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sarahowritesostucky · 28 days

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take).

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?”

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go.

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.”

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout.

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?”

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen.

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.”

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?”

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.”

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.”

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains.

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch.

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway.

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?”

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.”

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.”

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?”

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?”

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay.

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?”

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?”

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder.

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods.

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here?

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out.

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*This chapter would've had the "breaking point," but I don't like to post chapters of more than 4-5000 wordcounts on Tumblr. So the next part will be up in a bit once I fine tune and add to it.

**And to anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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catboydogma · 4 months

Text

not a miracle needed

wc: 940

notes: another 15-minute sprint, tho this one grew legs and ended up being more like 25 minutes lol. first foray into coday bingo !

summary:

Well, Cody wasn’t going to argue with his superior. He had better things to do. The artillery shell that had taken out the crumbling brick wall he’d been using for cover was— “Thank the Force,” Kenobi said. Cody found himself being lifted like a recalcitrant tooka and settled onto a gurney. He made to get up again and Kenobi easily pinned him with a hand to the center of his chest.

cross-posted to ao3

“Hey, hey, hey,” a strident voice said. It was much too loud and right next to Cody’s ear. He would have batted at it but his hands had become cold and leaden weights, and his eyelids weren’t responding to any of his commands. He did not panic, because Marshal Commanders did not panic.

“I’m fine,” Cody said. He wasn’t sure if the words ever made it past his tongue. It felt too big for his mouth, all dry and fuzzy.

A warm—burning, really—thumb peeled back one of his eyelids. Cody made another token protest, wincing in the harsh sunlight that blinded him for one heady moment.

“—requesting medevac at—” the too-loud voice that had jarred Cody from his cold and slightly dim wool-gathering was General Kenobi. His General Kenobi. A thrill of something—alarm, panic, and a weighty and fang-filled feeling that pulled at the pit of his stomach—shot through him. The shock of emotion and subsequent adrenaline was enough for him to jerk into motion, heaving himself up onto one elbow and then the other. What went through him next was considerably less pleasant. If he’d had anything left in him, he would have sicked up all over the General’s no-longer shining leather boots.

“Force preserve every little—” Kenobi bit himself off and wrapped an arm around Cody’s shoulders. “Stubborn,” he hissed against Cody’s temple.

The air was thick with smoke. Choked with it, really. Cody shook his head to clear it and then patiently blinked away the resulting black spots in his vision.

“Yes, you are,” Kenobi insisted, evidently taking the motion as some kind of refusal. He pressed the palm of his hand to the side of Cody’s face, mopping at the scalding heat that sheeted down his temple and left a wash of crimson all down his spaulder.

Well, Cody wasn’t going to argue with his superior. He had better things to do. The artillery shell that had taken out the crumbling brick wall he’d been using for cover was—

“Thank the Force,” Kenobi said. Cody found himself being lifted like a recalcitrant tooka and settled onto a gurney. He made to get up again and Kenobi easily pinned him with a hand to the center of his chest. “We took the southerly quarter and are waiting upon reinforcements for the city center. The Separatists are dug in and have taken civilian hostages—there’s nothing more to do here. Not yet.”

With great reluctance, Cody let himself be strapped to the gurney. Howl and one of his minions were saying something in rapid-fire shorthand, some kind of code a CMO—he strongly suspected Howl himself—had invented to make medbay instruction faster. In war, time was more precious than blood.

“You’ll be alright,” Kenobi said. He kept his hand over the side of Cody’s face until Howl pried his fingers away. Cody let the dizziness wash over him in waves. It threatened and receded in time with the black spotting his vision. His chin tipped toward his chest without conscious input and his breathing seemed too loud and ragged in his own ears.

“You will be alright,” Howl confirmed briskly, doing something on Cody’s far side while his subordinate did something by Cody’s boots. They were moving at a fast clip now but Kenobi still had a hand on the side of Cody’s gurney. He was doing—something. Cody wasn’t sure what but the wrinkle between his brows was a dead giveaway. “Won’t even get a matching scar to even out your face. How many fingers, Commander?”

“Three,” Cody grunted out. Whatever Howl was doing had somehow eased the swelling in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue: it was still hot and swollen but it no longer filled his mouth and turned his words to mush.

“What’s your serial?”

“CC-2224.” Cody blinked one eye closed and then the other. The blood clotting the side of his face had been cleaned away at some point. Fuzziness receded in a great wave and stayed away this time. In its place a tide of searing pain swam up through his bones to make the palms of his hands prickle and the backs of his knees sweat.

“Duty calls.” Kenobi’s hand founds its way to the two square inches of Cody’s skin—just between spaulder and the strap of his chestplate where his body glove had torn or singed away in the blast—and gave him a firm squeeze. He looked redolent of sunlight, the golden near-dusk haloing him in brass and picking out every one of his flyaways in warm light. “Don’t try and stand up again, hm?”

Before Cody could reply, the General was bounding off and barking orders into the comm unit affixed to his vambrace.

“Arsehole,” Howl said. He managed to make it sound admiring. Somehow. “He’s right though, Commander. You got a nasty concussion, going to need stitches for your arm and leg, dislocated a shoulder when you landed, and I don’t even want to think about the state of your lungs. Congratulations, sir. You’ve narrowly missed getting tanked.”

“Never gonna catch on, Lieutenant,” Cody rasped. Howl gave him a little pshaw of skepticism in reply.

“You’ve no whimsy in your bucket, Commander,” Howl told him.

“Left it all in the vat.” Cody let a chuckle escape him and instantly regretted it. Howl patted his shoulder in sympathy, pretended to start a countdown, and stuck a needle in the crook of Cody’s elbow.

The darkness rose up in the wake of the pain, the exhaustion, the vertigo. Cody was out like a light before he knew it.

#hurt/comfort #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #a heat rash in the shape of the show me state #cody day #coday #cody bingo #tcw fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #eehn. i dont care enough to add more tags #aaaaaand POST

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thekristen999 · 5 months

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Still collecting All my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card Entries :) I’m trying for a complete black out. Even if it will take me over a year...lol

Here are the entries thus far for a whumpy Sunday reading. I used the card for inspiration mainly. Some are pretty plot heavy others are just a nice nugget.

Whatever It Takes To Find You 5k Eddie Begins AU. Buck is a Pararescue (PJ) specialist sent to rescue the downed chopper. (Going Into Shock, Distress Call)

The Shape Of Water 9k T. How water has influenced Buck’s life. Backstory. (Concussion, Bloodstained Clothes)

We're In This Together Now 5k Meth lab fic. (Caught In an Explosion, Barely Conscious, Stumbling and Staggering)

Tick...Tick...Boom 4k. Call gone wrong. (Stabbing)

bro·ken 32K Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU. (Cry Into Chest, Who Did This To You?)

Follow You Into The Dark- 14K A serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse. (Held at gunpoint)

#buddie #whump #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #evan buckely #eddie diaz #911 abc #buddie fanfic #kristen999 writes

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cywscross · 28 days

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Title: Chance and Choice Fandom: F&F x HP Character/Pairing: Regulus Black/Owen Shaw, Deckard Shaw & Owen Shaw, Regulus Black & Deckard Shaw, Owen Shaw, Regulus Black, Deckard Shaw Rating: T Word Count: 23,689 Summary: By chance or by choice, they find each other right on time. Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Alternate Canon, Canon Divergence AU, Soulmates AU, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Murder, Time Skips, Blood and Injury, Sirius Black Critical, References to Depression, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Memories, Protective Siblings

Submitted For:

- Post-July Break Bingo 2023 - Soulmates - Bad Things Happen Bingo [Card 2] - Human Shield (@badthingshappenbingo) - Gen Prompt Bingo [Round 22] - Imprisonment - Hurt/Comfort Bingo [Round 13] - imprisonment - Trope Bingo [Round 16] - Telepathy / Mind Meld - Any Fandom Fluff Bingo - Soulmate AU (@anyfandomfluffbingo) - Tarot Card Bingo - Page of Pentacles - Seasonal Delights Bingo: Language of Flowers [Card 1] - "you were always destined to be alone." (@seasonaldelightsbingo) - Lyrical Escape Bingo - "Hope is a bloody battlefield of disillusion." (@lyricalescape) - Winter Break Advent 2023 - December 4th-8th: Life or Death | Being saved | Found on the brink of death | Hearing someone call their name | Soulmates - Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition - Cursed - Fandom-Free Bingo: Flight Edition - 'I'm Tryin' to Matter in Someone Else's Eyes' - Fandom-Free Bingo: Valentine Edition - Stay Silent or Die - Fandom-Free Bingo: Wild Edition [Card 1] - "I'm Not Going Anywhere." (@fandom-free-bingo x4) - Slumber Party Bingo - Never have I ever... Walked in on someone in a compromised position (@slumberpartybingo) - Multifandom Flash Bingo: Soulmates - Sharing pain when one get hurt and have scars marked on their skins - Multifandom Flash Bingo: Round 3 Beehive [Card #1016] - After-Action Patch-Up (@multifandom-flash x2) - Eclipsing Bingo - Soulmarks (@eclipsingbingo)

