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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 11 days

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I love how you characterize Aaron Hotchner! Would you please write something for him along with the quote ‘keep your eyes open, sweetheart’? Completely up to you, but was definitely thinking about some heavy angst 🙃🙃

"look at me" - hotch x gn!bau!reader - 985 words

cw: injuries and depictions of violence, general angst, anxiety, hotch literally just being a hero as per freakin usual

why hello my love! thank you sm for this request <3

i don't write a lot of angst, it's certainly something i need practice with! but i really enjoyed writing this and i smooch ur lil forehead

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People always say that in a near-death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

Not yours.

You didn’t see your whole life, no. You saw bits and pieces - learning to ride a bike, walking at your high school graduation, pinning your FBI badge to your blazer. And then you just saw Aaron.

The first time you met, shaking hands as a brazen formality in the middle of a case, feeling his deep, brown eyes scrutinize your every move, watching him watch you. He was testing you back then, seeing if you’d be a good fit for the team.

The first real conversation you shared with him - The Beatles, which song was his favorite? Laughing at him when he said Yellow Submarine.

When he held your hand for the first and only time on a particularly rough case, about four months ago, and promised you that things would get better.

When you comforted him for the first time, about three months ago, after Haley left him. You promised him that everything happens for a reason.

Five minutes ago, when you told him you felt certain the unsubs were going to strike again. You felt it in the pits of your stomach, you told Aaron. And he just nodded and said he trusted your intuition. Then he held the door open for you, and led you out of the police station, into the dead-quiet night of the street.

He clicked the key fob in his hand, and the SUV burst into red-hot flames and sent you both flying. You were immediately knocked unconscious, your body thrust out into the street flippantly, like someone had simply thrown a baseball.

You come to on the concrete, your head pounding. All sound is muffled, but you see Aaron on his knees, hovering over you. His face is covered in dirt and soot and blood, and he keeps cupping his hand over his ear.

“ - hear me?” Sound is restored in the middle of Aaron’s question. It’s abrupt, like someone changing the channel on the TV, but you can hear again. You feel dizzy and disoriented as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Stay down,” Aaron instructs, guiding you gently to lay flat on your back once again. Your entire body is throbbing.

“Aaron,” you feel a panicked, whispered sob escape you. He grabs your hand and you feel him squeeze it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out again and Aaron’s grip tightens around your hand. “It hurts.”

“Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart. Please?” The endearment rolls off of Aaron’s tongue like he’s said it a million times before. He hasn’t. Your relationship with him has been professional-ish up until this point. You’re not sure how he feels about you, exactly, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t even acknowledge that he said it. “What hurts?” Aaron’s speaking loudly, like someone who has headphones in. His hand is still pressed against his ear.

“All of it,” you murmur. “Everything.”

You feel tears in your eyes. Your stomach is in knots and you feel like someone is sitting on your chest. You blink a few times, feeling the tears drip down your face and onto your lips, salty and full of dread.

Aaron’s checking you over, you realize, lifting your head gently and quickly to make sure you’re not bleeding. He’s talking to you, telling you what he’s doing so you don’t panic even more. He uses feather-light touches to lift your arm, and pain shocks you, coursing through your wrist. “Shh, hey, I’m sorry,” he says, laying your arm by your side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Your wrist is broken.”

You blink a few tears away.

“I’m going to pick you up, Y/N,” he tells you. He never calls you by your first name, but you’re in so much pain that you can’t even be jarred by it. “Can you move your other arm?”

It feels laden, but you can. You nod and whimper in confirmation.

“Can you hook it around my neck?” He asks as he slides his hands under you. The crooks of your knees and your back are cradled by Aaron’s arms and you wrap your arm around his neck. Once he determines you’re stable in his arms, he lifts you up. You hear sirens blaring as they get closer, and you see Aaron grimace. You feel his body tense up, his fingers curl around the fabric of your shirt.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him in an unfiltered mumble, sniffling as he carries you towards the nearest ambulance.

“It’s just my ear. I’m fine, Y/N. I’ll be fine,” he promises, but you feel how labored his gait is. It’s taking everything in him to carry you to the ambulance. You want to tell him to stop, to remind him that the paramedics can bring the gurney to you. But you’re so tired, so dizzy. You think maybe if you just rest your eyes a little bit, you might feel better. Your head tilts to rest in the crook of Aaron’s neck. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Y/N, you might have a concussion. You have to stay awake, okay?” Aaron’s voice draws you back. Your eyes are shaky when they open, and you see him looking at you with weighted concern as he sets you onto the gurney.

The paramedics load you shakily up into the ambulance, and you reach your uninjured arm out. “You’re going to the hospital with me, right?” You ask.

Aaron nods, climbing in after the paramedics and sitting beside you. His eyes are piercing and full of consternation as he takes your uninjured hand in both of his. He runs his fingertips over your knuckles, nodding assuredly, though you are certain he is feeling exactly the opposite. “Yeah. Of course. I’m not going to leave you.”

#criminal minds #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #hotch fic #aaron hotchner imagine #hotchner #hotch #hotchner angst #hotch angst #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #hotchner x reader #criminal minds fic

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birdkatze · 3 months

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"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 2

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = You meet the boys this chapter!

Words = 2.2k

[Chapter 1] --- [Chapter 3]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Talks of injury and EXPLICIT under the cut

Behind the door was a very handsome man. He was wearing a boonie-hat and a partially unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt. You stood there blue-screening for a moment just staring.

“You alright there love?” The man asked, looking incredibly concerned. He ran a hand over his beard “I heard you fall..”

You snap out of your staring “Yeah I did..” you lift up your wrist, it was already bruising and swelling, “Sorry, I didn’t get any sleep last night…I had a chronic pain flare up…” You say dizzily.

The man stepped into your house, carefully looking at your wrist “I can go run back home and grab a brace…?” He looked at you earnestly.

You nod, “I don’t think I could even drive right now..” blinking back tears as another wave of pain crashes over you, you let out a stuttered gasp and your knees buckle.

The man looks even more concerned “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable, I’ll call one of my boy’s to bring it down..”

Carefully the man picked you up and brought you over to the couch, laying you down with such gentleness it surprised you. He had held you with a shocking amount of care, he was so warm too, like a heated blanket but better. He stepped back quickly typing something on his phone before looking back at you.

“Is there anything I can get you, love?” he crouched down next to your head, moving strands of hair out of your face.

“On my bed there is a heated blanket…” You explain breathlessly, wincing as the pain got worse.

The man nodded and walked upstairs to grab the blanket. He quickly brought it down and plugged it in “What setting?” he asked, holding the controller.

“Four please” You whimper and start crying feeling embarrassed.

The man sets it on level four and sits down next to your head, “Do you have any medication?”

You shake your head “no..not really, I only have muscle relaxers but it’s not gunna help”

The man nodded “I forgot to mention I’m John Price, I was in charge of taking care of the cottage while it was up for sale, I saw you moved in and wanted to give you the key back..” he anxiously checked his phone “The boy’s should be down soon love, can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks” You start crying again as your body feels like it is trying to come apart, “I’m sorry” you gasp out and curl up into a ball on the couch “It’s not usually this bad..”

“You’re okay, Love,” He reassured you, smiling.

You hear a knock on the door before the door creaks open and two men step inside. One had a mohawk and another had a baseball cap on, that's all you could see through your glassy tear filled eyes.

The men speak in hushed tones before Price sits back down next to you and gently grabs your upper forearm, close to your elbow “Gunna fit the brace on alright love..?”

You just groan softly “Okay” and watch hazily.

Price rotates your arm and freezes as he sees the bite scar on your wrist “What happened here?” he asks softly. His touch easing some of the pain.

“Got attacked by a dog, it broke my wrist, the doctor p-put something in there to help with the infection and to set it and so it’s really tender..” you quietly explain.

Price set your arm down “Love, what did the dog look like?” making you whine in pain, Price instantly picked your arm back up and the pain leveled out. Sighing in relief you manage to cobble together some understandable thoughts.

“Uhm, it was oddly really dark out since it was a full moon…it was massive though, the nurses joked it was a werewolf, the doctor got oddly mad at them..it was kinda funny” slurring your words as you feel another wave of pain.

Price looked at your wrist and then at you, “Well I think your body is rejecting it, I can see it starting to come out, can we take it out? Gaz here was a field medic and can take it out, he has his med kit..?” pointing at a small lump on your wrist that had been getting bigger over the years.

“Sure..” you slur out feeling delirious from pain.

The guy with the baseball ca-Gaz slowly gives you some pain pills, making sure you swallow them before he puts on some gloves. You fell asleep before he even started.

When you woke up you felt eons better, nothing felt as sore. Looking at your wrist you realize it wasn’t even bruised or sprained. Groaning softly, you sit up and look around. Rubbing your eyes blearily.

“Good to see you up” Gaz sat on the other side of the couch smiling “You feeling better?”

You nod sleepily “What did you even do? It’s not even bruised anymore?” you ask confused, looking at your wrist surprised.

“That was all you Duck..” Gaz smiled kindly, “Why don’t we get some food in you and talk, yeah?” Gaz gently helps you up, leading you into the kitchen.

Mohawk was heating up soup on your stove top, he was humming softly. Price was sitting at the table looking at his phone with the implant sitting on a paper towel. He looked up, smiling at you.

“Glad to see you up, love!” He looks at you and then the implant “Soap brought down some soup, which is..?”

“Done!” Soap places five bowls on the table “Ghost is on his way down..”

“What kind of name is Soap?” you ask curiously “Did your parents want you to have a unique name?”

“Ach noo, it’s a nickname, my name is John and so is Price’s and apparently everyone else here is named John so it helps us keep everyone apart..” leaning against the counter Soap explains with a smile.

“Ohh..” nodding as you think about it “Most of the men I used to work with were named John and it was a nightmare to distinguish which was which because none of them wanted to go by their last names”

Sitting down you look at the implant curiously, it looked like a small silver ball.

“Makes sense that was messing me up, I’m allergic to silver!” You explain looking a bit surprised “I’m surprised I didn’t keel over and die..”

Suddenly all eyes are on you.

“Did I say something wrong” you ask confused looking between all three men.

“Duck, let’s get some food in you before we go any further…” Gaz spoke softly

You nod nervously “Alright..”

Someone knocked on the door right as you started sitting down. The door opened to reveal a tall, strong but not muscular, blonde. Your mouth dried up instantly, he was just as hot as the other three.

Then it hit you, you had four unknown men who were all extremely attractive were in your house. You had let them perform a procedure while you had been knocked out from pain medication. However, no alarm bells rang out in your mind, if anything you've never felt so safe and content.

“Don’t think too hard, pup” the blonde one who upclose appeared to have eyeliner on. Smirking at you as you realized you were probably staring.

“Sorry..” you flush, feeling a bit embarrassed looking at the table.

“You’re okay Duck, let’s get some food in you..I have a feeling you missed breakfast.” Gaz’s soothing voice pulled you from your embarrassment as he softly brushed his hand over your back.

You nod and watch as Soap serves everyone soup. You anxiously waited for someone to eat first, an odd anxiety created as a child from praying before eating or else you’d be punished.

Price took the first bite and you immediately started eating, you felt famished and half-starved.The soup was potato-bacon soup, it was hearty and delicious. You almost moaned from how good it was.

“Soooo..” Soap started “Where are ya from?” He was looking at you with curious eyes.

“I moved here from the city but uh I grew up in a smaller town north here.” You smile while finishing up your soup. “Some of our property went into the woods and so me and my friends would camp out there, then I got attacked by some dog and we moved almost right after….”

“I assume you guys are from here?” You return the question with a small smile.

“We've been around here for a long time, pup” Scraping his bowl, Ghost responded.

“We live a few miles south of you, love” Price continued for Ghost, also finishing up his soup.

Gaz looked at you quizzically “Did you not go to college? Not to be judgemental but I’m surprised you could afford to move out here so young, Duck..”

Laughing you shake your head “You’re fine, I get this a lot.” setting your bowl to the side you reply “I’m actually 60! Everyone always thinks I’m still in my late teens, I have no clue why I look like how I did as a teenager.. I went to college and now I do freelance accounting work!”

Gaz dropped his spoon in his bowl, his eyes wide staring at you before they darted over to Price. Soap slapped his hand over his mouth with an expression similar to Gaz’s. Price didn’t look super surprised and neither did Ghost.

Sighing Price looks at you sincerely “Love, you're going to think we are crazy but you’re a werewolf.”

You just stare at them blankly.

“What?” You ask incredulously, looking at each of the men. They all had genuine looks on their faces, you could tell none of them were lying. “But werewolves aren’t real..?”

“Let’s head outside and we'll show ya, pup.” Ghost stood up and opened up the sliding glass door, Gaz and Soap quickly walked outside looking excited. You followed hesitantly with Price gently leading you outside.

Gaz and Soap are stripping out of their clothes, it didn’t surprise you that Soap was commando. It was a pleasant surprise to see Gaz wearing lace panties. Your face heated up as you turned away and pinch yourself unsure if this was real. “Um, what are you guys doin?” You ask, blushing.

“Don’t wanna rip the clothes pup” Ghost huffs, while also undressing.

