shooters on your wrists. It was amazing that such an unsuspecting piece of technology housed such powerful energy.

"They look just like my old pair," you noted. Miguel nodded, his eyes never leaving your shoulder as he worked. "I know, that's what I was aiming for," he said, "but I was thrown off by the web cartridges you use."

You smirked. "Pretty cool, right?" You said proudly. "I built a system that condenses the water in the air and converts it into a hydropolymer to supplement my web supply. It's not as strong as my original formula, but it saves me from having a web block."

Miguel's eyebrows lifted somewhat as he listened. If you hadn't known better, you could almost say he was impressed. He must've noticed your staring because he turned his eyes to meet yours, and his face softened.

"Nerd," he said.

You smiled in return and rolled your eyes. "Whatever," you mumbled playfully. His lips widened fractionally, and his eyes returned back to your shoulder. You felt more relaxed now. The anger and irritation you were feeling before had disappeared as soon as you saw him smile.

"How's it looking, doc?" You asked after a moment, trying to turn your head to see his progress. “Don’t move your head,” Miguel said and nudged your face with the back of his wrist. "And you're not going to be doing any swinging for the next few days.” Your eyes snapped up to look at him. "It's not that bad," you argued weakly. "I'll be fine."

Miguel gave you a stern look. "In your shoulder, it is that bad," he said. "If you tear this, it's going to scar even worse than it's already going to now."

You rolled your eyes again. "Well, you know better than most that this isn't my first or worst scar," you argued, "and it probably won't be my last." It was true. Your body was covered in scars large and small, old and new, and this was just another addition to your collection.

Miguel didn't reply to you. He had worked steadily from the back of your shoulder to the front, but the closer he got to your neck, the worse the pain felt. You did your best to remain neutral, but you couldn't help the small grunt of discomfort that sounded in your throat. Miguel heard it and asked gently, "Do you want something for the pain?"

You shook your head in response. "I have my own stuff," you told him before a crooked grin pulled on your lips. "But you know what I've heard is a natural pain killer?" You added slyly.

Miguel heard the mischief in your voice, and he looked back at your face with suspicion. "What?" He asked carefully.

In a sweet tone, you answered, "Kissing."

Miguel gave you a disapproving look, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I told you not until we get the anomaly," he said pointedly.

You weren't discouraged by his assertion. "I just want to see if it works," you told him innocently. "It's an experiment."

"With an ulterior motive."

"The motive is to get rid of the pain."

He still wore a skeptical look, so you tried again. "It's for science," you explained, batting your eyes at him. After weeks of not touching him, you longed to feel his body against your own.

Miguel was unconvinced. He gave an unimpressed hum and pulled his needle through your skin again. It seemed he wasn't going to budge. Heaving a large sigh, you continued, "But if you don't want to participate, maybe I'll find someone else who does."

Miguel pulled his stitch tight, making you wince. "I bet you think that's funny," he said in a flat voice.

"I bet you don't," you shot back.

"Because it's not."

"Well," you began slowly, hesitating as you wondered if you should even start this conversation with him. You’d thought a lot about him the past few weeks, and barely seeing him for weeks now had made you realize that being a casual fling wasn’t what you wanted anymore. "I know you've expressed many times that this isn't a relationship,” you said carefully, “so I don't really see what the issue is."

Your heart was beating a little faster now. Your words opened the door to a conversation that you were both eager and terrified to have. You wanted desperately to know how he felt about you, about whatever this was between you. You were also nervous that he didn't feel what you felt or want what you wanted.

At your words, Miguel's face darkened. He stayed quiet for a second before he resumed suturing. "If that's what you want," he muttered at last.

There was a tense silence that settled between you. You stared up at his hardened face, trying to determine what he was thinking.

"It's not," you replied quietly, "but being on this break got me thinking."

"About?"

"About how I feel about this whole arrangement."

The tense silence returned. Miguel's eyes were fixed determinedly on your shoulder, and his eyebrows furrowed as he listened to what you said.

"You want to end it?" He asked, his voice level and neutral.

"No," you said a bit too quickly. "It's just..." you trailed off, trying to think of the best way to tell him what you wanted. Doubt nibbled at your mind, and you wondered if this was even a good idea at all.

Miguel noticed your apprehension, and he stopped sewing your wound to give you his undivided attention. His dark eyes met yours, and he was so close to you that it caused your heart to flutter.

You looked away to regain your thoughts. "I know that this is supposed to be a casual thing," you began slowly. "And I know what you said about time and relationships. I just..." you sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the counter. "I don't want to be just a diversion for you, a mindless distraction that you can pick up or put down as you please."

Your face burned as you spoke, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at his face. Miguel murmured your name softly, and you closed your eyes to keep from seeing his reaction.

"If that's still what you still want, that's fine," you continued quickly. "I'm not trying to force you into something you don't want." You sighed as you opened your eyes again. "That's just how I feel," you finished quietly.

Silence enveloped you, suffocating, nerve-wracking silence. After a couple heartbeats, you forced yourself to look up at Miguel. He was still staring at you, but instead of wearing an awkward or even condescending expression as you had expected, his face was soft, almost thoughtful.

You stared at each other quietly for a moment longer before he finally turned his gaze back to your shoulder. Picking up his hands again, he began working on your sutures without reply.

Your stomach tightened anxiously at his silence, and you felt a wave of disappointment wash over you. You didn't feel the pain of your wound anymore now that your mind was racing with what you just said and Miguel's utter lack of response.

"It's not that I don't want it," he said at last. "Because I do."

Your eyes shot up to his face as he spoke. His gaze was still fixed on your stitches, but you could see clearly that he was thinking about what you just said.

"Then what is it?" You asked quietly.

Miguel took a moment to respond, his hands never ceasing their work. "I built my whole life around what we're doing here," he began slowly. "When I say I don't have time for a relationship, it means I can't give you the time you deserve." He glanced over at your face briefly before returning back to your shoulder, his eyes growing distant.

"The last time I let myself get close to someone, I hurt a lot of people," he added quietly. "More than I could ever make up for." He paused for a moment and sighed. "I just don't want to see that happen to you," he said softly.

Your heart ached. You remembered what he told you, how his actions triggered the destruction of a universe. The burden of his past still clearly weighed on his conscious, and you didn't know what to say to him to comfort him.

In the silence following, Miguel tied off the last stitch. With a pair of scissors from the kit, he snipped the line. You looked down at the neat row of sutures that held your cut closed. His work was precise, and you knew it was miles better than what you could've done by yourself.

Miguel was cleaning up his materials, clearly trying to avoid eye contact with you as he did. You watched for a second before taking a deep breath.

"You know, I've learned a lot of things since I was bitten by that stupid spider," you began, breaking the silence around you. "First, pain is unavoidable." You pointed to your shoulder's fresh stitches. "Case in point," you said wryly.

Miguel didn't react to your weak joke. He continued packing his materials away, but you could tell he was still listening to what you were saying.

"My second lesson," you continued, "was that I would always be alone."

Miguel paused, and his eyes turned back to your face. "There was nobody who knows what it's like to be me," you explained. "Nobody who knew what I've sacrificed. I had nobody to trust with this secret life, and the longer I did this, the more I regretted being Spider-Woman."

You stared down at the web shooters adorning your wrists as you contemplated your own words. You had never told anybody this before, not even the other Spiders. You had suffered so much by yourself, and only now for the first time did you feel like you could share your life with someone.

"But when I came here," you continued quietly, "it all changed. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who did understand, who also felt how I did." You paused again, and you finally looked up at his face. His eyes were watching you with a look of understanding and sympathy that made your throat tighten unexpectedly.

Your eyes broke away from his stare again, and you stated quietly, "When you offered me a place here, I wasn't alone anymore."

Miguel nodded softly. "That's what I wanted," he replied. "A community for people like us." You tilted your head up at him and studied his countenance. "Then why do you still act like you're doing it alone?" You asked.

He sighed uncomfortably, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the sink counter. "In a lot of ways, I am doing it alone," he stated quietly. "Everyone here enjoys doing the missions, seeing all the new dimensions, and meeting new Spiders. I'm the one who has to do all the damage control, the recruitment, the dirty work." He sighed again and muttered grimly, "I don't always like what I have to do."

You raised an eyebrow at his melodramatic statement. "You know, it would probably be more enjoyable if you actually interacted with the other Spiders," you told him with a pointed look.

Miguel huffed a short breath. "I'm not trying to get close to anyone," he stated firmly. That made you pause and tilt your head in interest. "Then what am I?" You asked, a curious smile pulling at your mouth.

His gloomy expression lifted somewhat as he looked at you. He uncrossed his arms and planted them on the counter on either side of your body, and he stared at your face thoughtfully. You stared back, waiting for an answer.

"You," he began slowly, "were a distraction to take the edge off." You hummed thoughtfully in response, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. "And now?" You prompted, your eyes falling to his lips.

"And now," he echoed, "you're the person I bring back to my room to stitch up because I don't trust anyone else to do it."

You smiled at him, and your stomach fluttered at how close he was to you. You wanted so badly to kiss him. Your lips yearned for the feeling of his mouth against yours.

"I guess that makes me pretty special," you replied smugly.

A glimmer of reluctant amusement shone in his face, and he tilted his head in mock consideration. "I think 'special' is a stretch," he stated coolly. You placed a hand over your heart dramatically. "Ouch," you gasped. "And you wonder why I joke about going to other people."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "I don't wonder," he stated. "I know exactly why you do it."

"And why is that?" You asked coyly.

Miguel shot you an unconvinced look. "Because it gets under my skin, and you know it," he replied. You smirked, unable to deny the truth in his statement.

"If that's true, then that would make me a horrible person," you told him.

"You are a horrible person."

Your smile widened, and with your good arm, you raised your hand to his chest and let it slowly wander up to wrap behind his neck. "Then why do you like me?" You asked innocently.

Miguel was looking at your lips now, and there was a hint of playfulness in his face. "'Like' is a strong word," he said thoughtfully. "I think 'tolerate' is more accurate."

You rolled your eyes with a smile. "Damn, is there anything in the first aid kit for a broken heart?" You joked. He couldn't stop himself from smiling softly at your theatrics. "You're ridiculous," he said.

You hummed, pulling him closer to your face. "You love it," you insisted. His nose brushed against yours before he repeated, "I tolerate it." You chuckled and gave a careful shrug. "Same difference," you said before pulling his lips down against yours.

You couldn't resist smiling against his lips as you kissed him for the first time in weeks. You were savoring every sweet second of his body against yours. His mouth moved slowly against your own, and he snaked an arm around your torso, making your face glow with a faint blush.

His words echoed in your head. It's not that I don't want it. So, he did feel the same way you did, or at least, to some degree he did. The thought alone made your stomach flutter, and you ran your fingers through his hair while trying to memorize how his lips felt against yours.

When you finally broke apart, you still wore a smile on your face as his forehead rested on yours. "Oh wow, that does help with the pain," you commented. The pain had subsided considerably when his mouth was pressed against yours.

Miguel chuckled and kissed you again briefly. "Consider your experiment a success," he said. You hummed thoughtfully. "I would be an irresponsible scientist if I didn't repeat my experiment to prove its validity," you argued, earning a smile from him before you pressed your lips to his again.

It felt so good to kiss him, especially after the shitty failure that was today's mission, and the warmth of his body melted all your troubles away from your mind. You didn't care about the mission or your injury. He was here with you, everything else could wait.

With your fingers still running through his hair, you grabbed a fistful of jet-black strands and deepened your kiss, pushing your tongue into his mouth with a sigh. His hand on your waist tightened while he grunted softly into your mouth.

Breaking away from your lips, Miguel murmured your name in a low, warning voice. "Hmm?" You replied innocently, looking up at his dark eyes through your lashes. "We had an agreement," he said.

"Yeah, when I was on the team," you told him. "But you just said that I need to lay off for a few days..." you gave him a pointed look, "...which means I'm technically off the team for a few days..." you pulled his face back down to yours, "...which means that our agreement is null and void."

With that, you pressed your lips to his in a deep kiss before he could argue back. It was a weak argument, and you knew it, but you didn't want him to challenge it. You wanted him to want you.