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shion-yu · 2 months

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A Safe Place (part 2) [day 7]

Cliff’s cough turns into something more serious. For @monthofsick Day 7 “Too feverish to think” and my @badthingshappenbingo space “Delirium”. Wasn’t expecting this to be more than 2 parts but the boys had other plans! 3,385 words, original work, TWs emeto, references to parental homophobia/abuse. [Part 1]

The night Cliff showed up soaked and feverish on the doorstep of Elliot’s family home, Elliot held him and stayed awake until dawn. Cliff was asleep, his overly warm body in Elliot’s arms. Elliot, on the other hand, was wide awake. He was disturbed by Cliff’s sudden appearance and the shape his boyfriend was in. He didn’t know what happened or how to deal with this. He was nineteen and usually he felt like that made him an adult, but right now all he wanted was to go wake his parents up for help. Of course he wasn’t going to turn Cliff away - he’d protect Cliff however he could - but the lack of context was maddening.

At seven, Elliot’s alarm for work went off. He left Cliff asleep in his bed and crept downstairs where he usually ate breakfast with his mom and dad before heading to work at his dad’s auto shop for the day. It was Saturday, so they were only open in the morning. Elliot never missed a day of work and was extremely reliable, but knew today he’d have to let his dad down - but first he had to tell his parents what happened. His dad was already working on one of the plates of toast on the table and his mom was packing the two of them lunch.

“Good morning honey,” his mom, Rachel said. His dad Giovanni nodded at him around a sip of orange juice. Elliot swallowed nervously, hovering awkwardly instead of sitting down.

“I need to tell you guys something and I hope you’re not too mad,” he said. His parents’ faces immediately grew serious and Rachel wiped her hands off and sat at the table. They looked at him expectantly. Elliot took a deep breath. “You know my boyfriend Cliff? Well... last night, he showed up at our door. He was soaking wet and didn’t have anything with him and I don’t know what happened, but... he’s in my bedroom.”

“You boyfriend’s here? In this house?” Giovanni repeated incredulously. Elliot nodded.

“Is he okay?” Rachel asked.

Elliot shook his head. “I don’t know. I think not really. He has a fever and his breathing sounds bad. I know I should’ve told you last night but it was like three in the morning and, I don’t know. I should’ve come to get you. But I’m really worried about him.”

Rachel just nodded, and Elliot felt a rush of relief that neither parent seemed like they were about to lecture him. At least not yet. “It sounds like he’s sick,” she said, “I’ll go take a look at him.”

“Please,” Elliot said. His mom was a nurse, but more importantly she was a mom and he didn’t know what to do in this situation all by himself. “And um, I’m sorry dad but I don’t think I can come to work today.”

Giovanni stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Do what you need to do today, alright kiddo?” Elliot gave him a quick side hug and hurried upstairs with his mom. Cliff was right where Elliot had left him, huddled under several blankets and his noisy breathing audible from the moment they stepped closer.

Elliot crouched in front of the bed and shook Cliff’s shoulder. “Cliffy? Wake up. I want my mom to take a look at you.” Cliff felt even hotter under Elliot’s hand than before, causing a pang of panic to run through Elliot’s body.

Cliff blinked awake sleepily, calm until he noticed Elliot’s mom in the room. Then his face turned to one of fear and he shook his head no, pushing away from Elliot as if the other side of the bed provided far more distance than it did. “No no, Cliff, it’s okay. She’s really nice. I know you don’t like being touched by other people but I think you’re really sick. Please let her look at you. For me?”

It took a few long seconds, but Cliff eventually acquiesced and pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms were shaking with effort and Elliot wrapped an arm around him so he could lean for support. Rachel gave Cliff a gentle smile and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi Cliff, I’m Rachel,” she said in what Elliot knew to be her nurse voice. “Elliot’s told me so much about you. I’m really glad to meet you. You don’t look like you feel too good though right now, do you?”

Cliff didn’t confirm or deny, but clutched onto Elliot’s hand tightly. Rachel grabbed the thermometer from where Elliot had left it on the bedside table last night and held it up to Cliff. “Under your tongue please,” she said. Cliff obeyed. Elliot could feel him trembling. He watched as the number kept going up until it beeped and settled on a glowing 102.7. Rachel frowned and said, “I think we need to go to the doctor.”

It was as if something in Cliff snapped and his grip on Elliot became painfully tight. “No, no, no hospital,” he said. “I-I can’t go to the hospital. My dad - my dad’ll be mad. Please don’t make me.”

Elliot’s heart broke for Cliff. He knew Cliff’s parents weren’t very nice people, but this reaction seemed extreme. He remembered how Cliff had begged him not to go to the hospital when he had the flu, too. Rachel had a similar pitying expression on her face. “Cliff, honey, we need to make sure you’re okay. We can go to urgent care though, alright?”

Cliff settled down a little, but he still looked afraid. “Hear that Cliffy? Just urgent care. It’ll be super fast and your dad will never know.” It took several seconds, but finally Cliff nodded.

“You boys get ready to go and meet me downstairs,” Rachel told him, leaving them in the bedroom alone. Elliot sighed.

“Cliff... What happened?” He asked. It still felt the wrong time to question his boyfriend, but he felt like he needed to know before this went any further. This felt serious and he couldn’t keep running on speculation. He also doubted that Cliff would tell any doctor the whole story.

Cliff looked at him with exhausted, watery eyes. "I came out to my mom,” he said hoarsely. “It didn't go well."

"Did she hit you?" Elliot asked, feeling like his heart was in his throat. "Did she kick you out?"

"No," Cliff said quietly.

"Then why, in the middle of the night, in the rain...?"

Cliff shrugged. "I just had to get out of there," he said simply. "And I really needed you."

Elliot wanted to know more. He wanted to push Cliff to keep talking. But Cliff seemed so delicate and they really did need to get him to a doctor, so Elliot let it drop for now. “Well, you’ve got me baby. Let’s get you looked at and then we’ll be right back here in bed, okay?”

Getting Cliff to urgent care was like leading a child. He was sluggish and acted a little confused, which scared Elliot. His mom drove while Cliff laid in the backseat with his head in Elliot’s lap. Elliot helped him into the waiting room and then checked him in. The wait was thankfully not too bad, something Elliot was exceedingly grateful for as he listened to Cliff’s breathing become more labored. He had a cough that sounded wheezy and painful, and the secretary waved a mask at Elliot until Rachel grabbed it and helped Cliff put it on.

Cliff sat on the exam table once they were led to a room and had his vitals taken by a nurse. His temperature was 102.9 now and he was shivering. Elliot climbed onto the table next to him and let Cliff rest against him until the doctor came in. Cliff predictably clammed up when the doctor started asking questions, so Elliot explained that Cliff had spent the night in the rain and had asthma. The doctor listened to Cliff’s lungs and ordered a chest x-ray. “You said his temperature was low last night? Rebound hyperthermia can usually cause a fever afterwards, but a cough like this wouldn’t have shown up overnight. How long have you been sick, Cliff?”

“A while,” was the near whispered answer. Elliot squeezed Cliff’s forearm, urging him to elaborate. “Maybe three weeks.” Elliot felt his stomach drop. Cliff had been coughing for three weeks and his parents hadn’t said anything? His dad was a doctor for goodness sake.

The chest x-ray didn’t show pneumonia, the doctor said, but Cliff had definite bronchitis and needed to rest. He was prescribed a 4mg prednisone taper pack and a new inhaler, and then they were allowed to head home. By the time Rachel parked the car back at the house, Cliff’s face was a pasty white with a tinge of green. He stood up, then sat back down. "Dizzy?" Elliot asked. Cliff nodded minutely. "Okay. Just hold on to me and we'll walk really slow." Elliot supported Cliff into the house, wishing urgent care had given Cliff something for the fever while they were there.

It felt like a long way all the way back up to the second floor, but Elliot got Cliff into bed and tucked in before going to get some fresh water and something to eat for himself. His mom was waiting in the kitchen and said, “Okay, let’s talk honey. What’s going on here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know that much,” Elliot said tiredly, sitting at the table heavily. The half-night’s sleep and worry was getting to him. “Cliff said he came out to his mom and it didn’t go well and... I think they were abusive growing up. He’s really scared of them.”

