#asthmatic!cas

[psyduckappears]

Sore throat for Steve & Robin?

read it on ao3

I did it!!! I wrote something under 2K words!!!! thanks for the prompt love x

It starts as little more than a sore throat, which Robin never meant for him to find out about in the first place. She’s been feeling a little under the weather, not unusual for an asthmatic during allergy season, and she doesn’t really need Steve to go into his conservative-suburban-mom mode on her. It just wouldn’t look good with the ‘Just Say No to Nancy Reagan’ bumper sticker she’s trying to get him to put on the BMW.

(Steve insists that bumper stickers are something for suburban moms, so maybe they’re just coming full circle on something, here.)

Her plan of deception works fine for a few days, but when they're on the phone on Thursday night, Robin's parents long gone to bed, Steve surprises her by noticing after only a few minutes the way she keeps having to clear her throat as her voice keeps failing her. Damn Steve and his sneak-attack moments of perceptiveness.

She can practically hear his concerned frown, the one that has the kids calling him mom behind his back with way more adoration than any of them can hope to hide. One day, she will prove it to him, and then he will finally have to admit that he is, in fact, a suburban mom and yield to her bumper sticker. For now, she has bigger issues.

“You alright?” Steve asks her, voice low. Robin pictures him on his bed, head propped up on his pillow where he’s staring up at the ceiling. He does that a lot.

“Sure,” she says, and as if to spite her, a cough slips out. She thinks in the depth of her petty mind that it must be the ghost of Nancy Reagan herself, punishing her for the blunt she used to corrupt oh-so-innocent Nancy Wheeler, and for trying to turn Steve against her after his parents did such a good job of voting for her bastard husband.

“Shit, are you sick?”

Maybe she should stop internally monologuing about politics and focus on Steve for a few seconds.

“Just a bit of a sore throat,” she tells him, and it’s not a lie. She really does expect this to be the end of it, for the cough to disappear in a few days and for her throat to stop hurting at every sip of water.

She doesn’t make it to work on Saturday.

Steve shows up in the afternoon, markedly half an hour before the end of what would have been their one shared shift of the week, with a bag that’s stuffed beyond advisability and a determined set to his mouth. Dear God. The beast has been unleashed.

“What are you doing here, dingus?” Robin sniffs. Her attempt at an unaffected demeanor fails somewhere between the fact that she barely has a voice and the thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stands, hunched, before him.

“You’re sick,” Steve states.

“No shit.”

“And you told me your parents would be gone for the weekend. Which, I assume you probably played down this whole thing so they wouldn’t get any ideas of staying home, but if you’re feeling bad enough to call in sick after you just complained last week that you need to save as much money as possible for your nerdy band thing –”

“Steve,” she cuts him off. Actually, she tries to cut him off like that, but her lungs clearly decide that she’s spoken enough for now and send her into another coughing fit, instead, on that sends her bending over and that feels so deeply rooted inside her chest that she’s scared she might throw up something vital.

Steve ignores her pathetic excuse for protest (though it’s quite possible that he didn’t even recognize the garbled syllables that she managed to get out as his name) and ushers her inside, a hand between her shoulder blades as he sits her down on the small, well-worn loveseat in the living room.

He keeps rubbing her back over the blanket until she calms down enough to straighten her back and force some air into her lungs.

“What the hell, Robin,” he mutters as she slumps back into the cushions, her eyes closed to the shine of the ceiling lamp. She has a headache. It’s pretty nasty. As if he can hear her thoughts – or maybe he can just see the small crease between her brows where the tension seems to sit – Steve gently holds a hand to her forehead. It’s pleasantly cold, which is weird, because Steve never has cold hands.

Before she can comment, the hand is regrettably gone again, and Robin hears Steve rustling through his bag, setting an assortment of things down on the coffee table before making a sound that sounds somewhat like triumph.

“I brought Motrin, since you can’t have Advil,” he says by way of explanation. She’s grateful because it means she gets another second of not opening her eyes. She’s also deliberately ignoring how warm and mushy and fluttery she feels because he somehow remembered that she can’t have Advil. “You have a bit of a temperature, and it’ll help with the pain, too. Which you know, obviously. You know what Motrin is. Some ginger ale to wash it down with because for some reason everyone always tells you that you should drink ginger ale when you’re sick.”

“Pretty sure that’s a myth,” Robin mumbles, but she grabs blindly for the bottle, anyway. Steve gives it to her only when she has her eyes open and busies himself freeing a tablet from the new Motrin pack as she takes a sip from the bottle. “Thanks, mom.”

“You sound like shit,” Steve tells her. “I mean, you also look like shit, but –”

He is appropriately interrupted by another coughing fit.

“Yeah. My point exactly,” he sighs, and his no-nonsense tone from before has morphed into something warmer. He gently rubs her upper arm as she gets it out, then hands her a tissue for the mucus. Gross. “You see someone about this yet?”

“Don’t be silly.” She waves him off, but she still leans into his touch. God, but she’s tired. Hurts all over. “It’s probably just a … mild chest infection, or something.”

“Mild.”

“Well, yeah, it would be without the asthma,” she deadpans into another sip of ginger ale.

“Asthma?!” Steve shrieks, and it hurts, shit, those painkillers really need to hurry up because she’s starting to feel like her head might explode if she has to be awake like this for much longer.

“Yeah, dingus, I got asthma.” It occurs to her, then, that she’s never mentioned it to him. To be fair, she rarely gets proper attacks these days, but it’s also weird considering everything else that he does know about her. She guesses it’s just easy to forget that they haven’t really known each other for that long. “Now will you leave me alone so I can sleep until the end of time?”

Steve laughs at that, just a little huff that tells her he thinks she’s being ridiculous. He’s one to talk, she thinks to herself, but before she can make a snappy remark about it, she is being hoisted off the couch by an arm around her back.

“Ngk,” she says, unhappy about the sudden movement.

“You’re not gonna sleep sitting up on the couch, Buckley,” Steve tells her. The bastard doesn’t sound like he finds it at all exhausting to drag around a fully grown woman, isn’t even a little out of breath by the time they get to their room. Stupid rich boys and their stupid, functioning lungs. “Here. That’s your bed. You can sleep in it, and when you wake up, I’ll heat up some soup, and we can do that thing where you hold your head over a bowl of steaming water if you promise not to be a clumsy dork and burn yourself.”

“You’re a clumsy dork,” Robin shoots back, but it doesn’t really land. Not when she’s already star-fished across her bed, mumbling into her pillow.

“Turn over, you’ll suffocate yourself.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying no,” Robin mutters even as she complies and turns onto her side. It is rather hard to breathe with your face smashed into a pillow, and she knows how awful it feels to cough while lying on her back. “Saying ‘no’ to Nancy Reagan, as God intended.”

Steve laughs at that, and she thinks he’s started piling blankets on top of her, but she also thinks she’s falling asleep already, so it might be a dream. What she definitely doesn’t dream is Steve sitting next to her against the headboard, on top of all those maybe- blankets, the mattress dipping under his weight, and muttering with a hand in her hair, “If you get better soon, maybe I'll think about your stupid sticker.”

“Mhm. I’ll hold you to that, Harrington.”

#steve & robin #stobin brotp #i love them #sick fic #silly #this is so SILLY #stranger things fic #prompt fill

[boogietrait]

Mesye Verdell Toussaint

He'll be the lead in my casual gameplay :Toussaint Tales. Just a 20-something purp sim exploring SimNation. 

Aspiration: Psychonaut (Basemental Mod Required) Traits: Clumsy, Asthmatic, Foodie, Diffident, Vegetarian 

under: Hair*, Mustache*, Eyes, Skin*, Eyebrows, Skinblend (*TSR) over: Sweater, Beret, Gauges (in game)

CC Creator Pages : @solistair,@kindlespice,@stretchskeleton, @its-adrienpastel,@nucrests

Misc: Save File - SimNation, Additional CAS Trait Mod

#black simblr #black simmer #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 #ts4 edits #sims4 #ts4 cas #ts4 edit #my sims #maxis mix #sims 4 simblr #sims 4 #toussainttales #f #boogieposts

[benefits1986]

Dead-ends

That hyphen on the word "dead-end" makes more sense and no sense, at once. Or it is just me and my dyslexic moody nothingness, yet again? This morning, dad was supposed to go on a long ride in ode of the long weekend. In an hour or so, we heard a loud sound that seemed like a firecracker, a loud one to be exact. Since I am still recovering, I asked him to check it out. He opened the door of our tiny house and looked around. Lo and behold, his three-year old bike tire exploded. We were talking about how mother dragon must have been breathing down my neck and today, my dad's neck, too. LOL. I asked him to thank mom because he could have gone wild on the roads especially during lusongs na malala. He stopped and looked at me. I knew he misses mom more and more.

I nebulized today because I can feel my breath shorten a bit which is not usual for me. Asthmatic era na ba talaga ako as an old lady with pets who shed their furs a whole lot this time of the year? LOL. I said sorry to Vici as he had to sleep on his own because mhie, I am literally and figuratively breathless-ish. Damn this bug. Ang lala but we are not stopping. Dad asked me saan ba ako pupunta this long weekend. LOL. I said that he should stop irking me because I can't afford a binat. A number of close friends are recovering from the flu for two weeks and counting; and I CANNOT imagine me in that scenario. Anyhow, I am supposed to backpack in no less than Bicolandia. However, I need to prioritize my health not only in time for the mega mad dash to the end of Q4, 2023. More importantly, the past days and weeks taught me that I am not getting any younger. Yes, I am not taking any maintenance drugs, thankfully; but it does not mean that I can go all out non-stop. LOLOLLOLLOLL. FML. I went easy on OD-ing vitamins and meds because my liver maybe crying out loud. I remember LA Tenorio's post which talks about his bout with CA. It's not just about the game but most importantly, the one who drives the ball and is part of the team. It begins and end with the self... always. This is easier said than done especially when I along with countless millennials are experiencing the pull of gravity; regardless of BMI, insulin resistance, number of zeroes in our bank accounts or the emoji reacts that our feed grants us. :D LELS.

We're all racing toward our own versions of dead-ends. We're all bound by our breath and nothing else, really. We're all but a speck of dust in the wind. It's funny how we often say that dogs' dead-ends are shorter than ours; however, I'd like to believe that all dogs have a life well-lived. They know what true love, compassion, loyalty and pure intention are. Enough said. I might be too dramatic for tonight's thought fart. I guess this is my way of resisting the AI boss bitch streak which is where I'm swimming in and will be in for the next X number of years. I guess I'd want to believe that there is a better version of Her (the movie starring Joaquin Phoenix) in this lifetime. I guess, humanity will prevail if and only if there'd be people who'll choose to make their versions of dead-ends worthwhile. Can I just say that I kinda feel like Anne Frank right now? So many social unrest, injustice towards the women and the disadvantaged. So many unnecessary factions that can actually be tackled if and only if people come together to over-communicate and negotiate. If only we work toward our dead-ends to heal the world instead of lambasting it more and more, maybe, just maybe, we'd be in a better ground. Let's see. For the meantime, I shall rest my case. Catch you in the next one!