“Oh!” nodding you glance up only to find them all naked, you avert your eyes to the ground immediately.

Soap walked up to you, looking confused “Why aren’t ya..”

“Soap..” Price grabbed Soap’s shoulder “Go over with Gaz.”

Gently lifting your chin up, Price held your face so you were looking at Gaz and Soap. Price chuffed at the boys and motioned for them to get on with it.

Soap grinned at you as you watched as his body transformed into an actual wolf. Gaz did the same, it was an odd mix of animorph-type transformation and something out of a horror flick.

Gaz and Soap trotted up to you licking your hands and brushing against your legs. Lifting your hand you hesitantly brush your hand over Soap’s head, much like you would a dog, it seemed like he had a ‘mohawk’ even in wolf form. Gaz just sat next to you leaning against you.

“Love,” Price grabbed your attention as he spoke. “Now they can just do a regular wolf form, however, there is another form which I’ll show you now…”

Price stepped a few steps back before he shifted, it was an interesting mix of human and wolf, it vaguely reminded you of a furry but more wolf-like. He could stand on his back legs but also could easily run on all fours, then he shifted all the way to a wolf form.

Clasping your hand over your mouth you look at them in awe. You pinched yourself to make sure this wasn’t some insane dream. Maybe they were right?

Ghost clasped a hand over your shoulder, startling you from your awe. “Wanna try? It’ll feel good, ease that ache?”

You look at Ghost a bit confused on how he knew about the ache…

“I um, don’t know how to...” you look at Ghost curiously.

“I’ll help ya’ pup” sighing Ghost tightened his grip on you.

It was an odd feeling shifting, it was quite painful but it was over fast. You have a shocked look on your face looking between everyone. You huff once you realize that you're smaller than Soap, Ghost, and Price. You and Gaz are roughly the same size which eases the frustration quite a bit.

You walk around a bit getting used to walking on all fours. It felt odd and wrong- but also right? Feeling conflicted you look up at everyone else, Soap and Gaz are play wrestling, Ghost and Price are sunning themselves pressed up against each other.

It was clear the pack(?) was very close with one another. It made you feel oddly left out…sitting off to the side you watch the men-wolves? It was a really nice day out and for once in the past few decades you felt no pain. It was relaxing and so incredibly soothing. Resting your head on your paws you doze off, still quite exhausted from the past few days.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price #werewolves #werewold au #mw2

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oh-stars · 2 months

Text

Doodles

Hurt

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 539 words | CW: off-screen injury | Rating: G

“Does this make me old now?”

Robin rolls her eyes as she sits down beside Steve. She sets her markers down in the crease of her thigh as she twists to face him on the couch. “You’re not old.”

“Me five years ago would never fumble this hard,” Steve huffs. He goes to cross his arms, but the big, bulky cast on his left hand stops him. He glares hard at it before offering it back to Robin.

She hums a thankful noise and uncaps the first marker.

“Just no dicks, please,” Steve sighs, leaning his head back. “I cannot go to work with dicks on my arm.”

“Who do you think I am? Eddie?” Robin rolls her eyes again . “I would never draw a dick on your arm.” Boobies, however, are a different story. She makes them small and at the top part of his cast where it’s most likely going to be obscured by his shirts and jackets.

Steve pouts. “I just cannot believe I fell so hard I broke my arm during a game with a bunch of old men.”

“Aren’t they all under forty?”

“Yeah, but this,” he gestures to the cast, “proves that I, the youngest of the group, is old and therefore, so are they.”

“Come back to me when you get your first gray hair, then we can talk.”

“Why would you put that on me? Do you want me to die young? Jesus Christ, Robs,” Steve practically screeches, running his free hand through his hair.

She just smiles and starts drawing little flowers randomly on the plaster, trading out colors every now and then. He got a bright neon green, so the darker colors are really popping against the plaster.

For about thirty minutes, Steve just watches the ceiling fan as she doodles on his arm. She’s not leaving room for anyone else to sign, and maybe that’s selfish but Steve’s hers so she’ll do as she pleases, thank you.

Robin looks down at the mostly covered work and sighs. She decides to leave two openings for Dustin and Eddie to sign – the only two of the party who live in Chicago with them right now – but covers the rest. If she left any more openings, Eddie would doodle dicks and nerd shit while Dustin would use Steve’s arm to write equations or something. At least she’s drawing stuff he actually likes.

There’s baseballs and basketballs (which she realizes may be a sore subject right now, so she put those where they were least visible) among the flowers and little music notes sprinkled in. She even drew a bottle of hairspray in the crease of his elbow. There’s a symbol for every job they’ve worked together: an icecream cone for Scoops Ahoy, a VHS tape for Family Video, a book for that bookstore they love, coffee mug from the brief time they tried to be baristas, a donut from the bakery that Steve still works at full-time and Robin helps out on the weekends, a pawprint for the pet store Robin convinced him to try, and a bone for the museum where Robin was a tour guide (and now does research at full-time) and Steve worked in the gift shop.

And in big letters, going down his arm, she’s signed, “I love you dingus ❤ Robin.”

“How’s that look?”

Steve looks over it with a fond smile, the first since he reluctantly called her from the gym this morning. “It’s perfect.”

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin month 2024 #ohstars posting challenge #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin

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kurtie4life96 · 1 year

Text

After Dark

S.H. x F Reader

Summary: After a death scare, Steve is terrified to lose you, and is determined to take care of you.

CW: MDNI 18+, angst, fluff, injuries on arms, softer smut

The frigid breeze of a cold, autumn night nipped at your skin, the usually cozy sweater you were wearing not helping one bit.

Kid after kid, with bruised knees and scraped elbows gathered into a van to be taken home after another traumatic, yet all too familiar event in the Upside Down.

Eddie had graciously offered to take them home, his van having plenty of space in the back for everyone to huddle up, tired heads resting on shoulders and nodding off from exhaustion.

You stood by Steve's car, goosebumps on your skin and a split lip quivering from the unwelcoming chill of the night, and watched him as he exchanged a few words with Eddie, thanking him before he drove off.

Your arms didn't hurt anymore at least, and you didn't know if they were numb from the cold, or if you were still in shock.

You'd been caught off guard by a demodog just an hour ago– it came running after you in the dark, and lept on top of you, toppling you onto the hard dirt.

It'd slashed both of your upper arms in the process, tearing through your sweater, and there was a fleeting moment where you were going to scream, cry for help, but you opted not to. You knew that after countless times of battling Russians and bloodthirsty creatures, you were bound to eventually die at some point.

You'd accepted your fate and squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look into its mouth before you became its latest meal, when you heard a loud smack, the weight and pressure of its hold on you suddenly gone.

You forced your eyes open to see Steve, holding his infamous baseball bat, and smacking it against the creature's head over and over again while he screamed and shouted, willing it to die, until its movements finally stilled.

He dropped his bat then with a thud, running up to you with frightened, wide eyes, a blood splattered face, and he knelt down next to you and slid his arms underneath you in one swift movement, holding you close to him as he took in sharp breaths, asking you if you were okay, asking you where it hurt, begging you to respond to him.

You hadn't responded, only staring at him with confused eyes, chest heaving, unable to find the words to tell him you were okay. One moment you'd accepted your fate, and the next, Steve was holding you close to him, a hand roaming over the sleeves of your sweater where it had been torn, heavily sighing with relief when he'd realized that your slashes in your arms were your only injuries.

A silver tear glistened in the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek as he apologized over and over again for not getting to you sooner, and choked back a sob, telling you he thought you were a goner.

Once you'd returned when the battle was over (for the time being), Steve made it abundantly clear that you were not going home, that you were staying with him so he could take care of you, not wanting you to go back to an empty house to lick your wounds alone.

You'd told him that you were okay, that it wasn't life threatening, that you could take care of yourself, but eventually accepted his request when he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his soul wavering and shaking life a leaf, and grabbed your face, pressing his forehead against yours, and kindly but sternly whispering, "No."

Steve was making his way back to you now from Eddie's van, the chilly air breezing through his long waves, and hastily took to taking off his jacket when he saw you shivering, thoughtfully draping it over your shoulders as to not hurt you any further.

He looked at you up and down, studying your body language and crossing his arms before he met your gaze.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked for the tenth time, distress still in his voice.

"Yeah," you nodded, softly smiling, "I'm okay. Just cold."

"Oh shit, yeah," he sighed, "come on, then."

He rested a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the passenger side door before opening it for you, helping you to get in and make sure you were comfortable, and carefully shut it closed, stepping over to the driver's side and sitting down in a hurry, starting his BMW and cranking the heat before driving off.

You stared out the window, burning, hooded eyes closing in relief as the heat kicked in, almost forgetting the thick tension in the air, like a drawn bow waiting to be released, before Steve broke the heavy silence.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused by his apology as you looked over to him.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know," he huffed, "it's just that... if we never became friends, you would've never had to deal with this shit, get hurt, ya know?"

"Oh my god," you scoffed playfully, "how were you supposed to know that King Steve asking a girl out in 8th grade would lead to this?"

"I'm not King Steve anymore," he frowned.

"I know you're not, but I'm just saying, it's not your fault. Okay?"

Steve wiped his nose with his sleeve, and cleared his throat, not replying.

"I'm okay, and it's not your fault," you reassured him.

"When I saw you under that– that thing," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper, "I really thought you were... dead."

He spoke the last word as if it was something forbidden to say, and honestly, it felt like it was.

You inhaled, exhaled a short breath, and your mind played the flashbacks like a bad horror movie, making your stomach do back flips, then fill with dread as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not knowing what to do with your hands.

"Me too."

Steve glanced at you then, his brown eyes drowned in sorrow, remorse, and even grief of what could have been.

He averted his eyes back to the road, a shiver going down his spine, and reached his hand out to you, his palm facing up.

"C'mere."

You looked over to see his hand open and waiting for you, and you pursed your lips, before accepting and resting your hand on his.

That wasn't enough for him, and he quickly intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed it with tightly, holding onto you for dear life, his other gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

You both sat in a much more comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, not letting go of the other's hand as Steve kept his eyes on the dark road in front of him, some streetlights flickering, some broken entirely, and you stared out the window, eyes heavy and tired, trying not to fall asleep.

He pulled up to his driveway and let go of your hand to put it in park, turning the car off and focusing on you for a moment, his eyes just as tired as yours.

"Don't move," he instructed softly, before opening his door and getting out.

He quickly moved to the passenger side door, opening it for you and taking your hand in his, pulling you up gently and then placed his hand on your back again, leading you to the steps of his front door before unlocking it and insisting you go in first.

Steve shut the door behind him and switched the lights on before turning to you as you took off his jacket and kicked off your shoes, and he cursed and ran a nervous hand through his hair at the reminder of your bloodied, torn sleeves, slashes on the skin underneath it.

He took a slow step towards you as you gazed up at him, his eyes burning into yours, and he gently smoothed your hair out of your face, making your heart skip a beat.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

You nodded and smiled briefly, and he grabbed your hand again, motioning his head to walk up the stairs, and guided you delicately up to his room, as if you were fragile glass that could shatter any moment. You knew it wasn't necessary, but decided it was better to not say anything.

He let go of you as the two of you walked into his bedroom, soft plush carpet under your feet, and you smiled as your heart bloomed with nostalgia at Steve's all too familiar bedroom.

He was quick to advance to his dresser, pulling out the drawers and fumbling through them to find clean clothes he thought would be comfortable enough for you.

You waited patiently, admiring the details of his bedroom, before he approached you, holding up a black t-shirt, basketball shorts and a pair of his boxer briefs.

"Are these, uh, okay?" Steve asked sheepishly.

"Yeah, perfect, thank you," you smiled as he placed them in your hands.

"Okay, cool," he stammered, his face flushing a shade of pink and his hands on his hips, "are you on your, you know, period or anything? Cause if you are, I can try to find something in my mom's bathroom–"

"No," you chuckled, "I'm not, thank you though."

He nodded awkwardly, seemingly regretting asking you such a question, though you didn't mind, you thought it was quite thoughtful of him to mention.

"Here, come shower in my bathroom, and I'll take the guest bathroom."

You followed Steve into the bathroom adjacent from his room, and he looked into the shower, making sure there was enough shampoo, conditioner and soap, before turning it on for you, his hand feeling the water to make sure the temperature was to his liking for you.

"Okay, um," he paused for a moment, thinking, "oh yeah, shit, a towel–"

He opened the cabinet and handed you a neatly folded, fluffy towel and an extra toothbrush, and you were reminded how wealthy his parents were when you felt the overly soft fabric.

"Alright, I'm gonna go shower in the other bathroom now," he motioned his hand somewhere behind him, "if you need anything else, let me know, I'll be quick and I'll be in my room waiting for you."

"Okay," you replied with a small voice, and he nodded, staring at you for a moment before walking out the door.

Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your heart was heavy as you watched him walk away, like you didn't want him to leave, like he needed to stay with you and never be far away from you ever again, like not being right next to him felt scary all over again.

Suddenly, he felt like a lifeline.

"Steve," you blurted a little loudly, not meaning to.

The way you said his name made him halt, and he turned around to look at you again with wide eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Uh... thank you. For everything. I appreciate it a lot."