Rachel looked sad and gave Elliot a hug. “Well, it seems like he trusts you more than anyone. Just let us know what we can do and we’ll do it,” she said. “He can stay here until school starts and then you guys can go back together.” Elliot hugged her back, so grateful that he had the parents he had and not Cliff’s.

“Thanks mom,” he said, unable to help tears from filling his eyes. School would start in two weeks. It wasn’t that long.

Elliot ate his now cold toast from earlier and then went back upstairs, expecting to find Cliff in bed. Instead he followed the sound of retching into the bathroom, where he found Cliff kneeling over the toilet seat throwing up quite violently. Elliot winced, glad he hadn’t given Cliff his steroid from the doctor yet. “Oh Cliff,” he sighed sadly, sitting next to him and rubbing Cliff’s back.

“This is gross, go away,” Cliff groaned, weakly trying to shrug him off. Another wave of vomit caused him to launch back over the toilet seat.

“It’s fine,” Elliot said. “You sat with me when I threw up, remember?”

“That was different, we were drunk,” Cliff managed to choke out. He coughed into the bowl, the water making the sound echo a little. He slumped forward, resting his forehead on the edge of the toilet miserably. “Everything’s spinning.”

Elliot wet a washcloth and rubbed it against Cliff’s hot, sweaty neck. Cliff shivered. “I’m right here,” Elliot said evenly. “Take your time.”

It was about five more minutes of Cliff intermittently gagging until Elliot was sure he had nothing left in him and pulled Cliff into his lap. He wiped the rest of Cliff’s face off, and his hands which had some of the puke on them. “Bed?”

“Don’t wanna throw up on you,” Cliff mumbled.

“There’s a trash can. You need to lie down and take your meds.” Elliot helped Cliff stand up, which proved to require some core strength with how heavily Cliff leant on him. They hobbled back to Elliot’s bedroom where Cliff collapsed onto the mattress, panting heavily. Elliot popped out the first doses of prednisone and two Tylenol into his hand and held them out to Cliff. “You’re supposed to eat with these...” He said, “Do you think you can - no, didn’t think so,” he didn’t finish the question when Cliff interrupted him with a loud whimper. “Okay, let’s just hope for the best.”

Cliff took the pills and his new inhaler, mumbling a weak, “Thanks.”

Elliot climbed into bed next to him and spooned Cliff protectively. “Thank you for going to the doctor,” he said. “Now you can rest.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elliot had never heard someone cough the way Cliff had been coughing and he was extremely worried. In the week since Cliff had shown up unannounced, he’d been weak but after that first full weekend in bed his fever broke and he seemed a little better. He had been eating again and had become less painfully shy with Elliot’s parents. Elliot went to work with his dad the following week and Cliff seemed sick, but well enough to insist on helping out with the chores around the house. Rachel said he was a very good assistant.

Cliff told Elliot a bit about his internship this summer and one afternoon they even drove to get Cliff’s college stuff from his parents’ house at a time when Cliff was sure nobody would be home. There was no incident doing this and Cliff seemed like he was on the mend. It seemed as if their final week of summer vacation was going to be actually spent together having a little fun. Elliot’s father planned to release him from work for the season so he could spend the last week before school started getting ready and relaxing a bit. Elliot thought about all his favorite places that maybe he could bring Cliff, like his favorite state park.

That cough just wouldn’t go away though, especially at night. By the end of the week, Cliff's cough had grown much deeper and he seemed like he was in pain every time he did so. It was just the cough and a low grade fever though, so Elliot still hoped it would go away. That hope was shattered when he came home after work on Saturday at noon to find his boyfriend sitting up in bed, struggling to breathe. Cliff was clutching a fist to his chest and his face was contorted in pain. When he looked up at Elliot his eyes were glassy and unseeing.

“Cliff!” Elliot exclaimed in shock. Cliff had seemed mostly fine when he’d left this morning, what had changed? He pressed a hand to Cliff’s forehead and was able to feel a searing heat in the second before Cliff jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” Cliff gasped. He looked angry, and Elliot felt hurt until Cliff added, “I’ll be good, I can go to school. Don’t call dad.”

“Cliffy, it’s me, Elliot,” Elliot said slowly, climbing onto the bed and holding his hands up when Cliff shuddered away from him. “Your mom and dad aren’t here. It’s just us.”

Cliff looked at Elliot suspiciously, his breathing labored. Elliot could hear that asthmatic wheeze back in his breath, but worse than that a deep, hollowed out noise underneath. “It’s just us,” Elliot repeated. “I promised you I’d never put my hands on you to hurt you, remember?”

It took a while, but finally Cliff nodded hesitantly, like he couldn’t quite trust that memory was real. “I don’t wanna go to school,” he mumbled. “M’tired.”

“Okay, that’s okay, no school,” Elliot reassured him. “Can we take your temperature?” Elliot slid the small instrument under Cliff’s tongue waiting anxiously for a reading. 103.2. Shit. Cliff had barely had a fever the past few days, mostly just a low one at night. Now it was noon and it was higher than ever. This didn’t seem right. Cliff whimpered in pain and wrapped his arms around himself. “What hurts?” Elliot asked.

“Chest,” Cliff said. It made a chill go down Elliot’s body. That was it. There was no begging it off this time, Cliff needed to go to the hospital. The question was how to get him there, because Elliot knew the second the word hospital was mentioned that Cliff would freak out. He racked his brain for a solution. They were the only ones home right now.

Cliff shivered and coughed that horrible deep cough that made Elliot’s stomach twist in pain. He knew Cliff might never trust him again if he did this, but he felt like he had no other choice. Cliff really needed help and he didn’t think urgent care was going to cut it this time. He made his decision. “Alright Cliff, my sweet guy,” he said. “I know you don't feel so good but we gotta go out for a bit.”

“Huh? Where?” Cliff asked suspiciously.

Elliot tried to keep an innocent expression. “Just out. Just for a bit. I need you with me though, can you do that for me?”

Elliot held his breath waiting for Cliff to answer, but finally Cliff nodded and said, “For you.” Elliot pushed down the guilt he was feeling and forced a smile at Cliff.

“You're the best,” Elliot forced himself to say with fake cheer. He coaxed Cliff into the car and drove well over the speed limit to the emergency room. He kept one eye on Cliff, anxious to get someone with medical knowledge to listen to that horrible cough that left Cliff gasping. Cliff seemed too out of it to notice when they pulled into the ER parking lot and Elliot took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable fight Cliff would eventually put up.

“Cliff?”

“Hmm?” Cliff's eyes were closed, his face disturbingly pale and his chest heaving with the work of breathing. Elliot grit his teeth and forced himself to be truthful.

“We're at the hospital. I need you to get seen by a doctor.” Cliff’s eyes opened and immediately Elliot could see a mix of pain, fear and betrayal. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world right now.

“You said we weren't going to the hospital,” Cliff’s voice wobbled. His eyes blurred with tears. “No way, I’m walking home,” he said.

Elliot, knowing Cliff had literally made his way here all the way from Newark last week, was afraid he actually would and grabbed Cliff's wrist. “Baby, please, listen to me. Cliff. You're so sick. I don't know what to do. Just let a doctor see you, we're not even in the city, your dad won't know.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Cliff said desperately, attempting to tug his arm away but Elliot didn't let go. Cliff was too weak to shake him off. “All I do is cause problems for them. I can’t.”

Elliot leaned forward so he was as close to Cliff as possible, his expression and tone begging. “Please Cliff. I’m going to protect you, but just come in with me. I’m scared. For me, please? If nothing else, for me?”

Elliot didn't think it was going to work. He physically slumped in relief when Cliff stopped pulling away and said, “Okay. For you, just this once.”

“Thank you,” Elliot gushed earnestly, squeezing Cliff's hand. “I love you, Cliff.”

“I love you too,” Cliff said, looking at Elliot with watery, exhausted eyes.

Elliot blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting the first I Love You to come right now, or anywhere close to right now when he had just tricked and then pressured Cliff into going to the one place he was most afraid of. “You do?” He said, his voice high pitched.

Cliff nodded. “I do,” he said hoarsely. He was mostly looking at his lap but gave Elliot a sideways glance.

“Oh,” Elliot said. “Thanks, Cliff.” He wasn't sure what else to say, but Cliff looked embarrassed and was definitely clamming up, so he added, “That makes me happy. And I'm really grateful you trust me enough to get checked out. I’ll be right there the whole time.”