[portorfeitansimp]

OC 18/37

Lorenzo Suka

Lorenzo is a gay printer born on April 1. He is mature and motivated, always ready to help people when needed but still quite suspicious of strangers, he hates when someone hurts his sibling but is very kind to her friends. He's pretty calm and thoughtful, but can freak out very quickly if someone tampers with his key ring, which is his last memory of his mother, and he becomes completely panicked if he loses his Ventoline because he is asthmatic. Like his sister, he is afraid of abandonment, and his eyes change color depending on his emotions :

Pink : in love

Red : anger

Black : hatred

Purple : jealousy

Blue : joy

Yellow : sadness

Pink with black whirlwinds : heartache

Grey with withe whirlwinds : despair

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lorenzo est un imprimeur gay né le 1 Avril. Il est mature et motivé, toujours prêt à aider les gens en cas de besoin mais tout de même assez méfiant envers les inconnus, il a horreur qu'on fasse du mal à sa jumelle mais est très gentil avec les amis de cette dernière. Il est plutôt calme et réfléchi, mais peut très vite péter un câble si quelqu'un touche à son porte-clé, qui est le dernier souvenir qu'il lui reste de sa mère, et il devient complètement paniqué si il perd sa Ventoline car il est asthmatique. Comme sa sœur, il a peur de l'abandon, et ses yeux changent de couleur en fonction de ses émotions.

Rose : amoureux

Rouge : colère

Noir : haine

Violet : jalousie

Bleu : joie

Jaune : tristesse

Rose avec des tourbillons noirs : chagrin d'amour

Gris avec des tourbillons blancs : désespoir

[impossibledeanmakerwombat]

Acetaminophen API Market: Worldwide Industry Analysis and New Market Opportunities Explored By 2023 to 2032

Acetaminophen API Market: Overview The usage of acetaminophen grade is higher due to its wide utilisation in the drug development process. While it is widely used in the pharmaceutical industry as a pain killer which offers a lucrative opportunity for the growth of the Acetaminophen API market in the forecasted period. Aside from this, the acetaminophen drug is combined with various drug and available in various forms, but it is mostly available in the form of extended-release tablets for showing analgesics effects. But heavy usage of this drug can cause serious adverse effects & can build toxicity which leads to other diseases.

In 2022, the market for acetaminophen API is expected to be worth US$ 1,150.2 Million. The drug is available over the counter (OTC) in the form of extended release tablets that exude analgesic effects. Because of the drug’s usefulness as a palliative in pain relief and in combination with other medications in a variety of medical conditions, the overall demand for acetaminophen is expected to increase at a CAGR of 3.4% between 2022 and 2032, reaching US$ 1,606.86 Million by 2032.

Acetaminophen API (paracetamol), or Tylenol, is used as in the first-line drug therapy in pain conditions. The API when combined with drug shows antipyretic & analgesics effect. Acetaminophen is found in over the counter (OTC) sensitivity drugs, cold meds, sleep medication, pain relievers and so on.

The medication can be administered in patients who are bigoted to salicylates and those with hypersensitive propensities, including bronchial asthmatics. It comes under the NSAIDs (nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs) category because of its capacity to repress the cyclooxygenase (COX) pathways.

The Indian government has confined the export of 27 active pharmaceutical ingredients (APIs) and completed portion drugs made with those APIs because of Covid-19. Johnson and Johnson’s (New Brunswick, NJ, US) Tylenol (acetaminophen/paracetamol) is among the medications whose supply chain will be influenced.

The request will influence worldwide pharmaceutical supply chains. India is a crucial area of pharmaceutical manufacturing for the drugs market in different countries. The nation houses drug manufacturing units possessed by contract fabricating associations (CMOs) and others claimed by local and global biopharma organizations for in-house manufacturing

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Acetaminophen API Market: Drivers and Restraints:

The easy availability of this drug is boosting the growth of the Acetaminophen API market.  Meanwhile increasing usage of drugs for pain-relieving effects is propelling the growth of the Acetaminophen API market. Moreover, rising incidences of accidents, surgeries are further boosting the Acetaminophen API market.

Moreover, people addiction to using these drugs for rapid pain relief also fuelling the growth of the Acetaminophen API market. Additionally, environmental conditions, lifestyle changes & dietary habits modifications are responsible for a variety of disorders which increases the consumption of these drugs.

However, the excessive dosage can cause toxicity which can lead to serious complications such as liver diseases, fertility issues, carcinogenesis & mutagenesis which can hamper the growth of the Acetaminophen API market.

Acetaminophen API Market: Regional Wise Outlook

Geographically, the Acetaminophen API market is divided into seven regions viz. North America, Latin America, Western Europe, Eastern Europe, Asia Pacific, China, Japan & the Middle East and Africa.  Asia-Pacific is expected to dominate the global acetaminophen API market followed by North- America & Europe.

Asia-Pacific is dominating the global acetaminophen API market due to higher population rate which led to increased accidental cases, surgeries & various disorders, thus the demand for the drugs is increasing in this region which is boosting the Acetaminophen API regional market. While the increasing healthcare conditions & awareness amongst the people is further fuelling the Acetaminophen API market.

Rapid development & Advancements along with the changing environmental conditions is going to offer a lucrative opportunity for the growth of acetaminophen API market in North America during the forecasted period.

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Acetaminophen API Market: Key Market Participants

The key participants operating in the global acetaminophen API market identified across the value chain are

BOC Sciences

Tianjin Bofa Acetaminophen

Mallinckrodt plc

 Kemcolour International

Changshu Huagang Acetaminophen

Haohua Industry

Kangle Acetaminophen

Angene International Limited

Anhui BBCA Acetaminophen

Granules India

Hebei Jiheng Acetaminophen

Glosel India Impex Pvt Ltd. from India

 Flare S.A. from Switzerland

Silverline chemicals ltd from India

Emkay Pharma Pvt Ltd from India

Atabay K.S.V.T. from Turkey

Anqiu Lu’An from China

United Pharma Industries Co Ltd from China

Farmson from India

Liaoyuan City Baikang from China

The players working in the worldwide acetaminophen API market are concentrating on the drug discovery i.e. by combining the API with various other extracts for the development of new therapeutic medication which would be helpful in prevention & cure of various disorders. Currently, the company are focusing at the collaborations, mergers & acquisitions with other companies.

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Report Highlights:

Detailed overview of the Healthcare market

Changing Acetaminophen API Market dynamics in the industry

Below the Acetaminophen API Market -depth market segmentation

Historical, current, and projected market size in terms of volume and value

Below the Acetaminophen API Market recent industry trends and developments

Competitive landscape

Strategies of key players and products offered

Potential and niche segments, geographical regions exhibiting promising growth

A neutral perspective on market performance

Must-have information for market players to sustain and enhance their market footprint

Acetaminophen API Market Segmentation:

The global Acetaminophen API market has been segmented based on product form, type, application, end-user and geography.

type

Veterinary Drug Grade

Acetaminophen Grade

end-user

Pharmaceuticals Industry

Research labs

Educational institutes

Others

product form

Tablets (film-coated, extended-release)

Oral Solution

Suppository

Injection

Others

indications

Antipyretic

Analgesics

Others

[bankruptcyattorneyinarcadia]

A Quick Overview of Estate Planning and Estate Planning Attorney Arcadia Ca

A Quick Overview of Estate Planning and Estate Planning Attorney Arcadia Ca | Regrettably, many of us are thinking about death these days. A flu epidemic is sweeping the world, affecting every aspect of our existence. Considering the news, many of us are wondering more deeply about our death rates and the premature death of our loved ones. Hopefully, you and your family will be alright. However, it never pains me to be ready.

This is an experience I first learned about after my father died. I recall waiting in his overstuffed hoarder’s home, where he’d started telling me to look in the locker one colored red in his guest-room headquarters for his final guidelines.

I opened the room door and gazed at the massive poster adorned some otherwise blank, white wall when I was only a child: it depicted a Nat Geo globe encased in push pins representing where my Father had traveled and where he hoped to go. When I was a kid, almost every one of the pins was yellow, indicating places he still desired to see. My Father had passed away at the age of 76, and the majority of his pins were green: he’d accomplished his goals.

I opened the room door and gazed at the massive poster adorned some otherwise blank, white wall when I was only a child: it depicted a Nat Geo globe encased in push pins representing where my Father had traveled and where he hoped to go. When I was a kid, almost every one of the pins was yellow, indicating places he still desired to see. My Father had passed away at the age of 76, and the majority of his pins were green: he’d accomplished his goals.

When I opened the drawer, I saw two tidily printouts. One was a list of written addresses, organization names, and bank details titled “Where Things Are.”

Those records (neither of which was a will; that was managed to keep in a safe room at an attorney general’s office) were the actual locations I required, and they directed me throughout a procedure that almost all of us will face when a loved one passes away.

My opinions on death rates are becoming more intense in the early months as the coronavirus emerges into a global epidemic that has claimed countless lives and will undoubtedly and sadly claim many more. I consider my fate on occasion because I’m a lifelong asthmatic who has always been more susceptible to colds and coughs than those around me.

But put horrifying thoughts aside for a while. Because Estate Planning Attorney Arcadia ahead of time, whether assisting a husband or wife with their final relations or making your ultimate arrangements, will make the future (and death) much simpler when the time arrives.

Here are some things to consider, whether discussing arrangements for yourself or trying to ensure your elderly parents are ready.

Do I require a will?

You’ll also require multiple will-like records if you have kids and property.

To be clear, a will is a legal document that governs what happens to your assets—what you own. Your choice specifies what happens to everything ranging from your kids to your trinkets, treasures to bonds, and stocks.

Assets with a designated beneficiary, such as IRAs or maybe some bank and mutual funds, are an exception.

A will is not the only record you will require. You’ll also need a living will, also renowned as an application for approval, which exactly sounds like: It defines what will happen to your affairs if you are still alive (but incapacitated). A living will primarily address how you would like your end-of-life choices to be handled if you could not express your desires.

The other two primary records you’ll choose to start preparing are a long-lasting well-being power of attorney, which designates the individual who will make medical decisions on your behalf, and a will. An Estate Planning Attorney Arcadia Ca help you to make your wills without hassle.

#A Quick Overview of Estate Planning and Estate Planning Attorney Arcadia Ca

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

Could I request a destiel au where maybe dean has been smoking since he was in high school, and he's never really had a reason to quit. He's perfectly content to stay in his ways until he meets and falls for Sam's friend Castiel, who is severely asthmatic. He can't be around when Dean smokes, because it's a trigger for his attacks, so dean tries to quit for him? (Sorry this is so long! 😂 I love the seven minutes in Heaven ficlet, but the way!)

This got a little longer than I intended (mostly because I spent way too much time on the backstory) so I hope you enjoy it! Also, I’m so glad you liked the seven minutes in heaven fic! (also on ao3!)

Dean had never intended to become a smoker.

It was just something that sort of happened. Like the fact that he lost his virginity in the backseat of his car when he was sixteen or happened to enjoy wearing women's panties or fell in love with his brother's best friend.

He had smoked his first cigarette when he was thirteen.

His mom had been out for the night, having dinner with a few of her friends that she hadn't seen in awhile. Sam was out of the house, having a sleepover with a few of his own friends.

His dad had ended up falling asleep on the couch after watching a rather intense wrestling match. Gunner Lawless had won, of course.

Dean had been bored out of his mind, desperately trying to come up with some way to entertain himself. Like any thirteen year old red-blooded American boy, he was a little reckless, rebellious for the sake of being rebellious.

Watching TV had been out of the question since they only had one, which was stationed in the living room, and turning it on would mean waking his dad. And his dad could be a grumpy son of a bitch when woken from up, like a crotchety old bear whose hibernation had been interrupted.

Video games were out of the question, too. Mostly because they required the use of the TV and partially because Sam had taken their best games with him.

He ate some leftovers from the night before, using the carved up turkey to make a few sandwiches. But as much as he loved food, it was a poor substitute for worthwhile entertainment.

He was desperately searching for a way to pass the time, to cure his mind-numbing boredom, and satisfy his insatiable curiosity. So, with his dad still snoring on the couch, Dean swiped his pack of Marlboros and a lighter and snuck outside to smoke his first cigarette.

His dad had been a smoker since he was a teenager himself, a trait he had picked up from his own dad. Dean had always secretly suspected it had something to do with maintaining a manly image.

