#he also apparently wears ankle braces for this too!

[opera-ghost]

the jump vs. the landing | matt blaker, west end

#he also apparently wears ankle braces for this too! #so cool to see #(this is from phantom's ig where matt blaker did a takeover thing) #has me thinking of all the backstage content we've been seeing of the bway production the past few days #i just love backstage stuff in general #phantom of the opera #poto #op gifset

[cuubism]

The thing is.

Hob understands that Dream cannot be hurt easily. He is an ancient, powerful, nonhuman being. Hob has, in fact, heard a story from Matthew about when some foolish human wannabe-magician had attempted to stab him when Dream had gone to retrieve a spell book that had slipped from the Dreaming library. According to Matthew, the knife had simply gone through his chest like he was made of smoke and left no mark at all.

(Hob still wishes he had been there. He’d have snapped the guy’s arm. Or worse.)

Barring luck and a magical binding, like what happened with Roderick Burgess, Dream can’t be hurt by mortal means. Hob understands this. Hell, he can hardly be hurt by supernatural means either. Only a few very powerful beings would be able to manage it, or else the very laws that govern his existence, coming down upon his head.

The thing also is.

Dream bruises so easily.

Sometimes.

Like now, when Dream is actually limping across the floor of the Inn. Long coat, which usually does not come with him to the waking world, wrapped tight around him. A dark bruise blooms along his cheekbone. Hob doesn’t understand how it’s possible. It shouldn’t be, not when Dream can take a knife to the heart like it’s a gust of wind, but the fact of the matter is that it is possible, apparently. And so Hob’s got to do something about it.

He meets Dream halfway across the room, braces him by the arms. “Jesus, Dream. Are you hurt?” Well, evidently he is. “How badly?”

“I told him he should stay home and rest,” grumbles Matthew from where he’s hopping along the floor at Dream’s side. Hob hadn’t even seen him there, he’d been so focused on Dream. The fact that Matthew’s not even riding on Dream’s shoulder is not a good sign.

“I did not want to miss our meeting,” Dream says. Which is a hell of a thing.

“Come upstairs, then,” Hob says, and doesn’t quite realize he’s grabbed Dream’s arm and is right pulling him along until he’s already done it. But Dream just follows him. Matthew follows, too, which, again, is not making Hob feel confident about Dream not being too badly injured.

“What happened?” Hob asks, as he sits Dream down on the couch, perching carefully at his side.

“A minor altercation,” says Dream.

“He was thrown into a wall,” says Matthew. “The wall cracked, by the way.”

Hob winces in sympathy. “Thrown by who? Or… what?”

Dream says, “It’s of no consequence.”

Matthew says, “I don’t know, but it had a lot of limbs.”

Hob’s kind of glad Matthew’s here as bullshit translator right now.

“How badly were you hurt?” he asks again. Not badly enough to keep him from traveling, evidently, but badly enough that he is limping. As a measly little human, Hob might find himself limping for a while just by twisting his ankle going down the stairs— but he does not like that intersection of facts when it’s someone like Dream.

“I am fine,” says Dream, and then winces as he shifts his weight on the couch.

“Bullshit,” say Hob and Matthew simultaneously, after which Matthew adds, “Uh, I mean, bullshit, your lordship.”

Dream slants a reproving glance over at him, then back to Hob. “Can I see?” Hob asks, more gently. “I’d like to help. If I can.”

Gingerly, Dream shrugs his long robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he’s wearing his usual black t-shirt, and at Hob’s urging he pulls that off over his head, too, though evidently with some pain. His chest and stomach seem uninjured, the unnaturally pale and smooth skin is still just that, unnaturally pale and smooth— so Hob tugs on his shoulder. “Can I see your back?”

Dream turns, and Hob tries not to think too hard about Dream doing his bidding like that—it’s tender and troubling and arousing all at once, and he’s definitely not going to think about that last bit—and sucks in a breath.

His back is a map of bruises, nebulae arcing over his shoulders and the nape of his neck, curling down over his spine like a coiled dragon. Dream bruises prettily, even like this, periwinkle and dusk blue, the purple of sunset clouds. Another reminder of how Night, too, lives within him.

“I told you,” Matthew says, hopping up onto the back of the couch by Hob’s shoulder.

Dream makes a grumbling sound, but doesn’t deny him this time.

Hob traces a light hand along his shoulder blade and the deep, spilled-watercolor of the bruise there. Thrown into a wall, Matthew had said. Ouch.

Dream shivers at the touch, and Hob says, tentative, “Do you usually bruise like that, love?”

He’s seen it before, though not this bad. Lines of strain on Dream’s hands. A red, banded mark on his arm on one of the few occasions he’d taken his coat off in Hob’s presence. He wants to hear it from Dream, though.

Dream says, tentative now, hunched on the couch like a wounded physical thing rather than what he is, “I… suppose.”

Sitting only in his tight jeans and boots, hair a mess, the mark on his cheek makes him look hunted. Hob touches that too, with light fingertips. Dream leans into his hand with a little sigh, and… oh. That’s something.

“Hey, he got the shit kicked out of him like a few days ago and just walked away like it was nothing,” Matthew complains, as if Dream’s I suppose answer is ridiculous. “And then obliterated the other guy, too.”

“Sorry, when was this?” Hob is still holding Dream’s cheek, but Dream doesn’t turn further to meet his eyes. “Why are you getting beaten up all the time, exactly?”

He’s not Dream’s minder. He’s not. He’s not. Hob forces himself to remember that fact.

“In my absence many have forgotten the might and sanctity of the Dreaming,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken there’s a little whining petulance in his tone which is… endearing, almost. “Other realms have become… impudent. Entitled. I am simply. Reminding them to show respect. Sometimes physical conflict is necessary.”

Hob sighs. “Well, Your Majesty, maybe it’s time to take a break from the ritual dueling, yeah?”

“…Perhaps,” Dream says, which is as much of an agreement as Hob ever gets.

He supposes he’ll take perhaps. Though the more he thinks about it, the more distressing it is to imagine Dream going around getting hurt. Even if he thinks he’s doing it for some important cause.

“Well, there’s not much I can do for these right now,” Hob says, and can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “Other than letting them heal on their own.”

“I see,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken his voice is small. And he reaches for his shirt, and—

“Hey.” Hob grabs his wrist. Dream freezes. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave?” He hates that it comes out as a question.

Dream wavers. Then he says, “Matthew.”

It’s loaded with more than just Matthew’s name. An order. Matthew squawks indignantly. “Boss! Come on. You’re really gonna send me back like that? When you’re like this?”

Dream just looks at him.

Matthew sighs, fluttering his wings. “Fine. Have your special private time, then.”

Special private time, Hob mouths to himself.

Matthew lifts his wings for takeoff. “You better not send him back with more bruises, Hobert.”

“Excuse me?”

Then he’s gone, winging out a window that Hob hadn’t realized was open. Maybe it wasn’t a moment ago. Who knows.

Dream looks after him, and sighs with real fatigue. “His insolence only grows.”

“Special private time?” Hob says, and Dream glances at him, and then away.

“He is under the impression that you are my…” he says, and trails off.

Oh. Well.

They’re not like that. But.

But?

Dream looks despondent now, staring off into the corner of the flat, back still turned to Hob’s chest. Hob’s become certain that he wants something, he came here for something, not just to make their usual meeting time… but he still doesn’t know what.

Probably he should ask. Not that that ever works with Dream. Probably he should anyway.

Instead he presses his lips to the curve of Dream’s shoulder, where the bruise is deepest blue.

Dream shudders, and then goes slack in his grip, his shoulders caving. “Hob…”

“Is that what you wanted?” Hob says against his skin. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe Dream is letting him. “Does it hurt very badly? Is that helping?”

“It…” Dream muses, and sighs. “Is. Helping.”

Hob takes Dream’s chin between his fingers and turns his face enough that he can kiss his cheek, over the horrible sprawled mark of the bruise. Dream’s eyes flutter shut. He braces a hand on Hob’s thigh as he twists back to lean into Hob’s touch. Hob could use his grip to turn his head further and kiss him properly, he thinks, with a trip in his chest. Dream’s lips are right there, soft and open.

Instead, he leans his head on the back of Dream’s neck. Lets his hands fall to Dream’s bare waist, lips brushing his skin as he says, “You don’t… really bruise, do you?”

Dream still has his head tipped back; Hob’s hair brushes his cheek. “It affects you to see it,” he says quietly.

“Of course it does,” Hob says, equally hushed now. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“Even,” says Dream, almost tentative, “if I am not truly hurt?”

“You are hurt,” Hob says, and finally draws the strength to lift his head from Dream’s neck. Dream is still looking at him, over his shoulder. His eyes are very dark in the dim light, rimmed red, he looks soft and fragile as a flower petal and Hob would do anything for him. “You were thrown into a wall by ‘something with a lot of limbs’, after all.”

Dream huffs. “Matthew exaggerates.”

“It’s okay if you want it to matter,” Hob tells him. That’s what it is, isn’t it? “To… be seen.” He slides his hand over Dream’s where it still rests on his thigh, twines their fingers together. A flicker of stillness runs through Dream’s body, the way a human’s breath might catch. Hob thinks he might pull away.

Instead he yields, and Hob exhales hard, a breath that had coiled far too tight in his lungs unwinding. Dream caves into him, and Hob wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, kisses the curve of his shoulder and watches a bruise disappear in the echo of that touch.

“Just wanted a hug after a rough day, in the end?” Hob says, and Dream huffs again as if such a desire is offending even to imply. He doesn’t move away though.

“Is it that easy for you?” Dream’s face is close enough that his hair brushes Hob’s temple as he speaks.

“And what if it is?” What if Hob had wanted to hug him when he first spoke of his imprisonment, and held back, and still regrets it? And what if it’s so easy to fall into it now? To slip into a world, this world where he can pull Dream into his arms, like he’s wading into the ocean for the first time, into foreign currents powerful beyond imagining but primordially known. Resonant as a familiar dream.

In some sense it would be accurate to say that Hob has known Dream all his life—he is, after all, dreams. But Hob doesn’t think of his friend as dreams. Maybe it’s a limitation of his human mind not to see the endless scale of the picture. But when he thinks of Dream, he doesn’t think of all of life or anything like that.

Instead, he goes back to their meeting in 1689. When Dream had thought he might no longer want to live, and Hob swore he saw a tear nearly break that usually stern countenance. Hob had always been fascinated by him, but he thinks that was the first moment he really saw him, beyond the cloak of distance and fantasy Dream liked to wrap around himself.

He’d like to think that Dream saw him then, too.

That’s the Dream he thinks of. The Dream he’d like to say he knows. The person, not the incomprehensible entity that Dream sees himself as. An incomprehensible entity can take a knife through the chest and dissipate around it like smoke, but not a person.

“If it is,” says Dream, pulling back to properly look at him, “then perhaps I might… impose.”

He looks so… cautiously hopeful. How can he not know already? “You think it’s possible for you to impose?”

“Imposition is easy,” says Dream, quietly. Hob lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and at the same time, as if of the same mind, Dream leans in and fits his face to Hob’s palm, eyes falling shut again.

He looks so gaunt now, with his bruised cheek and shadowed eyes, sharp collarbones and the swooping curves of his ribs. Hob had thought it had gotten better since his imprisonment, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s just that without the shielding of his shirt, and his robe, he looks smaller than Hob’s used to thinking of him, and angular and fragile. He’s still so impossibly beautiful, delicate like a tree glazed in post-storm ice.

It makes Hob feel unexpectedly bold. His heart trips over, but he leans in and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth.

Dream makes a quiet, surprised sound. Turns his head, blind, seeking, and then their lips connect properly.

When Hob had let himself imagine the possibility of kissing Dream, he had seen a force of nature. His friend would kiss with the chill of the rain that night he’d left Hob standing behind the White Horse. With the encompassing darkness of the night sky. The full experience of him would be overpowering and that was okay, because even a taste of him had already turned the course of Hob’s life.

But this Dream caves. Tips his head back in Hob’s hand, opens his mouth under Hob’s. Stiffness bleeds from him, regality flees him, and what Hob has left in his hands is a soft, horribly bruised thing leaning in for a deeper kiss.

So he kisses Dream deeper. Swipes his tongue into Dream’s mouth. He tastes slightly metallic, like he might have bitten his tongue and bled, were he human, and he makes a soft sound as Hob breaks the kiss for an unfortunate but necessary breath.

He keeps Dream close, hand to his cheek. Dream, eyes still closed, says, “A kiss just to comfort me, Hob?”

It hurts, just a little, that he thinks so. “How about a kiss just because I wanted to kiss you? You really think I’m more selfless than I am.”

Dream chuckles. “I see.”

Finally, he opens his eyes to look at Hob again properly. He looks tentatively happy now, it’s there in the slight crease at the corners of his eyes, the little spark that’s returned to them. Hob’s heart swells to see it, to think that he could do that.

“What then,” says Dream, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “would you do… selfishly?”

“Same thing,” says Hob, and kisses him again. Dream hums into it this time, pleased. “And tell you to bring me with you next time you’re asserting your dominance around the galaxy or whatever.”

“Why?”

“There’s some guys I want to throw into walls,” Hob says.

Dream huffs, but Hob thinks he looks secretly pleased. “I am not certain ‘guys’ is an accurate description.”

“You think just because the fifteen-armed thing is a lady that I won’t—”

And Dream actually laughs, a startled choking laugh. “Your definition of chivalry is—” he gathers himself— “appalling.”

“Take it or leave it, Your Majesty,” Hob says, grinning. Nothing feels better than getting a rare laugh out of Dream.