“Okay,” Cliff said. Another harsh coughing fit overtook him that lasted so long that by the end of it, tears were streaming down his face. He breathed sharply through his nose, trying to catch his breath. “Can't breathe, El.”

“I know. That's why we're here baby,” Elliot said worriedly. “Let's go in now.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?”

“I promise,” Elliot swore. “I’ve got you, Cliff.”

[Part 3]

#shionwrites #oc: cliff #oc: elliot #sickfic #whump #sicknario #fever whump #illness whump #sick whump #male whump #emeto #TW: emeto #novemetober rescheduled #novemetober 2023 #bad things happen bingo #hurt/comfort #angst

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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 3 months

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Crazy, Stupid, Love

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: When Dean has to work at a café to learn infos on a hunt, he thinks it's the worst. Until he meets her. At first, she's only kind of an annoying coworker. But an unfortunate event brings them closer, and Dean starts feeling things for her. If it's love, he doesn't know. But for the first time, he starts wondering how it would feel to have a normal life. A normal job. And a normal relationship. But first, he needs to get her revenge against that shitty boss.

Note: this happens in the begining of season one

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Content Warning: Toxic work place, rude customer, humiliation, bullying, swearing

Squares: Humiliation for @hurtcomfort-bingo,/ Revenge for @jacklesversebingo

A/n: I'm gonna be honest, at first, I didn't want to post this fic. When I saw the attention the last few fics I took so much time to write got, it made me sad... But then I remembered how much fun I had with this one, so decided to post it in case someone else has the same fun reading it. ALSO! This was for @eevvvaa writing challenge! I picked the movie Crazy Stupid Love but actually used the quotes! They will be in bold in the text. Happy reading!

Usually, this situation would have upset him. After all, he was stuck here 8 hours per day, 5 days per week and always finished too late to go to the nearest bar afterwards. It also wasn’t the best first real job to have, as it was lame, boring, and always the same thing. But working at a café also had its advantages.

Like the beautiful barista that he had the chance to see on his first day. She was leaving, as she was only working mornings, and he was working evenings, but Dean couldn’t detach his eyes from her. Beautiful body, hair immaculate even after 8 hours of wearing a net, skin tanned to perfection.

“Oh great, another one.”

That wasn’t the girl he was talking about. No, the girl that just spoke was Y/n. At first glance, she looked like the manager. With the most seniority in here, she knew how things were done and how to do them quickly. But she was no boss. To make her agree to be his trainer and show him the basics, the real boss had to insist a lot. He didn’t know all the details, though, but she ended up accepting.

It was for a hunt. Otherwise, Dean would never be here. Sam said there was something weird in the neighborhood, and that the best way to discover what was going on was to talk with the community. And the best place to have conversations with people that didn’t want to talk with the police was of course at the local café. All the rumors and crispy details of the town were floating in there. The reason why it wasn’t Sam doing the whole barista thing was as simple as upsetting.

“Dean, you have all the charm. People- ladies- will open up to you like blooming flowers in the spring.”

Ugh.

Back to the present, Dean ignored Y/n’s comment and tilted his head to the side, still eyeing the morning employee that was leaving. “What do I have to do to get on the morning shift?”

A groan of annoyance resonated behind him. His smile fell. He was stuck with her for a while, as they were both working evening shifts.

Alone together.

There were 60 seconds in one minute. And 60 minutes in one hour. A shift lasted 8 hours here. That was way too many seconds to spend doing nothing but wait to leave.

All that was in his head was the hot chick he kept seeing since he started working here. After only bumping into her these past 2 weeks, Dean finally decided to ask her on a date. And since he was Dean Winchester, no one could tell him no. And the same day, after his shift, he would meet her in front of the pizza place that was two blocks away.

And he couldn’t stop looking at the clock, head in his hand, hoping that staring at it would make the time go faster.

“I asked for a hot caramel latte with almond milk and no foam, what the hell is this?!”

It was near the end. In 15 minutes, the shop would be closed and then it was cleaning time. Weeping the floor, throwing away the remaining food that was not sold, washing the dishes, etc. That was always his favorite part, because even if Y/n was a pain in the ass as his supervisor, she was chill and allowed him to choose the radio station while they cleaned and he could leave once his part was done.

At first, the voice didn’t alert him, and Dean kept on making himself busy with cleaning tables that didn’t need it. But then, something broke, the sound heavy of meaning, and he was on alert. Every fiber of his body was on and he turned to the source of the sound.

Right at the counter, there was a man with his back to him. Without seeing his face, Dean knew he was angry. Pissed, even. At his feet, a broken cup, porcelain in pieces covered the floor soaked in coffee. Two steps allowed Dean to know what the man was looking at, and when he saw her…

He immediately rushed without thinking.

“I’m gonna ask you to leave, sir,” Dean put his hand on the customer’s shoulder, which made him jump. The man turned to him and aggressively stepped back.

“Don’t touch me,” the man hissed. “You’re working here, huh?” He looked up and down at Dean, noticing the apron of the café he was wearing. “Must be the manager here. Well, your employee here is worthless, you should be careful who you hire, for fuck sake!”

At that, Dean couldn’t help but wince. That was unnecessary rude to say. He glanced at Y/n again and felt his heartbeat with pain. Her head was down, probably to hide tears. That was probably not the first time she had to serve asshole customers, but it was the first time Dean noticed it. Working in customer service was not easy at all, you had to be strong to endure all of that everyday.

He only knew Y/n for about two weeks, but he already knew a lot about her. She was calm. Kind. She cared about doing her job right. Yeah, she was a bit bossy and used every opportunity to send subtle little insults towards Dean just enough to annoy him, like how he couldn’t even do a coffee, in this economy? But it was never mean and he liked that side of her that didn’t let people step on her toes. But right now, in front of that man? She was small. She wanted to hide. It wasn’t the Y/n he knew.

“I’m not the boss,” Dean answered finally, placing his gaze back on the man. “But we’re closed, so I’m gonna ask you to leave.”

The rude customer was the last one in the café, so it wasn’t like he was breaking any rules. And he was Dean Winchester. He made the rules.

Red seemed to eat at the man’s face so much he was angry. “Not before I get what I fucking paid for!” He started yelling. Dean didn’t mind being screamed at, he was used to it with his dad, how sad it sounded. But when the man turned to Y/n to yell at her, Dean couldn’t hold himself back. “You useless cunt!”

“I said, out!” Dean grabbed the customer by the neck and quickly sent him backwards. His legs met the table right behind him, but it wasn’t enough to make him understand. The man lunged forward in an attempt to hit Dean, but he didn’t know.

Dean was waiting for it.

The fist missed, and the man stumbled into the void and collapsed on the floor like a clown.

“This isn’t over,” the man growled and got up. Sure he would strike again, Dean was ready to fight. But this time, the fist didn’t miss. The pain came later, a few seconds after the hunter realized he got hit in the face. Fortunately for his ego, Dean managed to stay on his feet and not fall pathetically on the floor.

He reached for the wound.

It was right near his left eye, it would bruise for sure.

With deadly flames in his green eyes, he looked at his target.

“Oh, you’re dead.”

The rest happened quickly.

Dean decided he wouldn’t hold back anymore. As his head throbbed with ache and anger, he was about to hit with everything he got. But at the last moment, something interrupted him. A body, warm, soft, encircling his own, stopped him from moving.

“Please stop…”

Her voice woke him up completely. Shaking, she put herself between the two men to stop the fight even if she was scared.

The man took the opportunity to run away, the bell chiming behind him as the door closed violently.

A long silence followed the departure of the aggressive customer. A couple of seconds passed, then minutes, before she realized there was no silence actually. Things were happening around her, words were spoken, and the only person besides her was running around locking doors and closing blinds, cursing every word he could think of at the moment.

Her hearing was nothing but a shrill sound, almost painful, like she was deaf. It took another minute and him calling her name for her to come back to the present.

"You okay? He didn't hurt you?" Dean was kneeling in front of her. She finally noticed she was sitting down on a chair. Shaking her head, she tapped her hands in her face to finish waking herself up from her slumber.

"You're hurt and you ask me if I'm okay?" She stood up as she spoke, Dean doing the same. Then she seemed to disappear in the backstore to come back with a bag of frozen vegetables they used for the soup. "Sit down," she instructed.

Dean would have been impressed by her capacity to focus after such an event, especially with how she was a couple of seconds ago, but he knew better. She wouldn't meet his gaze, her head was down, and when he glanced at her hands, it was to see them shake.