Dean's mom had been insisting that John quit smoking for years, citing the numerous health risks involved with the dirty little habit. But his dad had always just brushed it off, always claimed it would be his New Year's resolution, always put it off for another year.

John had finally relented when Mary decided to take a more passive aggressive route.

Whenever John would come home from a long day of work at the garage, covered in grease and grime and sweat, and leaned in to kiss her hello, Mary would twist away. Waving a hand, she would dismiss, "Oh, John, you know I hate kissing you after you've smoked."

That pattern had gone on for weeks. And as much as Dean hated to admit that his mom holding out on his dad in the bedroom — hell, he didn't even like to think about it — was what finally convinced his dad to quit smoking.

John had gradually reduced his cigarette consumption little by little. He slowly but surely went from a pack every few days to a pack a week to a pack a month.

But at thirteen, Dean hadn't been thinking about the fact that his dad was a taking a step to improve his health. All he had been thinking about was trying out a cigarette himself.

With John slumbering on the couch and no one else home to catch him, Dean had tiptoed into his parents' bedroom where he rummaged around for his dad's pack of cigarettes. He had eventually found it in the pocket of his dad's favorite leather jacket along with an old silver Zippo.

Prize in hand, Dean had quietly crept outside to the backyard to enjoy the spoils of his little covert mission. He had hidden in the shadow of a tall pine tree, not wanting any of their neighbors to spot him.

He had shivered a bit, the ground cold beneath his socked feet. Winter would be there soon, hopefully bringing snow days so he could get out of his most boring classes.

He had placed the butt of a cigarette between his lips the same way he had seen his dad do a million times. Flicking the igniter on the Zippo, summoning a small dancing flame, he raised the lighter to the end of the cigarette.

He had only managed to take a few short puffs of the cigarette before he was bent over coughing, hacking up a lung. His eyes had watered from the intensity of his coughing fit, his stomach aching from it.

He hadn't understood how anyone could get addicted to smoking. It was horrible. And it tasted beyond disgusting.

It definitely wasn't as cool as everyone in the movies made it look.

Dean had snubbed out the cigarette after recovering from his fit, tossing it over the fence into their neighbor's trash can to destroy the evidence of his little crime. He hadn't wanted to get the same lecture about how dangerous and disgusting smoking was that his mother had often given his father.

Slipping back inside, he had returned the pack of cigarettes and the Zippo to his dad's jacket pocket. Then he brushed his teeth three times and chugged two glasses of water just to get the taste of nicotine out of his mouth. It really wasn't that cool.

The only people he had ever told included his three best friends and, after swearing him to secrecy, Sam. It remained his dirty little secret for years until more important ones took its place.

He had smoked his second cigarette when he was seventeen, only a few months before he turned eighteen.

He had been at a party celebrating the most recent win of their high school football team, of which he was the star player, voted MVP after nearly every single game they played. One of the other players on the team, a rich kid whose parents were out of town often enough for him to do so, had invited half of the school to his palatial home.

Dean had been hanging out with Benny and Jo, Charlie having already found a pretty girl to disappear upstairs with. They had been sipping on illegally obtained beer in red solo cups, shooting the breeze about school and work and other crap that wouldn't matter once they graduated.

From across the room, a cute cheerleader had caught his eye. In her bright hot pink tank top and the tiny scrap of faded denim that she called shorts, she was rather hard to miss.

She had winked at him, biting her plump bottom lip between her teeth and beckoning him over with a crooked finger, nodding her head towards the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He would have had to be an idiot to refuse such a blatant invitation.

With a salute to his friends that was greeted by a round of eye rolling, Dean had crossed the crowded room to her. The pretty brunette had led him outside to a patio where a few other guys from the football team were hanging out, each of them with at least two girls hanging off their arms, all of whom vying to be the next homecoming queen.

All of them were smoking, the lit ends of their cigarettes bright in the shoddy patio lighting.

He had been smart enough to know that smoking wouldn't make him cool, that he shouldn't smoke just to fit in with a people whose names he barely knew. But he had also been young and dumb enough to only be thinking with the head between his legs.

So when the brunette, whose name he later learned was Amy, pulled a white and green box out of her back pocket and offered him a cigarette, he had accepted without a moment of hesitation.

That time, he managed not to double over coughing, muffling the few coughs that did escape his lips by laughing a little too hard at the stupid jokes one of the other guys made. It had been a menthol cigarette, the taste of mint soothing the nausea he felt thanks to the plethora of chemicals he was inhaling.

Amy had seemed impressed. Enough so that she blew him in the bathroom later.

He had started smoking regularly after that, at least socially. He would accept a cigarette whenever someone at a party or a bar offered him one, telling himself that it would be rude to refuse.

Women seemed to like it, along with a few guys. They told him it made him seem more mysterious, more mature.

Personally, he had to agree. He thought it gave him a bit of a James Dean quality. Especially when he wore his leather jacket.

He started carrying gum and breath mints around wherever he went, for both his own benefit and others. He didn't imagine it was all that enjoyable to kiss someone who tasted like an ashtray.

Unfortunately, he had to hide his smoking from his family. At least until he was old enough to buy us own cigarettes and by then, he was a bona fide smoker.

He smoked between classes while in college, attending the University of Kansas for automotive technologies. He always made sure he could sneak out for a smoke break every few hours at work.

When he moved into his own apartment, he was able to smoke freely, not having to worry about the smoke bothering anyone.

The only place he drew the line was his car. His baby deserved better than the stench of nicotine and tobacco that lingered when he smoked, that soaked into every fiber of his clothing.

His mother had been beside herself when she found out. Not a second later, she had launched into a lecture that Dean already knew by heart, detailing the horrible effects of smoking. Meanwhile, his dad had just looked impossibly guilty, more disappointed in himself than in Dean.

Yet while they both clearly disapproved of his smoking, along with Sam, they accepted that they couldn't make him stop smoking. He doubted that anything could.

He didn't think he would ever find a good reason to quit. Until he met Castiel Novak.

Castiel — or Cas, as Dean had taken to calling him — was the teacher's assistant for Sam's Introduction to English Literature class at the University of Kansas where he was finishing up his general education courses before transferring to Stanford.

From what Sam had told them about his English class, Cas was more of a teacher than the actual professor, some washed up writer named Chuck Shurley. Apparently, Chuck was more interested in bemoaning his own hurdles with his book series than actually teaching.

Cas, on the other hand, had no problem actually teaching the material, from Shakespeare to Vonnegut. And, from Sam's stories about class, he was damn good at it.

Sam talked everyone's ear off about how smart and interesting and nice the TA was, constantly singing Cas' praises and lauding his rather impressive credentials. Apparently, Cas had gone to an Ivy League school and had written his own series dealing with legendary creatures, one that was actually pretty good.

According to Sam, Cas also had a natural talent for making boring, ancient plays written by a bunch of old dead guys fascinating. For making the curriculum less of something they had to suffer through and more of an adventure that they were embarking on together.

It was after that particular comment that Dean had accused Sam of having a crush on the cute teacher's assistant. He pointed out that Sam's girlfriend, Jess, might be a little jealous.

But Jess had just shocked them both by turning to Sam and casually announcing, "Hey, if you're up for it, I wouldn't say no to a threesome."

Dean's suspicions about his little brother being infatuated with the teacher's assistant were further cemented when Sam and Cas continued hanging out after the fall semester ended and Sam was no longer in the class Cas practically taught. Hell, they even had a standing weekly get-together.

They usually went out for coffee or met up at the college library. On one occasion, they had gone out to a local bar for a drink on a Saturday night, leaving Sam with a story about how ridiculously high Cas' alcohol tolerance was.

After months of hearing about the Columbia graduate, published author, one hundred and sixty IQ scoring teacher's assistant, Dean finally asked Sam when he was going to get to meet the fabled Cas.

Sam had just rolled his eyes and told Dean to drop by the campus one day and he would introduce them. The chance of meeting a hot co-ed may or may not have given Dean some extra encouragement to drop in on his little brother at school.

So, the following Thursday, after finishing his early morning shift at Bobby's garage, Dean decided to swing by the school. Sam's last class of the day ended at four o'clock on the dot, his history professor extremely punctual.

Dean pulled up around three forty two, parking in the visitors section to avoid getting fined. That left him some time to kill, even after he made his way to the main building.

Naturally, he lit a cigarette while he waited.

He leaned back against the brick wall of the main building as he smoked. The chilly February air teased at his hair as it rustled the bare branches of nearby ornamental trees, the cold of winter stubbornly lingering.

A group of girls left the building in knit sweaters and leggings, holding cups of hot, steaming coffees. They glanced over at him, raking their eyes up and down his body with blatant interest.

He responded by flashing a bright smile and sending a charming wink their way. Like a gaggle of high school girls, they ducked their heads and giggled amongst themselves as they continued walking to their cars.

The front door opened again, drawing Dean's attention. This time Sam strode out in all of his gargantuan, moose-like glory, his long hair billowing in the wind like he was some kind of Fabio wannabe.

He was wearing a Stanford Law sweater under his brown flannel, already showing off the fact that he had already been accepted to the prestigious school. And people called Dean cocky.

Sam was talking to another man, head tilted to the side as he gestured with his right hand. At first, Dean assumed the other man was the famed Cas but he quickly discounted his theory.

Sam had described Cas well enough that Dean would know the guy from a mile away. And the guy Sam was talking to wasn't Cas.

He was too short, for starters, maybe five eight while Cas was reportedly around Dean's height. Not that it was a glaring discrepancy, just a noticeable one.

He had light brown hair, unlike Cas whose hair was either an extremely dark brown or pitch black, Sam had admitted that he was never sure which color it actually was. He had a full beard that matched his hair color, thicker than the facial hair that Sam claimed Cas had.

He had blue eyes from what Dean could see, finally a similarity with Cas. Cas' eyes were the bluest blue to ever blue if the way practically mooned over them was any indication.

The yet to be named man was dressed more like a student than the uptight, always professional Cas that Sam described, in a tattered hoodie over a graphic t-shirt that was stained in various places. He was wearing faded jeans with tears in the worn out knees, the fabric frayed around his ankles and his dirty sneakers.

Dean was still crossing off reasons on his mental checklist of why the mystery man couldn't possibly be Cas when he overheard Sam say, "Alright. See ya later, Professor Shurley."

"Hey, jerk," Sam said by way of greeting as he made his way over to Dean after waving goodbye to Chuck who continued on his way towards the faculty section of the parking lot. He grimaced when he noticed the cigarette in Dean's hand, disapproval written all over his face.

"Bitch," Dean responded automatically, their rude little way of addressing each other an involuntary reflex at that point. He nodded his chin at Chuck's retreating back, taking another drag of his cigarette as he asked, "So, that's Shurley, huh? The one who wrote all those shitty, pretentious books—"

"Dean..." Sam interrupted, a pinched expression on his face. He waved his hand in front of his throat in a slashing motion, Dean reading the universal 'cut it off' gesture loud and clear.

"Aww, c'mon, Sammy!" Dean groused, throwing up his free hand in exasperation. Gesturing towards Chuck, who was definitely out of earshot, he pointed out, "You said it yourself, the guy's writing is complete shit! He's a total hack!"

"Dean," Sam said again, a bit more urgently this time. His expression went from pinched to pained as he tried yet again, "Knock it o—"

But before Sam could even finish his sentence, another voice piped up. Said voice was gravelly yet as smooth as honeyed whiskey, like whoever it belonged to gargled with Jack Daniel's and grit, as it placated, "It's alright, Sam. My father's writing can be a bit...pretentious, for lack of a better word."

With a thoroughly beleaguered sigh, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a few steps to reveal that there was someone standing behind him. Someone that Dean would recognize anywhere despite having never met him before. Cas.

He was just as good-looking as Sam had claimed, hell, maybe even more so.