His grip around your waist tightened as he pushed against your tongue with his own. You couldn't help the small moan you gave as his passion began to show, and all the longing you'd been feeling for Miguel the past couple weeks began welling up inside you.

Your lips separated for a moment. "Treacherous," he murmured breathlessly against your skin. You hummed, blinking your eyes open to look at him. His face looked restless, and you knew he was hungry for more.

"So I've been told," you replied smugly as you moved your lips down to his neck. Miguel gave a deep sigh at the feeling of your kisses on his sensitive skin, skin that felt warm and soft to the touch.

In your growing desire for him, your teeth gently nipped his bare flesh. Miguel sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation, his fingers gripping your waist tightly as he whispered your name again. You smiled deviously as his reaction, and your legs wrapped around his hips to bring his body flush against yours.

"Give me more," you mumbled against his skin. Miguel took a second to respond, his breathing ragged as he tried to keep his composure. "You're hurt," he argued weakly. Based on his strained voice, you knew he had all but given in to the craving of your touch. You raised your head up so that you could look him in his dark, restless eyes, noses brushing gently as you were both panting lightly in anticipation.

"Then make me feel better."

That was all you had to say before he kissed you with the hunger of a touch-starved man. He pulled you off the sink in one swift movement, holding you upright with your legs still wrapped around his waist, and walked out of the bathroom to where his bed was waiting for you both.

Finally, you thought. The tension between you these past few weeks had been torture. Seeing each other around HQ after your last encounter and not saying a word in passing was aggravating, and you had been longing for the moment when you could wrap your arms (and legs) around him again.

When his legs hit the side of the bed, he lowered you carefully down onto it. You still had your good arm wrapped around his shoulders, and when he placed you on the top of his bed, you hissed in pain and clung to his body. The edge of your stitched-up wound had touched the comforter, making it sting.

"Maybe not like this," you said with a light chuckle.

A flash of concern crossed Miguel's face when he realized your pain, and he moved to roll off of you. Still holding yourself close to his body, you rolled with him and found yourself straddling his lap.

With a smirk, you hovered your face over his. "Much better," you stated smugly. Miguel was still assessing your face for any traces of discomfort. "Are you sure you're up for this?" He asked. You shot him a look. You would've thought he was trying to find a way out of it if it weren't for the fact that his fingers were unconsciously trying to move your hips against his hardening cock.

"I've been craving you for weeks," you whispered against his lips. "It would take more than this to keep me off of you." His face gave way to a smile at your words, a true smile that filled his whole face. Fuck, he looked so good. The way he lit up with you knocked the wind out of you, and you could've stayed there forever just admiring the beautiful smile he had before he raised his head to kiss you.

You leaned into him, growing hot with desire. Your suit, so attuned to what your body wanted, retracted all the way back to your web shooters. Miguel's hands traced across the skin of your torso as his tongue slid against yours, and his suit also disappeared from his body.

Feeling his skin against yours set your heart racing. His fingertips felt electric as his hands wandered up your back to unclasp your bra. Careful not to hit your new stitches, he removed it from your body, taking in the sight of your bare body with a lustful expression before lowering his head to take one of your breasts in his mouth.

You sucked in a sharp breath as he moved his mouth sloppily over your skin. Leaning into him, you ran a hand through his dark hair and grabbed fistfuls of the strands. You missed this, the feeling of him exploring your body. It was so much more than taking the edge off now. It was almost like a form of worship.

"Feeling better?" He murmured, tilting his head up to watch your enraptured expression. "Mhmm," you hummed, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. "But don't you dare stop."

Miguel smirked. "Wasn't planning on it," he replied in a low voice. As he spoke, his hands slid down your body and began pushing your underwear down over your ass. Leaning forward, you lifted your legs to allow his hands to remove your last piece of clothing.

You were breathing hard in anticipation now. You placed sloppy kisses on his chest, his neck, practically any of his tanned skin that you could reach. From his throat, the softest little moans sounded in response to your touch, and each fueled your desire. In your desperation, your teeth grazed his skin again.

His breath caught in his throat, and his fingers dug into your skin. You smirked, enjoying his reaction to your teasing. "You like that, don't you?" You observed slyly. Before you could give him the opportunity to respond, you bit down on the muscle at the base of his neck, not enough to be painful but enough to leave a mark.

He moaned loudly, an unrestrained sound that demonstrated the power you had over him. You released the skin between your teeth before moving them up his neck and biting him there, gentler than before. You were fairly certain he stopped breathing for a moment as you bit down on his soft skin. When the moment passed, you let go again, moving your mouth up and nipping his earlobe.

Miguel was practically paralyzed by your touch, and you could feel his heart racing wildly under your hand. He was completely at your mercy, unable to stop you even if he had wanted to.

But you knew he didn't want you to stop.

Still holding a fistful of his hair, you pulled firmly and tilted his head back to expose his neck to you. Letting his earlobe slip out of your teeth, you moved your mouth to his jaw, placing a kiss on the skin there before gently biting it.

He groaned your name. There was a desperate edge to his voice that made your cunt ache for him. When you moved your lips up to his, he kissed you with such fervor that it was less like he was kissing you and more like he was trying to devour you, like being completely pressed against you wasn't close enough.

"I need to...be inside you," he gasped, his lips still trying to kiss you as he spoke. He sounded as breathless as you felt, and when you opened your eyes to look at him, his eyes were hungry with his desire for you.

Maybe if it hadn't been so long since you'd been together, you would've prolonged the teasing, exacerbated his frustration, but you found that you were also desperate to feel him inside you. Every inch of your body burned for him, and you knew he burned for you, too.

Settling back down slowly on his lap, you allowed Miguel to guide your hips to his cock. Your forehead rested against his, and you gave a small gasp when you felt the tip tease at the entrance of your pussy. Giving Miguel another messy kiss, you lowered yourself down his length.

God, he felt good.

Your head lolled back as he stretched you out so perfectly for the first time in weeks. Miguel released a hot breath against the skin of your neck, his hands holding your hips tightly as he slid into your tight cunt.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered. "I've missed this."

If you had been in a clearer state of mind, you would've pointed out it was his own damn fault for making the stupid rule in the first place. But right now, the only thing on your mind was that you needed to move your body against his.

Raising your hips up again, a loud groan spilled from your lips. You'd almost forgotten just how big he was. His cock was buried deep inside you, setting every nerve on fire. Every muscle in your body tightened with the feeling of his dick sliding out of you, and your hands, one still in his hair and the other holding onto his back, curled tightly as you clung to him.

You moved back down again, your eyes closed tightly with the sensations of riding him. Miguel's hands gripped your waist tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as you moved slowly up and down the length of his cock. His breathing was shaky, and so was yours. Neither of you said anything as you took the time to reacquaint yourselves with the feeling of each other's bodies.

You soon grew impatient with the slow pace you were keeping. You raised your hips off of his lap with greater need, grinding your pussy down hard against him as you did. Miguel's reaction was immediate, and you heard a growl deep in his throat. His hands encouraged your pace and eased some of the effort off of your knees.

The sound of your ass smacking against his lap filled the air, and combined with the sounds of his heavy panting, it only fueled your lust-crazed mind. Blinking open your eyes, you looked at Miguel and found that he was staring up at your face. A shimmer of sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his lips were parted as he breathed hard.

Your eyes locked with his dark gaze. Even as you continued to move along his length, you couldn't help but feel utterly paralyzed by his stare, so brazen and intentional, completely in awe of you. It made you feel powerful, revered.

Loved.

You managed to break out of your paralyzed stupor and crash your lips down on his. Now, you were the one who felt as though you couldn't be close enough to him. Even with his cock pumping in and out of you with ever-increasing speed, you wondered if there was anything that could satisfy your need for him.

Your pace was uncontrollable now. Small, whining moans escaped your mouth with every rise and fall of your hips. Miguel's fingers dug into your waist tightly, and he grunted as he pulled away from your lips.

"Wait," he gasped quietly.

Your eyes snapped open, and you froze. Was something wrong? Were you doing something he didn't like?

Miguel's face struggled to compose itself. "You need to slow down," he finally said. You stared at him for a second before you understood what was happening.

A wicked grin grew on your face. "Why?" You asked deviously. Miguel shot you a glare, his chest heaving. "You know why," he grunted. "Just slow down."

Still wearing your devilish smile, you started moving your hips again. "I don't want to," you told him, your words sounding almost childish as you choked back a whine. Miguel cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought against the pleasure your cunt brought him.

"Wait, wait," he groaned again, trying to hold you still. Now, this was a power trip if you'd ever felt one. You knew you were only a few moments away from causing him to unravel. Now, he was begging you to ease up because he knew he couldn't last against you.

You grabbed his jaw in one hand, forcing his face to look up at you. "Why should I?" You demanded to know. He was panting hard, and his eyes seemed hazy and unfocused.

"I need to take care of you first," he managed to breathe. You huffed an amused breath. He never failed to get you off, and despite the fact that you were more than happy to finish him off in record timing, you were inclined to let him take over for you.

Miguel placed a soft kiss to your lips. "Let me take care of you," he pleaded in a whisper. "Let me taste you."

The thought alone of what he could do with his tongue was enough to make you moan. Instead of replying, you kissed him hard before lifting your hips up off of him entirely. You felt a twinge of regret from the loss of his cock inside you, but when he slowly rolled you over, the rush of anticipation quickly replaced it.

Miguel pulled you to the edge of the bed, careful not to cause your stitches to hit the comforter. With your good arm, you were propped up by your elbow while he slowly moved down your body. He placed tantalizing kisses on your throat, your collar, your breasts, your stomach, practically every inch of your body he could see. With every kiss, you felt like your body was slowly being set on fire, and you moaned impatiently as he slid off the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms under your thighs the way he loved to do.

When his mouth finally landed over your pussy, you nearly fell back against the bed. A cry of pleasure tore from your throat. The hand you weren't leaning on came up and grabbed his hair while you squirmed in his grip. His lips were sealed over your pussy. He was alternately sucking at your clit and circling it with his tongue. You struggled to breathe as he continued working at a careful pace.

"Miguel," you gasped, your thighs flexing beneath his hands.

Miguel moaned against you, his movements growing faster and faster. His head pressed firmly against you. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you tried to keep your arm from buckling. His tongue moved expertly against you, lapping hungrily at your swollen clit. You tugged at his hair as you tried moving under his arms, but his grip kept you in place.

Your head fell back with a long whine. You knew at the rate he was going that you weren't going to last long. He was all too familiar with the way your body worked, and he knew exactly where to focus his efforts to get you off.

Lifting your head up again, you blinked your eyes open to look down at him. Half of his face was blocked by your arm, so you released the hold you had on his hair, letting your hand trace the edge of his face. His dark eyes were gazing up at you intently, watching your every reaction.

Letting your hand fall away from his face, it rested on your thigh as you let out another high-pitched moan. Without stopping his tongue, Miguel released his grip on your leg and took your hand in his. You looked down at him and squeezed his hand while he continued swirling his tongue over your pussy.

"Don't stop," you panted, your stomach tensing from his movement. He tightened his grip in two quick pulses, and even though his mouth never left your cunt, you could practically hear the words he was thinking—I won't.

Your legs were shaking now, and you barely had the strength to keep yourself up off the bed. Pleasure was taking over your body and coiling at your stomach. Miguel knew you were close by the quickening of your breath and the tightening of your grip, his tongue maintaining its steady pressure.

Finally, with a loud cry, your body began trembling under his touch. You squeezed his hand hard as you came against his mouth. The feeling of ecstasy burned in every part of your body while you struggled to breathe from the pleasure that had now completely overwhelmed you.

Miguel eased his pace to lazy circles, his eyes alight with smug satisfaction. You writhed under his mouth, growing restless from the overstimulation you were beginning to feel. "Oh, fuck," you gasped, moving your hips to escape his warm tongue. He let you move away from his face, releasing his grip on your hand and thigh.

Miguel pushed himself off the ground and began crawling over your body. "See?" he said in satisfaction, sounding out of breath. "I'll always take care of you." You moaned again, still trying to recover from your high. "Careful O'Hara," you managed to say. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

He smirked down at you, his lips and chin glistening with your wetness. Pushing forward, his body forced yours down. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, clinging to him to keep from laying on the bed. "Not like this—my stitches," you whispered.