Mirth sparkles in Dream’s eyes. “I will take it,” he says, turning his head to kiss Hob’s palm, “of course. When you offer me haven and defense both, how can I not?”

Hob presses his kissed palm back to Dream’s cheek, over the dark bruise there, watching it start to fade. “Bring me your bruises, darling,” he says, “and I’ll protect you.”

Dream leans back in, and rests his forehead against Hob’s. He doesn’t need to ask for another hug. Hob just wraps his arms around him, and lets Dream’s contented sigh be its own question, and answer, at once.

#'you've written about dream manifesting physical injuries to reflect his emotional turmoil before' and i will again! #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #one short wip finished 5 billion wips to go

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 39

part 1 | part 38 | ao3

Eight hours, four pizzas, and one — yes, one, Henderson, Jesus — job-well-done beer each later, Steve waves the kids out the door and promptly collapses facedown on his shiny new vinyl flooring.

"God," he groans, rolling his forehead on the floor.

Eddie's not much better off. He's slumped against the front door, bracing his weight with one hand, head hung low between his shoulders. His hair's all frizzed out with sweat, and Steve can hear his soft panting over the hum of the radio. "Yeah," he says in breathless agreement. "Fatherhood is exhausting."

Steve snorts a quiet laugh. "Welcome to the babysitters club."

"Not even getting paid for this shit," Eddie complains, but Steve can see the smile tugging at his mouth when he steps over him. "I'm gonna grab a shower. That okay?"

"Go ahead," Steve mumbles, eyelids heavy as he waves Eddie down the hall. "Towels are in the closet. Borrow whatever you want."

His limbs feel like lead. Shoulders throbbing; headache worse. He's also... maybe, possibly having some major regrets about moving all the couches out onto the front lawn along with the rolled-up carpet earlier (a fact he'd sooner eat his own shirt than admit to Eddie, because Eddie warned him not to do it; told him he was going to be too tired after installing the floors to bring them all back inside, and Steve had shrugged him off at the time because Steve's an overconfident dipshit.) Anyway, he's pretty sure the spasm in his spine is price enough to pay for not listening. He's not about to put up with Eddie's gloating, too.

Eddie pauses in the hallway, rings tapping against the wall, smug little bastard look on his face. "You doin' okay down there, champ?"

It's a serious effort to raise his arm to flip him the bird, but Steve manages.

—

"Hey, sunshine."

Eddie's voice is gentle as Steve blinks himself awake, neck cracking horribly, little puddle of drool under his chin. He's not sure when he drifted off. The last thing he remembers is nuzzling his cheek against the floor, feeling the weirdly papery material slide against his stubble; thinking about how it was cheap and it was tacky but it was new and it was his. How it felt like as good of a fresh start as anyone in Forrest Hills was going to get.

"How long was I out for?" he groans, rolling onto his back to stretch out his stiff limbs.

Long enough, apparently. Eddie got a whole pillow fort situation sorted out while Steve was snoozing — dragged all the pillows and blankets off Steve's bed and arranged them in a pile in the middle of the empty room, pulled a side table and lamp over from the corner, gathered up the radio and the last box of leftover pizza and his black lunchbox and a couple of beers to share.

He's also freshly showered and wearing Steve's pajamas. Looks clean and warm and soft; borrowed Hawkins High green sweats, a thin, white undershirt, the shoulders damp where his hair hangs in pretty wet waves.

Steve is so, so normal about the picture Eddie paints.

So normal.

Not at all popping a boner over a guy in ratty loungewear.

Steve crosses his legs — subtly, left ankle to right knee, but Eddie gives him a knowing smirk over the lip of his beer bottle anyway.

"Shut up," Steve blushes.

"Did I speak?" Eddie asks.

—

part 40

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[oddballwriter]

Stacy's Mom

Summary: Marc is a single father to a lovely daughter, who has a friend who also has a single parent. He's never actually met Stacy's mom before, but when he finally does, he's taken aback by her.  

Warnings: Single!Dad!Marc and Single!Mom!reader. It's just Marc here, no mention of the system. 

Author’s Snip: I listened to Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne and decided to make this.

Notes: If you guys want I can do a version of this for Steven and Jake. Just give me a prompt to do with them first. 

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 1056

  Rayna had this friend, Stacy. 

  She was a nice girl, don't get it wrong. Marc was glad that his daughter had some friends considering middle school was a tough time for making new friends with the change in schools. And also because as a single, working, dad it gave her something to do. But he would be lying if he said that having two twelve-year-old girls running around his house wasn't a bit of a handful. But Stacy was still a nice guest to have over. 

  He didn't really know much about her home life other than what she'd mentioned on a few occasions. The fact that she was raised by just her mom, you, and that you were a single working woman, often being away on business trips. And that was pretty much it. 

  The only communication Marc ever had with you was a few texts and Stacy herself sending a message on your behalf, like your permission for Stacy to sleep over at him and Rayna's home or for Rayna to spend that night at yours. There was also the fact that your houses were, apparently two blocks down from each other, so Stacy would just walk to and fro.

  It wasn't until one sleep-over that you two would make contact for the first time. 

  Stacy was on the track team at school and had hurt her ankle during practice, making her have to wear a boot brace till it healed. She could still walk on her own, but it wasn't the best idea for her to walk her way from her house to Marc and Rayna's so you drove her there this time before getting ready to head off to another business trip. 

  When Rayna opened the door she greeted Stacy enthusiastically and gave you a nice "Hello to you too, Ms. L/N.". Marc came to the door to originally help with Stacy's bags but he almost froze upon seeing you for the first time. 

  Marc hated that his immediate thoughts were that you had it going on, with your tight-fitted but still professional-looking outfit. You were gorgeous. 

  He managed to get himself back into reality though. Shaking off his awestruck expression and extended his hand for a handshake. "Mr. Spector. I'm Rayna's father." he said. You give him a greeting smile, "Ms. L/N, Stacy's mom." you say shaking Marc's hand. "But you can just call me Y/N." you request. "Then you can call me Marc then." Marc suggested. 

  "I just wanted to thank you for letting Stacy stay over so often. I don't like it when she stays home alone for such a long time when I'm gone." you tell Marc as the girls move to another part of the house. "It's no problem. She's a nice girl and they usually make their own fun without causing too much of a ruckus." Marc assures. "I just feel a bit bad because Stacy said that you're also a single parent and work at the same time." you claim. "Like I said. It's no problem. I'm usually sat at a desk here at home anyways, so I can keep a good eye on them." Marc reassures. 

  Oh god, you’re hot, a businesswoman, and you're nice?

  “Well, thank you so much either way.” you smile. You looked over his shoulder and called out “Bye, hunny. Behave for Mr. Spector and lay off that foot, okay? I’ll see you in a couple of days.”. Stacy turns and says “Wait, Mom! Don’t forget to hire someone to mow the grass.”. A look of revelation comes over your face before you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Now you remind me.” you mutter to yourself. “What’s the hold-up?” Marc asks. 

  “It’s nothing really,” you tell Marc, “It’s just that I’m too busy to mow the lawn and backyard. And Stacy both has her ankle injury and has never worked a lawnmower in her life so we usually have someone else do it.” you explain. “I can do it for you if you’d like.” Marc offers, without really thinking. “Oh, no, Marc. You don’t have to. You’re already doing so much for me.” you fret. “No, no. Really. If you two aren’t able to do it then I’ll gladly do it for you. I’ll bring my own mower, don’t worry.” Marc chuckles, “Matter of fact. Anytime you need your lawn mowed or anything like that, just call me. Alright?” he smiles, doubling up his offer. “Oh alright.” you give in, “But I will find a way to repay you. Mark my words.” you promise as you leave, saying goodbye to Marc and Rayna on the way out.

  The days passed and Marc kept to his word. He drove Stacy home with Rayna tagging along and their lawnmower settled in the back of his truck. Rayna and Stacy continued on like the sleepover wasn’t over and watched things on TV while he worked in the yards still they were all done. When he went back inside to tell Rayna that it was time to head back home, you stopped him for a moment, holding out a tin tray full of freshly baked cookies. He looked up at you with soft eyes, “Ms. L/N. You didn’t have to make me anything. It was no-” Marc tries to say before you cut him off, “I insist, Marc. I have to give you something as a thank you for all that you’ve done for me and Stacy.” you say, placing the tray into his hands. 

  “Tell you what.” Marc says, “Why don’t you and I eat somewhere sometime? To get to know each other better.” he offers, feeling a bit dumb because you’re standing in a nice apron with sweet-smelling perfume and he’s standing there with his forehead glazed with sweat and reeking of cut grass. You blink a shocked expression at him for a moment before a soft blush reaches your face. “You don’t mean that.” you smile timidly. “No. I mean, it would be nice. We could get to know each other better and feel more comfortable with our kids hanging out at each other’s houses.” Marc explained, trying not to sound like some sleazy dad, “Just a quick little lunch. Or Brunch. Or drink. Whichever you like better.” he says. 

  “Lunch would be nice.” you smile. 

#moon knight #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #singleparent!reader #singlemom!reader

[ianmhill]

4.11

There was supposed to be a block party last weekend, on Sunday, but a couple of days beforehand it was postponed because a few households couldn't make it. Unfortunately the revised date, in two weeks, isn't ideal either as again some people are away.

Anyway, one of the organisers invited us and our next door neighbours over to their house for drinks anyway, which was very pleasant.

I had spent a few hours beforehand at the American Library Association conference and exhibition, some of it wandering around talking to exhibitors and (mostly) acquiring swag but also spending two hours manning the Library's booth, which wasn't terribly onerous.

This week has been a big one on the health front. Ok, maybe not so big. I had a follow-up appointment with my shoulder surgeon on Tuesday, from which I got a gold star but was told not to push my rehab exercises too hard because it will take a while for the rotator cuff muscle to recover from the 'trauma' of being cut up to allow the replacement to happen.

While I was there I did indeed talk to him about my ankle, and got a couple of extra x-rays done of my foot to provide extra information to an ankle specialist that he referred me to and who I saw on Thursday. His verdict was that I should try an ankle brace for a month and see if that helps. I've only been wearing it for a short time so far - it helps a bit, if only as a confidence booster that my ankle won't collapse. If that fails we may try cortisone injections (he even offered me one yesterday) to reduce the pain, which is not monumental in any event. The last resort is an ankle replacement, which I don't like the sound of much. Apparently the ideal patient is a 70-year old woman who weighs 140lbs and only needs a replacement so she could go a block or so to a local shop. I don't much fit that profile!

Added to that he told me that to fix it properly he'd have to make two incisions, one to replace the ankle and one to remove a metal plate that's in there now. If the gap between those incisions isn't wide enough it could mean the skin between them dies off! Yikes!!!

Ok, it's a long weekend with Independence Day on Monday and we have different neighbours coming over to our house for drinks this evening; and my aunt and uncle-in-law coming over on Saturday.

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo​!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.  

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?” 

��And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

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[lubdubsworld]

Cold Hearted ( But I still want it)

Taehyung x Oc

Organized Crime AU !

Violence, Sexually Explicit Content, abusive undertones.

Unhealthy relationships. 

“I’m meeting Jimin at that club in Itaewon for lunch. The new one. Keep the Aston Martin ready. I’ll drive myself.” Taehyung’s deep voice echoed through the room and his deputy hastened to acknowledge the order, a curt nod and quick phone call soon after. 

I glanced at my husband, expectant. 

“Take me with you.” I whispered, soft because he hated it when I raised my voice. 

He didn’t reply. 

At least not to me. 

“Just me. My lovely wife will be dining by herself in her room .  Maybe then, she’ll remember what happens when she blatantly disobeys me. ” He barely spared me a glance and i clenched my fists. 

I hadn’t gotten out of this god forsaken place in a month. I felt stir-crazy and trapped. It was a punishment, a way he controlled me and i hated it but I also hated myself for giving him a reason to punish me. 

It had been a reckless act of rebellion, done in a moment of frustrated anger and i had regretted it almost at once.

  I’d been upset because Taehyung had been ignoring me for work. i had missed him. Missed being in his arms, missed lounging around his office. Sitting on his lap while he held meetings in the large conference rooms. 

A quick kiss with some stranger in a pub was all it was supposed to be. Just to remind my husband what he was missing out on. 

But the idiot hadn’t taken no for an answer, had tried to push me into a bathroom stall and Taehyung had found me like that, screaming my head off with some drunk off his ass idiot trying to yank my dress up.

It hadn’t ended prettily.

The man had begged for forgiveness and so had I. 

But Taehyung wasn’t one to forgive and now, thanks to my impulsive act, a man lay dead at the bottom of the Han and i was locked in this house for a month. 

The bruises from that night, when he’d tied me up to the bed and fucked me so hard I cried, still decorated my thighs and hips. 

But apparently, it wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t done punishing me yet. 

The resentment was all consuming. 

The simmering hurt, that feeling of being considered worthless, of being seen as a fucking toy... of being looked at like I didn’t deserve his attention..it always swelled and swelled till I snapped. 

And then he would  punish me for doing exactly what he had wanted me to do.....right until I snapped again . it was a vicious cycle. 

 how dare he. How fucking dare he. 

I stared down at the man  kneeling  in front of me, his gaze dripping with lust as he carefully rubbed liniment on my feet, fingers soft and gentle as he massaged the balls of my feet. His touches were reverent and worshipful almost, like he’s touching something valuable.

He also looked like he wanted to stick my toes inside his mouth. 

The pig. 

I’d wanted to go out to get my hair done , a manicure and a pedicure. But Taehyung had shut that down. Apparently the lecherous fool on his knees before me owned some expensive salon in the city. 