He had light blue eyes that were downright angelic, calling to mind giant wings of celestial light and glittering halos. They reminded Dean of clear spring skies, of days spent fishing at the lake, of pleasantly cool mornings.

His lips, which Dean had no shame in admitting drew him in like a moth to the flame, were the most perfect shade of pink, though they looked a bit chapped. Dean would be lying if he said he didn't immediately think about them in a less innocent situation.

His hair was dark like Sam had described and even more messy, seemingly jet black yet dark umber when the pale sunlight hit it. His jawline was made rugged by the dark stubble there, slightly longer than the five o'clock shadow Dean was sporting but not quite long enough to be considered a full beard.

He was dressed like a teacher's assistant, at least Dean's idea of a teacher's assistant, in his black suit and crisp white button up. There was a deep blue tie around his neck, slightly loosened and backwards, both of which made Dean smile at the tiny bit of dishevelment.

It made him more human, less like the infallible angel that Sam had described.

Cas had a tan trench coat hanging over one of his arms, folded carefully to avoid any potential wrinkles. In his free hand, he carried a black leather messenger bag, the strap slung over his shoulder.

Dean was still staring at Cas' black Oxfords, which were immaculately polished and shined, when something suddenly occurred to him, something that Cas had said. Jerking his head up, he met Cas' brilliant blue eyes, his own wide as he blurted, "Wait, did you say... Chuck Shurley's your dad?!"

Cas just nodded, looking remarkably unperturbed for someone whose father had just been rudely insulted by a complete stranger.

"But your last name!" Dean cried out, feeling like a complete idiot the second the words left his mouth. He scrubbed a hand over his face as his cheeks flushed with heat. He really needed to learn to think before speaking.

"By all accounts, I'm a bastard," Cas replied calmly, a tiny smile curling up the corners of those pretty pink lips of his. Shifting his weight to his other foot, he explained, "I was born out of wedlock, thus my father and I do not share a surname."

"Uh, yeah... Yeah, that makes sense," Dean mumbled, mostly to himself. He scratched the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes.

He didn't have the nerve to look Cas in the eye as he stammered out an apology. "Sorry, dude. About what I said 'bout your old man."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas shrug. Tipping his head to the side the tiniest bit, Cas dismissed, "There's no need for apologies. My father's writing certainly does leave something to be desired. He has quite the penchant for killing off fan favorites and absolutely massacring character development."

"I know, right?!" Dean exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about his embarrassment in favor of snapping his head up and beaming at Cas. Absentmindedly flicking some ash off the tip of his cigarette, he gestured around aimlessly, gushing, "Like killing off Felicia? Fucking stupid! And all the queerbaiting? It's ridiculous!"

"You-You actually read those books?" Sam inquired incredulously, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked at Dean like he had just grown two more heads.

"'Course I did. All of  'em," Dean scoffed before raising his cigarette to his lips for another quick puff. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he shrugged and explained, "I wanted to know if Jensen and Misha, stupid names by the way—" he glanced over at Cas "—ever got together, okay?"

"I'm sure my father will be very flattered," Cas stated, his tiny smile growing into something wider and more genuine. Dipping his head, he quipped, "Though I suppose I should leave out the critiques as he never seems to enjoy it when I mention them to him."

Dean barked out a laugh at that, still relieved that Cas didn't seem too upset by the fact that Dean had insulted his father only a few minutes prior. He moved his cigarette to his other hand and flashed one of his most charming grins as he held out his now free hand to Cas.

"I'm Dean, by the way," he announced, his smile widening. "Dean Winchester."

Cas shifted his trench coat to his left arm, his movements careful and meticulous, making sure he didn't rumple his suit. He held his own hand out, shaking Dean's as he beamed at him, introducing, "As I'm sure you've already guessed, I'm Casti—"

But before he could finish, he was suddenly doubled over coughing. He turned his head to cough into the crook of his elbow, his shoulders shaking with the force of his hacking.

His face started to flush a deep red as he continued his forceful coughing, sweat beading at his temples. Whenever there was a pause in his coughing and he had the chance to greedily inhale mouthfuls of air, he wheezed.

"Whoa, Cas!" Dean cried out, dropping his cigarette as he moved towards Cas. But Cas just held up a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks as he continued coughing. "You alright, man?!"

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam reprimanded, setting a hand on Dean's chest and pushing him back a few feet. Dean turned to gawk at his brother, wondering why the hell Sam wasn't letting him help Cas. There was clearly something wrong with the poor guy!

It suddenly made sense when Sam pointed out, "He has asthma!"

Sure enough, when Dean turned to look back at Cas, the teacher's assistant was digging through his messenger bag to pull out an inhaler. He raised it to his lips and took a long inhale as he pressed down on the inhaler pump, closing his eyes as the medicine did its trick, soothing his cough and letting his breath begin to return to normal.

In an instant, Sam was at Cas' side, a hand on his arm as they talked in hushed voices. As Sam fussed over him — asking him if he was okay, if he needed some water, if he wanted to sit down — Cas waved his hand, insisting, "I'm perfectly alright, Sam. I just have a sensitivity to tobacco smoke. I'm fine."

Eyes widening, Dean dropped his gaze to look down at the cigarette he had dropped. Guilt and realization washing over him like a tsunami.

The cigarette was still lit, a thin, undulating stream of smoke rising up towards his face like a vengeful spirit, taunting him. He stomped on it. Dragged the sole of his boot across it until the paper ripped and tobacco was smudged against the gray stone of the front walk.

Snapping his eyes back up, Dean hurried to apologize, babbling, "I'm so sorry, Cas, I had no idea. Is there anything I can d—"

"Dean, it's fine. I'm fine," Cas cut him off with a polite smile as Sam straightened up, dropping his hand from where it had been on Cas' forearm. With a negligible shrug, Cas held up his inhaler, shaking it for emphasis as he explained, "There's a reason why I always carry an emergency inhaler."

Dean had apologized a few more times but Cas had simply continued to wave them off, instead steering the conversation back to introductions. They were finally able to shake each other's hands without anyone breaking into a coughing fit or start bleeding from their eyes.

With Dean's luck, that was the best he was going to get.

They had talked a little bit about Sam's classes, the only four which stood between him and law school all the way in California. They were mostly art classes he needed for his art requirement along with his history class.

Sam asked about the sections that Cas was working with, and indeed mostly teaching himself. Apparently, in addition to being a teacher's assistant for English classes, he helped Chuck with his theology classes.

As both Winchesters walked Cas back to his car, an old Continental that somehow suited Cas more than any other car Dean could ever think of, Sam invited Cas to their dinner with their family some night. It was an invitation that Cas had eagerly accepted, a bright smile on his face.

Just like that, over the next few months, Dean saw more of Cas than he would have expected when Sam had first told him about the TA.

After the first time Cas had gone over to the Winchesters' for dinner, which had gone exceptionally well in spite of Dean's constant worries that he might send Cas into another asthma attack, Cas had become a regular fixture in the Winchester household.

He was invited to dinner at least once a week. Mary and John absolutely adored the dorky little guy, practically adopting him as a third son.

On weekends, when Cas didn't have any classes to work with and didn't have any shifts at his part-time Gas-n-Sip job, he would go over to the Winchesters'. He would spend hours baking in the kitchen with Mary, helping her bake the most amazing culinary creations that Dean always volunteered to taste test.

Other times, usually after he finished with all his classes, he would hang out with Sam. They would talk about everything from what Stanford professors were the best to nerdy shit like Kafka and new Netflix documentaries.

Hell, he even helped John with his extensive records collection. Apparently, one of his brothers, of which he literally had dozens, was an antiques dealer who was always in search of new buyers for vinyl records and other classic rock memorabilia.

He showed up whenever invited to watch baseball games and NASCAR races and wrestling matches even though he admitted to not being a fan of any sport in particular. Regardless, he was always more than willing to sit through Dean and John's, and sometimes even Mary's, loud booing and cheering.

He usually brought over the most decadent treats for them to munch and was always so enthusiastic about whatever they were watching, even though he had no idea what the rules were. Dean just didn't have the heart to tell Cas that just because he was invited he didn't have to actually show up.

Cas started spending time with Dean, too. They would meet up for drinks after work a couple times a week, Cas showing off his notorious alcohol tolerance.

As it turned out, they along swimmingly when Cas wasn't in the throes of an asthma attack and Dean wasn't unknowingly insulting Cas' dad. And even though Cas was pop culturally challenged, they found they loved the same books and had complementary tastes in music.

He ended up meeting Dean's friends, coincidentally already friends with Charlie who worked with one of Cas' brothers, Gabriel, at his bar. Benny, Jo, and Garth all adored Cas on sight, welcoming him into their little group the second they met him.

While Cas was admittedly short on friends, the multitude of siblings he had certainly made up for it. Dean eventually wound up meeting a few of them.

He ran into Balthazar, a blonde blue eyed bastard with an inexplicable British accent, while he was stopping by the Winchesters' to sell John an old Beatles album. Balthazar was nice enough, if not a little condescending.

Dean met another one of Cas' other brothers when Gabriel brought his '69 Mustang into Bobby's garage. As much as they bonded over a mutual love of classic cars, Dean was a little taken aback by Gabriel's inappropriateness and the fact that he threatened to chop Dean's dick off if he ever hurt Cas.

And, of course, Dean had already sort of met Cas' father. Though, he wasn't sure if that counted since they had never been properly introduced or even spoken a single word to each other.

But as much as Dean loved hanging out with Cas, every time he did, he found himself plagued with worry. What if he accidentally sent Cas into another asthma attack?

What if he didn't shower thoroughly enough or wash his clothes well enough and there was still some smoke clinging to him? What if he reeked of tobacco and nicotine every time he sat next to Cas on movie nights and the poor guy had to refrain from vomiting?

Dean was always careful to avoid smoking within two hours before hanging out with Cas, always showering and brushing his teeth beforehand to avoid any lingering scents or smoke. But the worry still lingered, the fear that he would end up hurting Cas somehow.

And the reason that bothered him so very much? He had fallen for Cas. Ass over ankles fallen for him.

He wanted to take Cas out to some fancy restaurant where they looked at people like trash if they asked for ketchup. He wanted to go on a long drive with no destination, Cas sitting beside him in the passenger seat.

He wanted to cook for Cas, make him dinner every night and breakfast in bed every morning. He wanted to cuddle on the couch with Cas while watching one of his lame documentaries, while he ran his fingers through Cas' dark hair.

He wanted to wake up every morning and see Cas lying in bed next to him. He wanted to kiss Cas and see if his chapped lips were rough or smooth, dry or wet.

He wanted to undress Cas, peel him out of his immaculate suits, slow and careful and reverent. He wanted to taste Cas' bare skin, see if it tasted like he imagined, sweet like honey and salty like sweat.

He wanted to get tangled up in silk sheets with Cas and never get untangled. He wanted to lie on a beach with Cas, soaking up the sunlight as waves crashed over their bare skin.

He wanted to marry the freaking guy. He wanted to buy a nice little white picket fence with him, maybe get a dog, adopt a few kids.

God, he wanted everything with Cas. But he couldn't have it. He couldn't have any of it.

Not if he continued smoking.

So the first thing Dean did after working up the nerve to actually ask Cas out on a date was quit smoking. But unlike his dad who had gradually weaned himself of the habit, Dean decided to quit cold turkey.

In the days leading up to their date, he found himself fidgety and woefully unable to focus. He could hardly concentrate on anything, whether it be work or reruns of Dr. Sexy.

He constantly picked at his lips, missing the sensation of holding a cigarette between them. He went through twice as much gum as usual, needing to occupy himself somehow, the repetitiveness of the chewing motion soothing him along with the familiar taste of mint.