It was all you could manage to say.

He flashed you a small, but loving grin, and gave you a slight nod, before turning back around and closing the door.

You sighed heavily as you set his clothes on the counter, and looked into the slightly fogged mirror, your reflection showing your blood stained shirt and your dirtied face, and you grimaced at the sight.

You peeled off your clothes carefully, as to not hurt your already sliced up arms, but you realized it didn't matter when you stepped into the shower and the warm water hit your wounds, making you hiss in pain.

You watched as hints of blood mixed with water went down the drain, washing your hair with great care, not wanting to tangle it further, brushing your teeth and wincing a bit as you lathered yourself in Steve's body wash, the soap stinging your arms.

You rinsed yourself off and stepped out of the shower, dried yourself off with the towel and slipped into Steve's clothes, smiling to yourself as they smelled just like him, breathing in his scent, and took it upon yourself to use his hairbrush and comb out your knots, knowing that he wouldn't mind.

You opened the door to walk back into his bedroom, and just like he said, he was sat on his bed waiting for you with his hands clasped, his hair damp and tousled, his face cleaned up, and he smiled softly at you.

Suddenly, for some unknown reason, he'd never looked more handsome than right there, showered and sitting on his bed, patiently waiting for you, and you smiled back.

"You feel better?"

"Yeah," you responded, voice hushed, "I do."

"Good," he patted the comforter, motioning for you to sit with him, "come here. It's time to fix up those scratches."

You noticed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton rounds and bandages next to him, and you groaned, begrudgingly stepping towards him and sitting down on the bed next to him, facing him cross-legged.

"I know, I know," he cooed, "it sucks, but we have to do it. Let me see."

You hesitantly rolled up the sleeves of your shirt and sighed as Steve inspected your wounds, his fingers tracing around them giving you goosebumps.

"These probably needed some stitches," he mumbled, "but all I have are butterfly bandages."

"That's fine," you assured.

"Well, alright," he said cautiously, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and dowsing the cotton pads with it, "this is gonna hurt, okay?"

"I know," you breathed, "it's okay."

He began dabbing at the slashes with the cotton, and you winced and cursed at the sting, him muttering 'shit, shit, sorry, shit, I'm sorry', in between.

"There," he leaned his face towards your arm, "I think that's all disinfected now."

Your heart fluttered when his gaze met yours, Steve only now realizing the close distance of your faces.

His big, brown eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth, lips parted as he lingered there for a moment longer, before leaning back and clearing his throat.

"Sorry, let me get these bandaids," he stuttered, his face blushing.

"Don't be sorry," you insisted softly, "I like when you're... near me, ya know?"

He tried to hold back a shy smile at that, and grabbed the box of bandages.

"Me too."

Your chest grew warm at his words, feeling bashful, and you watched as he gingerly began placing the bandages on your skin, doing his best to close the wounds tight.

"You know," he said quietly, tapping your other arm to continue, "I just wanna tell you... I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you in middle school."

"Steve," you scoffed, rolling your eyes, "it's okay, it was years ago–"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "but I was a real douche then. So, I'm sorry."

"Well... you're not a douche anymore, so I forgive you, if forgiveness is what you're looking for."

His lips curled into a smile of gratitude, and he turned to grab a roll of compression bandages, wrapping both of your arms with them to ensure the ones underneath stayed put.

"There," he exhaled, "all done. I know it's probably not great, but I'm not a doctor, unfortunately."

"Considering that most doctors don't even take women seriously," you smirked, "I think it's perfect."

Steve chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair, sucking in his bottom lip.

The room went quiet as he sat a minute longer, timidly taking your hand in his and rubbing soothing circles on it, and there was a pull in the air, a pull that felt like a rubber band waiting to snap.

You gazed at him with half lidded, brand new eyes, studying his face, and you decided Steve was perfect– his lips, his eyelashes, his freckles, his hair– and his touch set your skin aflame.

There was some kind of mutual understanding buzzing between the two of you, that words didn't need to be spoken to know exactly what was going on in that moment, but neither of you had the bravery to say something about it.

You might have seen this coming had you paid attention, but you'd been too busy spending time with him and your friends in the Upside Down to even notice a change. He soon became your closest friend, someone that you missed anytime he wasn't around, someone who could change your stormy days to sunny ones with his smile and presence, someone who put himself in danger on a regular basis to protect you.

"Alright, well," he smacked his hands on his knees, standing up a bit awkwardly, "I better go. You sleep in my bed, it's more comfy than the other one."

You watched as he walked warily to the door, as if there was something inside of him telling him not to leave your side either, and your heart was heavy again like stone, yearning and aching for him to stay.

"Steve," you called his name, and stood up abruptly, taking a step towards him.

His steps came to a halt at the sound of your voice as he approached the doorframe, turning around to avert hopeful eyes back to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave," you said faintly, voice cracking.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air, his heart beating fast, and lingered by the doorway as he stared at you, looking for any signs that maybe you'd misspoke, then realized you were serious by your gaze, and gently shut the door closed, switching off the light.

You both took slow, careful steps to each other, heat rising to your cheeks, until your faces were mere inches apart, your breath shuddering as you peered into each other's eyes, the moon being your only light and witness in the room as the pull in the air finally snapped.

Steve lifted a thoughtful hand to brush through a piece of hair, tucking it behind your ear, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips, and butterflies danced in your stomach.

"So pretty," he whispered, cradling the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your lips.

"You are."

He leaned forward then, your name escaping him, hands splayed messy along your cheek, and captured your lips easily in the dark, kissing you gingerly, his mouth warm and soft against your own.

You kissed him back just as quickly, a wave of relief washing over you, hands resting on his chest, and he suddenly broke the drawn out kiss, eyes closed, leaning his forehead against yours as he inhaled shallow breaths.

"You have no idea..."

"Steve–"

He kissed you again, his lips gentle and probing, each one faster and more needy than the last, like he'd never had the chance to do it again because of the hellish world that lie underneath, and you snaked your arms under his, slipping them under his shirt and feeling the soft skin of his back.

His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, a silent way of asking for more, and you obliged, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, tongues gliding over one another in harmonious sync, and you both sighed into the kiss, chests heaving, and a sense of desperation washed over you as you tried to pull him in impossibly closer.

You gasped when you felt Steve's length brush against your thigh, and he embraced you deeply again, swallowing the sound as he roamed his hands under your shirt, humming at the discovery of skin he'd never touched before, warm palms smoothing down your ribs and resting on your ass, squeezing it.

The kiss slowed and your lips stuttered, breath hitching as his touch, and you stopped to press your lips to his cheek, before whispering to him.

"Take it off."

Steve's eyes went wide for a second, mesmerized by your request, and he muttered a quiet 'okay', and grabbed the hem of your shirt, helping you to slip it over your head, tossing it somewhere unknown.

He swore at the sight of your bare chest, glossy lips parted as he sighed deeply, his eyes dark and hooded as he traced his hands up your abdomen, stopping when he got to the swell of your breasts, and his thumbs smoothed over your hardened nipples, making you quiver under his touch.

"Steve," you whined, "need you."

He immediately got the hint and was quick to pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and crashing his lips on yours again, pressing his bare chest against yours, and you felt lightheaded, dizzy at the feeling.

He cradled the sides of your face, licking into your mouth, before taking your bottom lip into his, sucking on it feverishly, and letting it go with a pop.

The action made you huff, and the sound made Steve abruptly grind his hips against yours, and before you could react, he captured your lips and guided you to his bed easily in between eager kisses, gently holding the back of your head as he laid you down on his mattress, anticipation and overwhelming excitement coursing through your veins.

He hovered over you, giving you one last long embrace, his hand pressed into the pillow beside you for leverage, as he made his way to your jaw, pressing sloppy kisses along it, then moving to your neck, his lips ghosting the delicate skin there, and you keened softly, your hands raking through his waves, giving it a gentle tug.

He hissed then, and he licked and kissed along your neck, finding the sweet spot under your ear, and your knees fell apart for him, Steve fervently sucking a pretty bruise there as a reward.

You sighed his name– a prayer, a plea, a beg– and you arched your hips against his, your inner thighs aching for him, making him groan at the sudden movement, murmuring to himself.

"Need you so bad," you whispered against his lips, reaching a hand in between you and lightly stroking his length, finding him hard and heavy for you, and Steve's breath stuttered.

"I got you baby," he pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, his voice husky, before leaning back, "it's okay."

He grasped your shorts and boxers, tugging at them as you lifted your back, helping him slide them down your legs, and he placed them on the side of the bed.

"Fuck," he rasped, gazing at the sight of your heat, face flushed, hair messy, "you're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together for friction, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, 'cause you needed to feel his touch more than anything else.

Steve got the hint and traced his fingers down your thigh teasingly slow, his other hand on your knee, and swiped them through your soaked folds, praising you when he found how wet you were for him.

The touch sent an electrical shock through your body, and he easily dipped a finger in, curling it, his wanton eyes locked on your heat, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

He slipped in a second finger, curling both of them now, and set a languid, yet senual pace, your slick taking them in easily as he brushed against the spot you desperately needed, and you became a mess of quiet moans and expletives.

Steve used his free hand to further spread your knee, then squeezed the soft plush of your inner thigh as he bit the side of his lip, and he couldn't help but lean his face down, licking a broad stripe over your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, and you softly cried, his tongue feeling like velvet as you pulled at his hair again.

He pushed his fingers in and out of you faster then, circling your clit long and slow with his tongue as you held onto his hair for dear life, arching into his mouth and he groaned against your heat, the vibration alone making you huff, heat beginning to pool in your lower back.

"Steve," you warned, "I'm gonna cum–"

He squeezed your thigh harder, and you were sent over the edge, your legs shaking, your gut tightening as your orgasm bloomed within you, panting as he continued devouring you through your high until you twitched.

Your body relaxed, limbs liquid as Steve pulled his fingers out, sucking your juices off of them before sitting up, and his mouth was wet with your slick as his chest heaved, face flushed, gazing at you through half lidded eyes, and you reached your arms out for him, begging for more.

He yanked off his pants and boxers hastily and crowded into you then, hand cradling the side of your face, and kissed you passionately, slipping his tongue through your parted lips, and you hummed at the taste of yourself.

"Wanna feel you," he rasped against your mouth, body trembling above you, "can I..."

"Please," was all you managed to mutter.

He reached a hand in between you then, lining himself up with your entrance, and glanced at you for any signs of regret, not finding any, and he pushed himself inside you, your walls taking him in with ease.

You both keened loudly in unison at the feeling as he bottomed out, jaw slack, and you wrapped your legs around him, caging him in as he began a slow, but deep pace, pressing all the way into you, 'cause he just couldn't help himself when you looked like that, felt so good.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck, the moan leaving his lips so soft, you decided it was the prettiest sound you'd ever heard, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him and swallowing the sound as he rocked into you, stretching out your walls in a way you didn't know you needed.

You tightened around him, and he groaned, suddenly snapping his hips into yours, and your wounded shoulders brushed against the pillows roughly, your arms stinging at the feeling, and you winced at the twinge of pain, making Steve halt his movements quickly.

"Shit, shit, shit, I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he cradled your face, pressing apologetic kisses to your cheeks, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, "I'm fine, don't stop."

He held your face, gazing through you with worried, remorseful eyes.

"We should stop, I don't wanna hurt you–"

"No, please," you pleaded, a single tear rolling down your face, wetting your hair, "keep going, I need you."

He chewed on his lip, the pad of his thumbs swiping away the tears under your lashline, and stared at you, seemingly deep in thought.

"Okay," he sighed, "here, sit up."

You looked at him through glossy, curious eyes and Steve leaned back, grabbing your hands to help you sit up, guiding you over to where he was sitting, then relaxed his head and upper back against his headboard and pillows, his knees slightly parted.

"C'mere baby."

He motioned for you to sit on his lap, and you eagerly obliged, crawling over him, your shaky legs spread over his, and he held a hand on your hip, the other one on the back of your head to pull you into his face, kissing you roughly, tongue gliding along your lips, and you sighed contently.

"S' okay, I'm gonna help you," he whispered against your lips.

You didn't respond, only humming in agreement, and Steve grasped your hips as you rested your hands on his chest, and he gazed at you with loving, lust filled eyes as he guided your hips down, sinking your aching heat onto his hard length.

You both gasped, and breathy, loud moans escaped your mouths simultaneously at the feeling as you sank down on him fully, reeling in pleasure at the new angle.

You gripped his shoulders, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed as you grinded into each other in perfect sync, Steve holding your sides tightly for leverage as he rolled his hips into yours, setting a sensual, deep pace as he watched himself disappear inside you.

"Just like that, baby– fuck," he rasped, "you feel so fucking perfect."

You only whimpered in response, his thick cock stretching out your walls and hitting your spongy spot with every roll of his hips, and he grabbed your face, pulling it towards him to kiss you as he continued to thrust up into you, his eyes half lidded and blissed out, and embraced you eagerly; sloppy, open mouthed kisses brushing against each other's lips lazily.

"You look– so pretty," he panted, "look so pretty like this."

"Fuck, Steve," you breathed, "feels so– good."