Taehyung was still angry, and apparently he had meant it when he said he wasn’t letting me out of the house till i learned a lesson.

 I hated him. But I had only acted out because I loved him and missed him and it was confusing. Infuriating.  

I grabbed the soft fur throw on the back of the couch and wrapped it around me. 

I exhaled sharply, looking away to the side, where my husband sat behind his desk, long legs propped up and  stretched out like a jaguar on one of the lavishly crafted tables, dressed in a white shirt and a black jacket. 

The shirt was snow-white unlike the blood that stained his fingers. The same fingers that were wrapped around a gun, the bullets out, the safety on as he carefully ran the muzzle up and down his torso. The gun was pretty much a prop with him.

Kim Taehyung did not use guns.

He used his knife.

I was broken out of my thoughts when a finger traced up my ankle and up my shin, right to the inside of my knee. And then further up to my thigh .

The touch foreign and unwelcome made me jump.

“Leave. Get the fuck away from me.” I snarled as I  pulled my leg away, no longer stomaching the man’s touch. He was being blatantly lewd in his touches and i didn’t want it.

Taehyung gave me a lazy look, clearly startled by my voice, breaking the stillness of  early morning.

“That better not be directed at me, princess.”

I swallowed.

“No..I...he...” I pointed at the man on the floor who seemed to have suddenly realized what he had just done. He held his hands up, eyes blown wide with fear.

My husband looked to us, eyes landing on the man giving me a pedicure.

Taehyung smelled fear like a shark sensed blood in the water and I saw him straighten, eyes narrowed, body thrumming.

“Is something wrong?” His gaze shifted to mine and I didn’t miss the way his fingers fluttered to his waist, where his trusty dagger stayed holstered to his hip.

I swallowed.

It was seven in the fucking morning.

Way too early to see some poor bastard lose his entire hand for groping the wife of the biggest mob boss in South Korea.

“Nothing. I’m just tired of your sick little games! ” I snapped , syllables coated with anger and that’s bold even for me. Bold and reckless and possibly a little suicidal.  

Lashing out at Taehyung in front of his sub-ordinates, acting out in front of his men. Its a big no no and I hate myself because surely, surely I’ve made things worse for myself.

Taehyung’s brow rose.

“Leave us. “ He said harshly.

The men in the room didn’t need to be told twice. I watched as they scurried out with a speed that was impressive. Icy dread washed over me as I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapped both arms around my legs and crawled back into the couch as he stood up so fast , the chair he was in went crashing to the wall. 

Tongue sandpaper dry and eyes wide, I leaned back fully, staring at him as he slowly walked over, face still and serene and perfectly beautiful and altogether terrifying.

“I think... I’ve been going too easy on you, little one..” He said gently, tone softly lilting and I closed my eyes when he reached out, fingers closing around my jaw, squeezing hard. 

“I’m sorry....” I blurted out , because futile though it was , apologizing, I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if I didn’t. 

He hummed.

“Your father’s dead. “ He said casually. 

My heart leapt up into my throat and I scrambled to get up but he held me down , pressing me into the couch with his weight as he began yanking on the buttons of my blouse. 

“Taehyung!! Why?! “ I whimpered. “ You promised...you promised you wouldn’t kill him!” I sobbed when yanked the silk fabric off my body, leaving me naked from the waist up. He grabbed my arms, turning me over till I was face down over the armrest , breasts pressed into the rough fabric of the couch as he made quick work of the rest of my clothes. 

Taehyung loved fucking me naked when he was fully clothed. It was his way of reminding just how different the two of us were. 

“And i didn’t! “ He grunted, yanking my skirt and panties down with ease.” Jimin did, when your father tried to plant a mole in his drug team.” 

I flinch when he gripped my thighs hard, spreading my legs. 

And then it all happened too fast : the clink of his belt buckle , the pull of his zipper and then the hard length of him, pushing in, splitting me open as he bottomed out inside me. 

Taehyung draped himself over me, every inch of him covering every inch of mine, the fabric of his silk shirt soft against my bare back and I flinched when he took the end of his tie, still knotted around his neck and stuffed it into my mouth, gagging me. 

The harsh pull of his fingers in my hair left me reeling and I screamed, sound muffled by the thick wad of the fabric in my mouth .

He kept his grip on my hair taut, yanking my head back just enough to sink his teeth into the curve of my neck, knees braced on the couch as he fucked into me in controlled thrusts, each push of his hips rubbing my body raw. 

“Know who’s taking over after your father?” He hissed, hand leaving my hair to wrap around my neck and squeeze. 

I whimpered when he pressed in just a little harder, hips jerking forward with a vengeance, enough force to move the hardwood oak couch we were on. The same couch that had taken four people to carry in. 

“Jeon Jungkook.” He snarled and I whimpered when his hands fumbled with his waist, my eyes going wide as I tilted my head, watched him grab the dagger out of its leather sheath. 

 Oh god...oh god no...

Was he going to kill me? Slit my throat?

Fear rendered me witless and I buked wildly, trying to throw him off but it was impossible . He was too damn heavy and too damn strong. 

“Remember him? Your precious boyfriend? “ He sneered , licking the skin behind my ear, lewd and disgusting as he sucked a hickey on the sensitive skin. “ The wonderful young man you were supposed to marry? Kind, generous  Jungkookie who was going to become a surgeon and rescue you from this cruel world of crime you were born into?? ” 

I sobbed out at the sharp pang of hurt that lanced my heart. Long buried memories surfaced and I had to bite my lips to keep them down , to stop my mind from splintering into tiny broken pieces. 

“Guess the lure of the darkness was too much for your little bunny after all.... He’s going to be a gangster. He’s going to be a murderer and a monster and the best thing...he’s going to be just ....like...me...” He hissed, and I shrieked, when brought the dagger down, slowly carefully, till the sharp edge of it rested right over the skin , just behind my ear. 

I felt the touch of the knife edge on my skin and closed my eyes. The sting was sharp and excruciating and i closed my eyes in agony and although I couldn’t see it, I knew exactly what he was carving into my skin. The slanting lines, one and then another. 

V.

I felt the sharp pain of the cut on my neck, just as he pulled the dagger away, my head throbbing as I felt wetness bead over my neck and spill, staining scarlet the couch beneath my head. 

“There. Now you wear my mark.” He whispered, kissing the back of my neck. “ And now you’ll wear  me.” 

He lifted himself up off me and before I could process what was happening he flipped me over, grabbing my leg and throwing it over his shoulder before fucking into me, hard and fast. 

“He’s going to start a war, i hear. A war over  you.  He wants you back , my love and I find myself hating the thought of losing you...” He hissed, fingers playing with my nipples, tugging and pinching till my eyes watered. 

I felt my eyes rolling into the back of my head, pleasure blooming against my will and I whimpered when he pulled the tie out of my mouth, replacing it with his tongue. 

Taehyung kissed me gently, a contrast to how he fucked into me and I felt myself unravel in his arms, body spasming as he pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves at my entrance,. 

“You’re mine little one ...” He whispered against my lips as I came , clenching down around his hardness, my breath loud and raspy and ruined. “ You’re mine and he can’t have you!!!”

I found myself breathless and choking as he chased his own pleasure, hips ruthless as he rammed into me and I dug my fingers into the couch, as he gripped my waist, hard enough to bruise . 

He shuddered as he came, spilling into me in a sticky wet mess that made my thighs damp and I could only tremble like a leaf caught in a storm. 

It took me  a second to realize that he was fully clothed and I was naked. 

I shook as he pulled up and away from me. Grabbing my clothes, I made to move but his fingers caught my wrists. 

“No.” He said sharply, glaring at me .

I swallowed. 

“Tae...”

“Drop that and come sit on me cock.” 

I felt my eyes tear up in protest.

“Please, don’t...”

“Didn’t you fucking hear me.” He sat back on the couch and I watched as he casually stroked his dick again, still half hard. 

Shaking, I moved to stand in front of him, letting him maneuver me till I was sitting on his lap, straddling his hips, the warm thickness of his cock slipping into my wetness with ease. 

“Stay that way, “ He whispered, pulling me closer till I lay on his chest, cheeks pressed against the fabric of his shirt. 

I gripped his shirt on the sides, fingers and legs trembling. He threw the fur throw on the both of us, covering my body from just below my shoulder blades. 

“Is he here?” He called out suddenly and I stiffened. 

Who?

“He’s here sir.”

“Send him up.”

I felt my entire body go stiff.

 No. No.

“If you fucking move, the love of your life will leave this room in a body bag.” Taehyung whispered softly. 

I sobbed. 

After a three whole years , this wasn’t how i wanted to see  him.

Footsteps behind me and then the sharp , sharp intake of breath. 

“Taehyung.” 

Jungkook’s voice rang through the room and I closed my eyes. 

“Jungkook-ah..... Such a pleasure. Please excuse my wife, she’s still a little exhausted from.... stuff.” He chuckled. “ Sit down . What can I do for you?” 

“She’s bleeding.” Jungkook’s voice was shaking. 

I startled. 

Taehyung hummed, thoughtful.

He ran his fingers over the cut behind my ear, gently and i winced . 

“This? Just a way to remind her ....and everyone else...that she’s mine.” Taehyung smiled. 

Jungkook’s chuckle was so familiar and so soft and I fought the urge to turn around and look at him. I couldn’t If I did. If I saw his face I would break down entirely. 

“Nothing is permanent hyung. Not in our world. What’s yours today can be mine tomorrow. Isn’t that how it works? .” 

Taehyung stiffened, gripping me harder around the waist. 

“You’re being rude, jagiya . Greet our guests.” Taehyung hissed, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to turn around and I sobbed out in shock, scrambling for the fur throw as it fell off my body, clutching it to my breasts as I stared at Jungkook. 

He looked devastated , eyes pained and brimming with hurt for one second before going obsidian with rage. 

“I’m going to fucking destroy you for this, Taehyung. " Jungkook swore. “  I’m going to tear you limb from limb, bury you six feet under and piss on your fucking grave, you son of a whoring bitch,.” 

Taehyung merely chuckled. 

“I look forward to it , Jungkookie.” He said carelessly, hugging me closer. “ Now leave. I intend to enjoy the company of my wife. You should get one for yourself, doctor. They make perfect playthings. “ 

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

Author’s note : Well... its a one shot but I hope you guys liked it !! 

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung gang au #bts gang au #taehyung fic #bts smut #bts au #bts smut fic #bts fanfic #bts fics

[mrsdeanwinchester19]

The Dinner-Sequel to The Interview

Pairing: Steve x reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Sequel to The Interview.  Steve takes his wife to meet his team after her interview

Warnings: None

“Steve, do you think this dress is ok?” I ask, coming out of our walk-in closet wearing my lace, off the shoulder red dress.  Steve is taking me to dinner with the team tonight, so I want to make a good first impression.  Most people would think I’ve met the team before, but Steve kept our relationship a secret in the beginning and then the team broke up because of the Accords and we got married when we were on the run, so we really couldn’t invite any of the team members.

We had our wedding in Norway, one of the few countries that hadn’t signed the Accords.  They claimed they didn’t sign because if a non-government owned unit made from people from different countries called the Alsos Unit hadn’t helped them in World War II, the Germans would have succeeded in creating an Atomic bomb in their country.  In Norway, there was one team member, Thor, who was visiting Earth; he vouched for us.

After our wedding, we went to Wakanda on our honeymoon and visited Bucky. We had been having dinner with Bucky, T’Challa, and Shuri when we told him we got married.  He was upset that he couldn’t be there, but he understood when he found out the wedding happened when he was asleep.  When he said Steve could make it up to him by naming his first son James; Steve started choking on his Umqombothi drink.  I know Steve wants kids, but he wasn’t willing to have them while being on the run. Now that we’re not hiding, we’re actively trying for a baby.  I wonder if tonight he’ll break the news that he has a wife AND is trying to get said wife pregnant.

As I walk out of the closet, I bend down to adjust the ankle strap on my right heel.  I stand back up, smooth my dress, and look up at Steve.  He’s staring at me with a dopey smile on his face, love evident in his eyes.  “The dress itself is fine, you make it look perfect.”

“Ugh, Steve, quit it with the cheesy lines,” I protest while blushing.  Men used to say these things to their wives and girlfriends back in their time, it’s why Steve and Bucky can be prince charming when they want to be. Bucky more often than Steve now that he’s more like his old self, or so Steve says.

“I’m just being honest,” he defends, shrugging his shoulders.  He comes over to me and wraps his arms around my waist.  “You nervous?”

“What do you think?” I ask rhetorically.   I haven’t been this nervous since I first met Steve. In 2014, during a career conference once for journalists, the resort we were at was seized by terrorists.  One of my coworkers and I were the only ones from The New York Sun attending, despite the fact that it was in New York. I suppose they only wanted to go if the convention was out of town so they could get out of work and go on vacation. We were held in the resort’s Grand Hall for hours until the Avengers were able to save us.  There was a pretty big fight between Steve, Thor, Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, and the terrorists but luckily no one died.  I had been hurt in the kerfuffle, a broken finger, but after Steve wrapped my finger in a brace, he allowed me to interview him.  During the on-camera interview with him, Thor was teasing him in the background, doing silly faces and the “blah blah blah” hand motion.

Steve had asked for my name and number to “keep in touch and see if my finger heals correctly”.  When I gave it to him, he wrote it down in an old-fashioned address book. I hadn’t expected him to call me ever, but he did, asking for a date.  At first, he was weary of me being a journalist, in case things ended badly and I wrote a bad article about him.  However, a year later, he was thankful I was a journalist because I had access to all archived articles about the Winter Soldier.  After that happened, I knew he trusted me wholeheartedly and I felt the same. When the Accords started happening, I had access to the signing, to interview government people about it, and relayed that information to Steve about who he could trust.  That was how I found out about Norway not signing.