As time went on, he grew progressively snappish and terse, growling at the slightest irritation. Bobby ended up sending him home early after he bit Kevin, their receptionist's, head off over something trivial.

By the time Saturday rolled around, he was suffering from bouts of nausea, hot flashes, and a horrible case of insomnia. But he would be damned if he canceled his first, and perhaps only, date with Cas just because he was dealing with a little bit of withdrawal.

He and Cas had agreed to meet at one of the more upscale restaurants in town, a place that was affordable yet fancy enough for a date, at seven which gave Dean enough time to shower and get dressed.

Wanting to look his absolute best, he spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over what to wear. He finally decided on a deep red button up over a black t-shirt and some dark jeans, along with a new pair of boots.

He spent a decent amount of time styling his hair until he deemed it sexy looking enough. He even spritzed himself with some of the expensive cologne he reserved for special occasions.

Despite his difficulty concentrating, craving nicotine more than he ever thought he would, Dean had the presence of mind to stop by a local florist and pick Cas up some flowers. It may be a little sappy but he wanted to make sure Cas knew it was a date, not just a casual hangout.

He made it to the closest flower shop fifteen minutes before it was set to close, feeling like a jackass for holding up the woman behind the counter. He paid double the price for a bouquet of white roses, tulips, and camellia, apologizing for showing up so near closing time.

He was almost late to the restaurant after getting stuck in traffic behind some asshole who wouldn't get off his damn cell phone. Luckily, he managed to pull up to the restaurant with just enough time left for him to fuss over his hair one last time.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted from where he was sitting on a wooden bench in front of the restaurant when Dean walked into sight from the parking lot. He smiled shyly at Dean as he twiddled his thumbs, making the mechanic's heart race.

Cas looked devastatingly handsome in a blue chambray shirt and a pair of black jeans, his outfit more casual than any other Dean had seen him in. His hair looked like it had been combed but it was still messy, mussed despite Cas' best efforts at taming it.

He stood when Dean approached, brushing away nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt. Once he walked closer, Dean held out the bouquet he had bought for Cas, announcing, "Uh, I got you these."

"They're beautiful, Dean. Thank you," Cas gushed, taking the bouquet from Dean's hand, careful not to prick himself on the sharp thorns on the rose stems. He brushed his thumb over a pristine white petal, beaming up at Dean as he softly murmured, "Camellias. You remembered."

Of course he had. How could he ever forget Cas' favorite flower? He wasn't an idiot.

Cas had mentioned that he was partial to camellias a month or two ago when he had been helping Mary pick out new flowers for the garden. Dean had been helping his mom build planters for said flowers, lingering in the doorway as Cas and Mary talked about everything from roses to chrysanthemum.

Feeling his face flush at the memory, Dean scratched the back of his neck, valiantly resisting the urge to swoop down and peck Cas on the lips. Instead, he just gave a one shouldered shrug and mumbled, "Yeah, no problem, Cas."

"Shall we go in?" Cas inquired a moment later, still smiling radiantly. He nodded his head towards the front door of the restaurant, drawing Dean's attention away from Cas' lips in favor of looking over at the intricate glass inlay.

He nodded, swallowing heavily to help settle his nerves. As he led Cas up the steps to the front door, he set his hand on the small of his back, relishing the fact that he could actually touch him.

Ever the gentleman, to his mother's delight, Dean held the door for Cas, ushering him inside with a bright smile. They walked side by side to the slim black hostess' podium.

They were greeted by an almost too cheery blonde hostess in a tight black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Tucking two menus under her arm, she asked, "Would you like a table inside or outside on the patio?"

Cas looked to Dean for an answer, his smile soft and sweet. Without much thought, he blurted, "Inside."

Then he remembered the hot flashes that he had been having for the past few days. It was unnecessarily warm within the restaurant considering it was mid-spring.

He glanced around the restaurant, scanning his eyes over the crowd. The place was absolutely packed, tables pressed claustrophobically close to each other.

It was rather loud, scores of people talking over each other to create a dull roar that seemed to echo in his ears. Given his frequent headaches since he decided to quit smoking, he didn't think the noise would be all that good for him.

His fingers tingling a bit, Dean nervously cleared his throat. Before the hostess could round the podium, he quickly amended, "Uh... Actually, on second thought, I think outside might be better."

With a nod, the hostess led them out a side door to the patio. A dozen or so tables were spaced out within a fenced in area, covered with white tablecloths.

It was much quieter outside, only a handful of the tables occupied. There was a flame crackling in a fire pit, casting a warm light over the patio.

There was a slight breeze, typical of the time of year, cool but not cold enough to warrant Dean running back to his car for a jacket. Lights were strung up around the patio, bright but not glaring, providing a hint of romantic ambiance.

Dean pulled out Cas' chair for him, earning a delighted grin from the TA. After pushing Cas' chair in, he rounded the table to take his own seat, accepting a menu from the hostess with a polite smile.

"What'll you be having to drink?" The hostess asked, tugging an order pad out of her waistband. She grabbed a pen out from behind her ear, looking at them expectantly.

"I'll just have water," Cas answered, beaming at the hostess before turning his undivided attention to Dean who was starting to feel a little nauseous.

"Uh, ginger ale for me," he requested, forcing a smile as the hostess jotted it down. Once she finished, she announced that their waitress would be there with their drinks in a few minutes, wishing them a nice night before she disappeared back inside.

"Are you feeling alright, Dean?" Cas questioned, setting his bouquet on the table in favor of reaching out to lay his hand on top of the one Dean had resting on the table.

As much as Dean would have loved to intertwine his fingers with Cas' and hold his hand all night like some freaking sap, he couldn't. His palms were growing sweaty and they were shaking again, a strange tingling in his fingertips.

He yanked his hand away, dropping it onto his lap so he could wipe his palm on his jeans. Glancing between Cas and the napkin wrapped silverware in front of him, he hastily assured, "Yeah, Cas. I'm fine. Never better."

Cas just hummed. He narrowed his eyes for a second before cracking open his menu, encouraging Dean to do the same.

Raking his eyes over the list of entrees, the mere thought of food intensifying his nausea, he started tapping his foot. He could feel a wave of heat crash over him as sweat started beading on the back of his neck, on his upper lip.

He desperately tried to stay focused on the fact that he was on a date with Cas. Because he was actually on a date with Cas!

But he couldn't. The words on the menu seemed to blend together and every time he tried to say something, to initiate some kind of first date small talk, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

He tried licking his lips, swallowing more than he needed to, but it did no good. If anything, it just made it worse.

Cas seemed rather absorbed in the menu so Dean followed his lead, desperately trying to make out the words in front of him. He finally settled on a burger, figuring he couldn't go wrong with that. Besides, a burger wasn't likely to make his nausea much worse.

Glancing up over the top of his menu, he snuck a look at Cas who was squinting down at his own menu. He was about to say something, anything, to spark a conversation when a different woman appeared beside their table.

She introduced herself as she set down their drinks, flashing a bright grin as she looked between them. Pulling an order pad out of her back pocket, she jotted down their orders. Taking their menus, she flounced away, ponytail swishing behind her.

Cas sent Dean a small smile as he reached out to grab his glass of water which reminded Dean of how thirsty he was. He downed a decent amount of his ginger ale in one sip, praying it would help with his nausea.

The last thing he needed was to throw up his lunch and completely ruin their date. Of course, that made him start thinking about all of the other ways he could fuck it up.

From choking on a chunk of hamburger to saying something stupid and upsetting Cas, the multitude of scenarios raced through his mind at lightning speed. Jesus Christ, one wrong move and he could irrevocably mess things up with Cas.

It was a daunting realization, one that made concentrating even more difficult. He was too wrapped up in his dead end thoughts to ask Cas about his day or the sections he was teaching or how his family was doing.

He took another long sip of his drink, jiggling his leg. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean babbled, "So, uh... Nice night, huh? Not too cold, not too warm. How've your classes been? You’re doing theology again this semester, right?"

Beaming, Cas nodded. But as he launched into a story about the debate they'd had in class about whether the Bible should be interpreted literally or metaphorically, Dean found himself spacing out.

His body was flooded with heat, his palms unbearably sweaty no matter how many times he wiped them on his jeans. And all he could think about was how wonderful a cigarette would be, the soothingly familiar taste calming his anxiety as the nicotine placated his fidgeting.

Maybe he could pick up a pack after the date, just smoke one cigarette then quit for good. But he knew he couldn't do that, it would ruin all of the progress he had already made.

Besides, that would be extremely unfair to Cas. Speaking of which, Cas let out a heavy sigh and frowned at Dean, announcing, "Dean, if you don't want to be here, you don't have to stay."

"What?" Dean squeaked, incredulous. Scrunching his face up in confusion, he said, "Why wouldn't I wanna be here? I wanna be here! I'm having a great time! With you!"

"No, you're not," Cas returned, his tone filled with a sad kind of wistfulness. Shaking his head, he gestured at Dean with his hand, pointing out, "You're fidgeting like you can't wait to leave and you've been staring at the table for ten minutes."

"Shit, I have?" Dean asked helplessly, running a hand down his face in frustration. Way to fuck this up, Winchester, he berated himself.

"Yes, you have," Cas confirmed, his voice turning more resigned by the second. Lowering his eyes to his lap, he explained, "I'm very happy that you asked me out but I've been on enough pity dates to recognize when I'm on one. You don't have to continue the charade. Tell Sam I appreciate the gesture but it's unnecessary, I—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second," Dean cut him off, holding up his hand. "You think Sam put me up to this? To asking you out because he...because he felt bad for you? That's batshit crazy, Cas."

Cas just shrugged, still looking down. Sighing, he announced, "It's happened before. More times than you might think."

"Well, that's not what happened this time," Dean declared firmly. "Believe it or not, Cas, I like you. A lot. That's why I asked you out. I'm just... I'm so fidgety and spacey and shit because I quit smoking, okay?"

That got Cas' attention. He snapped his head up so fast Dean would be surprised if he didn't get whiplash, his mouth forming a perfect o.

"You quit?" Cas inquired after gaining his bearings. Tipping his head to the side in that ridiculously endearing way of his, he went on, "Why?"

"Can't really kiss you if it'll give you an asthma attack," Dean answered, feeling his cheeks flush as he did.

"You quit for me?" Cas murmured in blatant disbelief. When Dean nodded, he asked a follow-up question, inquiring, "Dean, did you quit 'cold turkey'?"

Swallowing a laugh at the fact that Cas actually did the air quotes, Dean nodded again. That earned him a fond eye roll from Cas who let out yet another sigh.

Grabbing the bouquet of flowers, Cas started to stand. Frantically, Dean blurted, "Wait! Where are you going?"

"We're going, Dean," Cas announced. At Dean's confused expression, he clarified, "We'll get our food to go. We need to stop by a pharmacy and get you some nicotine patches."

"Right now?" Dean whined, still worried that he had completely ruined their date. But Cas' sudden blush made him pause.

"Well..." Cas trailed off, biting his bottom lip coyly. "I might be rather eager to kiss you."

Dean didn't think he had ever stood up so fast, nearly overturning his chair in his overzealousness. In a moment he was standing by Cas' side, curling an arm around his waist as they made their way to the counter.

Maybe quitting cold turkey was a good thing. Especially since it meant he got to kiss Cas later.

#destiel #destiel au #alternate universe #my fic #fic #first meetings #first dates #smoker!dean #mechanic!dean #teacher's assistant!cas #asthmatic!cas #getting together #withdrawal #nicotine withdrawal #insecure!cas #starsinoureyescas

[galacticgarlic]

Asthmatic Dean Headcanons

When he was a kid, he hated running and would have to drink a lot of water after strenuous activities. He avoided fitness tests at school as much as he possibly could- sometimes going so far as to steal the coach’s clipboard and fill in fake results

He still hates running as an adult, but is more used to it now (he still has to drink a lot of water and sit down though)

He once tried to explain to Sam that running made him taste blood. Sam was very concerned.