He gripped your hips then, rutting into you quick and harsh, and your movements stuttered, the both of you gasping and throwing your heads back in ecstacy, Steve hitting his against the headboard.

"Don't stop," you cried, "harder."

He enthusiastically accepted your request, gripping your hips so tight, they would surely bruise as he couldn't contain himself, and rutted into you again, starting a faster, even deeper tempo, hitting your cervix every time, and you began to lose composure.

You grinded into each other with desperation, bodies slick with sweat gliding over one another, and you grabbed his face, kissing him passionately as you moaned into each other's mouths.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, hooded eyes burning into yours, still thrusting into you, "love you so much."

His words sent an electrical current through you, and your heart bloomed with overwhelming warmth and adoration as you rolled your hips against each other with unrelenting need, and you gazed into his eyes, tears brimming at your lashline.

"I love you too, Steve," you breathed, "fuck, I'm not gonna last much longer–"

"Me neither," he panted, "cum for me, baby girl, please–"

Your walls clenched around him and your hips stuttered as you dug your nails into his back, the coiling tension inside you snapping, becoming a blubbering mess of gasps and his name, and Steve wasn't far behind, licking and biting at your lips through your high until he couldn't anymore, kissing on your neck to hold back loud moans as his vision blurred, spilling himself deep inside of you as his movements stilled.

You both slumped into each other, chests heaving as you rested your face on his shoulder, and he brushed a soothing hand through your hair, pressing gentle kisses on your cheek.

"Hey, look at me."

You lifted your head up lazily, and he cradled your face, kissing you long and slow, like his life depended on it, and you smiled, smoothing away the hair plastered to his forehead and kissing it gingerly.

Steve smiled back, resting wide hands on your sides to lay you back down on the bed next to him, sliding himself out of you, and you shivered at the loss.

He laid down next to you, pulling the comforter over your quivering body, and pulled you in close to him, liquid limbs entangled, the both of you blissed out, and he held your face, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek as you gazed at each other, his body warmth comforting.

"I don't wanna lose you," he whispered, a look of concern on his blushed face, "ever."

You reached a hand out, brushing your hands through his hair, and grinned lovingly.

"I can't promise that," your voice hushed, "but I'll try my hardest."

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

Text

ophiocordyceps unilateralis

summary: on a supply run gone bad, the group split up and you got stuck with Steve.

warnings: Steve Harrington/reader, zombie apocalypse au, smut, hurt/comfort, kinda angst, patching up each other's wounds (in an unsterile, apocalyptic way... don't do this at home kids), tw weapons and violence, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pull out method, squirting, blowjob (kinda, a little), kinda in the realm of perv!Steve (mainly because of the dirty talk), tiny bit of impact play (beloved pussy slaps)

word count: 2637

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“I think that building over there should be safe enough for tonight,” you pointed to the seemingly abandoned structure ways down the road, “what do you think?”

“I think we should keep moving,” Steve kept his gaze fixed forward, not even looking at the house in question for one second, “find the others.”

“We need a break,” you fiddled with the straps of your worn backpack, eyeing his blood-soaked shirt, “you need a break.”

“I��m fine,” he clenched his jaw tightly, clearly attempting to swallow the pain that merely walking was causing him to endure.

“No, you’re not. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Those guys back there got a lot of hits in, and you haven’t even stopped to take a breath.”

“What, it’s not like they pulled their punches just because you’re a girl.”

“True, but I look better than you,” you smiled, thankful that you got out of it with more bruises than cuts. Stopping dead in your tracks, you tried once more, “Steve, please. I don’t want one of those things to take a bite out of you just because you’re in too much pain to put up a fight.”

“…fine,” he agreed begrudgingly, “but we leave at first light, alright?”

Just as you were about to yell out the all-clear to Steve, a few guttural growls coming from the room you’d presume he was inspecting found your ears.

“Steve?” you whirled around the corner just in time to see him hovering over a now motionless rotting corps, yanking back his nail-clad baseball bat that had gotten slightly stuck in its cranium, “you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed heavy, the swings apparently took more out of him than expected, “all good.”

Fearing that he’d perhaps faint, you rushed towards him and grabbed his elbow. Standing this close to him, you got a better look at just how gruesome the gashes on his abdomen alone were. “Steve,” you sighed quietly, making him turn more towards you, “that does not look all good.”

“It’s better than it looks,” he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack, “trust me.”

“Really? Because it looks pretty bad to me,” you grabbed his bag before he could place it on the floor, “will you at least just let me help you?”

Letting out a long exhale, he agreed, “sure,” and visibly let his shoulders relax more, dropping his weapon and walking over to the nearby table.

“Take your shirt off,” you rolled your eyes at the smirk those words conjured on his face. When he began to just carelessly tug off his layers, “slowly!” practically exploded out of you and you restrained your palm from slapping him clear across the face, “oh god.”

It had been too long a day and your patience for Steve had run out. You had nearly been killed by not only the undead but also the group of people that had followed you all from the previous town you stayed in.

Reaching into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out the small med kit that you’d scavenged a while back. Motioning for Steve to take a seat on the table, you stepped closer and took a good look.

“Okay,” you breathed out, trying your best not to ogle at his fuzzy bare chest and instead focus on the several injuries that decorated his skin. “Good news, I don’t think you need stitches,” you crouched down, ending up on your knees in order to be at eye level with the worst one. Blinking up at him, it hit you the position you’d put yourself in. The angle… “I, um,” you looked down and fished out a small travel-sized vodka bottle, as well as some bandages, “do you want a warning first or the element of surprise?” you unscrewed the bottle with one hand.

“Just fucking do it, just-,” you didn’t hesitate, downing the gash on his abdomen with alcohol, effectively punching all of the air out of his lungs at the very first drop, “holy- fuck!” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut and instinctively slammed his fist down to meet the tabletop. Setting the bottle down on the dirty floor, you began to wrap him up, hearing a small muttering of gratitude as you tied it off.

“Any more bad ones?” you didn’t dare to look up and see the way he was melting against the table, trying to regain the ability to breathe.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” he exhaled, “one of them got my leg pretty good, so that hurts like a motherfucker, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

You craned your neck to search for the aforementioned wound and found it high on the side of his thigh, cargo pants ripped giving you a good view of it, “oof, yeah,” you hissed, pulling back some of the fabric with your fingers, “it’ll be okay, I think. It will properly scar, but you’ll live.”

“That’s fine,” he breathed out a small chuckle, “chicks dig scars.” That they fucking do… okay, okay, just take a breath, think about something else, anything else. Anything that didn’t make you throb… “Thanks, doc,” you blinked up to find him to be already looking down at you, “what about you?”

“I’m okay,” you shifted in your seat, tugging one of your feet under you more and almost letting out a small gasp when it felt like pure electricity brushing against your covered core. “I, um, yeah… ten fingers, ten toes…” your words didn’t work to unfurrow his worried brow, so then you huffed out, “what, do you not believe me? What do you want, strip search me?”

It had been a joke, but judging by Steve’s facial expression, that was not how he took it.

Quickly you clarified, averting your gaze, “it was a joke…”

Hearing him let out a long, calm exhale, he asked you softly, “was it?”

Shaking your head lightly, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” you felt one of his fingers move some hair out of your face.

Blinking up at him, you bit your lip and then uttered slowly, “thanks for having my back, back there.”

“You’re welcome,” he kneeled down to be at your level, “thank you for having mine.”

His hands came up to cradle the sides of your face, eyes flickering down towards your bitten lip.

As he pushed closer, you rested a hand on his wrist, “please tell me that we’re not just doing this because of the kind of day we’ve had.”

“We’re not,” he said simply in a sure tone.

“We’re not?”

“I’m not,” he averted his gaze briefly, brow furrowing softly.

“Me neither,” was all you managed to whisper before he kissed you. “Fuck,” you whimpered against his lips, instantly clinging onto him for dear life, “I didn’t think you noticed me.”

That only managed to make him chuckle and therefore halt the long-awaited kiss, “seriously? I can’t take my eyes off of you. I thought it was obvious. Literally everyone knows, they tease me about it and everything.”

“Really?”

“I think we should find some glasses for you because you are blind.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, shoving his firm chest playfully.

“Can you even see me right now?” he teased.

“Oh my god,” you shook your head and stood up.

“Hey, you’d look so cute!” he caught your hand, preventing you from straying any further away, “and you would finally be able to notice me.”

“I do notice you,” you exclaimed, “my vision is fine!”

Getting back up onto his feet, he squinted his eyes, “you sure about that?”

“Yes! Now shut up and kiss me again!” a request that he happily obliged to fulfil.

Draping your arms around his neck, it didn’t take long before he scooped you up and onto the table behind you.

“Fuck,” he hummed, grabbing your hips, and sliding them forward to meet his own for some form of relief. You weren’t really sure which one of you was the one that took off your clothes since all four hands were ripping at the fabric in order for you to be on the same playing field as Steve was.

The wiry hairs on his chest pressed up against your now exposed tits, smooching them against him in desperate need of contact.

“Don’t you fucking dare cum inside me,” you warned as he unzipped your pants, making room for his fingers to slip down them, “I swear I will kill.”

Finding your panties ruined, soaked with anticipation, he groaned against your lips, “I’ll pull out.”

“Good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering as he rubbed your clit through the thin cotton, “this world is hard enough to survive as it is. You are not knocking me up.”

“I know, I know, I won’t do that, I promise,” his words vowed, but his tone sounded more like there was nothing else in this whole world he’d wish for than to fill your aching pussy up to the brim with his cum.

Wrapping your legs up around his hips, you were practically clawing like a kitten for more. Reaching down, between your close bodies, you palmed his painfully obvious bulge through his dark pants.

Wandering down to kiss his neck, you left little love marks all along his rapid pulse, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” it felt like the barrier underneath his fingers might break from the intoxicating friction he caused.

“Please fuck me before infected break in here and burst our bubble.”

Getting his face right in front of yours, he breathed out slowly, “then lie down.”

Lowering yourself down on the table, feeling the cold surface meet your bare back, Steve used the hand that was already down your pants to yank them down and off your body.

Quickly pulling your underwear down as well, he took a step back to admire the state you were in. Palming himself for a bit, it didn’t take long before he got equally exposed, keeping his eyes locked on your body as he rid himself of the last bits of clothes that covered him.

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, half out of impatience and half to get a better view of the show, you lifted your knees up, letting one fall, granting him better access to the embarrassingly wet mess between your thighs.

Taking a step forward, Steve’s hand started at your knee then slowly slid down, closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. But to your disappointment, you never felt the contact of his hand, instead, he had spread you open and successfully sent a bolt of lightning through your body as his heavy cock fell down upon your swollen clit.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he slid his shaft along your pussy, parting your plump lips for him and making him shimmer and shine within seconds, “you’re so fucking wet, shit…”

With light fingers around the base, he slapped the angry head against your clit, making your hips buckle. “You sure you want it?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, please,” you cried.

“You want my cock, huh?”

“Please, I need it.”

“Oh really? You need my big dick to stretch you out, is that it?” he stated to linger every time he came down towards your entrance, “need me to ruin this little hole, huh?”

Sinking just the essence of his tip in, he came back up to tease your clit, repeating the motion multiple times till you were scared that you might actually cry.

“Steve, please.”

Bowing down to place a soft kiss upon your lips, you felt his hips snap and fill you up in one fell swoop.

Disconnecting from the peck, your arms gave out and sent you tumbling down towards the table. Luckily, Steve’s quick reflexes caught your head before you could get a concussion.

Chuckling lightly, he mocked just to stroke his own ego, “what’s wrong? Can’t take it? Is it too much?”

You wanted to laugh, but all that could escape your lips were whimpering moans.

Leaning back, his mouth hung agape as he studied the magic trick of him disappearing inside of you.

“Jesus christ, baby,” he bucked his hips wildly, “you feel so good.”

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, as you reached down to circle your clit, already being dangerously close to the edge.

“What?” his palm found your left boob, playing with it lightly, “what is it, huh?

“I’m-, shit, keep doing that,” you struggled to keep your eyes locked with his, releasing shaky profanities as your walls fluttered around him.

Cursing, he fucked you through your orgasm, only giving you a second or so to recover before he began to move again, fearing that your cunt might choke him to death.

“Who knew you had those pretty sounds in you?” he grinned, bending down to bury his face in your tits.

“Sorry,” the reflex rushed out of you.

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” he blinked up to look at you through his long lashes, “we’re all alone, please be as loud as you can. I swear, from now on, you will have to wrestle me not to take you somewhere far away from the group just so I can hear them again. Or do you think you’d even be able to keep them at bay if I just fucked you while we’re on watch and everyone else is asleep? You think you’d be able to keep quiet for me? Hiding behind a tree or even sneakily take you from behind when everyone else thinks we’re just spooning for warmth? Because I don’t want you to. I want them to know. I want them to hear you fucking scream. To hear how much of a little slut you become when my cock is inside of you.”

“Fuck, don’t stop,” your thighs shook, “you’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Yeah?” his lips let go of the pebble-like nipple he was successfully turning a deep purple, to lean back, driving into you harder, angling his hips so that he repeatedly hit that spot that almost made you scream out loud. “Be a good girl and cum again,” his hand came down to tap your puffy pussy, repeating it with increased force every time till it stung in the best way possible.