Miguel froze for a second before placing a hand behind your back to help you up. "How do you want it?" He asked quietly. You took a second and bit your lip as you considered the myriad of ways he could fuck you.

"Like before," you decided finally.

His subtle smile returned, and he rolled off of your body and onto the bed. Pulling yourself up, you straddled him again, though perhaps not so fast since you were still hazy from your orgasm. His hands guided you back down to where his cock was waiting for you.

Miguel rested his head on your good shoulder as you lowered yourself slowly back down on him. His hot breath fanned against your skin as he groaned at the feeling of your wet pussy around him. You let out a strangled gasp, feeling yourself stretch out again for him. You moved slowly, still halfway stuck in the stupor his mouth had left you in, and everything was still so sensitive for you.

Gradually, you began moving again. Miguel's arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing his body up against yours. His skin felt like fire—burning, consuming, enthralling. You rested your head against his as his strong arms helped lift you up and down his length.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted quietly against your cheek. "You don't understand...what you do to me." Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder as he spoke. The movement of his cock inside you made it difficult for you to formulate a response, but you managed to choke out, "Tell me. Tell me what I do to you."

He groaned softly. "You drive me fucking crazy," he muttered. "I can never focus when you're with me—," he groaned again, "—but I can never stop thinking about you when you're not." His arms were moving you up and down faster as he spoke, and you could tell he was fucking out his frustration. "The way you smell," he continued breathlessly, "the way you feel, the way you look when you're cumming all over my cock."

You gasped sharply, the combination of his words and his increasingly desperate pace rendering you speechless. "I want to have you every second...of every day," he murmured in your ear. You were panting hard against his skin while his cock continued driving deep into your aching cunt.

"Then have me," you whispered so quietly that he wouldn't have heard it over the lewd sounds of your fucking if it hadn't been said directly in his ear. "Have me every day."

He groaned, and turning his face, he captured your lips in a kiss. The taste of your pussy still lingered on his mouth, and you moaned softly against his lips. Everything felt so good, and when you broke away from your kiss, you looked deep into Miguel’s eyes and whispered, “I’m yours.”

And just like that, Miguel's body tensed, and with a long moan against your skin, he came inside you. You stilled as he held you tightly against his body. Beside the sound of your heart beating furiously in your ears, there was only your heavy breathing to fill the silence between you.

You could've stayed like that forever, feeling his strong arms wrapped around your body, hearing his breath against your ear. Your body still buzzed with pleasure, and there was nothing in your mind except that cursed phrase you fought so hard to ignore, the one that whispered to you constantly in the back of your brain every time you looked at Miguel.

I love you.

Over and over, it echoed in your mind, begging to be spoken. You'd heard it nagging in your heart for a while now, and you had tried your best to ignore it. Even after weeks of next to no contact, your feelings hadn't wavered for him.

Now, as you sat there wrapped in each other's arms, you felt those words ringing louder than ever, and for one dreadful moment, you thought you might say it out loud.

No—no, you couldn't. A bolt of fear yanked the words off your tongue. You couldn't jeopardize this. It was too precious to you. Even if this was all you could have, the occasional fuck, sleeping together knowing that he would always have to leave for something more important than yourself—wasn't it better than nothing? Wasn't it better than before when you were all alone? Especially now that he admitted to feeling something real for you, you couldn't ruin it with those three words.

Miguel finally moved when he turned his head toward yours. Your noses brushed against each other for moment as you both gasped for breath before your lips pressed down on his. You moaned against him softly. Still holding your body to his, he leaned back against the bed, bringing you down with him so that you lay on his chest.

After your breathing began leveling out, you shifted, allowing his cock to pull out of you with a groan. You slid off his chest onto your good shoulder with your body still pressed against his. You lay there like that for a while in comfortable silence, enjoying the feeling of each other's warm skin.

"It's been too long," Miguel sighed, finally breaking the silence. You smiled. "And whose fault is that?" You asked as you looked up at him. A small smile formed on his lips. "You were the one who swore you'd catch Ghost," he pointed out. "Is it my fault for believing you?"

You scoffed. "It's your fault for making that stupid rule in the first place," you argued. There was a quiet chuckle that rumbled in his chest. "It's called compromise, sweetheart," he said smoothly. "I can't let you have everything you want."

You tried to keep a straight face, but his snark caused your lips to quirk upward. "And why not?" You demanded to know, propping yourself up onto your elbow to look deep in his eyes.

Miguel looked at you with a subtle smile still adorning his face. "Because then everyone is going to complain about how I favor you over everyone else," he replied evenly. "And then, one by one, they'll all leave until it's just you and me."

You hummed thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound so bad," you said, settling back down next to him. "Just you and me against the multiverse."

He hummed as well. "Just you and me," he repeated, and in his voice, you could hear him imagining it, the two of you together across every universe.

You had imagined it before, too. You and Miguel, together, always, through everything. It was such a sweet dream, and yet the truth was the bitter chaser that always followed your longing—different dimensions, different lives. What future could you have together?

If Miguel was thinking the same thing, he didn't say it. He seemed content to just lay with you in silence while his fingers gently caressed your arm.

After a moment, you sighed. You could feel Miguel's head turn to look down at you in curiosity.

"You know, I meant what I said before," you told him softly.

"Hmm?"

"About being more than just a fling you can ignore outside of the bedroom," you explained.

"Ah."

You felt his head turn back up to stare at the ceiling, but his fingers still brushed against your skin. "I mean, is that what you still want?" You asked, lifting your gaze to look at his face. "Be honest."

There was a beat of silence before he quietly answered, "No."

You waited, hoping he would say more. He sounded almost reluctant in his reply, so you could tell there was more to it.

It was Miguel's turn to sigh. "I don't—I don't want this to be casual either," he began slowly. "I want it to be real, but I can't give up my work here. I won't. And one day, you'll hate me for not putting you first."

You scoffed lightly at those last words. "I could never hate you," you told him. There was a slight pause before he muttered, "Don't be so sure."

It could've been a joke, but the way he said it was so serious, it made you pause, and looking up at his face, you found there wasn't any traces of humor. You pushed yourself up a bit to face him better. His eyes moved back to you, and you held his stare for a moment.

"I could never hate you," you repeated in a soft, earnest whisper. Miguel didn't respond, he only watched you carefully before a tiny, sad smile pulled at his lips, looking as though he wanted to believe you.

"Careful," he murmured. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

You smirked at him and leaned in close. "I'll try my best not to," you said before closing the gap between your lips. He kissed you gently before pulling away to say, "And I'll try—about what you want, I'll try."

Your heart leapt, and there wasn't anything you could do to contain your smile. "Thank you," you whispered before kissing him again. You could feel him grinning against your lips, and his arms pulled you close. When you broke apart, you settled back down next to him.

"If they all start complaining though, I'm blaming you," he said. You chuckled. "Fair is fair," you replied. "If they don't like it, they can leave." He huffed in amusement. "Until it's just you and me?" He asked.

"Until it's just you and me."

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otdiaftg · 1 month

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The King's Men - Chapter Fourteen (16)

Day: Tuesday, March 12th / 13th* Time: 4:55 PM EST

Neil would have stalled, but Andrew grows tired of waiting on him. He motions for Neil to follow and leaves in search of Kevin. Neil swallows a sigh and goes after him. He braces for his teammates' reactions when he steps into the kitchen with all his injuries bared. Nicky flinches and looks away, whereas Aaron surveys the damage with keen interest. Dan opens her mouth but catches herself in the nick of time. Matt goes from shock to anger in a nanosecond, and Allison averts her gaze as quickly as she can. Renee watches her friends with a smile on her lips and a calm stare, ready to intervene if one of them breaks their word. Kevin is the first and only to do so, and his reaction is predictable. "Can you play?" "Yes," Neil says, before anyone can tear into Kevin. "It's going to hurt, and if the Bearcats get too rough next week I'll have some problems, but I still have my grip." He makes a fist at Kevin as proof and carefully does not wince at the tearing feeling along his knuckles. "I'll just be extra careful." "Absolutely not," Dan says. "You're not playing. You think Coach will let you on the court when you look like that? I'll sub in for you, Neil. Renee can help Allison out one more time, right?" She looks to Renee long enough to see Renee's nod. "Trust us to hold the line. You focus on healing so we can use you in semifinals." Neil's first instinct is to argue and to call unfair, to say he hadn't survived his father and Lola's abuse just to sit out, to protest that they need all the help he can get. Then he looks down at his arms and takes a realistic assessment of his chances. It is disappointing to know she is right, but somehow it is still okay. "I trust you," he says. "Thank you."

Art used with permission by Karasawr. Thank you @karasawr!

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

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edgeray · 20 days

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One Hell of a Butler Pt. 2

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Wasn't really expecting to write arle content so soon but heck i miss writing and school makes me sad :( i have 4 assessments next week. i hate it here. also for @\megistusdiary and @\servalisms who feed me so well <333 love you guys. anyways, following the same concept as the first part here, this is some time after Reader and Arlecchino has made the contract. What do you guys think about this series? Future edit: It's gonna be a blurb, I say. It'll be less than 1k I say. *Looks at the time.* It's 3AM and the finished product is 2.2k words. Again. How do I do this to myself. I'm not calling this a oneshot though because not my greatest quality. Content Warning: Suggestive. semi-graphic descriptions of violence Series Masterlist

It's funny, really, having a demon as your butler. You could never imagine yourself as the type of person to even consider such a notion, and you certainly were not a believer of the supernatural either. Of course, beliefs change and so do mindsets; after all, your worldview was shattered with one singular event. It is that catalyst that has led you down this path. You used to believe that revenge was just a trope, an exaggerated manifestation of pettiness but as you feel it pump through your blood and inject in its veins, revenge is so very palpable. And with the contract, it's graspable, within your reach. It's like a dessert, waiting to be devoured after the main course. And like a dessert, however, in order to really savor it, one must be patient.

It has led you to this point. To a ball, specifically. The preparations have all been laid out, and you know what you your goal from this event is. The only thing left to do is to prepare the final touches and carry out the plan.

For all your meticulous planning, you don't expect yourself to be hindered before you had even gotten to the event. And defeated by a corset dress of all things. You couldn't extend your arms anymore to reach the strings behind your dress. Of course, you have other dresses, but none were as suitable for this event besides this one; this dress is made especially to carry secret compartments for weapons, a feature that none of your other apparels have.

"Arlecchino," you call out to your butler, and within a moment, the air of the room grew considerably colder, alerting you of the demon's sudden appearance. The abrupt chill invokes a chill down your spine and you let out a breathy exhale as you gazed at the mirror in front of you, and could see your servant's form just behind you, her height towering over you. On her face is the usual subtle smirk when she's with you and her red pupils gleamed just slightly.

"You look beautiful, my Lady," she greets with a low drawl although you knew it was out of politeness than admiration. Her irises burn as you could feel it traverse over your exposed back and you can barely suppress the goosebumps that her gaze provoked.

"I didn't summon you here to ogle me, Arlecchino," you say, maintaining a cool tone despite the warmth that bloomed over your bare skin, pricking your senses. A low rumble comes from the being and she leans forward placing her icy black hands over your naked shoulders, fingertips running across the surface smoothly as it slowly nears your collarbone. Her face nears your left ear, her breath cascading against your earlobe.

"Of course. It was simply an observation, my Lady. But, dare I say, you look simply ravishing." The demon whispers against the shell of your ear, her voice adorning the smallest bit of allure in it, and her hands suddenly grip your shoulders as she emphasizes the last word, then relaxing a moment later. Your inhale hitches but no other reaction is displayed outwardly.

"The strings, Arlecchino," you instruct as a distraction away from the soft flaring of your cheeks.