"Y/n-"

"Oh, come on, sit down, your masculinity won't suffer too much, I just want to check," she rolled her eyes and almost pushed him to the chair. Dean let himself be moved around with a smirk. That was the Y/n he knew. "There, it's not that bad, huh?"

"It's no big deal," he tried to convince her, after all, as a hunter, he got hurt more than once before and healed perfectly fine. But when he saw her, he understood. And he let himself be checked by her only for her. To reassure her it was nothing, it was fine, it would bruise into a black eye and nothing else.

"Okay, it's not that bad," she sighed in relief as she said that.

"Told you," Dean snickered with a smile. "Ouch!"

The frozen bag was now on his bruise and Y/n was turning her back to him. His first instinct was to ask her if she was okay, check on her, after all, she seemed pretty shaken up, but he knew she needed time, that was all.

"We should call the police," Dean ended up saying. Usually, he would never propose that, but the customer was human. A monster in some sort, but completely human, so the police could take care of it.

"No!" She turned harshly towards Dean, surprising him.

"Why not?"

Pacing back and forth, Y/n seemed to get lost in her thoughts. "It's not necessary, I doubt the customer will come back, and it would put the cafe in a bad spot, we would lose customers and…"

Again, Dean knew. Y/n was a good employee, she loved doing her job right, but she hated the place, hated the menu and the disgusting coffee served here, and hated the management. But they were the ones giving her her salary at the end of the month, so she couldn't disappoint them.

"I can deal with the boss," Dean said, standing up, the bag still on his eye.

In front of him, Y/n sadly shook her head. "It won't be necessary." She pointed at one corner of the cafe. Then another. "There's cameras around, and he loves to watch. Loves to tell us everything we do wrong. He probably already knows it happened. We'll see tomorrow, I guess," she sighed. Then, like a thought crossed through her head, she lifted her head completely and crossed gaze with Dean. "Your date! You're gonna be late!"

Dean wanted to laugh. So badly. Of course, he talked to her about it. Kristina, their coworker from the morning shift and Dean's date, was waiting for him. But after what happened, it completely got out of his head. Smiling, he shook his head and placed the bag of defrosting vegetables on the table beside him.

"I'll call her, say something came up. She'll understand."

Y/n cringed, biting her lips and frowning. "I don't think she cares enough to understand. But you're cute and sexy so maybe she'll forgive your ass."

Immediately after saying those words, Y/n became a puddle of embarrassment. Her body flushed with the realization of what she just admitted.

"Really?" Dean would not let that go. "You think I'm the perfect combination of sexy and cute ?"

"Shut up," she murmured between her teeth, grabbing the nearest thing, the cloth he was using to clean the tables, to throw it at him. "Get out of here your shift is over."

"Yeah," Dean surprised himself by what he said next. "But I won't let you walk back home alone. Consider me your cute and sexy bodyguard," he laughed at her reaction, but it was nothing compared to the sound leaving his mouth when he received another cloth on the head. "Hey, this one was wet"

"Oops!"

The next day started pretty badly. After a complicated night with barely any sleep and lots of nightmares, Y/n got up early to get ready. Even if her shift started at 3pm, she knew the phone would ring and the ruthless voice of her boss would order her to come in to talk.

About what happened.

It was not even noon when it happened. She was at her third coffee, so she had energy even if she felt dead inside. Since she was already dressed, all she had to do was grab her stuff and head to the cafe. Like usual, she had to walk since she didn't have enough savings to buy a car.

The weather was quite nice, compared to how gloomy she was feeling. It was warm and sunny outside. Y/n barely made a step out, locking her door, that a loud engine startled her. The sun was reflecting strongly on the hood, blinding her as she walked with caution towards it, and for a moment she thought maybe it was the customer that found her and came to finish what he started. Fortunately she recognized the car quickly, as it was the same car that drove her home last night.

A 67 chevy impala.

It was even more beautiful than when she saw it yesterday.

The drive to the cafe was quiet, apart from the chichats. How are you? Do you feel better? So, did he call you too? Usually, Y/n would have commented on something random just to annoy Dean, but when he turned his head towards her at a red light to ask her a question, she saw the bruise around his eyes, reminding her of the night before and how everything was her fault. If only she hadn't messed up the order…

Once parked in front of the cafe, Dean stopped the engine to turn to Y/n. "Hey," he said in a calm and steady voice. "Whatever happens there, it was neither our fault."

"I appreciate it, Dean, but it was. I was in charge, even though I told the boss more than once that I didn't want to be, so what happens on my shift is my fault." Without leaving him time to answer, she opened the door and left the car to enter the cafe.

The moment she stepped inside, a loud silence echoed around her. Every employee stopped chatting to stare at her, the customers mimicking their actions, wondering what was so much more interesting than getting their order right and fast.

Y/n hated that. The attention. The eyes on her. The silence. Her body started shaking, both with anger and humiliation, the tears almost painful to hold back. But then, as she was about to step towards the boss' office, a warmth settled on her shoulder, stopping the tremors at once. And a voice she was starting to grow fond of whispered near her ear.

"Ignore them. They don't matter right now."

With Dean, she felt safe. Strong. Like she could do everything and never feel afraid anymore. That was until they were sitting in the office in front of the boss.

“Y/n, I am wildly disappointed with you. What you did was beyond unprofessional, and I can’t believe I have to do this. You’re suspended.”

It was nothing less than what she expected from her boss. Since working there, she had done everything to stay in his good graces, sometimes doing other people's jobs to compensate. Everything to keep the restaurant clean and to continue serving fresh food every day. It wasn't Kristina who would write down expiration dates on perishable products, or place the new arrival of breads behind the ones already there to prevent the oldest ones from remaining at the bottom of the shelf, covered in mold. If this place passed the health inspection every year, it was thanks to Y/n’s efforts, efforts that no one had ever noticed or considered.

It was probably better that way.

Head bowed, Y/n took a harsh breath and opened her mouth to apologize and admit her boss was right. However, the words could not come out of her mouth fast enough, because someone else was already speaking.

“This is bullshit,” Dean exclaimed. A quick glance in his direction, and Y/n could see his hands forming fists on his thighs. “Y/n did everything perfectly, it’s not her fault if customers don’t respect anything, not even themselves!”

“Dean, I think you're new here,” the boss replied with a calmness that didn't mean anything good. Y/n tried to draw Dean's attention to her to signal him to shut up, that it was nothing, that she could survive a week suspended, but the young man paid her no mind. And one look at his face showed her the same anger she had seen in him the previous evening, when he had decided to defend himself against the customer. “I watched the surveillance cameras carefully. Your reactions with this client, although undoubtedly intended to be heroic, were completely unacceptable. The next time you make a mistake, you will suffer the same fate as Y/n. For now, take your day, see you on Monday, Dean.”

"That's all?!" This time, Dean stood up as he spoke. “Y/n gets suspended, and I only get a warning and a day off? What the f-”

“Thank you,” Y/n quickly cut him off, grabbing his arm firmly to silence him. Strangely, like the day before, her intervention seemed to calm Dean down very quickly. “See you next week.”

As she was about to leave, her hand still holding Dean's wrist to drag him out of the office, a voice called out to her.

"Two weeks. See you in two weeks.”

It took a lot of control for her to say nothing. The inside of her cheek hurt from how hard she bit it, dragging Dean out of the office and then out of the restaurant. It was only once outside, far from prying ears and vulture eyes, that she was finally able to breathe.

“FUCKING BULLSHIT! FUCK YOU!” Suddenly came out of her mouth. If Dean still had any anger at that moment, it suddenly vanished when he heard so many curses coming out with so much anger from the usually calm Y/n. “Oh. It feels better."

Having never seen her like this, it took several seconds for Dean to compose himself. Large green eyes were fixed on her, wide, shocked, even, until a good hit on the arm woke him up completely. "Ouch!" He rubbed his arm as if it hurt even though her fist had barely tickled him.

“What the fuck was that, seriously?! Talk to the boss like that? You’re born stupid or you’re just too dumb to think, fuck, Dean!”

Still as surprised and shocked, Dean didn't respond immediately. Y/n was angry. More, even. Beyond pissed. Which was completely normal under the circumstances, except Y/n wasn't normally angry. She could get upset, complain about the system, the management, the customers, or how she was the only one doing all the little things that made the café special and comfortable, but she was never angry.

“I couldn’t let him talk to you that way, I just couldn’t,” Dean explained calmly. It was quite rare for him to be the calm one in a heated argument. But in this case, he knew he had to keep his own rage to himself, she didn't need more anger. She needed to speak, to expel this emotion out of her like a demon that needed to be exorcized.