“They’ll love you,” he says.  “Bucky loves you, Tony will probably love you because he’ll think the interview prank you pulled on me was hilarious.  Nat and Wanda will be happy another girl is around.  Thor likes you, even Loki took a liking to you; he would love the interview prank. Clint will like you, Bruce will like you; no one has a reason to dislike you.

I turn around and take a good look at him. Royal blue dress shirt and black pants. His hair is up and I want nothing more than to run my fingers through it. He keeps me pressed to his body closely and I rub my hands along his chest. “If we didn’t have to go to dinner with your friends, I would be all over you right now.”

“Sorry, last night’s sex is just gonna have to hold you.” I give a little laugh.  “I’m just messing with you, I’ll be all over you tonight,” he growls, pulling my face up to his and kissing me deeply.  His kisses always leave me breathless, whether they’re passionate like this or small, chaste kisses when he’s leaving for work in the morning.  This however, is a whole new level and it’s making my heart go crazy.

Steve picks up the basket on the kitchen counter and we walk out the door. When we get to the car, he opens the door for me, ever the gentleman, before climbing in himself.  As he drives there, I fiddle with the hem of my dress.  I’m so worried I’ll talk too much or too little, or I’ll offend someone or embarrass Steve. What if I mention something about him that they don’t know?  Like that he bawled like a baby at Where the Red Fern Grows and Homeward Bound. Tony would probably love that but I don’t want to make Steve feel bad, I was crying too.

My biggest worry is what they’ll think of me after the interview.  Will they think it was funny or will they look at me as unprofessional for not telling them I had a conflict of interest with the Avengers?  I think Tony will like me, and maybe Nat, but I have no idea about the others.   I don’t think Bucky would come around as much as he does if he really didn’t like spending time with both Steve and me. Besides, sometimes when Steve is on a mission and he isn’t, he comes and keeps me company with old movies and our little two person book club we started.  His first choice of book was The Hobbit, which he told me he had read it when it first came out in 1937.  He was happy but not surprised to find out there were movies based on them.

When we drive up to the compound, Steve has a difficult time getting me through security.  They recognized my face and apparently Tony told them not to let me back. “Don’t alert Tony about her,” Steve said as he explained the situation to the guard.  He looked skeptical but agreed.

Steve led me upstairs, but not to the dining room where the team was waiting. He led me to his room.  “Well, well, well, Mr. Rogers, I thought we had to meet your friends in a little bit. Though I know you could probably get it done in ten minutes.”

“Ha ha ha, very funny,” he sarcastically replies.  “I just needed to grab…this,” he says, pulling his wallet out of his nightstand.  “Forgot it here yesterday.”

I simply hum in response to his explanation because I’m too busy looking around his room.  I’ve only seen it over FaceTime and in pictures.  It’s very different from our room at home. Our house, which we had just moved to from our apartment in preparation for a family, has a farmhouse theme.  Our master bedroom has a cream colored walls and one shiplap wall which our bed’s decorative headboard sits against, while our king sized bed is covered in a thick white comforter.  There’s a gray bench at the end of our bed and a blue and white rug.  There are nightstands on each side of the bed where we keep our small before bed items and our white, shared dresser is on the other side of the room, next to the door for our walk-in closet.  We have an attached bath with a clawfoot tub and a shower stall.  Our room lets in lots of natural light, which Steve loves because he likes to let the morning sun warm his back on his days off.

This room has a completely different feel to it. It’s much darker than our room at home. The walls are gray and his comforter is dark blue.  He has a black dresser across from his bed with a TV mounted to the wall above it. A plain bathroom with just a few essentials like shaving cream, a toothbrush, toothpaste, etc sit on the counter.  While our walls at home aren’t covered in pictures, we have more than the two he has here.  One is a picture of him and Bucky laughing and the other is of his parents before his father went to war; the war he never came back from.  Both pictures he has copies of hanging up at home. There’s a somewhat large window on the wall, but it’s covered with a blackout curtain.

I did most of the decorating at home, while this decorating was all him.   “Steve?” He looks at me.  “Do you not like our room at home?”

He furrows his eyebrows.  “No.  I love our place.  Why would you think that? Also, that’s very random to be bringing up now.”

“Well it’s just…this room is so different from ours at home.  I just didn’t know if you liked the darker colors better.  I want you to be comfortable in our room at home.  We can change it if you want it to look more like this one.”

He gives a little laugh and turns to face me.  “I didn’t decorate this room, Tony’s person did and he gave me this room because it’s the “most masculine”.  I prefer our room because it’s bright and spacious.  The fact that you decorated it is special to me because it’s like a present you gave to me.  Plus, I don’t have the best eye for interior design since everything I grew up with was either floral or had doilies.  But to be honest, this one feels a bit like a dungeon.  I just don’t bother to change it because I just sleep at home.  And I didn’t change it before I met you because even then I just used it to sleep, if I slept at all,” he looks into the distance, remembering all the nights he spent up in the gym, trying to beat the memories out of his mind.  He changes the subject, “Ok, so when we go down there I’m gonna have you wait around the corner and then you can come out when I tell you.”

He leads me downstairs and has me wait in a hallway. He walks around the corner and I hear Tony say, “Alright Capsicle, what’s the surprise you have for us?”

“Everybody just sit down and I’ll get to it in a minute,” he replies.  The sound of chairs scraping the floor is heard and Tony grumbles something about how he had been planning to have lasagna with Pepper tonight.  After a few seconds of silence, Steve comes back around the corner, grabs my hand, and leads me out. I nearly trip over my heels when we start moving and the pit in my stomach only grows.

At the sight of me, Tony and Natasha stand up startled. “What is she doing here?” Tony angrily asks.

“I thought you banned her,” Natasha adds on.

They all begin chattering, asking Steve why I’m here until Bucky calmly says, “Hey Y/N.”

Sam looks at Bucky confused, “You know her?”  Bucky nods his head and Sam looks at Steve, confused and a little hurt.  “Steve?”

“Everybody,” Steve starts, setting his hand on my lower back.  “This is Y/N, my wife.”

“WIFE?!” they all shout at different times.  Steve and I get bombarded with about a million questions at once.  When did we meet, why weren’t they invited to the wedding, when the wedding was, why I interviewed Steve the way I did, etc.

A loud thud on the balcony draws everyone’s attention. Thor is standing there in his armor and cape, holding his hammer.  “Sorry I’m late for team dinner,” he begins but stops when he sees me.  “Lady Y/N, I haven’t seen you since the wedding.  How has being married to the Captain been?”

“Oh you know, being married to a man-child is a struggle, but he’s hot enough for me to keep him around,” I joke.

“Thor, you know her too?” Tony asks.

“Yes I do.  Loki does too but I decided not to bring him tonight.  I think it would have been a bad idea.”

“Alright, Tony, sit down and I’ll explain everything,” Steve says.  Tony hesitantly sits down and everyone else follows.  Steve explained everything from why we met to why we couldn’t invite them to the wedding.

As he’s finishing telling the story and answering questions from the team, Tony’s bots bring in the pasta and Steve gets up and grabs something from the basket we brought.  He opens a bottle of wine and begins filling glasses.  When he gets to mine, I put my hand over my cup.  “Not tonight,” I say.

“But it’s your favorite,” he says.

“I can’t,” I say, not wanting to get in to it.

“C’mon, I won’t let you drink too much,” he says jovially.

“No, Steve…I can’t,” I say forcefully, looking up to make eye contact, hoping he understands without giving anything away.

He understands, but unfortunately his mouth works faster than his brain.  He looks down at my stomach and an excited smile spreads on his face.  “Are you…?”

I look around the table, seeing the Avengers all looking at us expectedly.  I look back at Steve and sheepishly nod.  He gasps and nearly drops the bottle, but luckily he realizes that when I reach out to catch it.

“A babe,” Thor says happily.  “Mazel tov.”

“They’re not Jewish,” Bucky says to Thor.  “Can’t wait to meet little James or Jamie.”  I give Bucky a look to let him know it’s not happening.  “Ok, Bucky works too.”

Tony puts his head in his hands looking like he’s about to pass out.  “Oh my god, we find out Steve is married to a woman I banned from the compound, and now that he’s going to be a father.”

I look at Steve to see him with tears in his eyes. Thankfully, Natasha saves us. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she says, standing up and holding her glass out.  “To Steve and Y/N, I hope you have a long, happy marriage and a healthy baby girl that you name Natasha.”

“That was the other thing we had planned to tell you tonight.  We’ve been trying for a baby.  I guess we were successful.”  Steve finishes pouring the drinks while everybody suggests baby names.  After a while, the conversation drifts to other things.  I enjoy listening to them, though they’re constantly quipping (mostly Tony).

Bucky, who’s sitting next to me, whispers to Steve, who’s on my other side, “Are we going to church this Sunday?”  The three of us go to church most Sundays. Steve and Bucky both grew up going to church, and it gives them some hope in a dark world.

Tony, who wasn’t involved in the conversation, cuts in. “Barnes, you could live at church and you still won’t go upstairs when you die.”

Bucky’s metal hand clenches so hard around his fork I’d be surprised if it isn’t bent.  He looks at Tony and gives him a very fake, overly sweet smile.  “Tony, I love how mean you are to me because it makes me feel less guilty about what I did to your parents.”

Tony stands up, slamming his hands on the table and Bucky mirrors him.  It looks like they’re about to attack but Steve intervenes.  “Tony, Bucky!  Tony, that was uncalled for and Bucky, that was unnecessary.  We know how you actually feel about your past and we’ve watched you try to change.”  Both men slowly sit back down.  “We have a guest.”  Bucky relaxes first, then Tony does.

“Y/N,” Tony addresses me.  “I need to apologize for my rudeness towards Bucky on my first night officially meeting you.  I was hoping not to fight with him tonight.”

“You call that a fight?  You should hear these two,” I say, gesturing to Steve and Bucky on either side of me.  “These guys can bicker with each other like an old married couple for hours about the smallest things.  Last week they had a 45 minute argument on how many times you can reuse a towel before it needs to be washed.”

“Wash it right away,” Steve mutters.

“Steve, we used to use towels so many times before we washed them in the 40s,” Bucky argues.

“Yeah but that was because if we needed to wash things, Mom had to heat up water and then hang-dry it on the balcony.  It’s easy to wash things now days.”

“Anyways,” Tony says, stopping their argument.  “I guess the interview you gave Cap makes sense now…somewhat.”

“Well I was pissed at him that day, so I think he deserved it.”

Tony smiles at Steve.  “You need to bring her around more often.”

Taglist: @imanuglywombat @infernal-fire @dottirose @carpediemm-18​

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #Avengers #the interview #the dinner #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #sam wilson #thor

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 14

“Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.”

Previous

Read chapter 14 on AO3 or read below:

Cardan and I pass the water bottle back and forth until it’s empty, without speaking. When he reaches over and sets it down on the floor beside the mattress, I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it too, but I don’t want to voice it aloud, because that would mean moving and doing, and neither of us want to do that. I want to stay tangled up in the admittedly horrible blankets, my side pressed against Cardan’s, while I catch my breath and take stock of myself. I feel drained and thirsty, but strangely loose, like someone’s stretched me out with a taffy machine. Like the kid in Willy Wonka.

But I am also sore, in ways I did not expect and in places that I did not expect either. Thighs, yes, of course. But my core? If I clench my abs it hurts. And inside, too, I feel a little scraped raw, and I wonder how I’m supposed to bang out a whole heat without tearing something if this is how I am after just a few hours. The first time is supposed to be a little worse, though. A little more awkward. Maybe the next one will be better. Then I realize I am making plans for the future.

I stop looking at the unfinished basement ceiling and look at Cardan instead. We have come uncoupled from our final round, so he is next to me, not flush against my back or chest like he had been. The light plays on his tousled hair and his cheekbones and very full—even more full now that they are swollen—lips. He’s always looked like a statue carved by a sexually frustrated hand, and this is probably the most obscene I’ve ever seen him, but there’s something at peace and almost angelic about him right now. I don’t know whether to be bothered by it or not. I look at the ceiling again, tracing a line of tubing with my eyes.

“They haven’t come to check on us in a while,” I say at last.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, but he doesn’t move to do anything about it.

“We should figure out what’s going on.”

“Well, we were very loud.” He grins. “They probably didn’t want to interrupt.”

His smile is infectious, but my own fades quickly. I glance at him, then beyond him to the door. “It’s been like twelve hours. I think we need to check.”

“You think I need to check.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Oh, no,” he groans, bringing a hand to cover his face. A blush is creeping into his cheeks. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s the only time you’re going to hear it.” Very lightly, I kick his shin. By now he knows if I meant it to hurt him, I’d just hurt him. “Go on.”

Cardan groans again, then rolls to the side of the mattress, rummaging for his clothes. I am disappointed when he stands and pulls his jeans back on, but, since his back is turned to me, I take a second to admire the way they sit on his hips. He actually has a nice ass, and it feels weirdly refreshing to allow myself to think it without judgment. A lot of guys don’t. I can see the scars criss-crossing his back now, and there are fewer of them than I thought, and more faded. I am relieved for a second—fewer scars have to be a good thing, right?—until I remember that there are plenty of other ways to beat Cardan without leaving permanent marks and feel a flush of anger.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling a white shirt I haven’t seen before over his head. “You’re all over the place.”