A brief pause as you observe through the mirror the gleam of mischief in the demon's black pits, and her hands move down your shoulder, only the pads of her fingers brushing ghosting over your shoulder blades and yet it feels like the heat from the contact drips down onto your skin. It's a lagging pace, deliberate and feather light as it finally reaches the farthest down string. Prodding fingers caress against your back as she begins maneuvering the strings masterfully, each graze seemingly lingering as it seems like she takes every opportunity to memorize the texture of you on her fingertips. When her painstaking process draws close to its end, she ties the strings together, making it tight enough to make you groan and arch your back from the sting. When you do, she traces a finger up the curvature of your spine.

"Arlecchino," you chastise with a shuddering breath. Hands find themselves on your hips, clawed fingertips faintly digging into you and you're suddenly pulled to her being, chest meeting against your spine.

"You can't possibly fault me for my behavior when you're far too delectable, can you?" She voices against your nape, cold lips just barely hovering over it while you feel hot air stroke against your hair. You shudder. A small ire wells up inside of you and you break from her grasp easily.

“You know better than to fool around now of all times,” you huff irritably, before spinning around. “Now, are you dressed yet?”

Your breathing halts once your eyes scan Arlecchino's body. Donning a midnight black tailcoat alongside matching slim trousers, a white button-collared dress shirt with scarlet ruffled cuffs, and finally, a simple jet black necktie. It is not very different compared to her usual apparels, and yet your sight cannot help but stagger over her. She's devilishly handsome, you begrudgingly admit to yourself, objectively pleasant to your view. You get the sense something is missing from her appearance, however, perhaps a mark of yours on her neck. You bite your tongue in reprimand to suppress any more carnal thoughts and you shift your focus away.

“Is it to your liking, my Lady?” A smug smile graces her kissable lips.

“It's appropriate enough. You're missing something,” You reply back cooly, and you dig around the nearby drawers for the items you search for. Upon finding them, you find ebony gloves and then promptly fling them at the demon's face. They hit squarely, and slide off her mildly shocked expression with a comical, slow pace. It gives you more satisfaction than it should.

“There,” you remark with a blank expression but a tone matching her prior pomposity. “I suppose you're presentable as my servant now.”

You brush past her, comforted by the fact her eyes follow your form with each step.

—

Upon arrival at the ball, it's nearly overwhelming–chatter fills the room and surrounds you at every angle, suffocating you under the noise of whispered gossip. A suited server comes up to you with a glass of some presumed luxurious beverage, no doubt costing a ludicrous amount. You swivel the untouched drink in your hand as you survey other guests, searching for a particular face in general. Arlecchino should be doing something similar right now, if she hasn't already found her target.

The person you're looking for is no longer to be found, at least in your approximate vicinity. You grind your teeth together and your hand bunches the fabric of your dress in a fist. An advancing man steps into view and strolls towards you, confidence and snobbery exuding from his walking.

“Would you like a dance, my Lady?”

You can't help but cringe at the addressment, the term sounding only right from one particular individuial's tongue. But nonetheless, a cordial smile masks your disgust and you agree to it, letting the man lead you to a slow, and quite frankly, boring waltz. His movements are just flamboyanes to cover up his sloppy movements, and it only makes you wonder how a demon can so masterfully practice an art made by humans. During the dance, you try to fish him out of any useful information, but the daft male is incapable of doing anything besides leering at you.

You could feel at the back of your neck someone else's stare–one that kindles like the flames of hell. You smirk to yourself. Maybe you can use her gaze, taunt her through this. You lean ever so closer, lurching forward to whisper something in his ear and you let his filthy hands wander your form a bit.

When you finally part from him, enduring one last, disappointing dance, you say your farewells to him. Not out of respect as a dance partner but because you know his life will end in a few minutes. You only hope she remembers to dispose of the body and clean up the evidence.

You find that she reappears by your side in less than fifteen minutes. It's cute that she does it when you're not in the vicinity, like you don’t already know what she did. How fortunate for you that you've already isolated yourself to a lone balcony when she finds you. Otherwise, people may accuse the two of you as undignified lovers.

Shortly afterwards, the two of you return to the main location of the ball, and again, you're in search of a certain man. Arlecchino has yet been successful in finding her target and you wander the dance floor once again, though this time, you decline any dance requests.

Your gaze follows that of a group of men eyeing something, and you trace for what they're looking at. With great irritance, you discover it's the demon that they’re leching over. Something ugly coils in the pit of your stomach, an ugly sensation filling your being the longer you watch their gaze, like a feeling that what they are coveting after is one of your belongings.

“Arlecchino,” you softly gruff under your breath. You observe from across the large room that her head perks up immediately, reminiscent of how a dog would when its name is called, and without even looking, she steers through the sea of ball-goers towards your direction.

When she’s finally in front of you, there's an aggravating, knowing grin that Arlecchino fails to hide. “Yes, my Lady?”

You reach out to tug her necktie to you like a leash and she compliantly lets you pull her face towards you.

“If people keep leering at you like that, they'll become an inevitable hindrance,” you lie straight through your teeth, hating the way her eyes crinkle in amusement as she sees right through you. The two of you know you're lying.

“And what are you going to do about it, my Lady?” You should order her to wipe that complacent sneer off of her face, shouldn't you?

“This,” you give her neck time a harsh yank and your lips brush against her neck, teeth biting her skin and your tongue lapping at the bite mark. It's a quick, stinging action that makes the demon grunt lowly but she's yet to pull away. She wouldn't dare to, not without your instructions.

You pull away only after a few moments because it's not a mark made out of passion or affection. It’s a mark made out of desperation, out of possessiveness, to remind those who she belongs to and who can touch her.

“Don't you dare hide it,” you demand, indignation creeping up your words. You release her, and she simply nods, her gloved fingers dabbing the mark. Walking away, you feel strangely content–what was missing from Arlecchino's appearance is there now.

You call for her one last time during the ball. When you've led the man you were searching for into a private guest room, and you loosen his lips with the suggestiveness of your actions and the alcohol you slip in his hands. The information that spews out to you is useless, the furthest thing to what you desire even when you’ve pushed yourself far past what you'd like. He simply doesn't have what you want, you frustratingly recognize. You've let this man undress you until you're nearly half-naked for nothing.

At the moment you acknowledge that this entire venture to this ball was for naught, you kick the disgusting man in the face, hard enough to hear a crunch underneath your heel and in his clutched hands, his broken nose bleeds. You sigh and start redressing yourself, thankful at least you didn't allow him to derobe you any further while he chucks insolent expletives and meaningless threats at you. He dares to reach out his hand for you with your back against him and it is then you mutter her name.

“Arlecchino.”

And like every time, she materializes right where you want her to, in between you and the vermin, blocking you from his sight.

“Yes, my Lady?” She purrs as the man sputters out in shock, tumbling back.

You don't even look over your shoulder to give a command, instead, opting to fix your hair. “Dispose of him.”

There's no need for you to watch the bloodbath. You're familiar with how she kills now. It lasts no more than a few seconds and when you smell soot, you know she's done. You turn around, the last few embers of his body dissipating in the air. There's no remnants of him anymore, the room is spotless clean, except for the smear of blood on her cheek.

“Don't you demons know how to clean yourselves?” You chastise with an exasperated click of your tongue and extend your hand, your thumb wiping the crimson droplet from her face and then guiding your thumbpad to her lips. Her tongue darts out, and laps up the last trace of him with a deliberate swipe.

It ignites a blaze in your chest and your heart drums.

“Take me home, Arlecchino. We're done here.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fic #genshin fics #arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact arlecchino #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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gotham--fc · 2 months

Text

Torn - A Megan Keller Imagine

R is Canadian and gets hurt really bad in a rivalry series game, her and Megan try to cope

lowkey inspired by an actual real life person I know who had a torn labrum for almost 4 years because sports med refused to take her seriously

this was supposed to be short and quick but ended up being around 4k words..... enjoy!

Megan wishes she couldn’t remember what happened with such clarity. She wishes she was looking the other way, or was across the ice, or back in the locker room completely.

She teased Y/N for weeks leading up to the game. At every Boston practice she would ask to be on a different scrimmage team so she could get practice going against her. She would refuse to sit next to Y/N on the team bus so she could get her head in the rivalry. Y/N rolled her eyes and took everything Megan gave her and gave it right back.

The game was tense and physical right from the start. It always is and everyone’s prepared for it. It’s a close game, both teams pushing to pull ahead. It’s late in the second period and Y/N goes to dig the puck out from the boards behind the US’s net. Megan gets there before her teammates and she presses up against Y/N’s back and jams her stick at the puck.

“Give me the puck or I will dump you,” Keller says. Y/N snorts.

“At least try and chirp something believable at me.”

Y/N pokes the puck free and skates after it. Keller reacts a second too late, and Abby Roque skates up to Y/N from the other side. Keller watches it happen. She watches Abby drop her shoulder and watches her slam into Y/N. Y/N’s focused on the puck, she doesn’t see it coming. Keller watches as Roque slams Y/N into the boards and Keller knows it’s a pen right away when she saw Roque drop her shoulder, and then Y/N hits the boards, her stick and arm twisted up and then she screams.

Keller feels her blood run cold.

Y/N collapses on the ice, screaming, and she writhes on the ice clutching at her shoulder. The ref blows the whistle and points to Roque but Keller isn’t paying attention. Y/N won’t stop screaming. The crowd goes silent, not that Keller was paying any attention to them, but that means she can hear Y/N’s screams in more clarity.

Oh god, Megan’s never seen her in pain like this before.

Megan doesn’t move, doesn’t take her eyes off Y/N, even as the Canadian players go after Roque, even as Laura Stacey drops to her knees beside Y/N and tries to calm her down.

“I know,” Stacey says, “I know it hurts. Try to keep still. Stop screaming.” Stacey’s hands are everywhere, on Y/N’s shoulders, on her arms, her chest, pulling her helmet off.

“Please, stop screaming,” Stacey says, “I know it hurts.”

Y/N screams and cries so hard she gags.

“Stop screaming,” Stacey keeps saying.

She keeps saying it even when the medical staff comes out onto the ice. She keeps saying it when they assess Y/N. She keeps saying it when they help her up and start to lead her off the ice. Y/N’s stopped screaming so loud, but she keeps making pained sounds as they move her. Keller doesn’t even realize she’s following them until she gets to the Canada bench and Marie Philip Poulin stops her with a hand on her chest and a shove that feels rougher than it is.

“Go back to your bench Keller,” Poulin says.

In a daze, Keller skates to her bench. She can’t pay attention to anything her coach says. Her head feels underwater and her teammates all pat her on the back and try to comfort her, but she can’t hear it. All she can hear is Y/N’s screams.

***

It’s the worst pain Y/N’s ever felt.

She’s had shoulder problems for a while, but nothing she couldn’t play through. She’s been to physio and to sports med and they all tell her the same thing. It’s her posture, she’s too tense, she needs massages, or physio exercises, it’s nothing medically wrong. It’s frustrating having a constant dull ache in her shoulder that only gets worse when she moves it, but she can play hockey and she can get through it. Besides, if there’s nothing to be done, then what can she do?

The medical staff leads her back to the locker room and help her out of her jersey and her pads so they can assess her shoulder. She can’t move her shoulder at all, and screams in pain as they try to gently maneuver her pads off. Finally, she’s left in just her undershirt and sports bra. They determine that’s there more structural issues with her shoulder than they can handle (duh) and they decide she needs to go the hospital to get checked out.

“Wait,” Y/N speaks up for the first time since she hit the boards, “I wanna stay for the game.”

“We can’t medically clear you to get back on the ice,” One of the medics says, “I’m sorry, but you have to get x-rays and possibly an MRI. We need to take you to the hospital.”

“I just wanna stay for the end,” Y/N says, “I don’t wanna play. I’ll stay in here. I don’t wanna go alone. I don’t want to go to the hospital alone. Please. Let someone else come with me.”

Y/N knows they don’t want to, she knows they want her to go to the hospital right away, and Y/N knows she should, but she also knows she’s not in the mindset to be stuck in a hospital all night alone. She knows she won’t be able to pay attention to anything that the doctors tell her, and she won’t be able to ask the questions she knows she should ask. Finally, one of the medical staff sighs.

“Fine. We’ll talk to Troy at intermission.”

***

After the game, Y/N gets loaded into a non-emergency ambulance with Laura Stacey.