You didn’t even hear the lewd squelching sounds as you came again, too busy sobbing out desperately, “don’t stop, don't stop, don't stop-,“ trembling as you squirted all over your partner.

Writhing on the table, you heard Steve laugh, actually laugh, “holy shit,” he played with your cunt, repeatedly plunging his dick in just to rip it out again in order to see how many times he could make it gush like his own little fountain. “Just like that, baby, keep cumming for me, fuck.”

Somewhere in the haze, you felt Steve disappear with a guttural moan, only to quickly reappear right by your face, furiously stroking his cock. Caressing one palm over your cheek, bringing you back to him, you lulled your head to the side and drunkenly opened your mouth, presenting your soft tongue to him.

Jumping at the offer, he only managed to breach the entrance of your lips before he spilt his hot load all over your tongue. A pure moaning mess, he ran his fingers through your hair as you closed your mouth around him, sucking just the tip to get every last drop.

“Atta girl,” he choked out, pulling you off of him with a small pop, placing his thumb on your chin to part your lips and let him see the mess, “swallow it.”

Happily doing so, you beamed up at him through your heavy lids. Kneeling down, he grabbed your face softly and gave you a needy kiss, swiping his tongue against yours, moaning as he tasted himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he swooned, melting his forehead against yours.

#lea’s writing #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #zombie apocalypse!steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #perv!steve #perv!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #zombie apocalypse au #zombie au #apocalypse au #halloween smut #steve harrington au #stranger things au

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abarbaricyalp · 7 days

Note

For the Sambucky romance asks, I'd love to see your take on, "🚪 Roommates"!

Roommates is one of my favorite tropes for them! 😌 Keep an eye out for extra scenes attached to this on AO3 soon 👀

Bucky had to assume Sam was always wondering what he'd done to get stuck with a shitty roommate situation. He knew Sam had other friends on the team and that no one wanted to share a hotel room with the major leaguer who'd been sent back down to the organization’s minor league team for injury recovery. Baseball players were superstitious. Bucky's impending firing was as good as contagious to them. With such a road-game heavy line-up, he and Sam had spent more than enough time for Sam to catch whatever was tailing Bucky.

Still, he liked to think he'd made it up to Sam a few dozen times over by now, two months into the season.

He let Sam take his left arm from his chest, tucking his right under his head as he turned a little and watched Sam trace the scars from his latest rounds of surgery. One long, thin one up his forearm, the deeper circular one around his elbow, the thin one up his bicep, and then the circle around his shoulder. Like an artist had sketched out the bare-bones beginning of a human body on his. Then a cruel woodworker had gone in and twisted all of his inner workings until he was almost a puppet back on its strings again.

But with Sam's warm hands on him, he didn't much care about the surgeries or their impossible recoveries. "You thinkin' 'bout anything specific?" he asked.

"I can feel my heartbeat in the hickey you put on my throat," Sam answered, then frowned and ticked his head to the side a little. "That's not what I meant to say. That's just what I was actually thinking in the moment."

Bucky laughed, freed his hand, and touched one of the barely there bruises. Mostly just irritation marks on Sam's skin. "So what were you really thinkin’ about?"

Sam shrugged. "The game mostly. The guys out at dinner right now. Sitting here doing this while we waited for appetizers." His fingers kept tracing up and down the scar on Bucky's forearm.

During games, Bucky wore a compression sleeve. It was about impossible to hide from everyone else in the locker room, but he usually kept the evidence of his surgeries out of everyone's eyesight otherwise. His compression sleeve during the games, a jacket at all other times. He couldn’t bear people staring, or the non-stop game coverage about his injury. The less they saw, they less they reacted.

Sam had been the first one to really see all of the scars, on virtue of them practically living together now. Sam was something of a hot-shot, as far as Bucky was concerned. Young and ready to prove himself without a lot of high level gameplay behind him. He'd played one year of college ball, then tried for a walk-on tryout with their major league affiliation. By some miracle, someone took notice of him and stuck him on the minor league team to grow a little. He'd only been around for a season and a half--and Bucky hadn't been around for a bit of it thanks to his surgery--but he was still hungry and eager.

Bucky had expected some kind of revulsion from the kid. Bucky would've been freaked out at his age. Marks like these usually spelled the end of the road for pitchers like Bucky. Superstitions. But Sam had just scoffed a little and told Bucky to use Vitamin E oil instead of just letting them get dried out. Then again, Sam wasn't a pitcher, so there was that at least.

Bucky liked laying in bed with Sam. He was warm and real and he always smelled good, even after a game when Bucky hadn't let him back into the shower yet. He leaned over to press his nose against Sam's temple and heard Sam snicker and then sigh below him.

"You're so weird, Barnes," he said softly. He finished trailing his fingers up Bucky's arm, across his shoulder, and into his hair. He guided Bucky back against the bed and turned over him, settling his weight against Bucky's body as he buried his face in Bucky's neck. "Why do I even put up with you?"

"I dunno," Bucky said. "'Cause you think sleepin' with me'll get you a fast track to the majors?" he suggested sarcastically.

Sam hummed an 'mhm' against the soft skin of the bottom of his jaw.

"'Cause you got the shit travel buddy assignment and can't argue about it?" Bucky added as Sam started to work a bruise to the surface of Bucky's skin.

Sam nodded and pressed his tongue against the non-mark before moving back to his neck so he could trace a dried line of sweat as it snaked from the back of Bucky's ear to his shoulder.

"'Cause I'm super hot and a really good lay?" he finished.

Sam groaned exaggeratedly and hugged his arms around Bucky's waist, going boneless and drawing a breathless groan from Bucky at the sudden extra weight. "That's probably a lot of it," he admitted. "Everything else started it, but that one keeps you around," he admitted. Bucky could feel Sam's grin against his skin and it was the best feeling in the world.

Bucky gently brushed his fingers over the short crop of Sam's hair idly and let Sam trace nonsense patterns over his ribs. "You think about holding my hand at dinner?" he eventually couldn't help but tease.

"Nope," Sam lied against his shoulder. "The moment passed."

Bucky laughed quietly and pulled Sam's hand away from his chest when he got too close to his nipples and could really get to be a tease. He twined their fingers together and examined their hands quite seriously in the dim light of the hotel lamps. The first serendipitous thing about this roommate assignment was that they both preferred the soft light of lamps to the overhead light. Should've known it was fate, Bucky figured. Superstitions and all that.

Sam shifted around so he was laying beside Bucky again, looking up at their hands too. "We should really head out to dinner," he said as he brushed his thumb over the back of Bucky's hand.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "I'm s'posed to be makin' friends."

"Ha," Sam huffed. Turned his face against Bucky's so now it was his nose pressed to Bucky's cheek. "What happened to 'I'm only gonna be here long enough to recover. I don't needa know anyone's names,'" he teased in a rough approximation of Bucky's surly pout.

"Yeah, well, it's not so bad down here," he admitted, turning so their noses were pressed together now. "Just takes one good roommate to change my mind, I guess."

Sam rolled his eyes. It was a move that Bucky largely missed being so close to each other like this, features already a blur. "We should shower before we go to dinner."

"We should absolutely shower," Bucky agreed. He brought his hand up to cup Sam's face, kissed him deeply until Sam opened up beneath him and went pliant.

Dinner was the last thing on his mind.

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing #i answer things

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steddieunderdogfics · 2 months

Text

rounding third, sliding home. by througheden

@thefreakandthehair

Rating: Explicit

68,869 words, 12/12 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball Player Steve Harrington, Massage Therapist Eddie Munson, POV Alternating, Sports-Typical Injuries, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Lesbian Chrissy Cunningham, mall fire, (steve has a lot of scars from the aforementioned mall fire), Getting Together, sort of a slow burn but not really?, Mutual Pining, Casual Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Idiots in Love, SMUT TAGS:, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, (it's light), Dry Humping, Sex on a Roof, holding hands during sex, Anal Sex, (more to be added as needed), Steddie Big Bang 2023 (Stranger Things), Podfic Welcome, art included, Demisexual Steve Harrington, (if you squint), Happy ending guaranteed!, Good Friend Tommy Hagan

Summary:

“Well, they can still win, right? There’s a lot of time left. I think?” “That’s rule number one, Ed,” Steve nods and stares at the screen, focused and distant— the kind of stare that tells Eddie he’s not talking about just the game. “Always assume the game you’re planning can be won. If you go into it thinking that losing is a possibility, then you’re gonna lose. Even if you’ve gotta rewrite the rules of the game yourself, you gotta convince yourself you can win.” The commentator seems to respond to Steve directly. “And that’s three strikes for Tommy Hagan for the fourth at-bat in a row. If this Dodgers team has a prayer of making the playoffs, it rests solely on Steve Harrington making it back in time.” Eddie feels Steve squeeze his hand tighter. Or, Professional Baseball Shortstop Steve Harrington injures his UCL and returns home to Indiana for treatment. Cue massage therapist Eddie Munson whose tender, practiced touch heals much more than Steve's elbow.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @thefreakandthehair. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

#writer's spotlight #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #Sports AU #no upside down #Mutual Pining

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shiraishi-mai · 2 years

Text

Vice Versa

You hated your soulmate.

There were different ways of finding your soulmate in this world. Some had a connected string around their pinkies, some had matching symbols, some had the same songs stuck in their heads…etc.

But you? You had to be one of those that got the same injuries as your other half's.

And it seemed that your soulmate was injury prone.

“Y/n, what on earth happened to you??” Your friend gasped when you groaned as you took your shirt off. It was time for gym class and you were changing into your workout uniform.

You spotted a dark bruise on your elbow and the side of your shoulder.

“That’s not even the worst of it,” you deadpanned. You rolled up your pants to show more bruises littered across your knees and scrapes on your shin and thighs.

“I don’t know what the hell my soulmate is doing, but they really need to get their shit together. Obviously they don’t care enough about their soulmate to treat their body so recklessly.”

It was worse since you tended to bruise easily and so you were sure that their injuries looked worse on you.

“He’s probably some delinquent that gets into fights and skips school and is going to end up in JUVIE,” you ranted. “If he’s not there already.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, horrified. “What if my soulmate is already in jail??”

Your teachers had been concerned over the years upon seeing your constant bruises. After confirming that you were indeed not being abused by your family or a boyfriend, they looked at you warily. They probably thought it was you that was getting into trouble.

Your friend laughed. “Little miss higher-level-class with her head in her books soulmates with a delinquent?”

“Maybe I should get in a fight,” you muttered. “Give them a taste of their own medicine.”

Perhaps it was the judgement from your teachers and peers that you worked to show everyone that you were indeed a good kid, and wanted nothing but to keep a low profile and achieve success in school.

Over the years, you got a fairly high pain tolerance, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an occasional hurt that sometimes put you in an embarrassing position.

“ACK,” you had yelled during a lecture at your late-night cram school.

Everyone had turned to stare at you as you held your chest.

It had felt as though you had been struck by something heavy and being a person with boobs did NOT help the feeling.

Another time, something similar had happened, but this time it was a blow to the stomach that knocked the wind out of you and made you stumble. Your butt hit the pavement and you gained a morbid satisfaction that perhaps your soulmate felt their own consequences.

“Aw c’mon, maybe he’s a hot bad boy. That wouldn’t be so bad,” your friend said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Psh I’ll show him I can be a lot worse when I meet him.”

She laughed before pausing. “Also, you’re still going with me to the game later right??” She rubbed the ankle of her knee-highs where underneath a symbol of a violet lay tattooed.

“Yes yes,” you replied. You shook your head. She was an avid fan of volleyball and was convinced that her crush, Akaashi Keiji, was her soulmate. Her plan was to go to one of his games and see if his uniform moved around enough to show a glimpse of the same tattoo. A plan you were doubtful of.

“If he’s not, I’m throwing myself off a cliff.”

You snorted. “Dramatic much?”

“He’s the love of my life.”

“Your poor soulmate,” you said, shaking your head. “Just ask him to take his shirt off or something.”

“If I had the guts to do that, I would have already.”

The both of you walked out to the field.

“I don’t know. It’d be a funny way to meet him though.”

You both chortled at the thought of Akaashi’s stoic face blanching when some random girl asked him to strip.

“WATCH OUT!”

“OOF,” you said as you were knocked to the ground.

Some boys had been playing baseball and one of the catchers hadn’t seen you walking. He rammed his elbow into your side as both of you fell.

“I would love it if I stopped having such an intimate relationship with the ground,” you groaned for the second time.

“I’m so sorry!” The boy looked at you horrified.

You assured him that you were fine and waved him off. After all, you were used to this.

“Why were they even playing catch on the track??”

“Dunno but it’s just my luck. Men just seem to want to hurt me.”

“Amen,” she shook her head.

—----------------------------------------------------------

The next few days consisted of you wincing and clutching your side. You had been elbowed a lot harder than you initially thought and this time you really felt it.

“Are you okay?” Your friend asked as you gingerly sat down on the bleacher next to her.