I bristle. He’s referring to the thing both of us are avoiding. I can sense him too now, the same looseness I feel in my body, the relief, and the same spiky undercurrent of nervousness. It has to do with scent, to how we’re now much more attuned to the chemicals the other person gives off. I should have known better than to open myself up to something like that.

Before I can open my mouth to dismiss his claim, Cardan twists around to look at me. The t-shirt he’s wearing says “I went to the Hamptons, and all I got was this T-shirt!” in big, kitschy blue lettering, and I nearly choke on my own laughter.

He pulls the shirt out, frowning as he reads the lettering. “I mean, is it that bad? Gauche is kind of in, right?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. You like it.” Cardan crosses the room and knocks on the door. “Hello,” he calls. “It’s safe. We’re done now.”

There is no response. I sit up, wincing when my abs protest. They’re usually pretty prompt.

Cardan’s frown deepens. He knocks harder. “Hey!”

“Do you hear anything?”

“No.” He slams the flat of his hand against the door. “But they can’t have just—”

I feel the panic rising in him as it rises in me. Would they leave us shut up in here? Cardan and I had both started to like our captors, especially as they helped us through the ordeal that was my heat; it was easy to forget that they were career criminals, not paid to be kind. If they or their employer had no more use for us, would they leave us locked in here to die?

“Try the knob,” I suggest.

Cardan puts his hand on the doorknob, rattles the handle, and looks dumbstruck when the door springs open. “What the…”

I scoot to the end of the mattress closest to the door and peer outside. I see no one. The chairs at the folding table are empty. “They left?” I ask, incredulous. “They just left?”

Cardan rubs the back of his neck. “Were we that loud?” Off my derisive look, he adds, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.” Wrapping one of the sheets around myself, I stand too. “We probably shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

“Right,” he says, still dazed.

“Shower first,” I add.

He swings his head around to look at me. “They could come back. You sure you want to waste time on getting clean?”

“We didn’t stay alive all this time just so Madoc could kill you if he smells you on me.”

Cardan goes pale. “That is a very good point.”

I start gathering up my clothes—sweatshirt, shorts, tank top, discarded bra—while he goes to start the water. My ankle hurts less now, although it still twinges if I put too much pressure on it; three days off of it have helped it heal, apparently. I’ve never been great at giving myself recovery time, but maybe there’s something to be said for taking breaks.

When I limp to the bathroom, Cardan has already stripped down again and is washing off in the shower. He left the door open, so nothing is hidden. I nearly drop the clothes I am carrying, and scold myself. It’s not like I haven’t seen him before. It’s not like he wasn’t just inside of me.

But seeing him now, in the light, his skin glistening from shower spray, rubbing himself down with soap, is a completely different experience. I shake myself all over, remembering that he can sense me now and determined that he not know the extent of what I feel, because what I feel has so many dimensions—lust, longing, genuine affection—that I am a little scared of it. I drop my blanket and my clothes in a heap against the wall and join him under the water.

He both is and isn’t surprised when I step into the shower. I know he can sense me without looking, just like I’d know what direction to walk to get to him if we were dropped miles apart. It’s that thing we’re not talking about, that neither of us will name. Naming it will make it real. So instead of saying anything, Cardan picks up the bottle of lavender shampoo, squeezes a little into his palms, and begins massaging it into my hair.

I work very hard not to moan, but I do brace my hands against his chest. I allow myself that luxury. A splotch of color catches my attention, and I slide one hand up and gently press my fingers against the bite mark on his neck. “Did I do that?”

Cardan smirks, continuing to massage my scalp. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” I trace it with my fingers. “Are you mad?”

He pauses, and I have to force down a surge of panic. “I wish you’d asked,” he says at last.

My face burns. “I got carried away.”

“If you’d asked, I would have said yes.”

I look up. His mouth is curved with a sly little smile. My heart thuds.

“This is going to surprise you, but I haven’t gotten to make a lot of choices, historically. Not important ones.” He resumes lathering my hair. I have a lot of it. “I would have chosen you. I wish you’d let me.”

“Well, I—” My tongue feels thick and heavy in my mouth. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

He snickers. “Yeah.”

I step back to rinse out my hair. He watches me, not bothering to disguise it when his eyes trace over my body. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re both worn out. But, here and now, I don’t mind being looked at. My body, for all its myriad imperfections, got me through these last harrowing days, from escape attempt to the end of my heat and everything in between. He can like it. Maybe I can like it, too.

I stand on my toes to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me, kissing me back as the water washes the last few days away, leaving behind the cloaking scent of lavender. When my hair is clean, I pick up the shampoo bottle and squirt some more into my hands. I hold my palms out to Cardan, who bends his head to me. And I help him get clean, too.

---

“You’re walking a little funny there,” Cardan says, later.

I glare at him over my shoulder. He is dressed, clean, his hair still dripping from the shower—and grinning like a cheshire cat. “I still have a bad ankle. So what?”

“No.” He circles his arms around my waist and pulls me into him, so my back comes to rest against his bare chest. I take a deep breath. His skin is still so warm. Nuzzling the side of my head, he says, sounding a little awed, “I did that.”

“And? Do you want a medal? Come on, we have to—” He starts kissing my neck, and I am briefly torn between rolling my eyes and pushing him back into our cell and onto the terrible mattress. In the end, I do neither. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder. “Cardan.”

“I know.” He buries his head in the juncture of my shoulder and neck. He seems to like it there. “I know I know I know. Just a minute. Here.”

He takes my hands and pulls me across the basement, sitting in the empty chair that would normally belong to the Roach and positioning me so I stand in front of him. To my surprise, the next thing he does is wrap his arms around my waist again and bury his face in my stomach.

“Let’s not go up,” he says, his words slightly muffled by my tank top. “Let’s live in this basement.”

I rest my hand on the back of his head. “We can’t do that.”

“Maybe we can. The Roach was teaching me some stuff. Maybe we can get by stealing snacks from convenience stores and just be bandits forever. Basement bandits.”

I stroke my thumb through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “I have college.”

“You can commute.”

“Oh, sure.” I place both my hands on his shoulders and give him a little push. “C’mon.”

He doesn’t budge. “It sucks out there, you know,” he says. “It really sucks. And it doesn’t make sense, I know it makes no sense, but I think this is the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Aside from all of the parts of it that were terrible,” I point out.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Aside from that.”

“That was most of it, you know. I feel like the last few hours are really coloring your perception…” I trail off. “You don’t want to go home,” I realize aloud. “That’s what this is.”

Cardan’s shoulders tense. “Forget it.”

“Hey—”

He releases me and stands up. “You’re right. We should go.”

“Cardan.”

It seems like he is already halfway up the basement steps. Stupid long legs. I jog after him as best I can, catching up to him just after he pushes the door open. And then he is just standing there, taking in the ruined—or unfinished—house. I forgot that he hadn’t seen it before. With the sunlight streaming through the rafters, it is a pretty striking sight.

I find myself blinking. Has the sunlight always been this bright? I shield my eyes with my hand.

“What is this?” Cardan asks quietly.

“The Ghost said it was being built for somebody’s mistress,” I reply, even though that doesn’t really answer his question. “He said it was never finished.”

His frown is back. “But who—”

Then he stops, straightening, and I hear what he hears: the screeching sirens, then the unmistakable sound of roaring engines and car tires flattening the grass outside. We glance at each other and, unified in purpose, race to the front of the house.

We burst out the door to find four police cars, an ambulance, and two unmarked black cars swarming the house, tires screeching as they brake. The black cars race up the side of the field and come to a halt. The driver of the first one barely waits for the car to truly stop before he emerges, moving with surprising agility. His shoulders are broad, and even the adrenaline of the situation isn’t enough to suppress his slight limp.

Cardan is clutching my hand, or I am clutching his. “It’s Madoc,” I whisper. “Madoc is here.”

But Cardan is staring too, because the person who emerges from the second car is another familiar figure. This one has his cheekbones, his dark curly hair. “My brother,” he says, sounding surprised.

I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing—that Balekin is here, that Balekin bothered—but I give his hand a squeeze and let it go, knowing one of us needs to do something, make this almost normal. I start across the field, intercepting Madoc a few yards from the house. His face is a storm of emotions and they are all unreadable to me.

“I,” I begin, but then he pulls me, one-armed, against his shoulder, and into a hug.

Madoc is, as a rule, not very affectionate. He loves us, although there has always been something terrifying about being loved by him, but he hasn’t hugged us since we were children. But he is hugging me, right now. His hand presses against the back of my head, like he is afraid that I will be taken again if he lets me go.

“Dad,” I whisper, and I let myself lean into him. My shoulders shake, and I tell myself I will not cry, I won’t. I am done with crying.

“Jude,” Madoc says. “I thought I’d lost you.”

My heart strains at its seams. Maybe I will cry.

But then I feel a prickle of awareness and pick my head up to look over at Cardan. The police are busy securing the perimeter, so Balekin has gotten to him first, and is talking to him in a low voice. He has his hand on Cardan’s shoulder. It might be friendly, brotherly. But tension in his Cardan’s posture makes me think it is not.

“Wait, just a second.” I make myself pull back from Madoc, then walk over to where Cardan is standing.

Balekin takes a step back. There is a smile on his face, which could be kindly, but has too sharp an edge for that. “Jude Duarte,” he says, by way of greeting. “I understand I have you to thank for my brother’s safety?”

I bristle, because I know he must see this as a mark of Cardan’s lack of worth. Protected by an omega. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to grab Cardan’s hand again. “We looked out for each other. He saved my a—me, too.”

“Hmm.” Balekin’s eyes narrow.

“Can someone tell us what’s really going on?” Cardan asks. I feel his discomfort like it’s mine. “What the hell happened? How did you find us? How are you here?”

“Your phones and wallets were turned in at the police precinct,” says Madoc, coming up to join us. “Along with GPS coordinates leading to this address.”

Cardan and I look at each other. “Well, I won’t have to get my driver’s license replaced,” he jokes. “Good. Hate the DMV.”

“But who did this?” I ask. “Who was behind it?” I look at Balekin before I can really stop myself.

He raises an eyebrow, but he says, “Our brother, Dain.”

“He confessed?” Cardan asks, disbelieving.

“In a way.”

“He’s no longer a concern,” Madoc says with a finality that indicates no further questioning will be entertained.

Cardan and I look at each other. “But—” Cardan begins, just as I say, “Why?”

“The details don’t matter,” Balekin says. “Cardan—”

“We should let the paramedics examine them,” Madoc interjects. “Jude’s wounded.”

“It’s really a scratch,” I protest.

“Great!” exclaims Cardan, walking past me and toward the ambulance. Balekin looks frustrated, but lets him go and stalks back to his own car, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. I move to follow Cardan until Madoc lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Jude,” he says, in a low voice. “That boy.”

I notice the furrow of his brow, the slight flare of his nostrils, and wish the earth would swallow me up. “It’s all right,” I say, avoiding his searching gaze. “It isn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for. We were trapped together for a long time.”

“I didn’t think you were friends,” he says. There is a slowness to his words that suggests he’s choosing them carefully. Or maybe he’s judging me.

“I’m not sure what we are.”

“It’s very clear what you are.”

“Dad,” I whisper, scandalized.

His face softens. “We’ll figure it out. If you say he helped you, then I will take you at your word.” He releases me. “Go get looked at.”

To escape the conversation, I am more than happy to oblige.

Next

#jurdan #jurdan fanfic #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #tfota #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ oikawa + dating an s/o with chronic illness & pain ] 

anon: hello! i know this is a bit out of the ordinary & you absolutely don't have to if you don't want to, but would you be willing to write some ushijima/hinata/oikawa/atsumu [these are just options you def don't have to do all of them] with a s/o that has chronic illness & pain?

a/n: hiiii !! okay so i did some research on living with chronic illness and pain (mostly watching youtube videos for a visual) because i don’t want to misrepresent anything. i do hope that i do this well and please let me know if there are any parts that i should fix !! also, added the little detail of oikawa being a doctor who fan because i feel like he is one

just for clarification, since there are different kinds of chronic illnesses out there, y/n has EDS (ehlers-danlos syndrome)

oikawa had been your childhood friend since forever and the two of you were also neighbors

ever since you were young, he often noticed that you were always ‘clumsy’ and somehow getting into all sorts of accidents. you two would be walking and your ankles would suddenly give way and you’d end up falling

along with that, you were terrible at sports and always tired out and ached all over even after one PE session. the two of you just assumed you were just not the active type 

whenever oikawa and iwaizumi were playing volleyball, you were always sitting from a distance cheering the both of them on although he sometimes felt bad that you couldn’t join in so he’d invite you inside to watch shows with him 

the two of you bonded over doctor who and would watch hours of it on end. oikawa’s definitely a nerd and loves gushing to you about the show and seeing you enjoy it

you and oikawa definitely grew closer over the years and he began to see you as someone who was more than a friend. in your second year of high school, he finally asked if you would like to date him (definitely did the whole ‘would you be the companion to my doctor?’ whole thing because he’s a nerd

of course you were happy because you thought oikawa just saw you as a friend. a lot of your dates consisted of doing stuff at home and the occasional cafe visit

as you grew older, your symptoms became way more apparent and obvious to you as ‘not normal’ but it was oikawa who took them more seriously compared to other people

it became so common for a shoulder to dislocate and at one point you even had to wear knee braces to help you walk. you were also constantly feeling tired or nauseous

he helped you with convincing your parents to talk to a doctor and of course it took a whole lot of visits before they were finally able to diagnose you with EDS

of course oikawa has already started researching on your condition as much as possible. he definitely wishes that he helped you and convinced your family much earlier on

at first, it was hard for you manage all your medications, especially the ones for your blood pressure and pain, but oikawa helped you a lot. the two of you once spent about an hour sorting your meds into a pill organizer

he also has alarms on his phone to help remind you when to take your medications

in the mornings, he likes to give you a good morning call to wake you up and keep you company after blood pressure spikes up and while you wait for your medications to kick in 

knows you need a bit of help in the morning going through your routine so sometimes he comes over to your house to help you. he’s VERY meticulous about washing his hands

oikawa did a bit of research on how to manage your fingers constantly dislocating so he bought you some finger splints and a thumb brace

he thinks they look cool on your fingers and even suggested that you put blades on them 

you: why would i put blades on my finger splints? 