Her shoulder feels like it’s on fire and the makeshift sling she’s in doesn’t keep her shoulder from jostling. The medical staff are on her one side, Stacey on the other, and Y/N just wants to curl up in bed and cry. They’re walking from the locker rooms to the exit door and Y/N doesn’t react to the pounding footsteps behind them.

“Y/N!” Megan calls. Y/N’s foot falters, then keeps going. She knows she’ll fall apart if she looks at Megan right now. “Wait, wait, what’s wrong? How bad is it? Are you going back to the hotel?”

“Keller,” Stacey stops and puts her hands out, stopping Megan from getting any closer. “It’s okay, she’s okay. She’s going to get checked out. We’re not going to be back at the hotel until the morning probably. There’s nothing you can do right now, just give her some space. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Wait, wait, I can come with, I can…” Megan’s voice gets increasingly frantic, “Please, let me do something.”

“Let’s go Megs,” Now it’s Hilary’s Knight’s voice. She shepherds Megan away. Megan resists, but she leaves with Hilary.

Y/N wants to feel bad. She wants to feel bad that she didn’t turn around, that she didn’t look at Megan or talk to her or tell her everything’s going to be okay. She wants to be, but she’s not. She’s in too much pain to care about anything right now.

***

Megan stays up all night. She sits in the bathroom, staring at her phone in her hand and waiting for it to ring. Hilary’s her roommate for this camp and she banished Megan to the bathroom after her restless movements and phone light kept Hilary from sleeping.

She barely resists texting Y/N, knowing that she probably can’t answer. She doesn’t know how bad the damage is, but with how Y/N was screaming, it can’t be good.

Oh god.

Megan doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the sound of Y/N screaming.

She felt helpless on the ice, and she feels helpless now. Stacey is right. There’s nothing she can do, nothing any of them can do now. Megan itches to do something. Her knees bobs constantly, she picks at her fingernails, tries to google shoulder injuries and then closes Safari when she starts reading about the worst shoulder injuries athletes can get.

She texts Stacey again, having got her number from Hilary who got it from Poulin.

any updates?

how is she feeling? is it as bad as it looked?

Stacey doesn’t respond.

Megan stands up, paces the tiny bathroom, then sits down again.

***

“See this here?”

Y/N has done ultrasounds and x-rays and an MRI. She’s been passed around for test after test and none of them help make her feel better. Her shoulder hurts and she’s been crying since they left the rink. The nurses are nice, but it’s clear they know how bad things are, and they pity her. Stacey is with her when she can, but Y/N knows she knows it’s bad too.

The doctors came in and pulled up her scans on the screens. Y/N tries to look at them, but she doesn’t know anything about this medical stuff. She doesn’t know what a shoulder is supposed to look like.

“This is an old injury,” The doctor continues, “A torn labrum. It looks months old, which most likely contributed to your shoulder instability. Have you been in any pain? Have you gotten your shoulder checked out?" Y/N nods.

“Physio did an x-ray,” She says, “Said nothing was wrong.”

“Right, these types of injuries are very hard to spot on an x-ray. It’s why we recommend an MRI for shoulder injuries. As you can see…”

Y/N zones out as he talks. She doesn’t understand what he’s saying and all she knows is her shoulder hurts and she just wants to go home.

“What kind of timeline are we looking at?” Stacey asks. This is why Y/N wanted someone else here. She knew she wouldn’t be in the headspace to ask the doctors anything.

“Well, after the surgery, she’ll be at least six weeks in a sling. Then depending on how the shoulder’s recovered, there will be three, four months of physio to get mobility back and build her strength back. Probably another two, three months, before she can be cleared to get back on the ice.”

“But, she’ll come back? She’ll make a full recovery?”

“That’s the hope,” The doctor says, “Every injury is different and it’s hard to create an exact timeline at this stage. Physio will build strength and mobility and if all goes well, she’ll be perfectly fine to play; however, if the stability never recovers, I would say it’s unlikely she’ll get back on the ice. But, that’s worst case scenario. Surgery should repair the torn ligaments and muscle, and then if she keeps up with her physio and doesn’t push too hard and set herself back, I’d say she has a good chance of getting back on the ice.”

“Thanks doctor,” Stacey says.

The doctor leaves and Stacey sits on Y/N’s good side and takes her hand. Y/N doesn’t look over, just stares at the wall.

“You’re going to be fine,” Stacey says, “You’re in good hands. I have complete faith in you.”

The doctor is in the hall talking to the team medical staff, Y/N can hear their voices. She knows she’s not having surgery here. She doesn’t know where she’ll get it. She supposes it’s up to the medical staff. A nurse comes in and gives her a few pills. For the pain, she says. Y/N takes them without complaint.

“Megan wants to know what’s going on,” Stacey says, “What do you want me to tell her?”

“I want a new physio.”

***

on our way back to the hotel. looking at a six month recovery at least. she's in a lot of pain. I’m taking her to her room to get some rest. talk more in the morning

Megan reads Stacey’s text over and over again. She debates going down to the lobby to meet them. She debates going to Y/N’s room. She debates calling Stacey. She debates going to bed.

In the end, she decides to get some ice. She takes the ice bucket down the hall to the machine and fills it. She sits in the hallway and crunches on the ice cubes. She takes the bucket with her as she heads back to her room. She debates going downstairs and going out on the back patio, but she knows she’ll only end up in the lobby. She goes out onto the balcony. It’s chilly outside, but she grabbed a hoodie to wear before she went outside. Her room is at the back of the hotel, so she can’t even look out and see if she can see Y/N coming back.

She chews another ice cube.

***

In the morning, Knight finds her passed out on the balcony, the ice bucket just water. She tipped it over at some point during the night and the water seeped into her socks, making her grimace.

“Have you heard anything?” Knight asks as she tugs her wet socks off.

“It’s bad,” Keller says, “Stacey wouldn’t tell me details. Six month recovery, she said.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” Hilary says, “She’s tough as hell, she’ll be fine.”

Megan heads down for team breakfast and tries to see if she can spot any of the Canadian players. She sees Jamie Lee Rattray and beelines it for her. She puts up her hand before Megan makes it to her.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” Ratty says, “None of us have seen her yet and Stace isn’t saying anything.”

“Do you know where she is? I want to see her,” Megan says, “Can you tell her to find me or call me or something? She didn’t…” Megan swallows heavily, “She didn’t even look at me.”

Ratty puts her hand on Megan’s arm.

“I’ll let her know you’re looking for her when I see her.”

Megan doesn’t end up seeing Y/N. She does see Laura Stacey and follows her around the hotel while asking every question she can possibly think of. Stacey informs Megan of what the doctor said, what the extent of the injury is. Megan sees red when Stacey tells her Y/N’s been complaining about shoulder pain but her physio told her it was nothing.

“I’m going to kill him,” Megan seethes, “How can he just ignore a persistent problem? And now she’s hurt because he wouldn’t do anything!”

“You can’t do anything about it now,” Stacey says, “None of us can. It sucks and it’s frustrating but all we can do now is deal.”

“I need to see her,” Megan says, “I need to see if she’s okay.”

“She’s not up to seeing anyone right now,” Stacey says. She sighs. “I’ll talk to her, but she’s tired and she’s in pain and she’s upset and I think she needs some space right now. You have to let her come to you.”

***

Megan sees Y/N later that night. She’s in the lobby waiting for food her and Hilary ordered, when Y/N steps off the elevator. Her arm is in a sling and she looks exhausted. She has a group of Canadian players with her, and they’re talking loudly and joking around, but Y/N is quiet, walking a beat behind them. Megan puts her phone away, food delivery be damned, and she heads for the group.

“Y/N,” Megan says when she’s close enough. Y/N glances at her for a second then she looks away and walks quicker to catch up with the group.

Megan doesn’t react, in shock at the reaction, and then her phone starts ringing as her delivery driver arrives.

***

Megan keeps seeing Y/N. She’s never alone. Megan knows Y/N well enough to know that she would hole herself up in her hotel room if someone didn’t force her out, and on one hand Megan is glad that her teammates can get her out and hopefully keep her spirits up, but Megan also wishes she could be that. She wishes Y/N would let her help. Every time Megan sees her, Y/N avoids her. She turns the other way, or she clings to whoever is closest to her and refuses to even look at Megan.

She sees Y/N talking to Abby Roque, smiling, laughing, and Abby touches her good arm and Megan wants to scream.

Y/N flees before Megan can reach them.

***

Y/N can’t sleep.

Her shoulder hurts, but she can’t take her pain meds because she skipped dinner because eating makes her feel sick. And since she can only use one arm, eating is an ordeal and she’s tired of having to ask her teammates for help like a child.

She lays in bed, awake, for an hour before she sneaks out of bed. She doesn’t even bother changing, still in her pjs, ragged shorts and a faded tee shirt that used to belong to Megan. She walks up the two flights of stairs it takes to get to the USA floor and she stops in front of Megan’s door. It’s late and she doesn’t want to wake up Megan’s roommate. She doesn’t want to be a bother.

She pulls out her phone and texts Megan.

u up

at ur door

cnt sleep

wana c u

She doesn’t get a response, and she should’ve expected Megan would be asleep. It’s late and just because she can’t sleep doesn’t mean Megan can’t either. She slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor. She’s tired and hurting and she just wants to see Megan. She debates calling her, but that would wake up her roommate too. And she doesn’t think she should wake Megan either. She’s been a shit girlfriend lately.

She rests her head on her bent knees even though it makes her shoulder hurt. She should get up and go back to bed before anyone notices she’s out here. She shouldn’t be here, in this hotel, with her team. She should go home, she should get surgery, she should start her recovery, not sit on the hotel floor outside her girlfriend’s room. Outside of Megan who might not be her girlfriend anymore’s room.

The door opens.

“Y/N?”

It takes Megan a second to see her.

“Hey,” Y/N says, her voice rough. She tries to stand, but her shoulder hurts and she just ends up on her knees biting back a groan.

Megan steps out into the hallway and helps her up. Y/N doesn’t say anything else, just stares at Megan’s hand that stays on her elbow.

“Do you wanna come in?” Megan asks. Y/N shakes her head.

“Roommate.”

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

Y/N follows Megan through the hotel, not really sure where they’re going and not really paying attention. Eventually Megan leads Y/N to an empty conference room they’ve been having team meetings in.

“Are you okay?” Megan asks after she closes the door.

Y/N takes a step forward, and then another, until she can lean all her weight onto Megan. She shakes her head against Megan’s chest and lets out a sob, then a pained noise when it hurts her shoulder. Megan holds her, whispering softly to her, until Y/N’s sobs die down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Megan asks. Y/N shakes her head.

“I just wanna go to sleep,” Y/N says, “But my shoulder hurts. I want… I just want to play hockey.”

“I’m sorry,” Megan says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad girlfriend.”

“It’s okay. You’re hurt.”

“I just wanted to keep it together. I just wanted to be strong and… and… I can’t do that with you. You’re… I don’t have to be anything else with you, so I can’t be. I knew I’d lose it if I saw you, or talked to you. And… I’m embarrassed.” Y/N’s mumbling by the end of her speech.

“Embarrassed about what?”

“I was screaming so loud,” Y/N whispers, “I could hear it but I didn’t realize it was me until Stace told me to stop. I’m embarrassed because I scared everyone. Because I knew I had shoulder problems and I played through them. Because I listened to my physio and I didn’t get a second opinion. Because I let him convince me it was my fault. That I avoided you. That I hurt you.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Megan says decisively, “You are not a medical professional. You trusted your physio and sports med and they let you down. You did nothing wrong. It sucks that this happened but it was not your fault.”

“I hurt you.”

“It was hard being shut out. I can’t lie, it really sucked. I didn’t know what to do or how to fix it and you just looked so miserable every time I saw you and I just wanted to run to you and hold you and everyone just kept telling me to leave you alone. I just want to help.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You got dealt a shit hand and you’re allowed to process any way you want to. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

Y/N sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“I have to get surgery to reconstruct my whole shoulder,” She says, “It’ll be weeks before I can get out of the sling and then months to get mobility back and then months to build my strength and grip back and after all of that I might never play hockey again. I might never get full mobility back, or my shoulder might be too unstable still to play hockey. It might take years to get to 100% and by then…” Y/N trails off.