You didn’t respond but merely raised your shirt slightly and she grimaced. A huge oval-shaped bruise covered the side of your ribcage.

“Yeesh, your soulmate is definitely going to feel that.”

You made a face. You kind of felt sorry towards him this time. Hopefully he was tough and wouldn’t feel it as much.

“Ooo,” your friend smacked you on the arm. “There he is!”

You glared at her mini assault but her eyes were zoomed in on the dark-haired setter that had stepped on the court.

“Okay, you so have to help me look for his tattoo.”

“I don’t know. I feel kind of creepy checking out Akaashi the entire game.”

This time she glared at you and you sighed, promising her that you would indeed, stare at Akaashi for the game.

It felt a bit awkward trying to gauge from the small slivers of exposed skin when he jumped or dived but at least your friend was enjoying it.

“Are you even looking for the tattoo,” you looked at her suspiciously as she squealed and clapped her hands at his backset.

“I was looking at his technique that time!”

“You’re drooling.”

“Oh my god.”

“What is it now?” You asked, exasperated. “Did he finally take his shirt off for some reason?”

“Y/n, look.”

Her eyes were trained, not on Akaashi but a boy with grey and white spiked hair next to him.

Bokuto Kotaro, ace of the Fukorodani team, had lifted his shirt to wipe sweat gathered on his forehead. He had paused with the fabric bunched in his hands, laughing boisterously at something his teammate had said. Had he looked towards the stands, he would have seen a girl, frozen and looking mildly horrified, at the dark, oval-shaped bruise sporting the side of his ribcage.

“Well that explains a lot,” she said with a face that looked as if she was trying not to laugh.

You both watched as he spiked straight down the court and you looked at your hands. That certainly explained the slight stinging feeling you felt in your palms nearly everyday. It happened so much that you got used to it and forgot it happened most of the time.

“Hit me.”

“What?”

“Smack me in the face. Right now.”

Your friend patted your back. “There there. I know it’s shocking but there’s no need to have a mental breakdown.”

Your eyes locked onto hers with a scarily blank expression. “I want you. To bitch slap me. As hard as you can.”

“What??”

“I will go ask Akaashi later to strip off his shirt- hell I will strip it myself.”

“Don’t touch my man!” Your friend exclaimed and slapped you across the face. You were slightly irritated that she did it in retaliation to your statement rather than for you but we move.

“OW,” a voice boomed from the court.

The referee blew his whistle. “Net touch.”

Bokuto had jumped and yelped as he felt a blow to his face, causing him to move a little too far forward and hit the net. He was currently holding his cheek, bewildered as a couple of his teammates told him off for the mistake.

“Bokuto, what the hell are you doing??”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi had run over. “Perhaps you need to take a break?”

Your friend had hit you hard enough that there was a slight ringing in your ears and you were sure he could feel it too, judging by the dazed look on his face. There was another blow of the whistle and the coach called for a player change.

You watched as Bokuto held a cold towel to his face from his place at the sidelines. You noticed his hair had drooped from being subbed out.

“Are you okay? I think I hit you pretty hard.”

“No,” you said faintly and turned to look at your friend. “I am not okay.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Bokuto-san, that girl is staring at you again.”

The owlish boy glanced over to see you look at him with a hard stare.

“Aw, Akaashi, I’m sure she’s just a fan. After all, I’m pretty awesome.” He crossed his arms and smiled proudly.

“I’m concerned. She doesn’t exactly look happy. Did you do something?”

Bokuto scratched his head. “Er, I don't think so. She’s in our grade right?…did I do anything??”

Akaashi thought back to the past week and shook his head. He couldn’t think of Bokuto doing anything wild specifically to the girl.

“Maybe she likes me!”

“Bokuto-san, you have a soulmate.”

“Maybe she’s my soulmate!”

Akaashi’s eyes gave you a once over. “She doesn’t appear to have any of the injuries that match yours.”

Little did they know that you used cover-up concealer and sweaters after the many stares you used to receive. You tugged your knee-highs a bit higher up after noticing they were looking at you.

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with Bokuto,” your friend whispered from beside you.

“He’s loud and the opposite of low-key. Plus I heard he wants to go pro. My life is going to be filled with PAIN.”

“You said you barely feel it anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it! I’m not a masochist!”

“Maybe you should become one,” your friend said, suggestively.

“I hate you.”

“Excuse me?”

The both of you looked up with wide eyes as two large figures loomed in front of you.

“We were just wondering -”

“Did I do something to you??” Bokuto interrupted the setter.

“I-uh…” you were at a loss for words. Okay, so admittedly now he was up close, you admit Bokuto was quite handsome.

There was a tense silence as you struggled to find the right words before your friend threw her hands up.

“Oh for goodness sake.”

You yelped as she poked you in the side. Clutching your ribs, you glared at her and quickly walked away.

“Hope that answers your question!” She said cheerfully and ran after you.

Bokuto tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

Akaashi thought for a moment before realisation dawned on his face.

“Oh.”

“What?? Tell me Akaashi, tell meeee -”

“She might be your soulmate.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Y/n.”

No.

“Y/n.”

You quickly walked down the hall and turned the corner.

“Y/n.”

A figure flashed past you and you bounced off a hard chest.

“Woah there,” Bokuto lifted both of his arms to steady you.

At your glare, he quickly dropped them.

“You're my- like you’re - Akaashi said - “ It was if he was trying to speak quicker than he could gather his thoughts.

You didn’t say anything, instead looked at him straight-faced and poked his side. You made a face as he groaned.

“Yep.”

“When did you find out??”

“Your last game,” you said, sighing. “A lot of things made sense. The bruises on my knees and elbows, the palms of my hands always stinging etc etc."

He made a sheepish face. “Oh. I never really considered that.”

“Are you serious??”

“I mean your palms! I tried to wear covers for my arms and wear leggings as well as knee pads to see if it would help you, but I guess it didn’t work out so well.”

Well at least he tried. It was kind of sweet that he did actually think of you when he could have been solely distracted with his sport.

“I don’t have many bruises though,” he frowned.

“Ah, that one’s on me. My skin is kinda sensitive. They look worse than they feel.”

He sagged his shoulders. “That’s a relief."

"Though," he continued. “You do owe me though.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You broke your collarbone in fourth grade didn’t you?”

Your mouth opened and then closed. You indeed had fallen off your bike and had to wear a brace for a while.

He made a face. “I knew it! There was no way the door opening in my face broke my collarbone!”

You looked at him concerned. Did he honestly think that was what happened until now?

“I couldn’t play for weeks! I got made fun of so much!”

“Oh…sorry about that,” you glanced to the side, guiltily.

“But ya know.”

You looked at him to see a lopsided smile gracing his face.

“It’s worth it since it’s you.”

You stared at him speechless.

Bokuto gave you the biggest grin you’ve ever seen and pulled you into a bear hug.

“Ouch,” both of you winced at the contact.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly. “Guess I better be a bit more careful now huh?” He looked at the ground and shifted, a bit embarrassed.

“Ya think,” you murmured, mimicking his movements.

You felt fingers tuck a strand of your hair back gently and looked up in surprise.

“If I promise to be more careful, do you think we can go out on a date sometime?”

You gazed into bright eyes, sparkling with happiness and teeth bit into a lower lip in anticipation. For the first time, nothing in your body ached and a soft warmth spread throughout you.

Your lips pursed before they curved up into a small smile.

“I’d like that.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

“Akaashi, can you take your shirt off?”

“Pardon me?” The tall boy looked at you bewildered.

“Hey!” Bokuto protested from beside you with a betrayed expression.

“One moment Kou.”

“Just lift up your shirt please.”

Your friend was practically buzzing beside you. Akaashi looked a bit scared as he lifted up his shirt.

“And turn.”

He obeyed, hesitantly, and your friend made a disappointed sound.

When he looked mildly offended at what he thought was a reaction to his body, you clarified, “Ah we were looking for a tattoo of a violet.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened

“Oh, Akaashi, don't you have one on your thigh?” Bokuto questioned his friend.

There was a faint blush on the boy’s cheeks and Akaashi slightly pulled up one of his pant legs. Sure enough, the flower was etched onto the skin there.

Your friend punched the air triumphantly.

“I told you so!”

#bokuto x reader #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto koutaro x y/n #bokuto fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #akaashi keiji #akaashi fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #bokuto scenarios #haikyuu bokuto #ah this was weird

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steddie-fanfic-recs · 5 months

Text

rounding third, sliding home.

by througheden

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Corroded Coffin (Stranger Things), Jim "Chief" Hopper, Tommy Hagan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball Player Steve Harrington, Massage Therapist Eddie Munson, POV Alternating, Sports-Typical Injuries, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Lesbian Chrissy Cunningham, mall fire, (steve has a lot of scars from the aforementioned mall fire), Getting Together, sort of a slow burn but not really?, Mutual Pining, Casual Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Idiots in Love, SMUT TAGS:, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, (it's light), Dry Humping, Sex on a Roof, holding hands during sex, Anal Sex, (more to be added as needed), Steddie Big Bang 2023 (Stranger Things), Podfic Welcome, art included, Demisexual Steve Harrington, (if you squint), Happy ending guaranteed!, Good Friend Tommy Hagan Words: 68,869 Chapters: 12/12

Summary

#steddie #steddie fic rec #multi-chaptered #50-100k #au no upside down #getting together #mutual pining

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infoblogify · 10 months

Text

Preventing and Treating Baseball Elbow Injuries in Freehold

The crack of the bat, the rush of adrenaline, and the thrill of the game – baseball holds a special place in the hearts of many. But along with the excitement comes the risk of injuries, and one of the most common among baseball players is the dreaded "Baseball Elbow." As the name suggests, this injury can strike both pitchers and fielders, potentially sidelining them for weeks or even months. Fortunately, Freehold athletes have a trusted ally in their journey to recovery: HF Rehab NJ. With a dedicated focus on preventing and treating baseball elbow injuries Freehold, HF Rehab NJ is poised to keep players in the game and thriving.

Understanding Baseball Elbow: A Common Woe

Baseball elbow, scientifically known as medial epicondylitis or "golfer's elbow," is an overuse injury that primarily affects the inner side of the elbow. While it's commonly associated with golfers due to the swinging motion, baseball players – particularly pitchers and those who repeatedly throw or grip the ball – are also at risk.

This injury occurs when the tendons that attach to the bony bump on the inside of the elbow become inflamed and irritated. Over time, the repetitive stress of throwing or swinging can lead to microtears in the tendons, causing pain, stiffness, and reduced mobility.

Preventing Baseball Elbow: A Proactive Approach

Prevention is often the best strategy when it comes to injuries, and HF Rehab NJ understands the importance of a proactive approach. Here are some key measures to help prevent baseball elbow:

Proper Warm-up: Before hitting the field, players should engage in a thorough warm-up routine that includes stretching and light exercises. This helps increase blood flow to the muscles and prepares the body for the demands of the game.

Strength and Conditioning: Building strength in the muscles that support the elbow joint can help reduce the strain on the tendons. HF Rehab NJ offers personalized strength and conditioning programs tailored to each player's needs.

Proper Technique: Coaches and trainers play a vital role in teaching players proper throwing and swinging techniques. Maintaining good form can significantly reduce the risk of injury.

Rest and Recovery: Overuse is a leading cause of baseball elbow. Players should prioritize rest days and avoid excessive throwing or swinging to allow the muscles and tendons to recover.

Regular Check-ins: Regular assessments and screenings at HF Rehab NJ can identify early warning signs of potential issues. Catching problems early allows for timely interventions to prevent injuries from worsening.

Treating Baseball Elbow: The Road to Recovery

For those already grappling with baseball elbow, HF Rehab NJ offers a comprehensive approach to treatment and recovery:

Physical Therapy: HF Rehab NJ's skilled physical therapists design personalized rehabilitation programs to address the specific needs of each player. These programs focus on strengthening the affected muscles, improving mobility, and reducing pain.

Modalities and Techniques: From manual therapy and joint mobilization to therapeutic exercises and electrical stimulation, HF Rehab NJ employs a range of cutting-edge techniques to accelerate healing and restore function.

Pain Management: Effective pain management is crucial during the recovery process. HF Rehab NJ utilizes a combination of techniques to alleviate pain and inflammation, allowing players to focus on their rehabilitation.

Gradual Return to Play: Returning to the field after an injury requires careful planning. HF Rehab NJ guides players through a structured return-to-play program, ensuring they're ready to perform at their best while minimizing the risk of re-injury.

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In Freehold, baseball isn't just a sport; it's a way of life. HF Rehab NJ recognizes the passion and dedication that players bring to the game, and they're committed to being a supportive partner in their journey to recovery and success. With a focus on prevention, treatment, and education, HF Rehab NJ is rewriting the playbook on baseball elbow injuries Freehold. By ensuring that athletes have the tools they need to stay in peak condition, HF Rehab NJ is shaping a stronger, healthier future on the diamond for players in Freehold and beyond.

#Baseball Elbow Injuries #Freehold #HF Rehab NJ #pain management

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goldenraeofsun · 2 days

Text

A Case for Defenestration

Also on AO3!