oikawa: you know, for the people who say you’re overreacting

you: oHOOOO

ok but i don’t think you can they might cut your own fingers

he also got you a thumb brace but he got it designed with a moon and stars pattern so it looks pretty

things of course got a bit more difficult when your condition started to affect your gastro-intestinal system and you had to start using a feeding tube 

you couldn’t eat food like normal anymore and being in school was more difficult since you basically ate by injecting nutrients in through your tube

whenever he heard anyone whispering about you in school, if they said anything at all about you overreacting, oikawa would quickly shut them down because they had no idea what you were going through

one time he had the bright idea of cheering you up by sticking a picture of himself on your IV pole for you to look at whenever you feel sad

he looked SO PROUD when he showed you and you took one look at the oikawa IV pole and just went ‘what makes you think i want to see you staring at me while i inject my nutrients?’

oikawa: i thought :( it would make you feel better :(

you: maybe if it was a picture of david tennant...

oikawa: wow, was david tennant the one who popped your shoulder into place earlier? NO

when class picture day comes along, oikawa could tell that you were insecure about having to take your picture with your feeding tube in plain sight 

he sits beside you while you do your make-up and even helps out with fixing your hair when you feel too tired. all too help you feel like your best self

and THEN, he surprises you with a feeding tube sticker that’s in the shape of saturn. he even has a temporary tattoo that’s in the shape of an alien

oikawa: it’s so that we’re matching, y/n! 

it makes you feel a bit better knowing that you and your boyfriend are matching and oikawa’s super careful sticking the tape on your feeding tube and cheek

and the two of you take a whole bunch of selfies before your picture with your faces pressed together, showing the matching space icons on your cheeks

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

a/n: once again, i hope that you guys like this. for those with chronic illness & pain, i hope i didn’t misrepresent anything (again, please let me know if i did and i’ll edit this post) and for those without, i hope this was also a good read :)

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist):@montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumusdomain​ @goodfoodxoxoxo​ @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings @definitely-yours @amberalisa @whootwhoot​ @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs

#haikyuu!! #hq x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa #haikyuu!! headcanons #hq!! headcanons #hq headcanons #haikyuu!! fluff #hq!! fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu!! requests #hq!! requests #hq requests #haikyuu!! imagines #hq!! imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu!! scenarios #hq!! scenarios #hq scenarios

[eliemo]

All Gone- Part 3

Next part of my fan work for the Labelled Universe by @snowdice

Sorry this part took a bit longer to upload, but its also a longer chapter! 

TW: kidnapping, violence, panic and mention of drugs (nothing too bad, just sedatives and stuff) 

Virgil woke with what he quickly decided was the absolute worst headache he’d ever had in his entire life. 

And with how many times he’d woken up in varying degrees of pain, that was really saying something. At least he’d had morphine when he’d opened his eyes to a bullet wound. 

Now though, it felt like somebody had taken a meat cleaver to his skull, his head throbbing in time to his racing heartbeat, his whole body trembling and burning like he’d been dunked in lava. 

Jesus, he wasn’t even sure he could move. 

Virgil tried to open his eyes, quickly backtracking and squeezing them shut when even a sliver of dim light felt like a million tiny knives burrowing into his brain. 

He bit back a groan as a wave of nausea washed over him, overwhelming and awful as he lay perfectly still against something cold and hard. 

Hadn’t he been at school? He thought so. It had been the week from Hell- his foggy, pounding brain could at least piece that together. 

Between school work piling up as the year came to an end, stress from a new villain rising in power, and the fight with Logan, Virgil was--

Logan. 

This time, Virgil’s eyes did fly open, his sudden panic as memories came flooding back not nearly enough to smother the cry of pain as agony shot through his whole body at the movement. 

Logan had been right in front of him, calling to him from the car, panicked and afraid as arms wrapped around Virgil and dragged him into the dark. 

There’s been a stabbing pain in his neck, something cold and sharp pressing into his skin before he’d passed out. 

Oh god, had he been drugged? How long had he been out?

It couldn’t have been too long, he reasoned against the rising panic. Logan wouldn’t let him stay kidnapped for long. Logan would find him, kick the shit out of whoever had taken Virgil, and bring him home to a fretting Patton. 

It would be fine. It was ok. No need to freak out like a baby, Logan was probably on his way right now to--

“Are you awake, Shadow Caster?” 

That made Virgil freeze, panic intensifying because last time he checked he definitely was not wearing his mask. He’d just been trying to get home after band practice. 

There were feet suddenly moving in his line of sight, and Virgil shrank back out of instinct, tensing at the feeling of someone looming over him, in far too much pain to try scrambling away. 

 “Well, hey.” The man was crouching down, still too close and too tall, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as he moved closer. “What’s the matter, Shadow? Scared?” 

It was that horrible sickly sweet tone, the one Virgil had heard so many times before that reeked of false kindness, drenched in eager giddiness at the power they had over him. 

Virgil couldn’t move from where he lay on the floor, and he was quickly realizing that wasn’t just from the fear. His body, aside from the lingering pain, felt heavy and cold, limbs slow and unresponsive. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Do you prefer Virgil?”

Virgil felt like he was going to be sick, hearing his real name somehow so much worse, the reality of the entire situation hitting all at once, too many memories flooding back. 

He couldn’t even concentrate long enough to form anything more than a measly shadow against his ankle. Nothing that would be of any help. 

Virgil risked a glance up, furiously forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over at what he saw. 

It was the man from the news, the one Logan had been working tirelessly to track down. The one that clearly had no qualms with killing innocents. 

And he knew who Virgil was behind the mask. He’d taken him right in front of Logan. 

“What do you want?” Virgil asked in a breathy rush, cringing at how shaky his voice was. He couldn’t see most of his kidnapper’s face behind the black mask, but his eyes were practically glowing with amusement. 

“Here,” he said, and Virgil couldn;t even try to hold back the whimper that escaped when the man reached forward, shrinking back and shutting his eyes. “Let’s get you off the floor.” 

Virgil tried to protest, tried to kick and scramble away, tried to do anything in his power to make sure this man didn’t touch him, but in the end it was useless. 

Virgil’s body was still slow and uncooperative, and the man moved too fast. Before he knew it there was a hand fisted in his shirt, another squeezing his wrist, and Virgil was roughly yanked to his feet and dragged to the nearest wall, forced to sit up and lean against it. 

It wasn’t any better than laying on the floor, despite being a bit less vulnerable, and the sudden movements had only sent more bursts of stabbing pain through his body, stars dancing along his already hazy vision. 

He grit his teeth and said nothing, now staring resolutely at the man’s black jeans in front of him. 

“You’re sixteen, right?” the masked man asked. Virgil didn’t answer. “Poor kid. Do your parents know about your little bank robbing habit?” 

Virgil forced himself not to flinch, wishing he had the strength to curl up into a ball, feeling far too vulnerable and exposed. 

He barely went out as Shadow Caster anymore, spending the free time he did have training with Logan, and he definitely hadn’t stolen since moving in Logan and Patton. 

The man’s hand was suddenly moving without warning, too fast and too close to Virgil’s face, and he couldn’t fight back against a violent flinch this time, ears burning when the man laughed. 

“I don’t need to hurt you,” he said, a hand now rested on Virgil’s shoulder. It was too tight, too confining, to be anything even remotely gentle. “Your dad seemed real upset when I picked you up. We don’t want to keep him worrying much longer, right?” 

Virgil tired (and failed) to steady his breathing, dissolving mostly into hiccuping gasps, ignoring the nagging panic that came with each second Logan failed to make his entrance. 

He...he was coming, right? Virgil knew they’d fought that morning, and he’d been unfairly short tempered when he’d known Logan was already stressed but...but that wouldn’t mean…

Virgil didn’t realize he’d been hit until the pain registered, seconds after the deafening crack that rose up in the empty room, the man’s hand now missing one of his black gloves. 

“Are you paying attention to me, Shadow Caster?” 

It wasn;t the first time he’d been slapped, obviously, and definitely not the first time he’d heard that demand afterwards. Of course, this situation was arguably a bit different. 

He’d literally been kidnapped, he had no obligation to cower and submit to this adult’s wants. Logan was coming- he was. Virgil was still alive for a reason. He could afford to be defiant. 

But a bit of rational thought wasn’t nearly enough to erase a lifetime worth of conditioning. Virgil found himself pressing back even further against the wall, fighting to raise heavy, trembling hands up to block his face from another hit, unable to raise his eyes from the floor. 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out, hating himself for turning so weak so quickly. He wondered, briefly, if Logan would be disappointed. “I...what do you want?” 

The man’s eyes practically lit up at the obvious fear, and Virgil shuddered under the weight of his excitement. He hoped his own expression wasn’t giving away how badly that slap had hurt. 

“I sent your friend Bluebird a nice little picture,” he said. “Figured he’d want to know the kid that used to follow him around had gotten into a little...predicament. Smart guy like him should be able to find our location, right?” 

Virgil forced himself to breathe, the mark on his face burning like acid. He had enough experience to know that it would probably leave a nasty bruise. 

“He’s...he’ll be here.” 

“Yeah?” It was impossible to tell for sure behind the mask, but Virgil thought the man was smirking. “You’ve already been here about two hours now.” 

Two hours? And Logan still hadn’t…

No. No. It was fine. It was all going to be ok. Logan would find him. He would. 

“He’ll be here,” Virgil repeated, barely audible, more for himself than anything. “And he’ll kick your ass.” 

Virgil expected the slap this time, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less, a new burst of pain exploding across his already throbbing cheek. 

“Tell you what,” the man said, casually, like Virgil wasn’t hunched over himself and fighting back tears. “Let’s make a deal, ok? Just in case he doesn’t.” 

Virgil didn’t answer, just stared resolutely down at his feet, shivering  and uselessly trying not to dissolve into sobs. 

God, he just wanted to go home. 

“I’ll let you go right now,” he said. “All I need is the Bird’s name. His real name. Tell me who he is, and you’re good to go.” 

And there was no way in hell Virgil was ever going to accept that. It wasn’t even a question. Not for a second. 

He was just glad this guy was apparently too stupid to connect Virgil’s recent adoption with the superhero’s identity. 

“No,” he spat, and quickly cringed back when the man’s hand raised again. “Wh-why don't you just...figure it out yourself? You found me.” 

“It’s not hard to find some street kid, Shadow. Not if you try hard enough. Bluebird’s another story.” 

Virgil swallowed, fairly sure he could taste some blood in his mouth as he hunched his shoulders and braced himself, knowing what was coming. 

“I don’t know who he is.” 

It was a fist that connected with his face this time, real anger finally leaking through the man’s giddy facade, and Virgil definitely tasted blood now. 

 “Don’t lie to me, kid.” 

“I-I’m not--” 

He honestly couldn’t tell if he’d been punched again, all of the pain was starting to blend together into one horrible wave of agony. But even as he feels himself roughly shoved to the ground, something digging into the back of his neck, his answer never changed. 

He was used to beatings. He could...he could take it. And yeah, maybe he’d gotten used to living under Logan and Patton’s safety the last year. Maybe it was worse because there was absolutely nothing stopping this man from killing him in seconds. 

But there wasn’t a second where he considered giving Logan up. Because even if he died...Logan would be ok. The only people to ever show him a shred of kindness in his life would be safe. 

And that was...that was…

He didn’t even have time to finish his thought before the weight on top of him was ripped away, the sudden change in pressure only making the pain flare up worse than before, and Virgil cried out in alarm. 

There were noises around him, too far away to make out, and much too loud to bring any semblance of calm. There were voices, he thought, angry and demanding, followed by deafening crashes and thuds. 

Had he done something wrong again? Everything hurt so bad and he couldn’t lift his head to even see where he was anymore. He shouldn’t be this weak. He should be able to get up and run while he could. He needed to get away, he needed--

There was a crash, louder than any of the other sounds, and Virgil thought he heard someone scream. A second later, he realized it could have been him. 

But the crash had definitely been close this time, like someone had hit the wall right above him, and Virgil used what was left of his fading strength to curl into himself, doing what he could to protect his face. 

Something sharp scraped against his arms and legs as he moved, stabbing pain joining the rest of the constant hurt, but he didn’t pay it any mind. 

And then, despite the fact that he hadn’t opened his eyes or lifted his head, Virgil is painfully aware of a presence making its way back towards him, looming over him, ready to hurt him all over again. 

But he wasn’t giving this guy any answers. 

“Virgil--” 

“I-I’m...I’m not telling you who-who he is, I’m not--” 

Oh god, Virgil can’t breathe. He can feel the panic rising up, stronger than the pain and drowsiness, and his chest aches with his labored, frantic breaths. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Virgil couldn’t help the sob that escaped as he flinched back, back slamming into the wall. 

“Please d-dont.” He was begging now, desperate and scared, unable to stop himself. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me I’m--”

“Virgil, it’s me.” The hand loosened slightly, but didn’t let go. “It’s just me. I found you, you’re safe.” 

And that...that sounded like…

“Look at me, Virgil. Please. I...I need to see that you’re alright.” 