“You can’t focus on the future right now. Yes all of that sucks, but you have to focus on the next steps. You can’t look at the finish line, you just have to look at what’s next. That’s surgery. Don’t focus on anything after, just on that. And you have the best medical staff with you and you have a whole country behind you. And me. I’ll always be here rooting you on.”

“I just want to play hockey. I want to sleep so bad.”

“Let’s go to bed then.”

“My shoulder,” Y/N says, “I can’t take my pain meds on an empty stomach.”

“Good thing I have food in my room.”

“Megs,” Y/N says frustrated, “I can’t eat. I only have one fucking hand. I’m tired of being treated like a child.”

“It’s a sandwich,” Megan answers, “You can eat it one handed. And then pain meds and then sleep. Okay?”

Y/N sniffs, then agrees. Megan leads her up to her hotel room. Y/N doesn’t know how to act, and Megan keeps fidgeting and picking at her fingers, and it’s Y/N’s fault, that they don’t know what they’re allowed to do.

“We can sit on the balcony,” Megan says when they get close to the room, “If you’re worried about Hil waking up. I don’t care, she can deal. But if you’d rather not, we can sit on the balcony.”

“Okay.”

Y/N sits on the balcony while Megan gets the sandwiches. They eat in silence, which Y/N is grateful for, until she realizes that Megan might not be saying anything because she might not have anything to say to her.

“I really am sorry,” Y/N says, “For being shitty to you. I don’t know… I don’t…” Y/N was determined not to cry, but now she can feel her eyes watering and knows she can’t stop it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you, please don’t…” Y/N’s full on crying now, “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Megan drops her sandwich and rushes to Y/N’s side. “I’m not breaking up with you. I love you too.”

“I’m so awful to you.”

“No,” Megan cups Y/N’s face and forces Y/N to look at her, “Something shitty happened to you and you coped with it the best you could. This… hiccup doesn’t ruin what we have and it doesn’t make me want to leave you. I don’t know what I’d do without you either and I was so scared that you would leave me that I tried to give you space and back off if you didn’t want me around so that you wouldn’t. We’ll get through this baby, I’m not leaving you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

They finish their sandwiches, each eating one handed, Y/N with her one arm in a sling and Megan with one hand on Y/N’s knee. Megan helps Y/N take her pain meds and, despite Y/N’s protests, into Megan’s bed. They’re not technically allowed to do this, sleep in each other’s rooms, but Megan thinks no one will be upset at them this time. It takes a minute to find a comfortable position for Y/N to lay in, but once the meds kick in, she’s out like a light. Megan stays up for a little longer, looking at Y/N, and being grateful that they’re on the road to recovery and vowing to be by Y/N’s side every step of the way.

#megan keller #megan keller imagine #uswnt imagines #hockey imagine #womens hockey imagine #hockey rpf #uswnt hockey #woho #woho imagine

86 notes · View notes

kastlequill · 6 months

Text

iii/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus paradoxus

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.7k synopsis: the third time you save gaz tags: whumptober, infection, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

You had lost count of how many times you’d warned him about the risk of infection, which was already quite high given the sheer frequency at which he acquired open wounds.

Best keep that thing covered, soldier, had been your soft-spoken command to close out his fourth visit in the span of a month and a half. That time, a stabbed forearm, and the time before that, a nasty gash down his spine, and so on. I don’t want to see you back in my infirmary for a long while, copy?

But it seemed your cautioning had gone in one ear and out the other. It wasn’t that Gaz didn’t know how to protect himself, nor was he incapable of mitigating the damage he sustained in combat; the sergeant was a competent man, something that you greatly appreciated when it came time to patch him up.

Rather, it was more so the case that he treated his life recklessly. Surviving was one thing, but exiting the fray unscathed? That was an altogether different and separate objective which, in his mind, warranted far less concern than completing the mission.

To him, the game plan was very simple: successfully execute orders, then get the hell out of there. Bonus points if he kept the majority of his body intact and functional.

For a soldier, this logic made total sense. Such a thought process was to be expected from someone who had spent over a decade honing his physical form into a weapon and had thus learned how to mentally detach himself from his personhood whenever necessary. During the firefight, his muscles and limbs moved in accordance with years of conditioning and training, acting on autopilot. Gaz, the man who brought you lunch on your busiest days and made damn certain none of your rowdier patients were giving you shit, faded into the background; what he did became exceedingly more important than the fact that it was he who did it.

For a medic, however? The stunning lack of self-preservation irritated you to no end.

And today, that irritation spiked to a record peak the instant he walked into the medbay with unfocused eyes and beads of sweat on his brow bone, jaw slightly loose, chest heaving for air.

“Hey, Doc,” Gaz said with a wince, the greeting sounding more like a croak than anything else. He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I’m not feeling too good. You mind if I. . ?”

Those were the last words to leave his lips before he all but collapsed into your waiting arms. Ignoring the worry that had begun to churn in your gut, you immediately helped him stumble to a nearby cot then gradually sat him down. Instinct took over, spurring you to quickly gather your medkit, don a pair of surgical gloves, gently open his mouth, and stick a thermometer under his tongue.

High body temperature, difficulty attending to external stimuli, fast pulse—textbook signs of an infection.

You were thankful that the nurse was too busy checking on another admit to notice how you cradled his face in your hands for a beat longer than was necessary after removing the thermometer. “Gaz, I need you to stay sharp, you got that? You have to show me where you’re injured so I can do my job.”

Blinking a little more awake, he gave a curt nod and lifted up the front end of his shirt to reveal what looked to be a knife wound slightly above his left hip. If the accumulation of dried pus was anything to go off of, it must have been at least a week old.

That’s definitely infected, alright.

“Why didn’t you call this in?” You lightly pressed into the inflamed flesh around the problem site, assessing its tenderness, but stopped when he let out a low, pained hiss. “We could’ve gotten it squared away in less than half an hour and saved ourselves the trouble.”

His half-lidded stare locked onto your alert, wide eyes. “Y’told me you’d rather I not come around for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you getting sick of me already, Doc. It’s bad form.”

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Of course a soldier would interpret an offhand joke in its most literal sense. Your playful tease had been intended to disguise genuine concern. Instead, the man had gotten the impression that you were annoyed by his insistence, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

In reality, you damn near prayed to any and all deities for them to shorten the time between his visits and lengthen his stays.

“That isn’t—” You swallowed an overwhelming wave of mixed emotions. “That isn’t what I meant, Kyle.”

He grinned, suddenly very coherent and present. “So it’s Kyle now, is it? Well, if I’d bloody known some measly infection is all it’d take for you to call me by my name, then I would’ve fuckin’ done this ages ago.”

Heat rushed towards your face, mostly pocketing itself in your cheeks. Some reassurance followed suit; Gaz couldn’t be too bent out of shape if he still had the energy and mental faculties to. . . to flirt with you.

As you cleaned the oozing gash, flushing it out with cool water and dabbing on a topical antibiotic with a Q-tip, the sergeant lowered his head to watch you work, eager to witness you in your element. Perhaps it should’ve annoyed you because of how frequently his forehead bumped into yours, but you understood his curiosity well. It was only fair, considering how often you wondered about him in the field; what he did, how and why he did it.

Who he became.

The occasional graze of your fingertips along his ribcage made the skin there to ripple, and he released a shaky exhale. “What’s the verdict, then?”

“Nothing that oral antibiotics and proper wound care won’t fix. But I want to keep you here overnight for observation and rehydration.” You stuck on a lopsided bandage and used your hand to smooth out any crinkles in the adhesive. When you lifted your face to address him more directly, the slight brush of his nose against yours caused a hitch in your breathing, and you jerked backward, startled by his closeness.

A pleased hum emanated from his throat. “Always lookin’ out for me. Soon as I get this blasted thing sorted, I’ll thank you properly.”

“There’s no need,” you assured him, stepping further out of reach. “Just focus on getting better, will you? This prescription is over the course of seven days. Don’t let me hear you’ve been skipping your meds.”

Needing to put several meters between the two of you, the shelves at the backend of the clinic were the perfect escape. There, no longer in view, you sifted through various supplies until you found an open box of penicillin, counted fourteen tablets in total, then funneled the antibiotic into a standard orange prescription bottle. By the time you returned to his cot with the medication, the sergeant was already munching on a couple of crackers, courtesy of the nurse.

He visibly straightened at your arrival and softly said, “Thank you. I mean it.”

Just doing my job, was what you should have replied. Nonchalant; not the slightest bit personally vested in your patient outside of the clinic.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stop getting hurt all the damn time,” were the words you muttered instead, sounding like a petulant child. Or perhaps you simply sounded like someone who gave a shit.

Because you did. You, a tested combat medic who should honestly know better by now, cared deeply about him, a special operator who risked his life daily so that the rest of the world remained relatively out of harm’s way. And given the horrors you’d seen both on the battlefield and in the infirmary, to care for someone like him was a terrifying notion.

What a nuisance, these matters of the heart.

His eyes dulled at your response, and you were consumed with the desire to bring back the light in those brown depths. “You know I can’t.”

The confirmation, though expected, still stung. Knowledge was such a curse, you decided. On some occasions, it benefited you to wield it, but on others, it only brought inescapable suffering. Regardless of the consequences, the possessor of said knowledge was forced to carry it within them always, robbed of a chance at blissful ignorance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sighed, lips settling into a resigned smile. “It was worth a shot.”

From then on, the remainder of your tending to him was spent in silence. Not an awkward silence, nor an angry silence; just silence. A neutral, comfortable silence—your favorite.

All that was left to do could’ve been passed off to the technician or even skipped entirely, but you felt compelled to go the extra mile where he was involved. You wet a rag to rid his forehead of sweat and used a tissue to gently dust away the crystallized mucus in his tear ducts. Before you had the opportunity to assist him in laying flat on the cot, your pillow-fluffing was interrupted by the slight weight of cold metal meeting the warm skin of your neck.

A dog tag. His dog tag.

Your brain momentarily short-circuited. The gravity of the action was not lost on you, nor was its heavy implications. Not in the least.

“I’ll try. For you,” he clarified, resolutely holding your gaze, an oath on his lips, “I’ll try.”

Good enough, you thought. Because it had to be.

This would have to be enough, whatever this was. This, a fledgling, precursory thing. This, stealing moments with him during the brief lapses of warfare, hidden behind the plastic tarp covering the infirmary. This, assuaging your anxieties by catching sight of him from afar, the distance between your clinic and his barracks too vast. This, an invisible threshold, a nonexistent white line that warned do not cross. This, the space decreed by professionalism somehow both too much and too little.

This would have to be enough.

tbc.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod gaz #cod x reader #call of duty #cod #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #my fic #whumptober #fic: ‘til my pulse loses time

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sachirobabe · 2 months

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Chapter 1

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Wc: 986

Summary: You, a dedicated member of the girls' volleyball team, find an unexpected connection with Kuroo Tetsurou. Igniting a bond over shared passions and stolen moments, love blossoms on the court; all because you met him at a captains meeting.

Masterlist | Next —>

Taglist: @funky-writes, @lemurzsquad, @02shuuu

It was normal for third-years to be captains, but not necessarily in your case. You had been a captain since your first-year. Your coach had different rules, and everybody voted on a captain regardless of year status. Leading to you becoming a leader from your first year on the team.

Surprisingly, the girls and boys teams were kept separate often. The only one you were semi-close to was Nobuyuki Kai, only because you two were in the same class.

You had suggested numerous times for practice matches or jointed practices, but had consistently been turned down by the other captains and the boys' head coach.

Budgeting, costs and other important factors were assessed during the meeting. It was finally time for your yearly begging of having the two teams be closer.

"What could we benefit from playing with you guys?" Coach Nekomata crosses his arms in his seat.

"We've won the spring national tournament for the past two years." Your coach says curtly. “We’d be great practice.”

He ponders. "You've been at this since you were a little first-year, Y/n." Nekomata chuckles and turns in his chair to face you. "I like your determination. Why not? Let's do it."