“Well, that was fucking stupid,” she pointed at him, her gaze meeting his. This surprised him again. Y/n was shy, although she was a good leader, and he noticed she had trouble looking people in the eye for several seconds. She always ended up looking away, and he knew it wasn't because she was dishonest, but rather that she was afraid of the judgment in the eyes of others. So that she was yelling at him while staring right at him… That surprised Dean again and made him speechless.

For a few seconds, he forgot that he was being told off by a girl for defending her, and lost himself in the contemplation of her magnificent orbs. Since he had known her, he had never really seen them, or bothered to look at them.

And her eyes were beautiful, even filled with anger.

Probably noticing the eye contact was getting considerably long, Y/n finally broke the almost trance-like effect to gaze elsewhere.

“Have you had it long?”

She was still not looking at him. "What?"

“The uncontrollable need to save the damsel in distress.” The corner of her lips lifted up in a smirk.

“I-” He couldn’t tell her that this was actually his life. Saving the woman and the orphan, killing the monsters, it was so ingrained in his life that it was part of him.

“Come on,” she muttered, still not meeting his gaze, gesturing to him to follow her.

"Come on… Where?" It was the longest conversation he'd had with her, and it was only because she was angry, he remembered. He was here for a hunt, he had to learn more about the people of the town. Concentration and focus were required, but yet... This side of Y/n, her confidence, how she wasn't afraid to yell at him like that, when she was normally so gentle...

He liked that side of her. Not that he disliked the rest, it was just-

“I think you have tonight off, and I, well, the next two weeks.” Starting to walk towards the impala, she then stopped and turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him. “I’m going to help you rediscover your manhood. Do you have any idea where you could have lost it?”

A big smile stretched Dean's lips. This was the Y/n he knew. “Probably over there,” he pointed to the horizon. “Near the pizzeria. You hungry?”

The pizza was the most delicious thing that had passed Y/n's lips in a long time. Very greasy and dripping with cheese, the junk food was simply good after such a catastrophic day. And sharing this moment with his colleague, accomplice, even, and perhaps friend- if he wanted to- was the icing on the cake.

Her heart always beat a beat and a half faster when he was near her. And although she tried not to like him, not to get attached to what was clearly a bad boy who preferred girls like Kristina, who just hung out with her because he had free time… She simply couldn't deny it anymore. What her heart desired was starting to win over what reason screamed at her.

Don't fall in love.

And yet, as that evening at the pizzeria after her suspension turned into an almost daily routine, her heart prevailed. The crush she immediately had for the young man with emerald eyes and cheeks covered in a milky way of little freckles was slowly transforming into something deeper.

A week had passed since her suspension, it was Saturday again, and as usual, Y/n and Dean found themselves at the pizzeria. The owner himself now came to take their order, even though he already knew what the two wanted since they always ordered the same thing. Everything was going exactly as usual, Dean recounting his day at work, how slowly everything was going downhill without her.

“I worked with a new guy, and son of a bitch, I’ve never seen someone take their time so much. It’s like he did it on purpose,” Dean sipped his drink. Y/n’s gaze followed the movement of the Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed. She was barely concentrating on what he was saying. “We had two complaints that the sandwich bread had mold, but the person in the kitchen didn't get in trouble for it. It’s like the boss knows that no matter the wait time, the quality of the food, or the attitude of the employees, the cafe will always make money since it’s the only one in town,” Dean let out a little laugh which only spread the butterflies in Y/n’s stomach. “Let me tell you that over the past week, some regulars have stopped coming. Oh, and many have asked where you’ve been.”

“It’s not surprising,” she finally answered after a few seconds of silence where only the chewing of Dean devouring his pizza could be heard. On the table, near the windows, the dessert was already there, two slices of pie that the owner had reserved for them knowing they were coming. Her gaze fell on the dessert as she spoke although she really wanted to look him in the eyes. Admiring the perfect color of his orbs, admiring how everything was perfect about him. It was so difficult. “What’s surprising is that the health inspection hasn’t closed this place yet.”

These words hung in the air for a moment, accompanied by silence. Finally glancing over at Dean, she found that he had stopped eating mid-bite, staring blankly at her. It was almost as if Y/n could see the gears moving in his mind.

“Yet.” That was all he said next, taking the time to finish his bite before continuing. "I have an idea."

“I could figure that much,” she laughed as she took her drink, anything to occupy her hands and look normal in his presence. Luckily he couldn't hear her heart thumping against her ribcage.

“We're going to avenge you,” he pointed ahead, at her, and that was enough for her eyes to move from his finger to his eyes. She managed to hold his gaze for several long seconds which seemed to her like hours of torture. "You'll see."

"See what? Oh, how cute,” a voice broke the bubble Y/n and Dean were in. She hadn't heard that voice in a week, and it had been the best thing her suspension had given her, except for all the time she'd spent with Dean since.

“Kristina,” Y/n muttered under her breath, her eyes immediately going to her pizza. A weight seemed to settle on her chest, pressing down hard with its gigantic pressure.

“Hey,” Dean greeted her, and the pressure thumped harder against her heart. “How you doing, Kristina?”

His tone was kind. Friendly. Sweet. Just like he was with Y/n. But with a bonus, he was flirty.

Obviously.

She was not special.

“Oh, I'm doing well, much better,” she laughed. “Especially since Y/n isn’t at the café anymore. No one is ordering us around anymore, right, Dean?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n could see movement. Raising her head just enough to have her in her sight without looking directly at her, she could see her hand on Dean's shoulder. Besides, she wasn't alone. Two other girls from the cafe were standing with her. Without looking at them, Y/n knew. She felt their gaze on her, burning, like vultures around prey.

“I actually liked working with Y/n,” Dean replied as calmly as ever. His words created a spark of hope in Y/n who this time looked directly at Dean. “It’s not as fun without her,” he continued.

“Oh,” Kristina laughed, and her two henchmen followed suit. “I know you want to stay in her good graces by saying all this,” she leaned towards him to whisper in his ear, but made no effort to lower her voice. “But you don’t need to. I think she's going to get fired. The customer came back to file a complaint against her.”

"What?" Dean leaned back slightly to get a better look at Kristina. Now he had his face so close to hers that only one movement was necessary to kiss her. And he had a perfect view into her cleavage. “But…” He turned his head towards the girl sitting in front of him, obviously not understanding why she was being fired and not him.

“You don’t have to lick her boots anymore,” Kristina put a hand on her hip. “I know she’s in love with you, but at this point, it’s pity, right? Spending time with her… Poor little thing. No friends. No boyfriend. Only feelings for those who don’t love her. Just like last time, always falling for the new guy.”

Her face was burning. Y/n was seething, with anger, with sadness, with humiliation. And the worst, the worst was Dean's expression. His gaze, which he constantly fixed on her, seeking to meet her gaze, wanting so much for her to grant him one look, was now stuck in emptiness. And a look of pure confusion made him frown.

Dean refused to look at her anymore.

It was too much.

“Ew, friends to friends,” Kristina added, as if the stabs she had already thrown didn’t hurt enough already. “Ew.”

Standing abruptly, Y/n slammed her hands on the table. Head bowed, her hair cascaded in front of her face, trying as best as they could to hide the tears that welled up in her eyes and inevitably rolled down her cheeks. A ton of insults raced through her mind, but they all got stuck in her throat with this lump growing and growing, until finally, the tears flowed.

One.

Two.

One fell silently onto the table. The other, on her plate, right next to the barely eaten slice of pizza.

Before the third tear fell, Y/n was already out of the restaurant and walking as quickly as she could towards her house. The tears continued to flow without her being able to stop them, but she remained silent. If she could control one thing tonight, it would be her voice. No sound would come out of her mouth until she was alone, at home, in her bed. Only there, she would let herself scream all this pain into her pillow.

No one tried to catch her.

“Good news,” Sam announced before his brother had even closed the door. “Get this. There was no monster from the beginning. It was actually kids who created the whole thing to attract attention. You don’t have to play barista anymore.”

"Oh."

Looking up from his laptop, Sam fixed his gaze on Dean. The door closed slowly and he took off his coat just as slowly and placed it on his bed. The motel was shabby, like all the others, and usually, Dean would never place his precious leather coat on those blankets which he called "the most disgusting object the universe has known." He'd cleaned the covers several times to be sure, but the comforter had kept this unnatural color, so he still didn't trust it.

“Dean.”

“I'm going to take a shower,” his brother grumbled as he headed towards the bathroom, completely ignoring what Sam had just said.

“Okay, but-” the door slammed. “Okay.”