Virgil found himself obeying, not moving from where he was curled up on the floor, but glancing up just enough to see Bluebird on his knees in front of him, gloved hand on Virgil’s hoodie. 

He couldn’t remember deciding to speak, barely able to hear his own pitiful voice. But it was there all the same, small and unsure. “D...dad?” 

There’s a beat of silence, Bluebird--Logan-- watching him with poorly concealed worry, before he clears his throat and replies. 

“Hello, Virgil. I assume you’re ready to go home.”

Virgil had broken down within seconds. He didn’t bother to hold back any sobs this time, still not strong enough to move from the floor, but Logan quickly gathers Virgil in his arms, murmuring frantic reassurances and what sounded like apologies. 

Logan held him close to his chet, Virgil pressed close enough to hear his heartbeat, fast and strong and real. 

Virgil felt himself being moved, but there was no panic that came with the motion, just another wave of pain and dizziness. Logan said something when he cried out in pain, hold briefly tightening, but Virgil was asleep before he could hear it. 

#thomas sanders #labelled universe #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #superhero au #snowdice #fanfiction #fanwork

[swampofiniquity]

Warning Signs (Leon Kennedy x Reader

Part Two of Point / Counterpoint

Rated: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2,088

Cross-posted from AO3

Summary:  Leon calls you for a favor and your night devolves from there.

Part One

You hated driving through D.C.

It was always a nightmare of clueless tourists, reckless locals that had lost their regard for personal safety, and insane taxi driver’s that you swore must have all been taught by the same drunk asshole of a driver’s ed instructor. The lights never went your way, half the time a block or whole street would be closed for a parade or movie shoot or some other inconvenience. A couple of years of living in the city had taught you two things.

One - America needed to invest more in public transportation. And two - never try to drive anywhere in rush hour traffic.

The last of which meant Leon Kennedy owed you big time.

If any other human being had asked you to pick them up between the hours three and seven pm, you’d have laughed and given them directions to the nearest Metro station. People who you would otherwise not think twice about taking a bullet for either needed to wait until a more reasonable traffic hour, or find alternate transportation. But Leon was different.

While technically your superior at the DSO, he was also your best friend and a man that so rarely asked for help that his phone call asking you to come pick him up from the White House was practically the equivalent of spotting a unicorn running through the National Mall.

He had just gotten back from nearly two weeks of grueling back-to-back international peace summits with the president and apparently the pair had decided to celebrate their success by cracking open a bottle of executive bourbon. Now Leon needed someone with a high enough security clearance to come pick his exhausted, drunk ass up and take it the fuck home. You had the lucky distinction of being the first person he called.

And yeah, you kinda also owed him for watching your cat last time you had an out of country assignment. So, you hopped in the car, fully prepared to curse and rage your way through an infuriating hour or so of whiteknuckle fun.

Mercifully, Leon was waiting for you outside when you finally made it through the security gate. He was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses you had never seen before, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago, and was leaning crookedly up against a wall like he was fighting gravity on a sinking ship. It was somehow both alarming and utterly hilarious. You couldn’t remember the last time you'd ever seen him so out of sorts and had to fight the urge to document the moment for posterity. Or blackmail.

You rolled the window down as you pulled up beside him. "Hey sailor," you sang, as he struggled to push himself upright. "Need a ride?"

"Why am I already regretting this?" Leon grumbled, his scratchy voice about a whole octave lower than normal. Despite clearly being wasted he managed to shove himself and his duffel bag into your car without incident.

"Oh please, you missed me and you know it." You flashed him a cheeky grin, that he subtly returned.

"That’s presumptuous." He fumbled with the seat-belt for a moment before finally managing to get the latch to click.

You leaned across the console and pinched the meat of his arm through his jacket in retaliation, before pulling him into the closest approximation of a hug you could manage with the seat-belt pulling you back. It had been more than a month since you'd been this close to the man and seeing him again, alive and whole, made your chest clench unexpectedly.

Leon hummed and returned the embrace, burying his face in your hair. He was so warm, but a shiver still went up your spine as you felt his breath on your neck. "Good to see you too, gorgeous."

It was something he had always called you, a leftover from the early days of your relationship when Leon tried relentlessly and futilely to seduce you into bed with him. Something you had heard more than enough times to render it practically meaningless. And normally, it wouldn't affect you in the slightest, but the fact that you were in his arms and could feel his words as clearly as you could hear them, made the pet name seem so much more intimate.

You cleared your throat and pulled back, praying you didn't come off as awkward as you suddenly felt. "Yeah, well uh good… let's get you home then."

_________________________________________________________

A dark, humid night had long since set in by the time you pulled up to Leon’s building just outside of the main metropolitan area and only about a ten minute walk from your own apartment. After a very graceful and coordinated trek up the three flights of stairs to his door, you used your key and let yourself in, stepping aside for Leon and his duffel bag to slink past.

“You want me to order you some food or something? That new pizza place down the street finally opened up while you were gone.” You flipped on his living room light just in time to see Leon go limp and flop face down on his couch.

He let out a dramatic groan and went still.

“You dead?” You asked, fighting back a smile. He hadn’t even bothered to kick his boots off, opting instead to rest them on a throw pillow like an animal. “After all that effort to pick you up across town and bring you back here...”

“Mmmmphm,” he grumbled into the cushion before turning his head so you could actually understand him. “Yeah, very dead, sorry.”

“What am I going to tell your boyfriend, the president?” You bent down and removed his shoes, tossing them vaguely towards the door before lifting his legs and taking a seat beneath them.

There was a lot of very dignified flailing and wriggling as Leon turned himself over onto his back to level a glare up at you. “Not boyfriends.”

This was one of the reasons why you loved drunk Leon. Normally, he’d barely acknowledge your stupid jokes and attempts at teasing, but give the man a few too many drinks and he became the perfect target for a little friendly ribbing. You couldn’t help yourself. “You’re right, I forgot he’s married. So that’d make you his side piece.”

A pillow grazed the top of your head as it soared past you. “Rude.”

“Sorry, work wife?”

Another pillow, this one aimed a little better, hit you in the shoulder and bounced off onto the floor. You laughed. “Hey, just because he is never going to leave her for you doesn’t mean you can just throw things at me!”

“I’m out of pillows anyway,” Leon responded. Then he raised one of the socked feet on your lap up, nearly touching your nose. You squealed and grabbed his ankle, trying to save your face, but despite your efforts you still caught a whiff of the not-so-pleasant aroma of a foot that had spent most of the day stuck in a boot during international travel.

“That is so gross.” You glared at his smirking face.

While you were distracted, Leon snuck his other foot up and managed to gently caress your cheek. Squealing again, you jerked away. “Oh I’m going to make you for real dead, Kennedy!”

He laughed as you slipped out from under his legs and snatched one the pillows he had thrown at you off the floor. You stood over him, just out of his reach. “Apologize,” you demanded, pillow raised threateningly.

“Ha, you first.” Leon sat up, folding his arms across his chest.

You cocked your arm back and brought the pillow down hard, aiming to hit him in the stomach, but even drunk Leon was too fast. He caught the pillow and jerked it back, bringing you toppling down onto his lap. At the last second, you managed to brace your hand on the back of the couch to avoid knocking foreheads.

“Careful now.” Two strong hands latched onto your hips to still your squirming as you tried to right yourself. “Watch your knees down there.”

Your skin felt flushed as you caught his meaning. “Sorry,” you muttered, feeling embarrassed around him in a way you hadn’t in years. You gingerly adjusted your knees that were dangerously close to his crotch and moved so they were on either side of his thighs.

And boy was that position just so much worse. You resisted the urge to hide your hot face in his neck. Your brain was working overtime, rationalizing that the only reason you were this affected by straddling your best friend had to be the current dry spell plaguing your love life. That was the only plausible explanation for the sudden awareness of all the places Leon’s body was in contact with your own.

“That’s better,” he said quietly, warm hands still firm on your hips.

The air suddenly felt heavy, thick like you were trapped under a woolen blanket in the summertime. You could practically hear the alarm bells going off. This was dangerous territory.

Fighting back panic, you lifted your head up to face him, fully intending to crack another stupid joke or make fun of him, anything to ease the tension that had fallen. But the look in his eyes made the words stick to your tongue like a carpet tack.

Leon slowly gathered a lock of your hair that had fallen into your face and tucked it behind your ear. His hand lingered on your neck. “Hey there.”

“Hi” you breathed, heart beating double time in your chest. You were frozen, completely unable to move even if you had wanted to.

“You’re so soft,” Leon’s voice rumbled out, as he ever so gently ran his hand across your neck and under your chin, the calluses on his fingers catching on your skin like fine grain sandpaper. Goosebumps erupted at his touch and you bit back a contented sigh.

“T-thanks,” you muttered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as you let him explore your skin. It felt so good being touched so tenderly, so affectionately, that it didn’t matter who was behind it.

A gentle yet firm hand on the back of your neck brought you closer, the fingers tightening as Leon pressed his lips against yours. You shuddered, your body wound so tightly that you were afraid you’d snap at any moment. This was a bad idea for more reasons than you could count, but you were finding it impossible to care in the moment.

It wasn’t until the kiss deepened, when you parted your lips and tasted the bourbon on Leon’s tongue that you came to your senses. He was drunk and you were sober. What the hell was wrong with you?

You scrambled off his lap, feeling your stomach churn with shame and embarrassment. “Oh god.”

Your sudden movement must have jolted Leon back to some semblance of normal as well because he cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “I’m a drunken asshole. I am so sorry. ”

“No, I shouldn’t have-”

“But it was clearly my-”

You both started and trailed off, stewing for a long moment in your collective chagrin. Neither of you had a protocol for accidentally making out with your best friend. The only sound in the room was the distant droning of cicadas in the humid night outside before you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Um maybe we forget this happened?” Your voice sounded so small to your own ears.

Leon perked up. “Yes, good. Nothing to talk about because it never happened.”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying not to let how quickly he latched onto the idea sting. You recommended it for fuck’s sake. “Exactly.”

Leon let out a huge breath and slumped back into the couch. “I either need another drink or to sleep for ten years. Or both.”

“Well, best of luck with that. I’m going to head out.” You made a show of patting your pockets for your car keys, still feeling horribly awkward.

Leon frowned, but otherwise didn’t move from his prone position. “Okay. Wanna catch lunch tomorrow?” He asked, finishing the question around a yawn.

“Yeah, call me.” Normally you would have hugged him or kissed his cheek, but the thought of getting in his personal space again made your skin feel too tight, so you settled on a halfhearted wave. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Night gorgeous.”

You spent the whole ride home fighting the stupid grin that kept trying to creep onto your face.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfic

[tenacityreturns]

“listen, asshole. i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.” (you know the ship)

send me prompts for me to get mega carried away writing aokaga drabbles! ♥

          kagami knew he wasn’t going to be able to play basketball for a little while. he knew not to wear shorts in the winter under the impression he’d inevitably end up going to the outdoor court near his house and running drills by himself. he knew he wouldn’t be able to play in the practise game against kaijo next week, or enjoy any one-on-ones with his rivals. it upset him to know that the cast on his foot was also stopping him from working out, and even moving, let alone how it was affecting his basketball.

miserable, basically. kagami was miserable. he still met up with his friends, and insisted on coming to practise just to see what everyone was doing. coach allowed him to practise his three-pointers under the agreement that he was absolutely not to attempt dunks. kagami’s not that stupid, come on! joining his team doesn’t make him feel any less torn up, though. in fact, it could be argued that watching everyone have so much fun makes him feel worse, not that he’d say it for the fuss he put up even being allowed to come in the first place.

it makes sense that aomine would be waiting for kagami’s badly sprained ankle to heal up before they meet up. the redhead is convinced that the limits of his appeal are closely defined by his basketball ability, and this goes for aomine’s impression of him as much as anyone else’s. that’s fine. aomine likes basketball, so what else does kagami have to offer besides that and cooking for him ( which kagami is unwilling to do all the time )? nothing, exactly. kagami has accepted it, and by aomine’s silence, it sounds like he has too. can’t blame him.

in his second week with the awful brace on, aomine contradicts kagami’s assumptions by asking ( in his own way ) to go to maji’s. it sucks that aomine would see kagami with his stupid little brace, but at least he isn’t using a crutch anymore! there’s no shame in being injured, kagami knows this, but he really wants to play and he was thinking he’d be able to grin and bear it if he’d have the brace off by the time they met up. kagami really isn’t sure how much fun he’ll be, but he agrees because it’s aomine and he misses him. ( is that stupid to admit in itself? that he misses getting clowned on, and lectured, and spoken down to? crushes are weird. )

maji’s wasn’t that bad, either. aomine almost didn’t mention kagami’s injury, except to ask if it hurt bad to walk on. it is, but he’d said it wasn’t. he’s too restless to do nothing as it heals! it’s boring. 

kagami eats apparently noticeably less today, but he hasn’t done anything to work up an appetite. he’d been worried there would be awkward silences, but there aren’t. aomine mentions kise, kagami tells him that he’s having to sit out of the game, and the conversation swiftly moves along to something entirely different. 

scarlet eyes watch carefully. is aomine talking... more than usual? is something up? kagami almost asks straight up, but decides against it at the last minute. what good would it do? kagami doesn’t want to hear aomine admit that he just wanted to hang out! how fucking embarrassing would that situation be? so it cheers him up a little that aomine isn’t just hanging around for the basketball. ( and if he is, he makes such a fuss about being too tired to play one-on-ones that he’s got a funny way of showing it. )

so. the scene has been laboriously set. the characters, kagami taiga: injured, miserable; aomine daiki: love interest, acting strangely sensitively towards miserable rival, have been introduced. not to mention the lingering stares, shared food, hurried apology promptly buried after aomine had accidentally nudged the bad leg under the table. 

after the meal, they cut through the park towards town to do some shopping. aomine said he was too tired and couldn’t be bothered, but kagami has things he wants to buy and despite not insisting, the other teenager tags along. not five minutes into their journey, demons appear. as fast as their legs can carry them, three hellhounds race across the grass and STRAIGHT into them! he doesn’t know the breeds ( boxer, pug, border collie ), but they have big teeth and they’re barking at them! kagami’s body reacts before his scream can leave his throat, and he’s running in the opposite direction before aomine could tell him not to because of his bad leg.