At noon, Dick moves the glass of orange juice to the crook of his elbow and uses his free hand to knock on Damian’s door. In his other hand, he carries a plate with an egg salad sandwich. “Hey, can I come in?”

Bedsheets rustle and Damian’s bed creaks, but Damian says nothing.

Dick squares his shoulders. He isn’t the best big brother in the world because he gives up easily. “It’s me,” he tries again. “Can I come in?”

A noise comes from the other side of the door, and Dick freezes. Did Damian just… blow a raspberry?

Maybe the lawnmower backfired. It is the first nice Spring day in a few months, so Alfred headed outside an hour ago to tend the back garden and trim the lawn.

“Enter, if you must, Grayson.”

Dick winces at the use of his last name. He gamely pushes Damian’s door open anyway. Hopefully, the kid’s just cranky from his injuries and being stuck in his room all morning. “Hey,” he says, pitching his voice low. “How’re you feeling?”

Damian scowls and doesn’t meet his eyes, his face reddening. Despite the warm weather and wide open, Damian has the sheets pulled up to his chest. “I am fine,” he says stiffly, “as you can see. You may go now.”

Dick sets down the plate and glass on Damian’s nightstand.

“You took quite a beating last night,” Dick says gently. “Of course, you gave as good as you got,” and Damian must really be out of it, since the compliment barely registers with him. Dick forces his smile to widen. “And on your thirteenth birthday of all days too.”

“Tt. I still do not see the point of commemorating the day of one’s birth when there are so many more momentous occasions to celebrate. The mastery of a new technique, for example or…” he drifts off, his voice going deadly quiet, “spilling of first blood.”

Dick stares. Damian sounds… off, even for him. More stilted. Formal. He’s retreating, and Dick cannot let that happen. Not after all the progress they’ve made. “Hey, Dami,” he says, consciously trying not to talk down to Damian because he hates that. “Is everything OK? Really? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I – I – ” Damian stutters, hunching down further into the bed.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Dick says, fighting to keep his concern from showing too much because it makes Damian defensive. “You know that, right?”

Damian’s face screws up as his fingers twist in his sheets. “He was special,” he says, his breath hitching to Dick’s utter horror; Damian never lets himself get this visibly emotional, “and I defenestrated him.”

“Hey, hey,” Dick says, and there goes his commitment to holding himself back. He reaches out to grasp Damian’s good shoulder. Damian shudders under his touch, and Dick’s heart breaks. But if Damian killed someone, Dick needs to tell Bruce the whole story. “Did you,” he swallows and restarts, “Did you throw someone out of a window last night?”

Dick didn’t have eyes on Damian throughout the whole fight; Arkham breakouts mean the Bats are spread thin, and it was all hands on deck. They started out the night in teams. Bruce, Damian, Dick, and Cass took on the Joker. Tim and Steph got the Riddler. Duke and Jason went after Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.

By the time they trooped back to the Manor, they had switched targets several times over, when Jason got a face full of Harley’s baseball bat, when Bruce fractured two bones in his right leg in a bear trap, and, of course, when the Joker shot Damian in the shoulder and dislocated his left hip.

Damian blinks rapidly. “I did the deed this morning.”

Dick blinks in surprise as Damian looks away.

Because that makes no sense. Damian’s been bedridden since they came in from patrol last night.

Unless… an intruder snuck into the Manor and ambushed Damian in his room? Damian is good, but the kid was wiped after running around until four am in his condition.

But that also doesn’t make sense because someone would have heard. Jason and Tim even had an argument outside Damian’s room at half past ten, and Alfred had to chivvy them away to keep them from waking Damian up.

“Okay,” Dick says, “I think I’m missing something here. What exactly happened, Dames? From the beginning, if you can.”

Damian inhales a sharp breath. “He flew into my room, no doubt scared off from Pennyworth’s actions in the garden,” he says in a rush. “And I tried to provide an attractive, safe haven,” he gestures to his ocean blue bedsheet, “as I know beetles prefer bright colors –”

By sheer force of will, Dick does not facepalm.

Damian was all riled up about a beetle.

Dick bites his tongue as Damian narrates the whole saga: of the beetle settling on the blanket, Damian getting startled by a noise outside his room, Damian twisting under the blanket to hear better, and the beetle getting launched out of the window as a result.

“Damian,” Dick says as he stares at Damian’s huge green eyes, slightly more shiny than usual, “beetles can fly. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You do not know that, Grayson!”

Dick does not snort, but it is a close goddamn call.

“Just because he wasn’t very big does not make him any less important,” Damian insists nonsensically.

“Of course not,” Dick soothes. “Hey,” he leans in, “I think you need a hug.”

“I do not –” Damian squawks, but too late.

Dick’s arms wrap around his ridiculous littlest brother, squeezing tightly, careful of Damian’s injured shoulder. “I can’t stop you worrying, but you do know that beetles belong outside, right? He wouldn’t have been happy cooped up in here.”

Damian nods. “I suppose you are right,” he huffs against Dick’s cheek.

Dick freezes as he inhales a pungent, smokey scent he’s never associated with Damian. “What the...?” He glances over his shoulder, like he might find Jason hovering outside the window, splashing the good scotch on the gardenias just to piss Bruce off.

“Richard?”

“Have you been drinking?” Dick pulls back to stare at Damian, noting the flush to his cheeks that Dick initially attributed to the warm weather and the way Damian’s eyes don’t quite focus on him, which Dick had written off first from pain, and then from embarrassment. But no, Damian was just showing classic signs of alcohol consumption.

Damian fiddles with the edge of his blanket. He nods once.

“Oh my god,” Dick groans. “What the hell, Damian? Why – how? ”

Damian scowls. “It was not my idea.”

“Fine,” Dick says as he grabs the sandwich and forces it into Damian’s hands. Damian needs to fill his stomach with something other than alcohol, stat. “Then whose idea was it?”

“Todd,” Damian says, entirely unsurprisingly. “No, I misspoke. It was Drake.”

“What.”

Damian wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Drake apologized for not celebrating my birthday properly. He said he first sampled alcohol on his thirteenth birthday, when he became a man, and he wanted to carry on the tradition, so to speak.”

Dick’s jaw drops open. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Exactly how much did he give you?”

Damian lifts his chin in the air. “The same amount that Father occasionally imbibes.”

Dick runs a hand down his face. “Great,” he mutters. Bruce usually sticks to doubles, but after a rough patrol he’ll pour himself a triple. Damian doesn’t seem like he’s on the verge of alcohol poisoning, just good and tipsy, based on his emotional reaction to a beetle, so hopefully Damian only had two shots’ worth.

“And then, about ten minutes later, Todd visited me.”

Ah, damn.

“So it was Tim and Jason?”

“I just said that,” Damian says disdainfully. “Richard, keep up.”

“Right, right.” Dick nods along. “And what did Jason do? Never mind, I know exactly what he did.” He points to the sandwich. “Eat. Now.”

Damian obediently takes a bite.

“What I want to know,” Dick continues, “is why he gave alcohol to a thirteen-year-old.”

Damian swallows. “He said it was a reward for facing the Joker by myself during the fight.” He pauses, contemplating his sandwich. “He gave me slightly more alcohol than Drake.”

“Of course he did,” Dick despairs. He runs a hand through his hair, planning his next steps. Bruce can’t know about this. He would hit the ceiling if he heard Tim and Jason plied his youngest with enough booze to make Damian tear up over an insect. Dick is so going to have words with them. And then a drink or two for himself.

Damian picks up his sandwich. “I understand your concern. However, it is unfounded. No doubt due to my superior genetics,” he announces with a proud little smile, “I am capable of holding my liquor.”

“Mm hm,” Dick hums as he violently tries to keep it together without dying of laughter. He inhales a deep breath and lets it out before saying, “I’m just glad to see you’re OK, Dami.”

“Of course I am,” Damian sniffs.

Dick grins and squeezes his shoulder again. “Eat up. You’ll thank me later.”

#rae writes fic #batfam #batfam fanfic #fanfic #dick grayson #damian wayne #hurt damian wayne

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steddiebang · 6 months

Text

rounding third, sliding home | e | ~55k

Author: @thefreakandthehair Artist: @sungods_healingg Artist: @oriarts Beta Reader: @elementalblue

“Well, they can still win, right? There’s a lot of time left. I think?”

“That’s rule number one, Ed,” Steve nods and stares at the screen, focused and distant— the kind of stare that tells Eddie he’s not talking about just the game. “Always assume the game you’re planning can be won. If you go into it thinking that losing is a possibility, then you’re gonna lose. Even if you’ve gotta rewrite the rules of the game yourself, you gotta convince yourself you can win.”

The commentator seems to respond to Steve directly. “And that’s three strikes for Tommy Hagan for the fourth at-bat in a row. If this Dodgers team has a prayer of making the playoffs, it rests solely on Steve Harrington making it back in time.”

Eddie feels Steve squeeze his hand tighter.

Or, Professional Baseball Shortstop Steve Harrington injures his UCL and returns home to Indiana for treatment. Cue massage therapist Eddie Munson whose tender, practiced touch heals much more than Steve’s elbow.

Fic l Art l Art

Pairings: Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson Characters: Steve HarringtonEddie MunsonRobin BuckleyChrissy CunninghamCorroded Coffin (Stranger Things)Jim “Chief” Hopper Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Baseball Player Steve Harrington, Massage Therapist Eddie Munson, POV Alternating, Sports-Typical Injuries, Mall Fire, Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn (sort of), Idiots In Love Trigger Warnings: Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Brief Discussion of Neglectful/Alcoholic Parents (Eddie’s, in the past), Description of a Steve and Robin in the Mall Fire

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 masterposts

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 1 year

Text

Salvation, Chapter 1 - Reader:

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Reader is walking home one evening and gets attacked in an alleyway... until the Devil of Hell's Kitchen himself comes to her rescue. After passing out during the ordeal, she wakes up in the apartment of one Matthew Murdock, a kind and handsome lawyer who treats her injuries. As she and Matt get to know each other and grow closer, will someone from Reader's past tear their happiness apart?

Warnings/Tags: Dual PoV, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Past Domestic Violence, Stalking, Kidnapping (Y'all, seriously, please mind the tags)

Word Count: ~31k total

A/N: Further explaining the warnings here:

--Reader is the victim of an attempted sexual assault

--Reader is also the victim of past domestic violence from an OMC and is in hiding; this will play a major part of the story later on.

I knew I should've just waited and gone to the market tomorrow, Y/F/N Y/L/N thought as she walked down the dimly-lit streets of Hell's Kitchen. She had had the unsettling feeling that she was being followed for several blocks now, and the feeling was getting stronger.

Before Y/N could grab her pepper spray out of her bag, a hulking brute of a man wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie pulled her into a darkened alleyway and pressed her front up against a brick wall.

A huge hand covered her mouth while a knife pressed against the side of her throat. "You say one word and I'll kill you immediately," a menacing voice growled. "Understand?"

Y/N nodded, regretting not taking the self-defense lessons she had promised herself that she would when she first moved to New York.

"That's a good girl," her assailant cooed. "Don't worry, I'll make this nice and easy for ya."

Y/N whimpered as he trailed the knife down her neck, his nose following. "I can smell your fear… so intoxicating."

He slid the knife further down, eventually stopping at the waistband of Y/N’s pants. "Let's see what's under these, shall we?"

Suddenly there was a slight noise at the other end of the alley.

As her attacker leaned back and turned to investigate, Y/N elbowed him in the stomach and broke free… but she wasn't fast enough.

She cried out in pain as he grabbed her by her arm and threw her to the ground. "Fucking bitch," he growled, then kicked her several times in the ribs. "You're gonna pay for that."

He knelt down and straddled her, grabbed her arms, and held them over her head, pinning them down with one hand while unbuckling his belt with the other. "I was gonna draw it out, but now it looks like I gotta teach you a fucking lesson."

"Fuck you," Y/N spat.

Her assailant punched her in the face, knocking Y/N's head back against the dirty concrete and causing her to see stars.

Suddenly the weight of her attacker disappeared.

Y/N briefly heard sounds of a scuffle, then there was silence.

She rolled over and spotted metal glinting in the pale moonlight -- the knife that her assailant had dropped when she had elbowed him.

She reached out and grabbed it as the sound of footsteps neared, struggling to sit up once she had it in her possession.

She looked up and gasped. Standing in front of her was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Y/N scrambled backwards, hissing out a breath as her back hit the wall.

She had heard reports and seen grainy stills from security footage of the Devil, but he was even more fearsome in person.

She held the knife out in front of her protectively, her heart racing. I may go down, she thought, but it damn well won't be without a fight.

The masked man crouched down next to her -- just outside of stabbing range, she noted -- and raised his gloved hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's okay," he said. "That guy won't be bothering you anymore.

Y/N looked over to where her assailant lay motionless on the ground. "Did you kill him ?" she hissed.

The Devil shook his head. "No, he's just unconscious. The police will pick him up soon. He's already wanted in three other attacks."

He started to lower his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. Now, can you put the knife down for me?"

Realizing that the Devil probably hadn't saved her from her attacker just to attack her himself, Y/N set the knife down.

The masked man began to help her up. "Come on, I've got to get you to a hospital."