"Really?" Your mouth is agape.

"Mhm." He agrees. "We'll plan at least one practice match every week."

"Thank you!" You bow to him and the new captain sitting next to him.

"You won't regret it, coach." Mori, your coach gives him a wide smile.

"We won't go easy on you." The new captain exits along with you.

"Better not." You smile back. "I'm Y/n L/n, I'm sorry I never got to formally meet you in there."

"It's all good. Kuroo Tetsurou." He says back. "New year already, huh?"

"Last one, too." You smile softly, "You think you'll get many new players trying out?"

He thinks for a moment, "Probably not, you?"

"We always have a big turnout, but most of the unserious players quit after the first day. I think we’ll get 3-4 new first-years.” You answer.

"I'm really excited for the training camp, you're assisting right?" He continues the small talk.

"Yeah I will, don't you remember me assisting the last couple of years?" You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs softly, "I do. Just wanted to make sure." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Well anyway, I've gotta do some supply checks, I'll see you later." He waves and you give a small one back.

The spring wind softly blew, giving a nice breeze to the warm sun. First day of school and volleyball was tomorrow, you’re both excited and a little sad. This would be your last year before going to university.

You began to walk home, putting in your headphones to listen to music to past time. The music stopped, indicating you were getting a call. Confused, you look at your screen and see Himari, your best friend and teammate.

“Hello?” You pick up.

“Hey, you busy?” She asks out of breath.

“No, I’m just coming back from the captains meeting.” You say.

“I forgot that was today, how’d it go?” She questions and hears you sigh, “You know what, come to my house. We can bake some cookies and talk about it.”

A small smile formed on your lips, you had good news, but you wanted to act upset so you could tell her in person. “I’m heading over, you need me to pick up anything at the store?”

“I don’t think so, my mom just went grocery shopping.” She says.

“Alright, I’m 5 minutes away.” You say and hang up, you quickly text your parents that you’d be going over to Himari’s for a little.

She lived next door to you, making you grow up with each other. Your mom had put you into volleyball from a young age and when Himari moved in, you asked her to play and she too, fell in love with the sport.

You don’t even knock anymore, that’s how close your families are. You let yourself in and see Himari sitting at her kitchen counter.

“Where’s your mom?” You say, wanting to greet her.

“She’s on a date!” Himari smiles widely. Her mother was divorced and ended up raising Himari herself.

“Please tell me it’s with the guy from the farmers market.” You ask and she nods furiously, making you both squeal. “Good for her. I hope it goes well.”

“Same here.” She agrees. “Now, tell me all about the meeting.” She pulls out a mixing bowl, already having the ingredients out.

You walk over to the sink to wash your hands, “You know how it always goes. Budgeting, storage, and whatnot.”

“So boring.” She rolls her eyes and eats a chocolate chip, “Did you ask coach Nekomata about joint practices or matches?”

“I did.” You say and stay quiet. “He said yes!”

She screams in excitement, “No way. Really?”

“Yes way. He said he liked my determination and would schedule a practice match every week!” You two hug and pull away.

“I’m so glad. We could definitely beat them.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know.” You smile. “I can’t wait to tell the rest of the team.”

“Speaking of, has coach gave you the practice plan?” She gulps.

“No.” You say with wide eyes. “It’ll probably be bad. She does it so she can weed out the weak ones.”

Himari grabs a cookie from the pan, “Lets toast, for the next two weeks of absolute hell.” You grab a cookie and touch it against hers giggling.

“It’s getting late.” You say, having to be up early after weeks of waking up late. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” You wave and jog to your house.

You greet your parents and quickly head off to your room to make sure you have everything for tomorrow. You have butterflies in your stomach as you lay in bed, forcing your eyes shut.

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absolutebl · 9 months

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This Week In BL - These Are the Days of Our BLs

Aug 2023 Wk 2

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Laws of Attraction (Sat iQIYI) 5 of 8 - They cute making heart eyes at each other, but could we get back to punching & slutty silk shirts? OMG the poor rich kid & the bodyguard who wants to hug him SO BAD are KILLING me. I did giggle & yell “punchy punchies” during the fight scene before the fire. But Charn is a diamond-encrusted evil-gorgeous gremlin beastie, isn’t he?

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 1 of 10 - NO SINGING, but also.. wristbands! Sand is great = smart, snappy & over this shit. (Tired Gay 2.0) Neo & Mark are a revelation, where’d that chemistry come from? Force playing a douchenozzle is damn delight. Plus a counter lift in the first ep? Boys, you’re spoiling me. Mew is the least interesting, but Book is still adorable. Ray is the least likable character, but since it’s Khao, he’s the most likable screen presence. In fact, I’m enjoying all the messy messy gays & I know all their types IRL. I wish we had some femme & swish rep tho. Is this Thailand’s Queer as Folk? Seems like. Is it good? Not sure. But it is FUN as hell. Still, I gotta say it… they all dance like straight boys.

Hidden Agenda that isn’t hidden (Sun GMMTV YouTube) ep 5 of 10 - Zo just wants to turtle & avoid but Joke is not gonna allow that. GMMTV keeps having sub issues (usually fixed within a few days).

Low Frequency (Sat iQIYI) ep 6 of 8 - I do like the psychic gay detective trope. It makes this show more interesting and enjoyable. But they solved the mystery awful fast. I guess different drama spins the final 2 eps?

Be My Favorite (Fri YouTube) ep 12fin - It was fine. I was fine with it. A kind of Vice Versa situation. The usual with Jittirain, as it turns out, is pretty simple: one of her main characters is going to be a manipulative liar or extremely unlikeable or both. It got an 8/10 from me, but probably should get a 7/10 just because I’m so exhausted by this. But I have to be fair and judge each BL on its own & not in light of repeat author mistakes. Not much of a trash watch here. Final full review here.

Dinosaur Love (Sun iQIYI) ep 7 of 10 eps - Boyfriend trip together. Terrible overalls. What the fuck? No. Meanwhile, perfect choice for college star. (Could Ton please lead out a new BL? I know I’m 0 for 2 with him but I’m willing to try again if he is.) I actually enjoyed this installment for a change. Perhaps “enjoy” is too strong a word. Not much happened, dog days of BL, perhaps that’s a good thing with Dino?

Be Mine Super Star (Mon Viki) ep 6 of 12 - Mostly I was excited to watch this week because of Ben but there wasn’t much of him. Sadness. OK, I know it has STIFF competition but does this show have the worst music in BL, or is it just me? I still like Big Daddy & Hot Doc as characters but I am despairing over their arc (would we call it an arc?). All in all this week... Whatever.

Wedding Plan (Weds YT & iQIYI) ep 4 of 7 - I am officially being driven to drink. Trash watch is happening!

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Jun & Jun (Korea Thurs Viki) 4 of 8 - This show makes me laugh so much. It is so damn cute. And there’s so much language play going on. THEN . . . JUST ADD SIMON. I love a good Simon. Who doesn’t love a good Simon? I know SO MANY Simons. Now 3 boys are circling the ingénue (who I suspect is less innocent than he appears). So much delightful competition, postering & flirting. “My Jun,” is he, Simon? You are a precious angular stalk man, aren’t you? Pacing is great with this show. Every week I can’t wait for the next installment, that’s a hallmark of the best KBLs. If the language stuff confused you as much as it did me here is an EXCELLENT post on the subject that will help.

Stay By My Side (Taiwan Fri Gaga) 7 of 10 eps - Sweetest seme. He’s hurt & mad at his boy but still can’t help taking care of him. I do like the courting with snacks & sweet little notes. (It’d work on me.) YAY! Reunion kisses & nuzzles!!! Snuggling!!!! Gah! Taiwan, I love you. These 2 aren’t your best kissers but their cuddling is off the charts. I guess we are just gonna be plotless messy gay bfs for the final 3 eps? That’s cool with me.

Sing My Crush (Korea Weds iQIYI) 3-4 of 8 eps - it’s adorable, they’re adorable, I’m enjoying it a whole lot. It’s like a very soft, low-stakes Addicted.

Love Class Season 2 (Korea Fri Viki) 10 eps - I liked Love Class 1 (more than most on Tumblr) & I normally don’t want 2nd seasons. But this has an entirely new cast (in the “Replay” model). I’m fine with a 2nd season that has little or nothing to do with the first. J-min is an interesting choice of idols but he’s doing an unexpectedly good job. (He is a truly great rapper, by the way.) Trigger warnings out the gate... also this is complicated. Ready? We got 3 queer besties: artist gay Hyun (J-min), shy cafe gay Minwoo (in love with), sunshine gym bunny bi slut Maru (represent, my brother). Then we got Mr Put-upon-TA (+ boy who saw him nekid). And the twist = all black otaku Kim An (used to tutor artist gay in high school = exes ghosting DRAMA). This last reads as a hyung romance. Which you know I love. But it also feels v dark. All of which is to say, I am intrigued but a little nervous over the tone.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 1 of 8 - Classic JBL is back! This one is My Beautiful Man + Tokyo in April/Oh My Assistant. It’s odd and warped af but I like it. Very much has a the feel of old live action yaoi + VERY D/s. BRING IT JAPAN.

Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 (Japan Thu Gaga) 6 of 12 eps - Shin is my sweet bean sprout and Minato should just boink him. Why all this waffling? I love the doctor. But mostly I’m as frustrated with this show as Shin must be in general. Minato 2- the season of blue balls.

Stay Still (Hong Kong Tues YouTube) 2 of 5 eps - I re-watched the first 2 eps & now find it a bit more comprehensible (yes 2: there is an ep 0). I don’t think we can expect this to end happy for either couple. It’s kinda sticky & grungy (in a way I’ve come to expect from the Philippines, although this is not as cluttered visually nor as brightly colored as the Pinoy stuff). I do kind of like that lived-in feeling, it reminds me of Taiwanese shorts. There is something very honestly queer about the primary leads (tattoo & babyface) in particular the way they dance queer? around each other: verbally, emotionally & physically - laying down breadcrumbs of gay for the other to follow. The secondary couple (reunion, cheating) is very sad. Although I do love a counter lift make-out sesh. (Occasionally Cantonese sounds like Vietnamese to me. Apparently I am not alone in this.)

Gossip - AKA P’ABL is Disappointed

I was gonna put a statement here but I just did it separately, earlier this week, since my ask box was overflowing regarding actor gossip and other stuff.

Meanwhile, Stay With Me ended exactly as expected. Can’t say I didn’t warn ya. You watched this anyway? You got what was coming to you. I am entirely unsympathetic.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Look at that PACKED week. NIIICEEEE.

Starting:

8/18 Dangerous Romance (Thai Fri GMMTC YT) 12 eps - Perth returns to lead out a BL, odds on that ever happening were slim. (Let alone Chimon.) Still here we are. Interesting times. Chimon plays a poor studious kid who hates the school bully but is forced to become his private tutor. Lurv results.

8/19 Love in Translation (Thai Sat One31) 10 eps - Two strangers start working in a cafe together. Looks very pulp. No idea on international distribution.

8/19 I Feel You Linger in the Air (Thai Sat Gaga) 12 eps - The time travel historical romance many of us have been waiting for. Adaption of y-novel by Violet Rain. Heartbroken architect is transported to the 1930s. From the producers of Lovely Writer.

8/20 My Universe series (Thai Sun iQIYI) 24 eps - This is sampler pack BL, 12 pairs, each pair gets 2 eps, not sure on the order they’ll drop. Known couples include EarthBank from Destiny Seeker and KaownahTurbo from Love Stage!!!, fresh faces otherwise. Jane to direct.

Still Coming in August 2023

8/22 Kisseki: Dear to Me formerly known as Miracle (Taiwan Tues ????) 13 eps - From screenwriter Lin Pei Yu (We Best Love, H3: Trapped) features a student doctor forced to take care of a gangster. I love the premise and like the writer, Viki or Gaga will get this one.

8/23 Why R U? (Korean remake iQIYI) is supposed to be out this month, filming started in sept 22. I find everything about this hilarious. I mean if Korea remakes it, we lose all the sexy and then... would we have a story at all? No we would not. Not even for six short eps. It’d be like one of those mesh shopping bags.