He had to use a nebulizer until he was ten. As a kid, Sam always wanted to use the nebulizer like his big brother.

He carries an albuterol inhaler everywhere. He used to keep it tucked away safely in the pocket of his leather jacket, but it wasn’t convenient and he doesn’t wear the jacket much anymore, so he started clipping it to his belt, stuck into one of those silicone hand sanitizer holders.

Dean hates the taste of the inhaler.

He still remembers the first time another hunter made fun of his inhaler. It was just some stupid little comment about needing “braces and a pocket protector” next. He let it slide back then, but he was insecure for a while afterwards.

John never really taught Dean about his disability, which is why he was so surprised to find out that cold air could cause an asthma attack (4x15)

His first asthma attack was terrifying. He was on a hunt with John, and the dust and mold spores of the old building must have triggered something. John was in another room but rushed to Dean’s aid when he heard him wheezing.

He almost had another attack after Sam was stabbed (2x22)

He is careful at bars and clubs and makes sure to gauge where people are smoking so he knows which areas and exits to avoid.

He got more excited than necessary when he saw Adam pull an inhaler out of his own pocket. (They have different prescriptions, but all that matters is that Dean’s is red and Adam’s is blue. 😊)

Cas once good-naturedly offered to heal his asthma. Dean was very taken aback.

Jack once insisted on putting stickers on Dean’s inhaler. It’s had a unicorn on it ever since.

Cas won’t let Dean go on hunts when he’s sick. He’s not risking another attack unless he has to.

Eileen understands Dean well, since she’s much more involved with the disability community than everyone else Dean knows. She’s been able to help him out a lot with his feelings of “otherness” and is teaching him not to see it as something “wrong” with him that needs to be “fixed”.

#dean winchester #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #john winchester #jack kline #castiel #cas #destiel #asthma #asthmatic #headcanon #actually asthmatic #inhaler #asthma attack #disability #getting stabbed #death #medicine #nebulizer #fitness test #blood #injury #physical activity #adam milligan #smoking #ableism #alcohol #bullying #eileen leahy

[adilab]

how do you deal with a dog who hadn’t been outside in 5 days? 

#spin spin spin! #quick potty breaks and that's it #my poor angel #the smoke is just not good for you or your asthmatic momma #sorry my love! #so much love to all those affected by the CA wildfires :( #adi #6 years #labrador retriever #dogblr #video

[mtchstck-a]

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you

if u try to use the current CA wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps I am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill you 

#if u try to use the current ca wildfires as dumb ass angst plots for your shitty rps i am legally allowed (in some cases obligated) to kill #it's been said before but it's fucking despicable to use irl tragedies for rp fodder u fucking cretins #the death toll is still climbing #i am giving breathing treatments to my asthmatic sister on a nightly basis bc she's inhaling smoke all day #people are dying #people are loosing everying #and you think it's the time to be like #''omg but what if this happened to my muse and their bf had to pull them out of the flames that would be---'' #nah bitch #learn how to empathize u fucking disgrace #if not at least shut the fuck up #okay to rb #🔥 | DESIGNATED LESBIAN ( OOC ) #im #🔪🔪🔪

[calpalirwin]

All Too Well

Summary: Bucky can’t let Steve’s memory go.

Word Count: 3.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

The plain black ball cap was pulled low on his head as he trudged his way through the museum. He was stupid for being there. A whole ass museum literally dedicated to his ex. But it was somehow the only place he ever found peace. The memories couldn’t swallow him whole when they were plastered on the walls. It was the one place he could allow himself to be angry for how everything had played out.

His fingers fiddled with the cool metal hanging from his neck, feeling the rise and fall of the letters stamped in it. “Fuck you, Steve,” he muttered darkly. “Fuck. You.”

~~~

“Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?” Bucky asked with a laugh, as he watched Steve take three hurried steps for every single stride of his. “I’m the one meeting your mother.”

“Yeah, but… I’ve never brought anyone home before,” Steve mumbled, his face turning red. “Girls don’t exactly throw themselves at me the way they throw themselves at you.”

“Mmm, well, good thing I’m not a girl then.”

Steve choked, his face growing an even brighter shade of red.

“Oh…” Bucky said in realization. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Steve answered by picking up his speed, the leaves crunching under his rapid footsteps.

“Steve. Did you, or did you not tell your mother about me?” Bucky asked, easily lengthening his own stride to keep up with the smaller man. “Answer me.”

Steve snorted, shoving his hands in his pockets, his eyes glued to the pavement. “Of course I told her about you. She knows you’re coming.”

“Steve.”

His feet slowed to a stop, and his shoulders slumped as he spared a glance upwards at Bucky. “You’re not mad, are you?” he asked with concern.

Bucky smiled warmly, draping an arm across Steve’s shoulders. “No, I’m not mad. But you gotta be the one to tell her.”

“Buck, no,” Steve pleaded, his eyes wide. “I-I can’t.”

“I’m not gonna be your dirty secret, Steve.”

“I never said you were!”

“Then tell your mother.”

Steve’s footsteps were heavy with dread as he dragged himself up the porch of a house Bucky assumed was his mother’s. Steve’s breath was slow as he steadied himself, squaring his shoulders, his face getting a determined look to it, but his eyes still held traces of fear as he looked up at Bucky.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Bucky said in a low, reassuring voice, his hand giving Steve’s arm a small squeeze of encouragement.

Another slow breath and Steve pushed his way into the home with a call of “Mom! We’re here!”

A woman poked her head out of the kitchen, a big smile on her face. “Steve! And you must be James,” she said, her attention quickly shifting from her son to Bucky.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Bucky greeted her politely.

“Please, have a seat,” she gestured at the couches. “Make yourselves at home. Can I get you boys anything to drink? Eat?”

“I got it, Mom,” Steve told her, joining her in the kitchen while Bucky perched himself on the edge of a couch cushion.

“Steve, you didn’t tell me your friend was so…” Mrs. Rogers cleared her throat before whispering, “handsome.”

Bucky felt his face heat up at the compliment, while his fingers curled into fists at the mention of ‘friends’.

“Erm,” Steve coughed. “Yeah, Mom, about that… Buck and I… Buck, he’s my… We’re…”

“Steve, Steve,” she interrupted her son’s fumbling, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. “He’s not your friend, is he?”

The blonde shook his head sheepishly. “No… He’s… So much more than that.”

“Hmm…” Mrs. Rogers pursed her lips together as her eyes swept over Bucky who offered up a shy smile. “James, would you like to see pictures of Steve from when he was little?”

Whatever sigh of relief Steve was about to let out quickly changed to a groan. “Mom…”

Bucky let out a laugh, “You mean more little than he is now? I'd love to.”

Hours later, Bucky was still awake on the couch when soft footsteps padded down the hallway. “What are you doing, sneaking about?” he asked in a whisper when the fridge door pulled open, illuminating Steve in a soft glow.

Steve jumped, hand flying to his chest. “Jesus, Buck! I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, see…” he said, as he got up. “I was about to. But now you’re here. What are you doing?” Each word he spoke brought him closer to Steve, pressing him against the kitchen counter.

“I was getting water,” Steve gulped out, holding up a glass as evidence.

“You sure that’s the only reason?” Bucky asked, his hands roaming Steve’s waist.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice was a low whine as he squirmed away. “C’mon, not here.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, pulling back, but keeping his hands on Steve. “Dance with me, then.”

“Dance with you? Here? Now? There’s no music.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“I take it that you got a kick out of my mom embarrassing me this afternoon?” Steve asked as he let Bucky dance him around the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your past, sweetheart. It all led to you being you.”

“I suppose. But it’s really not fair that I can’t meet your parents and spend an afternoon listening to them embarrass you.”

“Yeah. They would have loved you, too. But I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”

“You will?”

“Mhm. How else can we build a future if we don’t know each other’s pasts?”

“You really want to be my future?”

“I really do. Do you wanna be mine?”

“More than anything,” Steve nodded, before resting his head against Bucky’s chest. “I love you, Buck.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

~~~

The bottle lay empty before him on the coffee table. His throat burned as he drained the last sip from his glass. He knew if he looked in a mirror his eyes would be rimmed red but it had nothing to do with the alcohol consumption. Not being able to get drunk enough to drown out Steve’s memory was easily the thing Bucky hated most about being a super soldier.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he deadpanned before his face pinched and he hurled the glass as hard as he could across the room. “UNTIL THE END OF THE LINE!” he bellowed, swiping the bottle off the coffee table in an angry motion as tears poured down his face.

With a mangled cry of heartache and rage, Bucky shattered like the glass shards decorating the floor, breaking apart like Steve’s promises.

~~~

Bucky gripped the enlistment form angrily in his fist, crumpling it. “Again?” he demanded sharply. “How many times are you gonna do this, Steve?”

“As many as it takes,” Steve replied icily.

Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face in agitation. “No. You have to stop doing this.”

“Why?”

“It’s illegal for one thing!” Bucky snapped. “And for another, I’m telling you no! You’re not allowed to enlist, do you understand me?!”

“Not allowed?!” Steve hollered back, matching his boyfriend’s anger.

“Yes! I’m forbidding you from enlisting!”

“Do you realize how stupid you sound?! There’s a war going on, Bucky! They need men to fight!”

“How stupid I sound?! Steve, you’ve been rejected four times for a reason! No sane person is going to let you fight!”

“So I’m supposed to just let you go?!”

“You think I want to go?! I don’t have a choice here! Believe me, if I did, I wouldn’t be going! So why the hell are you so pressed to go yourself?! What are you trying to prove?!”

Steve glared up at Bucky in startling realization. “You don’t think I can do it… Nobody does… You all think I’d be a dead man walking…”

“Steve…”

“No! It’s the truth, isn’t it? Nobody believes that scrawny asthmatic Steve Rogers can be a bonafide American soldier… Well… I expected it from them, Buck. But from you? You can’t even believe in me?” He hung his head sadly. “Wow…”

“Steve…” Bucky repeated, hating the look of betrayal on his boyfriend’s face. “Sweetheart…”

Steve held up a hand. “Don’t. You can’t ‘sweetheart’ your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying t-” Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “God damn it, Steve, of course I believe in you. But can you also understand that the only reason I’m at peace going to war myself is because I know you’ll be safe here? God… if anything happened to you… I’d… I’d…”

“Can you understand that I don’t want to sit here and pray you’ll come back? That I don’t want to have to worry about your safety either?”

“Cuz joining the war’s gonna stop you from worrying? That’s a load of crap.”

“No, it wouldn’t stop me from worrying about you, but it’d be a hell of a lot better than sitting at home, twiddling my thumbs for God knows how long!”

“You know… I always knew you were stubborn. But I thought you’d draw the line at DYING!”

“WHO SAID I WAS GOING TO DIE?!”

“OH I DUNNO! MAYBE THE FUCKIN’ WAR THAT’S KILLING EVERYONE?!”

“AND HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL KNOWING THAT YOU COULD BE ONE OF THEM, BUCK?! HUH?!”

“YOU JOINING THE WAR DOESN’T PROTECT ME! And if you can’t realize that… God damn it! One of us stands a really good chance of making it out of this hell alive, and you wanna give that up?”

“The future doesn’t mean shit to me if you’re not around for it, Bucky.”

“You can’t protect me from this, and I get how angry that makes you. But lying on enlistment forms isn’t the brave or noble thing. It’s just stupid. And I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, or if you wanna take that as me not believing in you. But I need you to promise me that you’re gonna stop enlisting, or I swear I’ll report you myself.”

“Buck…” Steve cried in a broken whisper, a tear sliding down his face. “This isn’t fair…”

Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, resting his chin in the golden locks as Steve sobbed in his arms. “Promise me, sweetheart. Nothing stupid until I get back. And I will. I’ll come back.”