Sam waited for Dean to finish his shower for almost an hour. The only reason Dean Winchester would take such a long shower would be the fantastic water pressure, but having used this bathroom for over 3 weeks, Sam knew that really wasn't the case.

Finally, Dean came out.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Sam closed his laptop to put his full attention on his brother. The latter sat at the end of his bed, dressed with fresh clothes, his towel on his shoulder to catch the droplets falling from his hair.

“Have you ever dreamed of a normal life?” Dean answered his question with another question. At this, Sam rolled his eyes.

“I had a normal life before, remember? Before you picked me up to find Dad?”

Dean made a sound that was a mix of a sigh of guilt and a grunt of frustration, probably directed at himself. "I know but…"

“I can't believe it,” Sam stood up at the revelation. “You like working there.”

“Nah,” Dean slapped the air like he was chasing away the stupid idea. “Actually, yeah, but not anymore. Working in customer service is horrible.”

“I feel like there's a but,” Sam went to sit next to his brother on the bed.

“But,” Dean took a deep breath. "There is a girl."

Sam sighed. Obviously it was about a girl. “Have you slept with her yet? Because if you want to stay here for a one night stand, I swear-”

“She’s in love with me.”

Sam turned his whole body towards his brother, his eyes wide. "Oh."

"Oh."

“Do you like her back?”

At this question, Dean's face disappeared under his large hands. “I don’t know,” his voice sounded muffled by his palms.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

"I don't know!" Dean exclaimed, removing his hands at the same time. It was his turn to avoid looking at someone, staring at the void instead. “I don’t know what it is to love. How to love. If it’s love. It was never explained to me, you know, it wasn’t dad who would tell me how to know if I love someone.”

A silence followed his words, but not for long.

“With Jess…” Sam began slowly, as if the words he was about to say were poisonous snakes that could bite him at any moment. “It was simple. I felt good with her. She felt good with me. And together, we were good.”

“Okay,” Dean listened intently, as if the answers he was looking for were on his brother's lips.

“Do you like spending time with her?” He then asked.

Dean didn't even think for a second. "Oh yeah."

“When you're not with her, what do you do? You think about her, right?”

This time, Dean took a moment before answering. “Well, I worked at the cafe, so obviously I was thinking about her, since she wasn’t there but she used to. And then, when I finished work, I would go see her and we would order food or go to the pizzeria.”

“Okay, and then?”

"And then what?" Dean finally looked his brother in the eye. He still had questions, still doubts, confusion, but that was completely normal. A soft, understanding smile stretched Sam's lips.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

“Oh, how I want to punch that shitty boss in the face,” Dean clenched his fist to mimic his words. “I never hit women, but that girl, Kristina, humiliated Y/n terribly earlier. And I reacted too late, she was gone and-”

He stopped speaking suddenly, as if enlightenment had finally reached his mind.

"And?"

“I have to join Y/n, apologize, I-”

“Dean.”

Stopping just as he was getting up and putting his coat back on, the green eyed man turned to his brother.

“If you're in love, I can't tell you, Dean. But I can confirm that you like her. But for tonight, let her breathe, these feelings are new for the both of you.”

At these words, Dean collapsed on the bed. “Oh, you’re probably right. I don't want to rush her, you know, she's so shy, but at the same time, so... Fierce. She's the perfect balance of sweet and spicy. And I let her down.”

To that, Sam didn't know what to answer. He knew that feeling, the one of having abandoned the person you love. That's how he felt ever since he lost Jess.

“I'm sure you'll figure out how to make amends,” Sam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Actually… I think I already know,” Dean turned his head towards him, green eyes meeting amber ones. Green eyes sparkling with a new resolution, probably very wicked. ��And you, my dear brother, will be able to help me.”

Turned out, losing another employee during the busiest time of the year was a sufficient reason to terminate a suspension preemptively. And although, clearly, this did not seem to make certain employees happy and even less the boss who hated coming back on his decisions, Y/n was able to return to work after barely a week of forced leave. And also, strangely, the customer’s complaint seemed to have vanished from existence. Or maybe it was another lie that Kristina came up with to hurt Y/n.

And what a surprise when she arrived and saw the place.

It was depressing. Everything was messy and upside down, unopened boxes that needed to be refrigerated were lying around everywhere, and other products that needed to stay at room temperature, like syrups, ended up in the freezer. No rotation had been made, and it was with sadness that she had to note all the food they lost and throw everything away. It took her a long time, long enough for someone she despised to come and tell her how to do her job.

"What are you doing? Customers are waiting! Have you forgotten how to work?”

After making this more than derogatory comment, Kristina returned to her favorite position, the one that required the least effort.

Her heart was heavy. Filled and at the same time, empty. Since the last time with Dean at the pizzeria, she hadn't received any news. No call. No text. No, her heart wasn't big with heaviness, it was broken. Split. And now that she had returned to the café, she learned he no longer worked there.

Good for him, she thought as she put away one last box before heading towards the front of the café to deal with the customers. At least he was out of this hell. It was maybe better that way.

“Sorry for the wait, what can I get you?” The usual words were so ingrained in her that they came out of her mouth as soon as she was behind the cash register, without even looking at the customer.

“I would like you to give me the chance to talk to you,” a familiar voice said in front of her. That voice, low, hoarse, and so perfect. She had started to get used to hearing it almost every day. But this time, it forged yet another crack on her heart.

“Dean,” even saying his name was painful. The pain of a lost friendship and crushed hope. The pain of a humiliated moment, a bad memory where he had sat there in silence while she was being crushed as an inactive witness.

“Y/n. There’s no word to express how sorry I am for-”

An apology, of course, wasn't exactly what she wanted, but it was more than she had expected. He was there, in the flesh, in front of her. So, for once and although it was difficult because looking at him would hurt her even more, Y/n raised her head and stared into his sad gaze. Ready and open to hear what he had to say.

There was a sadness almost identical to her own in his beautiful green eyes. Guilt, regrets, he seemed sincere-

“Dean! I thought you had left the ship,” Kristina suddenly entered Y/n’s bubble, who didn’t waste a moment to move to the side. It wasn't unknown that Y/n didn't like being touched or having someone in her bubble, and Kristina knew it, so she did it on purpose. All the time.

“Excuse me, but I was talking with Y/n,” Dean replied in a neutral voice, almost annoyed, even.

“Oh, sure, you want to feel better about last time, but you don't have to,” Kristina continued, crossing her arms over her large chest.

Dean rolled his eyes and shifted his attention to Y/n. “I’m serious, Y/n. Come with me, I need to talk to you. And they don’t deserve you.”

Y/n's mouth opened, then closed, tears welling up in her eyes at an uncontrollable speed.

“Seriously, Dean, don’t you see how pathe-”

“Kristina, shut the fuck up. You’re bothering us.”

This really didn't please the girl who made an offended sound, threw an unimportant insult, and left without another word.

Once finally alone again, Dean was ready. Ready to tell the beautiful barista in front of him everything that was on his heart, even if he didn't really know exactly what it was himself. He had some in the past, girlfriends, one night stands, crushes on the most beautiful and popular girls in school, but that wasn't the same thing. He felt an attachment to Y/n, a different feeling that he couldn't describe. If it was love, he didn't know. But he knew he didn't want to lose her.

“It's a little too late to come to my defense,” her voice said instead of his. Taken by surprise, Dean's mouth opened then closed, like a fish looking flabbergasted. “Although I really enjoyed seeing someone tell her to fuck off for once,” the shadow of a smile drew on her face for a second, but quickly faded away. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work-”

“Wait,” Dean found his voice just in time.

“I don’t have time, Dean,” Y/n turned her back on him, giving him one last eye contact above her shoulder. Her eyes were filled with sadness and seeing her like that physically hurt him.

“On the contrary,” Dean insisted, a smile tugging at his lips as he knew the plan was going like clockwork. “You will soon have plenty of time.”

Seeing the obvious confusion spread across her face, Dean jerked his head towards the boss's office. This caught the attention of not only Y/n but also the other employees, because at the same time, voices were heard coming from that direction. Loud voices, displeased, and then the door opened.

“I am very disappointed with the state of this place. It's deplorable. I’m afraid I won't change my mind, the café is going to close.”

“Wait,” the boss looked tiny behind the person who had just spoken. Like the weight of reality was finally falling on his shoulders. Stomping him to the ground like a pest, just how he had always treated his employees. "You can’t, you don’t have the right!"

“I have all the rights, I am a health inspector, and this place is completely unsanitary.”