Y/N gasped from the pain, a hand flying to her side as she began to feel dizzy. "No, no hospitals," she managed to get out. "He'll find me, I can't let him find me."

"Who 'll find you?" the Devil asked. "The guy who attacked you tonight?"

Y/N shook her head, trying to clear it. "No, not him. I can't though. Please, no."

"Okay, okay, no hospital," the Devil agreed. "But who can't you let find you? Who are you hiding from?"

Before Y/N could respond everything faded to black.

"Y/N… Come out, come out, wherever you are," his voice said softly, the sing-song tone sending chills down Y/N's spine. "You know what happens when you run from me. You'll just make it worse for yourself."

Y/N trembled as his footsteps got closer to the closet where she hid. She had been so careful, how had he figured out where she was?

"Come on, babe," his voice continued, still calm but now laced with an edge of irritation. "I'm sorry. I just want to talk."

His footsteps stopped in front of the closet.

Y/N pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to keep her sobs at bay until his footsteps eventually receded.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief.

Suddenly there was a burst of light as the door was thrown open. A hand reached in and grabbed Y/N by a fistful of her hair, dragging her out of the closet.

Y/N awoke with a gasp and sat straight up, crying out in pain before quickly lying back down. Nightmare. Just a nightmare.

She sat up slower, hissing at the discomfort in her side. Well, at least that part was… Apparently I really did get attacked tonight.

She looked around. She was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, dimly-lit room. Where am I?

A bit of further examination revealed that she was in a very sparsely-decorated apartment. There were no photos, no artwork, nothing to indicate anything about the owner aside from a crucifix affixed above the front door.

"Oh good, you're awake," an unfamiliar voice said.

Y/N turned towards the voice, startled.

A man wearing a dark red Henley, black sweatpants, and red sunglasses stood across the room from her. In his hands were medical supplies.

Who the hell wears sunglasses indoors? Y/N thought. "Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?"

"It's okay, miss," the man replied. "I won't hurt you. Do you remember what happened? You took quite a bump on the head in addition to your other injuries."

Y/N nodded. "I was walking home, and this man pulled me into an alley and tried to-- but then there was this other man, and he… he saved me."

The man nodded. "My name is Matthew Murdock. I'm an acquaintance of the man who helped you. He brought you here to my apartment since you seemed pretty insistent that he not bring you to a hospital."

He gestured with the medical supplies. "May I?"

Y/N let out a long breath, wincing at the pain in her side. "Yeah, okay."

Matthew slowly approached her and set the supplies down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, arranging them neatly before sitting down next to them.

He gestured to her side. "I need to make sure your ribs aren't broken before I tend to anything else."

Y/N nodded. "Okay."

Matthew raised the side of her shirt just high enough to expose her ribs but still keep her modesty. "Here, hold this for me."

Y/N held her shirt up while Matthew gently felt around her ribcage.

"Are you a doctor?" Y/N asked.

Matthew shook his head with a wry grin. "No, I'm an attorney. I just have lots of experience patching people up."

Y/N thought that he was going to leave it at that, but then he added, "My dad was a boxer, used to come home with different injuries, including the occasional cracked or broken rib. I learned how to diagnose them."

He sat back. "Okay, so good news and bad news. Good news is that I don't think any of your ribs are broken. Bad news though is that they are bruised, so you might want to take it easy for a few days. You don't want to aggravate them further."

Y/N nodded. "So a glass of Chardonnay and Epsom salt bath it is, got it."

Matthew frowned. "You sound like you're pretty used to that type of medical treatment."

Shit, I said too much. Y/N shrugged. "Just have had my share of sore muscles, that's all."

Matthew studied her for a few moments before he picked up an alcohol wipe and opened it, then began to gently dab at a cut on her forehead.

While he was occupied with opening a bandage and applying some antibiotic ointment to it, Y/N took the opportunity to examine him further.

He was ruggedly handsome -- dark hair that was freshly wet from the shower, 5 o'clock shadow on his strong, square jaw, broad shoulders that filled out his Henley just this side of too tight… Shit, he's really hot.

"Y/N," she blurted.

Matthew paused just as he was sticking the bandage to Y/N's forehead, his head tilting to the side in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I just realized that I haven't told you my name," Y/N clarified. "It's Y/N."

Matthew smoothed the bandage down. "Well then, it's nice to meet you, Y/N," he replied, "although I am sorry that it's under these circumstances."

He grabbed another alcohol wipe and began to clean the cut on Y/N's cheek. "So would you mind telling me why you refused to go to a hospital?"

Y/N hesitated. On the one hand, Matthew really did seem trustworthy. On the other…

She let out a sigh. "Mr. Murdock --"

"Matt, please."

"Matt , I… I can't." If word of where she was got back to him , she'd be dead for sure.

Matt was silent for a few moments as he finished cleaning Y/N's cut and affixing a bandage over it. "Do you have any change on you?" he finally asked. "Penny, quarter, whatever?"

"Oh, shit, my purse, I had it in the alley." Y/N began to panic. If someone found her ID and turned it in to the police--

"It's okay, it's here. Let me get it for you." Matt stood and moved over to the kitchen, where Y/N's bag sat on the counter.

Y/N noticed a long white cane situated against the door-frame of the front door. So that explains the lack of decor and the sunglasses indoors, she thought. He's blind.

Matt retrieved her bag and brought it to her. "I didn't go through it," he said. "In case you were wondering."

Y/N rummaged through for her wallet and pulled out a nickel. "Will a nickel work?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Y/N handed it to him. "What do you need that for?"

Matt pocketed the nickel. "That was my retainer. Now everything you tell me is confidential information covered under attorney-client privilege."

He sat down again, this time next to Y/N instead of across from her. "Now, will you tell me why you insisted on not going to a hospital?"

Y/N bit her lip. "I just don't like hospitals?"

Matt huffed out a soft chuckle. "You know, part of what makes me such a good attorney is that I can always tell when someone's lying to me, but even if I couldn't I'm not sure I'd have believed you."

Y/N shook her head with a wry smile. "Yeah, I wouldn't have believed me either honestly."

She looked away and let out a shaky breath. "Ok, well, about 2 years ago I met this guy," she began. "He was amazing-- successful, sweet, attentive -- and I immediately fell for him.

"We moved in together after about 6 months together and everything was fine at first, but then my boyfriend lost his job and was having trouble finding another one -- or so he said."

Y/N had felt so stupid -- she had believed Colin when he had said that he was out job hunting when in actuality he had been sitting on his ass at home all day drinking and playing video games.

"Anyway, money was tight so we began to have to cut back on a lot of things. My boyfriend liked to go to the bar with his buddies so I asked him to stop going out for a while until he found another job and we got caught up on bills." Y/N gave a mirthless laugh. "He said that I should get a second job instead, because I was spending all of 'our' hard-earned money on 'unnecessary' things -- like, you know, food and rent."

She shook her head. "I told him that at least I was working and that the very least he could do while he was sitting at home all day was to help around the house some, instead of leaving his shit everywhere and expecting me to pick it up. Well, he didn't really like that… He hit me for the first time that night."

She heard Matt suck in a breath, but he remained silent.

"He left after that," she continued, "presumably to go meet his friends -- but he came home later that night and said that he was sorry, swore it would never happen again, said that he loved me and was just stressed out from job hunting, but that one of his friends had a lead on a job that sounded promising and that everything would be okay."

She finally looked up at Matt, whose jaw was visibly clenched.

"He eventually did get another job, but he didn't keep it for long. Luckily I had gotten a promotion at work, and with that came enough of a raise to at least keep us afloat. My boyfriend started drinking more and became violent more often than not. He always apologized the next day and would swear that it'd never happen again… until it inevitably did."

She swallowed. She had never admitted to anyone the abuse she had suffered at Colin's hands. At first he had been careful, only leaving bruises where no one could see them, then as things had gotten worse and his temper had gotten more volatile, Y/N had begun wearing long sleeves and excusing the injuries she couldn't cover up with makeup as clumsiness. "God, you must think I'm so stupid for believing him, for staying with him for so long..."

Matt sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't think you're stupid at all. Abusers will use whatever tactics they can to keep their victims from leaving them -- apologies, gaslighting, manipulation, threats..."

Y/N nodded, then her voice dropped down to a whisper. "He said that he would kill me if I ever tried to leave him."

"So what happened?"

"One day my boyfriend came home to find me packing for a last-minute work trip and accused me of sleeping with my boss -- who wasn't even going on that trip, by the way, which is why he was sending me in his place. Needless to say, the trip was cancelled altogether because I wound up in the hospital with a broken arm after I 'tripped and fell down the stairs'."

She swallowed. "I figured he would eventually kill me either way, so I started doing some extra freelance work on the side in secret and managed to hide enough money to get away without him knowing, and one day while my boyfriend was at the bar I put in my resignation at work and…" Y/N shrugged even though she knew Matt couldn't see it. "...I just left.

"I drove for a few days, staying at motels that would accept cash and wouldn't require an ID, then sold my car, ditched my phone number for a prepaid one, and made my way here to New York. My mom's step aunt had left me a brownstone that Colin never knew about and I had never got around to switching the utilities out of her name. I work as a freelance writer and editor under a pseudonym, only take cash or Paypal as payment, and use a P.O. box in Jersey as my mailing address, so no bank account, no credit cards…" She trailed off.

Matt nodded in understanding. "No paper trail."

"Exactly." Y/N was silent for a few moments. "So you said you know the man who rescued me?"

Matt pursed his lips. "In passing."

"Next time you see him, tell him thank you for me, okay? If he hadn't come along--" Y/N's breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears, the events of the evening finally hitting her.

Matt put a gentle hand on her arm. "Hey, it's okay… you're okay. You're safe now, I promise."

Y/N wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sure the last thing you expected tonight was to have some random stranger crying on your couch."

Matt shook his head with a soft smile. "You're right. They're usually crying in my office."

Shit . "Oh my god, that's right, you probably have work tomorrow and I'm keeping you up. I'm so sorry, I should go." Y/N stood and grabbed her purse.

Matt stood as well. "Wait, here, let me at least get you a cab. You shouldn't walk home this late, especially in your condition."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. "You're right. Thank you, I appreciate it."

Matt walked over to the counter and picked up his phone, pressing a few buttons then speaking softly to the person on the other end.

He hung up. "A cab will be here in a few minutes. And one more thing…" Matt moved over to a coat rack and grabbed a peacoat. "I can probably safely assume that your clothes are in questionable condition, so you might want to wear this over them so your cab driver doesn't ask questions."

Y/N nodded. "Thank you."

Matt cocked his head. "The cab is a couple of blocks away. You should head down now."

Y/N blinked in surprise. How does he know that? "Oh, okay."

She put the coat on. "Thank you again, and be sure to thank the man who rescued me for me too."

Matt nodded. "I will. Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Matt."

Y/N headed downstairs, where sure enough, a taxi was pulling up to the curb.

She gave the driver her address and sat back, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

The cab driver gave her a few glances in the mirror but must've been able to tell that Y/N wasn't in the mood for conversation, because he didn't try to engage her, for which Y/N was grateful.

Once the cab had pulled up to her brownstone, Y/N paid the driver and headed inside, making doubly sure that the door was both locked and deadbolted. It wasn't like she had expected anyone to have followed her home, but her attack had made her flash back to her days with Colin and she was still anxious and jumpy at every little noise.

She took Matt's coat off and put it on her coat rack, then grimaced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It wasn't the worst she had ever looked -- far from it, in fact -- but still... Thank goodness Matt loaned me his coat. I probably would've frightened the taxi driver.

She went to her kitchen and poured herself a nice big glass of wine, then headed upstairs to soak in a hot, Epsom salt-infused bath.

Once the water had cooled to an uncomfortable level she got out of the tub and carefully changed into a pair of silk pajamas before climbing into bed, exhausted from the evening's events. I should get Matt's coat back to him soon.

And speaking of Matt…

She couldn't even imagine the conversation that had gone on between him and her masked savior when the latter had shown up at Matt's apartment with an unconscious Y/N, but she had been grateful that both of them had come to her aid. The Devil had been kind and caring -- nothing like the media had portrayed him -- and Matt had been so gentle while he was treating her wounds and had listened to her story without judgement.

Her mind drifted to the kind, handsome lawyer. I wonder if Matt's single…

She sighed and shook her head. Okay Florence Nightingale, chill out. First of all, he was just being nice and helping someone in need. Second of all… he probably does have a girlfriend. And finally, even if he didn't he wouldn't want someone like you, so there's no point in even going there. Just give the man his coat back and move on. Wait, but how? I don't have his number and there's no way I'm going to remember where he lives.

She drained what remained of her glass of wine and pulled her laptop over to her. Matthew Murdock attorney NYC, she typed into Google.

The first result was for a firm, Nelson and Murdock. The website was simple, with the main page containing a photo of Matt and a shaggy-haired blonde man proudly standing in front of a plaque reading Nelson and Murdock , and tabs with information about the firm and the types of law they practiced and their contact information. Y/N made note of the address and put her laptop away, wincing as she stretched too far and her side pulled again. Fucking OW.

She tucked her body pillow to her side to keep from rolling over too much and settled in to try to get some rest.

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