( kagami doesn’t see this because he’s five metres away already, and ten seconds from falling on his face, but aomine is alarmed by the animals too before the come to a stop a few feet away. kagami! what are you, stupid? you’ll hurt yourself! but it falls on deaf ears. tails wagging, the dogs run around each other and then come up to aomine to say hi. the pug yells, the border collie barks, and the boxer is their silent guardian. she’s much quieter, and earns pets from aomine who is more than happy to pay them. the collie is more excitable, but he’s sure that’s a trait of the breed. a woman comes running across the grass in workout gear, and she apologises for her dogs, she lost grip of their leashes. aomine will have to shrug it off because where the fuck has that idiot gone? and what does he mean by running when he’s got an injury?! )

crash. his brace isn’t meant for running on. a stone beneath his foot sends him stumbling to the ground. the subsequent steps he takes mid-air, trying to save the fall from landing on the bad leg, has him land on the good one and now that hurts too. but kagami shifts around to sit so that he can at least see the dogs charging behind him until finally they eat him alive. but the dogs are being taken away by a girl, and aomine’s jogging to catch up.

     “what the fuck was that?” he asks in annoyance, "i know you don’t like dogs but you gotta be careful.”

    “don’t like them?” kagami repeats weakly, but it’s the rage which gives him voice. “what the fuck do you mean i don’t like them! there were three of them and they were coming straight at us! any normal person would run away! are you stupid yourself?” he tries to get to his feet but it’s a struggle. what has he done to his other foot? “shit---”

    “ah, did you hurt yourself? i told you,” despite the totally unwelcome reprimands, aomine hooks his hands under kagami’s arms and pulls him to his feet. much to kagami’s angered embarrassment.

    “i’m fine, get your hands off me,” but he’s grumbling, not shouting. he’s grateful really. kagami takes a step onwards, away from the dogs and, as it happens, back home, but the good leg buckles under sharp pain. it’s his knee. it isn’t his foot. fuck. this is much worse. as the pain subsides, kagami becomes acutely aware of the hand on his back. somehow, in a quiet way, this is worse.

    “easy. what’d you hurt this time?”

    jeez, aomine makes it hard to be anything but angry sometimes. “nothing! i’m fine.”

    “kagami,”

    “shut up! i’m going home,” but the step on his bad leg hurts, and the next makes his knee hurt again. he grits his teeth, screwing eyes tightly shut. no, this really fucking hurts. what if he’s fucked up his knee again? is he going to have to take longer off basketball? this is shit!

    “listen, asshole,” aomine’s hand glides across kagami’s shoulder-blades to find a firm grip of his shoulder, but it’s not the straightened arm that stops him from walking ( it’s the straight up yearning ). “i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.”

    “no---!”

    “shut up. you think i want to carry you, fatass? we’re only a couple blocks from your house, it’ll be fine.”

    “who the hell are you calling a fatass!"

    "stop complaining, you're being too noisy."

this is such an unfair statement to have made. kagami is often unaware of how loud he's being, so he is told off by teammates for this all the time. aomine saying it just makes him pause and check himself. but his volume had been fine! aomine just called him a fatass, isn't it natural to fight on that? aomine doesn't think so. his hand leaves kagami's shoulder and thoughts feel a little more coherent, but he's still insisting.

    "no, aomine, I don't want you to fuckin' carry me. how embarrassing is that?"

    "okay," he shrugs, "let's go back."

that was... easy. "what do you mean! you're gonna make a fuss and then drop it just like that?"

    "let's go," he nods his head to gesture onwards, but it's a second before kagami can even consider moving. is aomine being... respectful of his wishes? ( also, when did the bare minimum become so applaudable? )

kagami grits his teeth through stepping on his bad ankle, eager to prove that he’s absolutely fine to walk, but cannot prevent the wince when it comes to his knee. it’s really sore. it feels kind of like when he’s jumped too much in a game, so he must have hit it in the worst possible spot.

when his eyes eventually bring themselves to find aomine’s, he finds that aomine had not moved since insisting they leave. he’d been watching to make sure kagami could do it. this is so embarrassing.

    “yeah,” aomine rolls his eyes, reaching behind his head to pat his own back in gesture, “anyway, hop on, tiger.” 

    “i’m heavier than you------”

    “i can do it,”

    “wait, who are you calling tiger?!”

    he smiles, as if laughing at his own super original little joke. that pisses kagami off! and embarrasses him further! his face is red hot and burning ever brighter, but aomine just walks around to stand in-front of him, facing away. “i’m serious, kagami, get on.”

    “are you--- sure?” is kagami really considering this now? “if only to get you to shut the hell up...”

    “yes, i’ll shut the hell up if you get on my back. jesus fuckin’ christ, kagami.”

it’s leap frog. it’s just a piggy back ride. it’s an emergency! it’s anything other than being that close to his crush --- and maybe even crushing his crush. whatever, kagami likes weighing close to 200lbs, that’s why he eats so much! but if he hurts aomine too... that would be pretty bad...

    “kagami,” it’s a stern reprimand from aomine that kick-starts kagami’s ascension. it almost makes the redhead forget who he’s talking to, so used to getting told off ( and then doing what he was told ) is he.

    “alright!” he retorts, hobbling closer. “ready?”

    “born it,”

that’s so lame. this is so dumb. almost hoping aomine topples forwards under his weight, just to prove a point, kagami grits his teeth and hops up onto aomine’s back. dark hands grip under his thighs and, yeah, this is about as terrible and catastrophic as it is awesome. aomine grunts under the weight, readjusts, and starts walking. kagami blinks. he’s------ he’s doing it? they haven’t fallen over yet?

all the same, kagami’s arms wrap around aomine’s shoulders in case of collapse. he can’t see whether the expression worn by his knight in shining armour betrays the strain, but from here, he seems to be holding up! is aomine... secretly really strong? this is... so cool...

    “you’re stronger than you look,” kagami remarks quietly.

    “what’s-- that supposed to mean?”

    “uh-- you’re not that built? like, you’re more slender than me?”

    “i’ll drop you on your ass, so help me.”

it’s so much easier dealing with aomine when he’s being snappy. snappy is so much better than sappy. sappy is offering to carry him. snappy is threatening to drop him. kagami smiles. he’s doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about those hands under his thighs, so he doesn’t even think to fight him about the threat. maybe he would if kagami couldn’t distinctly feel aomine’s back under his chest. it’s important in moments like these to remain completely in control of one’s body, to avoid very embarrassing things. he’s not thinking about them either, just in case he accidentally wills it into life.

they leave the park and aomine’s still carrying him. about a block away from his apartment, aomine takes a right when he should’ve gone straight on, and kagami speaks up.

    “hey, we’re going the wrong way. you should’a kept going on, dumbass. you forget already?”

    “there was a dog,” he replies frankly, “i don’t wanna risk our necks over it.”

    “oh,” that’s pretty considerate of aomine, actually... weird...

    “so you’re really scared of them? like a phobia, or whatever?”

    “yes,” kagami huffs, “i got bit when i was a little kid.”

    “and it stuck with you?”

    “you got a problem?”

    “no, just asking. you scared of tetsu’s dog, nigou?”

    “not so much. what’s that thing where, like, if you’re scared of the dark, then psychiatrists will put you in a dark room ‘til you get over it?”

    “huh?”

    “i don’t know the japanese for it, dude! ugh, whatever---”

    “like exposure therapy?” he laughs, “did tetsu force you to get over it for nigou’s sake?”

    “basically! it was always me putting on his jersey, or he put my water bottle in nigou’s hands when passing it to me. seriously annoying. kuroko’s kind of a bastard.”

    “mmm,”

    “but he likes basketball, so he can’t be all bad.”

    “tetsu or nigou?”

    “nigou, keep up!”

    “sorry, i’m just lugging ‘round a 4-tonne whale on my back----”

    “shut the hell up! it’s all muscle, anyway, so it’s not like you’re insulting me!”

    “all dumbass more like.”

    “hey!”

    “don’t shout in my ear!”

kagami decides to pull said ear between finger and thumb.

    “oi, ungrateful bastard!” aomine ducks away, but still doesn’t drop him.

    “ungrateful? i’m not ungrateful, idiot! i’ll make you something nice when we get in, how’s that?”

    “i don’t want anything---”

    “no, we gotta be even, and since i can’t play basketball--”

    “that ain’t even, i win every time.”

    “oh, every time? how about at the winter cup?”

aomine fakes a drop by loosening his grip and dropping his knees down. kagami’s grip tightens around aomine’s neck, confirming that if one fell, the other would too.

    “i know i was with my team that day, stupid!” kagami exclaims, “don’t fuckin’ drop me just ‘cuz i said that!”

    “gotta learn to be respectful somehow.”

    “not like that!”

    “calm down, i’m not actually gonna drop you. obviously, idiot.”

and he doesn’t. kagami makes a move to get down once they’re close to the building and aomine puts up a fight about it, and the same happens when they get to the front door. it’s only once they’re waiting for the elevator that aomine stands straighter and lets kagami slide off. aomine’s sweaty now, and leans into the wall as they’re taken to the penthouse floor.

aomine’s a good guy. he seems to like keeping that fact a secret, but kagami knows what it’s like to brush people off to avoid getting close ( and subsequently hurt by ) others. sometimes having no friends is just simpler. but kagami’s glad that he joined the seirin basketball club that day for hundreds of reasons, and standing in the elevator with an exhausted rival who just carried him for the whole five minute walk home is just one of them.

kagami is glad to have met aomine for hundreds of reasons, but finding a likeminded friend in him is just one of them. of course, ideally he’d like to be more, and the unconquerable smile on his face when aomine looks over, says it all. unfortunately, aomine doesn’t seem to be listening for it.

    “what?” aomine’s drowsiness fades in an instant.

    “nothing.”

    “well, shut up.”

    “i didn’t say anything!”

    “stop thinking whatever you were thinking.”

    kagami’s smile broadens. “you have no idea what i was thinking about.”

    “probably something perverted,” aomine clicks his tongue. “disgusting.”

    kagami immediately shoves him, “shut the hell up! as if i’m thinking about you like that!” maybe earlier, much to his dismay, but not right now!

    “oh! so you were thinking about me?” aomine smirks, catching the wrist and pushing it away. “interesting.”

    “shut up!”

    “i didn’t say anything,” 

he’s really a bastard, huh? a beautiful, dumbass bastard. kagami lowers his eyes ruefully. alright. so maybe he’s head over heels for him, what of it? he exhales. a proper thank you is definitely in order. he’ll feel bad if he doesn’t say it. after a moment of opening and closing his mouth, quite oblivious to how obvious his struggles are, it’s aomine who speaks first.

    “don’t bother,”

    “what?”

    “i said don’t worry about it. listen next time.”

    “you don’t know what i was gonna say!”

    “you were overthinking how you could thank me,” aomine pushes his index finger against kagami’s forehead. “i could see the cogs turning.”

    “get the hell off me,” kagami, despite being madly in love with him, is also the man’s primary target for irritation, and aomine always knows how to push his buttons. he’s blushing, but angrily. “i was just thinking how i was gonna tell you that you smell bad.”

    “shut up,” aomine shoves him, “i smell great, you’re just jealous of my natural musk.”

    “you’re such an asshole,” but kagami’s smiling again. “is it fun being on my nerves all the time?”

    “hey, ‘least i’m on your mind.”

    “you don’t need to be an idiot for that to happen!”

    “huh?”

    “what?”

    “ah, so you do think of me?”

    “no.”

    “you just said you did.”

    “what? no i didn’t! so what if-- if that’s true, anyway? idiot. you’re making a big deal out of nothing! it’s normal to think about your rival. how else do you come up with ways to beat him?”

    “sure.”

    “shut the fuck up with ‘ sure ’ !” 

    the elevator dings. aomine shrugs. “if you’re still worried about how you can make it up for me for saving your ass back there,” the doors open, he leans in close momentarily. “i can think of a few things you could do.”

is there... any way... that the way aomine said that... could mean anything else but what kagami immediately thought of? his cheeks, already hot, start to sting with how intensely he’s blushing. aomine saunters out, but waits half-turned towards him outside the elevator. kagami stares for a second. tries to recover. almost gets locked inside the lift as it’s called down, and hobbles out to catch up with his awful rival.

    “hey aomine?”

    “what?”

    “don’t tell anyone i hurt my knee. it’ll be fine in a day or so, probably. it’s----- embarrassing.”

    “tch, like it isn’t embarrassing for me too?”

kagami hadn’t really thought of that side of it. aomine had been so insistent that he’d figured aomine didn’t care. ah man. now neither of them are talking and the stinging heat on his face is back! he unlocks the door, and neither of them talk about it again. kagami’s smile hardly fades all afternoon.

#aonon. #drabbles. #answered. #aokaga #YEAH i tagged it......... bold of me ik #3241 words...................... absolutely kill me #i added so many icons of BOTH cuz it adds character.......... maybe #anyway i love them so much #thank u SO MUCH for this anon i owe you my heart