8/24 Man Suang (Thailand movie, domestic cinema release) - historical drama about Thai burlesque with KP’s MileApo.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED)

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Talking grandkids. Made me snicker. (Low Frequency.)

The waist grab that launched a thousand gifs (Laws of Attraction). Okay it was last week but I gotta chronicle it here in the weeklies. For science.

Sing My Crush. They are so damn cute.

Thank you for the counter action GMMTV, please Sirs, may I have another?

Captain snark in the house. Of course they handed the best and most complex pairing to these two. Well done GMMTV. (Only Friends)

I really did not expect J-Min to be this good. (Love Class 2)

(Last week)

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mittysins · 11 months

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Newt at Home

Includes: Trans mpreg, graphic labor and orgasmic birth

I'm so glad I was able to get this finished! First Mayternity, in the bag. Of course I needed to use Newt for this. I'm so proud that I've actually managed to complete a seasonal art piece. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

[FIND THE UNCENSORED ART ON TWITTER]

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Okay, I'm not going to lie and say I'm not kind of freaked out. I'm standing in the kitchen wearing a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants, quickly scribbling down the time in my notebook.

10:56 PM. I've been in labor for 10 hours, at least. I couldn't really tell at first, thinking the twinge in my lower abdomen was just Braxton Hicks. I ate my lunch and had a nap without a second thought.

Eventually I realized the pain wasn't going away, in fact it was introducing a new pressure in my hips that I was frankly not a fan of. Okay. So that’s how it is.

I started by emailing my professor. Just a vague mention of a family emergency, and that I was going to need an extension on an upcoming essay.

Continuing on, I sent a quick “baby’s on her way!” to the group chat where my friends were dicking around as they usually did. I laughed at their excited responses as I tapped my pen on the paper. Newest contraction started 43 seconds ago. I was doing just fine.

Then to get down to business. I blessed my past self for having half a mind to have everything ready a month beforehand. Everything I needed was in the bottom drawer of the baby’s dresser. A few old towels, a package of training pads, and settled neatly on top was a pair of sterile clamps and scissors within blue plastic packaging. I felt my heart skip a beat when I opened the drawer to set everything up. This was actually happening.

It was a waiting game from then on. Which is how I ended up here. My contractions are now 4 minutes apart and it's really starting to set in. My chest burns in a weird way, most likely a result of binding for years. I accepted the lung damage a long time ago, and it seems to be making itself well known as my breathing grows increasingly ragged. I can't quite keep my legs together anymore with that ever-present weight on my pelvis. It feels like something is about to give at any second. I assume it’s my water, honestly I figured it would have broken by now. I let out a long sigh as the contraction ends and set down the pen. I sway my hips as I flip through the notebook on the counter in front of me. Written on the first page is the date my pregnancy test was positive as well as a few phone numbers. I can still see a few splotches of faded numbers where my tears had mixed with the ink of my favorite pen. The next few pages were symptoms, weight, my medications including my testosterone gel. Everything medical. I was so scared all those months ago, it almost makes me anxious to look back on those pages. I prefer to look at the middle of the notebook, where I noted when I had gone a week without morning sickness, my first weird craving, the bizarre and vivid dreams I was having. My favorite was the page dedicated to name suggestions. All my friends took turns scribbling down names they liked, laughing and teasing each other as we crossed some out and circled others. It isn't too long before I flip to my current page and glance at my phone.

11:00 on the dot.

I bite my lip and continue my swaying with a firm grip on the counter. It hurts now. That's not to say it didn't hurt before, but now it's getting intense. Each clawing contraction feels like a band being tightened around my entire lower abdomen. It's enough to keep me tensed up with my head bowed for its entirety, until finally, finally, there's that give.

I let out a soft groan as my water breaks. It's not a huge gush like in the movies, more of like a gentle pop followed by a steady stream of fluid that lasts a few seconds. I take a moment to assess my situation. Pants need to come off, obviously, but after that? I couldn't quite decide. I weigh my options as I wattle back to my room and remove my sweatpants, tossing them into a laundry pile I'd designated to this whole ordeal. I could lay in bed with a pillow between my knees and just… wait. I quickly toss that option when I realize how little I've sat still since I even realized I was in labor. A shower sounds nice, the wetness between my legs is less than pleasant and the water on my back would be helpful. I could set up a spot on the couch, just throw down some waterproof pads and a towel or two and labor there, maybe get some last minute work done.

I tense up. Oh, now this is different. I subconsciously bend my knees a little as the contraction reaches its peak. The release of pressure when my water broke was heavenly, but the respite didn't last long. Instead the pressure returned, now bringing with it an intense fullness resting just at the base of my pelvis. I grimace as I feel more fluid trickle between my thighs. Shower it is.

I watch the clock switch to 11:04 as the contraction lets up.

It's a short walk across the hall to get to my bathroom. I realize how sensitive my nipples are when I peel off my shirt. I flush at the sound I make when the fabric drags, sending a jolt down my spine. I'm getting worked up and my heart rate quickens for a moment. I turn the faucet tab and slowly drag myself into the tub, letting the warm water run down my back and legs. For a few moments it feels like routine again. Just me and my baby. No college, no work, no bills, no angry parents. Just me, lowering myself to my knees in the shower, my baby burrowing dangerously low in my pelvis with the next contraction.

It's hard to keep track of time from then on. I'm sort of just zoning out a lot, concentrating closely with each new wave of pain and letting my mind wander in the steeply decreasing downtime. Eventually I’m talking aloud to her, telling her how loved she already is, that she can come on out when she’s ready, that I'm so excited to finally meet her. That I'm ready. My mindless blabbering stops when I feel a very sudden shift.

Before I realize it I'm openly groaning into the air with the gripping contraction. It all just got very real, and I can feel myself becoming frantic. The increase in pressure was maddening, and no amount of shifting and rolling my hips would relieve it. My last contraction was at most a minute ago. I don't have long at all. I decide to push, just the tiniest bit, at the end of the contraction. It's just a little shove, I don't even hold my breath. Just enough to try it out and get a feel for the sensation. If she’s coming, she's coming. If she’s not, what happens? I wait a little longer and try again?

Another timid nudge.

Yeah, she’s definitely coming.

As soon as the contraction lets up I turn off the shower and heave myself out to towel off. I almost want to jump out of my skin I'm so excited. A quick collection of my shirt, phone and towel and I’m waddling back into my room, haphazardly tossing them on my bed. I decide to wait until after the next contraction to climb up onto my bed and really get this show on the road. When I get a look at myself in the full length mirror near my dresser I have a chance to catch my breath. My taught belly has noticeably dropped, basically screaming to the world what was about to happen. I'm flushed and sweaty and my wet hair is still sticking to my forehead. I’m all out of sorts, but I couldn't care one bit what I look like right now. Baby couldn't care less either. That telltale tightening grips me again, and when it begs for me to push along with it, I deepen my stance into a half-squat and bare down.

It almost feels… good? It's a very odd sensation but it feels like such a release to finally get to work with the pressure instead of against it. Two firm pushes in front of the mirror and I decided my bed was there if I needed it. Instead, I swipe a training pad from the package and lay it down on the floor in front of the mirror before stepping onto it. And I wait. At this point I'm so eager to push it’s hard to focus on anything else. I slowly lower myself down to be half kneeling, one foot propped up to let my hips open. I suck in a deep breath, and just like that I'm stuck in a contraction and pushing so hard I see my face go red. Exhale, inhale, push like hell. So it goes.

It only takes a few good pushes to feel something hard and very noticeably large lodged in my birth canal. Between pushes one of my hands dips down and curiously prods at my lips. I don't know what I was expecting to feel, she’s definitely not there yet, but nevertheless I’m a lot more sensitive than usual. I feel perpetually slick now considering I've been leaking little by little for the last hour and a half. But that's not just it. The past twelve hours have been the most in-tune I've ever felt with my body, like we’re finally working towards the same goal of giving birth to my daughter safely and calmly. The excitement and the love mixed with the fullness of her head moving downward almost became ecstasy. One accidental brush to my sensitive clit and I'm shivering. The sudden rush of pleasure triggers a contraction and I weakly push through it. Once the contraction ends my fingers slip into my birth canal. I was disappointed for a moment when I didn't feel anything.

Until I did. About two and a half knuckles deep, there was the hard, slimy ball I had been working down for the past twelve hours.

Oh my fucking god, that’s my baby.

I was awestruck. Just allowing the pads of my middle and ring fingers to press against her head was enough to have me grinning like an idiot.

Returning my hand to its place on my knee, I bore down again with the upcoming contraction. This time a low groan escapes my throat and I find myself leaning forward just the slightest bit. Looking in the mirror, I become fixated on the bulge forming behind my lips. I'm leaking fluid considerably now, and I'm grunting out little pushes when I swear I see a dark sliver start to part my folds. I only saw it for a split second. My hand dips between my legs once more and I press a finger into my lips. Sure enough, just out of sight rests my baby’s head. The quick progress I made surprises me, and I let out a breathy laugh as I trace my fingers back up to my dick. The warm tingling in my belly when I rub a few experimental circles into the swollen nub quickly melts my grunts into soft moans. My breath quickens. I was expecting this to be horribly painful, yet here I am moaning with the next contraction. All I can focus on in the mirror is the sight of my lips parting for my baby’s head. I moan through the stretch of my perineum, letting my pleasure bring me higher as I watch my lips pull out into a teardrop shape.

My rubbing has found a steady pace, and my hips buck a bit. I'm close, I can tell, and I feel the head continue to push my lips open. That burn is starting to set in. Another firm push.

I almost yelp when the head stretches me to a full crown, but I find myself so awestruck by the sight that I fail to make any noise at all. My rubbing continues as there the head stays. The burn is searing. Until finally, the release of my orgasm carries me blissfully as the head surges forward with a gush.

I kneel there for a moment, legs shaking and eyes fluttering, as I process what just happened. The aftershocks distract me through the next contraction, giving me time to gather myself. I can see it in the mirror, my baby’s head hanging out of me as it's supported in my hands. A sob rips from my throat as my fingers wander, feeling her tiny ears and nose.

“Oooh-kaaaaay.” I breathe, shaking off the numb tingly feeling that accompanied my orgasm. My fingers fumble around the baby’s neck, quickly untangling the umbilical cord and pulling over her head.

After lifting myself up to standing, the short few steps that should have been my journey to my bed became a quest. I knew I had no chance of closing my legs at this point, so it's a slow shuffle making my way over with shaky legs and a hand between them to support my baby. Climbing up onto the mattress isn't much easier, but I eventually manage to sit up against my pillows, legs butterflied out. From there I wait.

“Come on, kiddo.” I encourage. “I’m ready, you can come out now.” I wiggle my hips and give a tiny push, trying to get her to turn.

Once she does, I'm all in. My hands find purchase behind my knees and I pull back, red in the face as I push as hard as I can for the shoulders. The way I'm sitting, I don’t even need the mirror to see. I watch as my swollen lips spread around the first shoulder, then the other with a small spurt of fluid, and then-

I barely have time to catch her as with the last push, the rest of the baby spills out with a gush.

“Oh my god-” I sputter out as I lift the infant to my chest. As soon as she touches my skin, she begins wailing. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I check her over with wide, misty eyes.

“You are just absolutely perfect, aren't you?”

I giggle at her squirming attempt to get comfortable. So that’s what’s been keeping me up at night.

The ache sets in quickly, and I make quick (quick enough) work of delivering the afterbirth, cutting the cord and making sure we were both cleaned up and warm. Once I'm in a pair of sweatpants and back with her on my bed, I lay her back down on my bare chest, opting for a light blanket to wear cape-style and cover us both. I'm absolutely awestruck.

“Alright, we’ve given your aunts and uncles enough emotional prep time, don't you think?” I say decidedly to the already-sleeping infant as I unlock my phone, quickly finding the “video call” button in the group chat.

I'm grinning like an idiot as three of my friends join the call at lightspeed, the other two following quickly behind.

“Guys, someone wants to meet you!”

#tmpreg #mpreg #trans pregnancy #birth #birth kink #labor #m draws #pregnancy #nbpreg #birth fic #mayternity

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