~~~

“This isn’t fair!” Bucky wailed into his hands, still curled up on the floor. The tight band around his chest made him fight for each sobbed breath that wracked through his body. “I kept my promises! Why couldn’t you keep yours?! What did I do wrong?! All I ever wanted was for you to love me back! Was that too much to ask of you?! For you to love me back?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

~~~

Bucky sat quietly while Steve cleaned up his face, his mind reeling. He hadn’t been able to trust his thoughts in so long, captivity under Hydra control making the line between reality and fantasy blurred. And even with Steve physically in front of him, he still wasn’t sure if he was real or not. After all, the Steve he’d left in New York had been so much different than the Steve standing before him now. How did a grown man have a growth spurt of this proportion in a handful of months?

He knew Steve was no doubt telling him the story of his magical growth spurt, as the blonde’s lips were moving rapidly. But Bucky couldn’t process much beyond “genetic testing” and “serum” as his mind slowly went from acceptance to heartache. If Steve was real, it meant all his memories of him were too. And if that was the case, why did Steve keep making eyes at the woman in the room with them? Was the love part not real? Had that been some sick coping mechanism to keep him from going insane? The thought that someone out there loved him being enough to keep him from becoming the homicidal maniac Hydra wanted?

“I’m sorry,” Bucky interrupted, a different word catching his attention. “Grenade?”

Steve and the woman shared a sheepish smile. “Yes,” she nodded. “In training, Captain Rogers here threw himself on top of a grenade.”

“Captain? Wow,” Bucky said, his tone both bitter and impressed. “Um… Peggy, was it? Could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies. And welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve gulped as the tent flap closed behind Peggy, leaving him alone with Bucky. “Buck-” he started, scrambling to defuse the look of cold steel Bucky fixed him with.

“A grenade?” Bucky whispered terrifyingly low. “A grenade?!”

“It didn’t go off…”

Bucky jumped to his feet. “A GRENADE?! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!”

“I WAS THINKING I WAS GIVEN A CHANCE AND I TOOK IT!”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY HOME!”

“AND LOOK WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED IF I DIDN’T! OR NEED I REMIND YOU THAT I JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE?!”

Bucky set his jaw stubbornly. “You think I got captured on purpose? It was an ambush, Steve.”

Steve sighed. “I didn’t say it was your fault.”

“You didn’t have to… I promised you I’d come back, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. But you… you little…”

“I’m not little anymore…”

“Shut up before I get more mad at you.”

Steve’s face crumpled. “You’re mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you! I specifically told you not to do anything stupid! And what do you do? You went and did something stupid! Genetic testing?! Jumping on a grenade?!”

“Again… the grenade didn’t go off. And I wouldn’t say I ‘jumped’ on it exactly. ‘Curled my body around it’ is far more accurate.”

“Shut up!” Bucky thundered. “I don’t know whether I should kiss you in relief, or kick your ass for being so stupid.”

Steve offered up a shy smirk. “I mean… you could try to kick my ass. But I don’t think it would work out very well.”

With a growl, Bucky stalked over to Steve, hand gripping the younger man’s throat as he easily threw Steve against the wall, Steve’s boots hovering above ground. “Wanna retract your statement, Captain?”

Steve grinned. “I’ve missed you too, Buck,” he croaked.

In a flash Bucky dropped Steve before enveloping him in a rib crushing hug. “Don’t you ever scare me like this again, you understand me?” His voice was a cracked whisper as he savored the feeling of Steve in his arms again.

Steve held Bucky back, the new strength strange but comforting to Bucky. “I know you want me to be sorry, but I can’t. I can’t apologize for getting you back.”

“But everything before that?”

“It won’t happen again?” Steve offered. 

“It won’t-” Bucky started to repeat in bafflement before he let out a loud laugh. “You’re a little shit, Rogers.”

Steve nuzzled his face into Bucky’s neck. “But you still love me, right?”

Bucky continued to chuckle, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Yes, I still love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

“And you’re not mad at me anymore?” The blue eyes were wide and sad as they peered up at him. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

“I’m getting there,” Bucky answered truthfully, his fingers reaching out to grip Steve’s chin when Steve tried to hide his face in shame. “There’s a lot to get used to.”

“I’m still me, Buck. I just look different.”

“Different looks good on you,” Bucky stated, letting his eyes roam Steve’s new body hungrily. “Really good.” His fingers moved to ghost along the muscles in Steve’s arms, his tongue wetting his lips. And he took great satisfaction in the way Steve’s face flushed and the moan that ripped out of his throat when Bucky’s lips connected with the Captain’s. 

~~~

Bucky grasped at the dog tags around his neck like a lifeline. Each run of his fingers across the letters loosening the tightness in his chest. Each breath a little easier to gasp out.

Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, chuckling darkly at the irony of it all. For years he had been afraid to trust his thoughts, never sure of what was real and what wasn’t. But when it came to Steve? He remembered everything. And he could recall it all in shocking clarity and detail. Every laugh, every kiss, every tear. He could picture it all like it was still happening, even though it all was long gone now. Memories that could never fade.

~~~

Bucky listened to the soft rain falling outside his window as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark. He wasn’t a stranger to nightmares waking him up, but this one was new. No fighting, or violence. Just a watery pair of blue eyes and a quivering lip.

All Bucky had to do was turn his head to find Steve sleeping peacefully beside him, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. But this was a nightmare Bucky couldn’t shake. One he couldn’t predict the ending to. He just knew it was coming. And he kept trying in vain to stop it, or at the very least prolong it.

Steve let out a small whimper as he shifted in his sleep, searching for Bucky, and sighing in content when he found him. Even with his super soldier body, he still sought out the comfort that was Bucky. And somehow that hurt Bucky all the more as he twisted ever so slightly to stamp a kiss against Steve’s forehead. “Shh,” he soothed quietly. “I’m right here.”

Steve stirred more in his sleep, eyes fluttering open slowly. “Hey,” he rasped slowly. “You didn’t have another nightmare, did you?”

Bucky shook his head. “No,” he lied. “Just can’t fall asleep. Soft bed… you know…”

Even in the dark, Bucky could see Steve frown. “What’s on your mind, Buck?”

“It’s nothing.” Another lie.

“Buck.” Even with an edge of sleep, Steve’s voice was stern.

“It’s nothing I want to talk about now,” Bucky amended. “Just let me have these last moments with you, okay? Can you give me that?”

The bed creaked as Steve sat up. “Bucky… What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“You’re leaving me for her, aren’t you?”

“I- What?”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t spare my feelings. I see the way you look at her. Know the way you look at her. Because it’s how I look at you. It’s how you used to look at me, too.”

“Bucky…”

“When, Steve? How much longer do I have with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Bucky’s voice yelled out like thunder. “God damn it… Don’t lie to me… You love her…”

“I love you, Bucky.”

“But you love her, too. You love what she’s able to give you. And I’m just the reminder of everything you used to be…”

“Bucky…” Steve’s voice started to break.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Bucky pleaded, his cheeks damp with the tears that rolled down his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Bucky, please…”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Steve. Tell me you don’t love her. Tell me you’re not leaving me for her. You can’t, can you?”

“You told me not to lie to you… I love you Bucky. I really do.”

“Then don’t do this to me… Please… Don’t leave me for her…”

“I don’t know how to love you both…”

“Then stop loving her!”

“I can’t! I’ve been trying! That’s why I’m still with you! But I can’t. And I can’t stop loving you either.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky let out a scoff of disgust, but it didn’t have the effect he wanted considering it was also half of a choked sob. “You stopped loving me the second you started loving her.”

“Buck-”

“Get out.”

“Buck!”

“I said get out, Captain.”

~~~

Bucky shoved his hands deep in his pockets, lengthening his strides as the rain started to fall. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and he would have broken out in a slow jog to avoid getting soaked, but his apartment was coming into sight. He’d make it. Barely. But he’d make it.

He would have walked straight past the man sitting on the steps outside, if the man’s words of “Huh. So those are where my dog tags went. Been looking for those,” didn’t freeze him in his tracks.

Bucky didn’t say anything as Steve rose to his feet, his blonde hair and the shoulders of his jacket drenched darkly with the rain.

“Wow… Sam was right… You do have a staring problem,” Steve tried to joke with a smile.

“Can I help you, Captain?” Bucky asked, not bothering to soften the bite of his tone.

Steve let out a long sigh. “Can we not do this? The attitude?”

Bucky looked skyward, the rain falling faster and heavier. He may not be able to get drunk, but he could still catch a wicked cold if he stayed out here much longer. And as much as he hated it, he still knew Steve well enough to know that the man was shivering based on the slight tremor in his jaw as he tried to stop his teeth from clacking together. “I suppose you want to come inside, then?”

“Sure beats the alternative of freezing to death. Wasn’t really a fan of that.”

Another bad attempt at a joke that Bucky didn’t take the bait for. Instead, he titled his head towards the building. “C’mon, then.”

Steve smiled, following after Bucky into the building and then Bucky’s apartment. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I wouldn’t thank me yet, Rogers. Don’t mistake my not wanting to get sick as any sort of warm welcome upon seeing you. So I’ll only ask you this once. What do you want?”

__

Tag List

@cxddlyash​ @stanofalotofthings​ @philthepegacorn​ @youngblood199456​ @binxiboo​ @creator-appreciator​ @felixtok​ @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof​ @jessalyn-jpeg​ @lilyoflower​ @mychemicalimagines​ @rougese7en @milea​ @partiesandblurrypolaroids​ @summerdaughter​

#all too well #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes x steve rogers #stucky #marvel #calpal irwin

[ao3feed-destiel]

If The World Was Ending

Read it on AO3 here!https://ift.tt/3yKhJjp

by AngelWithoutAShotgun

Dean Winchester has just arrived back in the US after attending is brother's destination wedding. But, due to the delta variant, he needs to self isolate for ten days before he can go home. Hoping to save some money, he forgoes the expensive quarantine hotel and opts for a cheaper 'shared apartment' option. The kicker is, as a solo traveler, he gets assigned a roommate. But, Dean's got charm to spare and a tight bank account, so he's happy to share with a stranger for a while.

It would suck if it wasn't a stranger but an ex though, right? The very ex that he's been trying and failing to forget for the past five years?

The universe doesn't hate him that much, does it?

(Spoiler alert: It does).

-----

TLDR: Cas and Dean are college exes that get stuck in isolation facility for ten days.

_____

Updates: Weekly, on a Sunday.

Words: 5399, Chapters: 1/9, Language: English

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Meg Masters, Balthazar (Supernatural)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Quarantine, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Mutual Pining, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Zoologist Castiel, Graduate Student Castiel (Supernatural), Forced Proximity, Explicit Sexual Content, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Past Castiel/Dean Winchester, Military Veteran Dean Winchester, Asthmatic Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is a Disaster Bi, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), I Will Go Down With This Ship, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Covid Fic, But No One Gets Covid, They Just Have To Isolate After Traveling, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Link: https://ift.tt/3yKhJjp

#ao3feed #ao3feed destiel #destiel

[dear-wormwoods]

Question: is adult Eddie an addict of opioids?? Or the medicine he takes??

It’s really something that is left up to interpretation, tbh. He has opioids and other addictive prescriptions, but his level of dependency on them is really left up to headcanon.

Personally, I do think he uses some of them recreationally and is probably an addict.

This paragraph definitely implies that he uses these pills to get high. Also the fact that he hides the quaaludes in a Sucrets box makes me think that this is something he doesn’t even want Myra knowing about. He can explain away pain medication and antidepressants, but it’s a lot harder to come up with a medical reason for using a popular party drug that had already been classified as Schedule I by the CSA at the time the novel takes place. Eddie knows there’s no medical use for it - it’s literally illegal to prescribe - but he has them anyway and is secretive about it, so it’s safe to assume he’s only using them to get high.

Even aside from the quaaludes, the medications on that shelf are almost all addictive and shouldn’t be mixed together. Having multiple prescriptions like that at the same time is highly suspect - what kind of doctor would prescribe someone a benzodiazepine (Valium) and oxycodone (Percodan) and Proproxyphene (Darvon) and a tricyclic antidepressant (Elavil)? Where is Eddie getting these scrips from? Who is he lying to or scamming to get all this at once? He’s not taking them for any real medical reason, because if he was he’d be more careful about combining medications that specifically, by name, warn against taking together or while consuming alcohol (which he also does). On top of that, he still thinks he has severe asthma, but he’s out here taking multiple hardcore medications that shouldn’t be taken by asthmatics, per the warning labels.

Imo he is dependent on these pills and is well aware that he’s using them for their side effects, not for their intended purpose. He doesn’t care about his health as much as he pretends to. He’s just using this stuff to float through life. He implies as much when he thinks “she understood and condoned his remedies in the medicine cabinet because she kept her own in the refrigerator” - in this comment, Eddie is projecting his own understanding of their situation onto Myra. Eddie understands that they are both addicts, Myra with food and himself with pills. He knows that they’re both ‘treating’ their respective issues in unhealthy ways. He accepts her methods because she doesn’t question his, and he’s aware that neither of them are any healthier for it. He assumes that Myra, like himself, is simply choosing not to comment on it because it would mean bursting both of their bubbles and she wants to continue down her own path of self-destruction. Whether or not that’s actually how she sees it is irrelevant - this is how Eddie views this unspoken agreement. I mean, he calls her stupid in the same sentence, so I’m sure he believes he’s put more thought into it than she has. The point is, he’s created an arrangement where he can continue to lie - to himself, to Myra, to his doctors - in order to get high and he’s thankful that Myra doesn’t question it.

There’s also the fact that “Greta” comes to him and tells him that she died while high on reds, which most likely refers to Seconal, another widely abused sedative similar to the ones Eddie uses. In this scene, in stark contrast to “Belch” taunting Eddie sexually, IT is using Greta to tap into Eddie’s subconscious fear that his medication abuse will actually kill him.

And to be frank, I’m pretty sure he had to have been high during the final battle with IT. His arm is broken and not in a cast but he barely complains about crawling around on it and has a pretty chill time while dying, too. I love Eddie to death, but that dude definitely made good use of his bag o’ medicine sometime between killing Henry and leaving the hotel. It doesn’t diminish his heroism or the self-actualization that came in his dying moments, it’s just what I tend to think.

So yeah, that’s my take on Eddie’s pills. Sorry if any of it sounded flippant, because it’s absolutely a serious thing.

#asks #stephen king’s it #it novel #eddie kaspbrak #eddie spaghet tea #it meta #my meta #meta

[achillestiel]

All That Glitters | Chapter Eleven | Ao3 Link

For the entire elevator ride, Dean tried to push Jack's words out of his head. He didn't want to think about the past right now and dwell on its failures when he knew that Cas waiting for him. He pushed every single thought of failure out of his mind as he rode the elevator to the stop floor and walked down the hall. Why was he so nervous? Why the hell did it feel like his heart was going to leap out of his chest as he knocked on the door to Cas' room?

"Hello Dean " Cas said once he'd opened the door.

"Stealing my number off Charlie's phone, very ingenious." Dean said. "How did you get a phone? We normally take them off contestants, even the suitor."

"A clueless intern gave me one after I mentioned needing to contact my father. Your boss was right when she said half of them were slow on the uptake." Cas said as he motioned for Dean to come into his room. After shutting the door he pulled Dean in for a deep kiss but Dean jolted back. "I turned off all the cameras. No one can see us. It's just us here." Cas said, knowing what Dean was thinking. "Just stop overthinking Dean. I was thinking that after today we could have a date of our own."

"Really? Damn Cas, that's...cute?" Dean offered as he walked into Cas' suite. "Holy shit, look at this place. Damn, my room is the size of a box and I'm sharing it with Adam. I love the kid but he snores like an asthmatic buffalo." Dean said as he looked around the huge suite.

"Yes, I think the network is trying to butter me up." Cas said with a laugh as Dean looked around the huge space, decorated in sleek greys and white.  "So, are you hungry?"

"Starving. All I've eaten today is a power bar and a damn salad. I swear the thing was 90% leaf."

"Salad, really? Not that I'm calling you fat, you're far from it, but you don't seem like the salad type." Cas said.

"I'm not but when you're stuck between Mr Health Freak Sam Winchester and 'Don’t Eat That Damn Doughnut Dean, I'm On A Diet' Josie, you have to suck it up. She's always like it around this time of year, what with Emmys coming up." Dean said with a roll of his eyes. Last year Josie had actually tackled him to the ground so he wouldn’t eat a burrito in front of her.

"No offence, but the idea of this show winning an Emmy is ridiculous."

"You'd be surprised. We've won a fair few awards over the past few years." Dean said with a laugh as Cas took his jacket and lay it across a nearby chair. "God, we won big the first year I was a producer. Sam had finished up with film school and I'd brought him on as part of the camera crew. We swept the board in our categories. Josie was so drunk out of mind that she dragged me to her hotel room and said 'Winchester, if you weren't my gay son I'd marry your twink ass.'" Dean recounted, his laughter filling the room. "Before I could even reply to that she passed out on the bed. I stayed in her room all night to make sure she didn’t throw up on herself or her dress. I had to carry her to the bathroom at four in the morning so she could throw up in the bathtub."

"While I try to erase that mental image from my brain, do you want to follow me out to the terrace?" Cas asked with a laugh.

"You have a terrace?" Dean asked. "Damn, all I have in my room is tiny bottles of shampoo and a smart mouth brother." Cas let out a warm chuckle as he took Dean's hand and lead him outside. The terrace was a gorgeous space filled with plants and sumptuous looking sofas. The Manhattan skyline served as a backdrop and Dean noticed, with a smile, that Cas had dotted candles in strategic places. Invisible speakers were playing music, a slow and moody jazz number. It screamed romance.

"Like it?" Cas asked.

"Mr Collins, you're trying to seduce me."

"Yes. Yes, I am" Cas said bluntly. "Is it working?"

Read More

#All That Glitters #deancas fic #destiel fic #fic #deancas #destiel #there's badly written smut at the end of this #i just can't write smut but i needed them to bone so badly

[galaxysgal]

Fanfic asks: #1, #7, #13, #22, #24, #29, #35, #47, #48 :))) I love your writing

omg anon tysm 💕💞💖💕❤💗💗💞💕

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in? Well the first fandomy things I read were Harry Potter and then pjo/hoo stuff, but then I didnt really get involved in a fandom until I became obsessed with Dear Evan Hansen and Newsies, and, well, now I'm here!

7. List your NOTPs from each fandom you've been in.

Harry Potter: Harry/Ron

Pjo/hoo/all that: Percy/literally anyone other than Annabeth. They're my babies and I love them. I'm sure there are others but its been so long since I read those lol

Hamilton: literally everything that isnt "canon" bc its history and I'm a history nerd, so I just can't ship that stuff

Dear Evan Hansen: I'm not super opposed to it, but I just dont really ship Alana with anyone, I hc that she's on the ace/aro spectrum

Newsies: I dont hate them, but I'm not a fan of Jack/Spot, Race/Jack and Race/Kath... Tbh I'm pretty plain and boring for newsies, I stick mostly with the more common pairings, with a few rarepairs (unrelated but hhhh do y'all remember when ralbert was a rarepair ahbsnaj my baby boys theyve grown so much

Supernatural: Sam/Dean. Its literally incest y'all are fucking insane. No apologies. Also Cas/Meg bc Twist and Shout traumatized me.

Marvel: STONY!!! Idk why y'all, i just do. not. ship it. But I can see where people are coming from so I guess its not exactly a NOTP... Anyway others are thor/loki, thor/valkyrie tony/rhodey, thats about it

Star wars: r*ylo. luke×leia. kylo×anyone. I'm pretty sure anything else is fair game tbh, its space and everyone is queer, let them have their fun

Psych: Shawn/Gus, Shawn/Lassiter, Lassiter/Juliet. Yes, I hc Shawn as bi, but that doesnt mean I ship him w/ any of the guys in the show... Shawn and Juliet are soulmates. Period.

13. Any NoTPs? Anon, sweet baby ily, you either picked random numbers or accidentally said both of these... Either way its the thought that counts babe <3

22. Is there anything you regret writing? Ugh yes I had this Stucky fic where Steve was a tiny asthmatic dude just living his life and Bucky was the strong one armed contractor that was fixing his deck and there was super weird sexual tension and it was badly written. I have since deleted it from ao3, my fic doc, and my memory. It lives on within the depths of the mind of my bestie/beta reader/editor/confidant/number one supporter @thelazyhero-ttums who read it and was the one who made me realize how terrible it was. It was a rude awakening but im glad I had it bc it made me the writer I am today lmao

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit? Hshsjajs RIGHT AND RECONCILIATION!!! Right and Reconciliation are the first two newsies fics I ever wrote. The plot is solid and could be great if I just rewrote it... My aforementioned bestie is the leader (and sole member) of the Rewrite Right and Reconciliation crusade but tbh I don't think ill ever rewrite them unless theres a college assignment thats like Rewrite Something You Wrote In Middle School Even Though You Hate It

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not? I don't have an official beta reader, but between running things by @natthemess, my bestie from before, my friend missa, usually about 80% of every fic I post has been read before I post it bc I thrive on,the validation of my friends

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about? Okay so by technical definition a drabble is 100 words or less, but I consider everything under like 750 to be a drabble, so by those rules yes I write drabbles. I actually have a series of Assorted Newsies Drabbles on my ao3, and I mostly write them about fluffy stuff, a lot of soft cuddly morning fics, little projections of things I'm feeling if ive had a particularly bad day/strong emotion stuff like that

47. Archive, fanfic.net or Tumblr: which do you prefer to post and why? Archive and Tumblr. Archive bc its the Superior Fanfic Site, and tumblr bc I feel like it boosts my platform. Also yes, I shamelessly linked my ao3 up there in the question, check it out if you like :P

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why? Yes. Yes! YES!!! Why, you ask? Because I am an author and I know how it feels to have 600 hits, 100 odd kudos and 12 comments (including your own replies to comments.) It just hurts a lot knowing literally only 1% of people took the time to comment. Literally all it takes is a "I loved this! Great writing!!" Or a "HAHAJSHAJJSHS BABIE,BABIES BABIEST ILY" that shit makes my day.

#ask #answered #anon #mags' fanfic chronicles

[doriansims]

Hey, I’m Dorian.

I’m just picking up Sims 4 after putting it down since 2018 or so, and since the lock-in is granting me a ton of free time, I figured I’d play some more and make a place to share the crazy things that happen in my saves. 

At the moment, I don’t play with a ton of cc, but I do love scouring the internet for weird gameplay mods. My favorite aspects of the game are Buy Mode and the actual gameplay. I don’t have a lot of patience for CAS or Build mode, so my sims features are generally randomized and the cool shells I use are from the gallery. 

I am playing on an asthmatic 2014 MacBook Pro, so I try not to overload my CPU usage with high graphics or a ton of mods. I’m also a huge cheater, and absolutely unashamed about it. Either way, I hope you enjoy my content.

(Pictured is my low-effort Simself that I am unlikely to improve in the near future.)

#simblr #ts4 #the sims 4 #doriansims #simself #sims cheats #quarantine gaming #simblog #simmer