Witnessing the whole scene in the front row, like she was in the cinema, Y/n was jubilant. Finally. Finally this place was recognized as being good for trash. Finally, the boss got what he deserved. Finally, things seemed to come full circle and it was all over.

The health inspector subsequently introduced himself to the employees. He looked very young for this job, early twenties, probably, long hair parted in the middle of his forehead and hazel eyes, but regardless, he had done his job properly so Y/n didn’t care about the details.

“This place is going to close. But don't worry, you are entitled to unemployment compensation. Time to find something better for you,” the inspector finished his speech with a wink. If Y/n wasn't so excited by the idea of being rid of this miserable job, she would have been sure that the wink was aimed at her personally.

A laugh brought her attention back to Dean who was still in front of her. As the health inspector informed the customers present of the situation and put a note in the door to say the café was permanently closed, Dean was giggling.

“You did this,” Y/n finally understood.

“Told you we would get you revenge. Now, can you please come with me and listen to me? I need to talk to you.”

“After what you did for me, lunch is on me,” Y/n laughed as well, took off her apron which she threw behind her, and left the café without a glance behind her.

“Listen. So uhm, how can I say this, so uhm… God, I’m so bad at chick flicks and emotional stuff.”

The two had been sitting at the pizzeria for about an hour and a half pizzas. The same place as usual, with the same order, but this time everything was different. It was not simply out of friendship that they came to share a meal, there was more. Hidden feelings, others clearly visible but which had not yet been addressed, and frustration mixed with regrets.

Dean had been trying for two slices of pizza now to say something, but would immediately turn red the moment he tried to open up emotionally. And Y/n couldn't even blame him, seeing the efforts he made for her, what he did at the cafe, for her, and now he was trying so hard to explain and make it up to her… He could say absolutely nothing and she would be satisfied.

“Take your time,” Y/n mentioned between mouthfuls, leaving all her attention on the young man in front of her who still made her heart beat so quickly. Of course, he had made mistakes, and to forgive him just because he had the best revenge for her was pretty stupid, but oh well. Love makes you stupid, right? “It’s not like someone is waiting for me.”

“It’s just,” Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. Y/n's gaze stayed on the ring on his finger, a ring she had already noticed before. “Not easy to say this. I mean, not to you, but like, talking about my stuff like this. But there’s one thing I know I have to say, and here it is,” he finally seemed to find his bearings, beautiful green eyes anchoring into hers, his red cheeks creating a nice color contrast. "I'm sorry. Sorry for not saying anything when Kristina was there being a bitch. I guess I was taken up by surprise with what she said, but that’s no excuse.”

“Dean, it’s fine,” Y/n shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she knew exactly what she wanted to say to him. She took a big breath, words and sentences forming quickly in her mind. And it all came out of her mouth as quickly. “I am not ashamed to like you. Not at all. Because you are nice. Pretty. Hella sexy. And I feel comfortable whenever I’m with you. And I like spending time with you, and always wanna spend more. I won’t be ashamed to think all those things about you, because they are true, and they only make you a better person.” Pausing her words, Y/n forced herself to keep her gaze on Dean's again. She noticed that since those words had come out of her mouth, it was easier to hold his gaze. “You don’t have to have the same feelings, I understand. You don’t have to reciprocate or answer my confession, I can already see how bad it is for you to express feelings,” she laughed briefly at his scowling expression. “What I’m trying to say is… Yes. I like you a lot. And if you only like me as a friend, well, I’ll take that. It might hurt, but it would hurt more to not have you around anymore.”

Phew. It was hard to say, but once everything was out, Y/n felt better, lighter even. A heavy weight was finally leaving her heart, but there was still a little left. That was pressing. And tightening with the question… What will his answer be?

Dean took a brief moment to think before answering. Everything had gone silent, neither of them were eating, and both were probably holding their breaths.

“I've only known you for a short time,” Dean finally broke the silence, and the breath left Y/n's lungs which burned as it passed. She could feel the “but” coming. “But…” And there you go. “I really appreciate your company. A lot. I don’t know if it’s the same thing you feel, or if it’s love, but for the first time in a long, long time, I don’t want to leave this town. And I want to continue spending time with you.” Hope was reborn in Y/n, a wave of indescribable emotions suddenly invading her. “I'm going to have to leave, eventually, for work, but... I really want to take a break and try. I don’t know if I can do it, have a normal life, be with you, and just quit my job, so… I can’t promise you anything. I will probably leave eventually, I have so much stuff to do and…”

“You know,” Y/n continued when she saw him struggling with his words, hope now so strong in her body that she was almost vibrating. It wasn't a confession of love, but it was even better. This attachment Dean felt for her was worth even more than any cheesy love confession from the romantic movies or books she loved to delve into. “I no longer really have any ties to this city. No more jobs. If… We realize that things are working between us, and that you need to leave, nothing stops me from coming with you.” Realizing that it was probably too direct since they weren't even together, Y/n quickly adjusted her mind. “But those are just random ifs and thoughts,” she hurriedly took a bite of her pizza, just to make her stop talking.

“Y/n,” raising her head, she looked back at Dean. The latter had a big smile on his face and shook his head, clearly amused by her words. “If I told you what I did for work, you would never believe me. And when you”ll see it with your eyes and will be forced to believe me, you’re going to want to run away from me.”

“You’re a secret agent then?” Y/n hurriedly said, her mouth still full of pizza, her eyes wide. “Wow. Impressive.” She laughed, and Dean nervously laughed with her. If only it was that, it would be so much easier. “It really reminds me of my uncle.”

“Your uncle was a secret agent?” Dean asked, amused by the change of subject and how she was easily taking everything he said to her.

She was really the right one. Maybe she wouldn't run away after all.

“No, actually. When I was young, I often spent time at his house, but my parents stopped visiting him. They said he had lost his mind. But I loved these stories of ghosts and werewolves, he always told me he hunted them, saving people, like a secret agent of the supernatural,” a big smile stretched her lips at this thought, past memories flooding back into her head. It was so long ago, but she kept good memories of her uncle. Expecting the same reaction from Dean, Y/n only met a shocked face, frozen in a position that didn't suit him at all. Eyes wide, mouth parted, his skin white like he actually saw a ghost. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Dean?”

“Y/n, what’s your last name again?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, she blinked once and then twice. “Uhm, I don’t think I’ve ever told you. It’s Singer, why?”

A long silence answered her questions and her face dropped a little bit. Why did it matter?

“Your uncle… What's his name?”

“Dean, I haven’t seen my uncle in almost 15 years you know-”

“Y/n.”

“Robert. It’s Robert. But I always called him…”

“Bobby.”

It was her turn to have her eyes widen. “Yeah…?”

“I think you and I have more in common than I thought. And you really need to meet my brother,” he immediately stood up and threw two 20 bills on the table. Standing up in turn, confusion filled her entire expression.

“Dean, that’s way too much for two pizzas- Dean?�� But she couldn't add more, and the confusion turned into this small, pleasant flame in the middle of her chest when Dean's hand met hers. “Okay, but you’re going to have to explain it to me because I don’t understand anything.”

“You'll understand,” Dean's smile was indescribable because it was so big. But that smile was hiding something else. Secrets that his beautiful lips had surely sealed away for far too long. “Let’s go,” he walked outside, said goodbye to the restaurant owner, and led her to his car. But once inside, he stopped before starting the engine, frozen yet again as another realization hit him.

“What? Something's wrong?”

“You… uhm… might recognize my brother, actually.”

“Why, was he a customer at the café?” Y/n laughed, fastening her seat belt. This whole thing was so sudden, so random, she just wanted to burst laughing. She felt good even if she didn’t quite understand everything that was happening.

“It was the health inspector,” he finally started the car and backed out of the parking lot and onto the road in one smooth, sexy motion.

“Oh. Wait, he’s a health inspector?”

“Not… Really?”

“Dean.”

Silence.

“Dean, did you fake the inspection?”

“Not really?”

“Dean!”

“Please. I’ll explain everything once we arrive. Do you trust me?”

For a second, Dean took his eyes off the road and looked into hers, and she held the gaze for the entire second and saw nothing but honesty. Then, he turned his head and broke eye contact, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see his right hand raised slightly towards her, waiting to be picked up.

“Yeah,” she finally said, gently placing her hand in his. It was warm. Comfortable. And how he squeezed, tenderly but also firmly, showed worry about losing her. “It might be crazy and stupid, but I trust you, Dean Winchester.”

Forever taglist: @nitnat6245 @eevvvaa @wickedinspirations@fictional-affairs @awkward-and-indecisive @peachyaliien @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Supernatural Tag List: @peachyaliien @sexyvixen7 @stixnstripesworld @charred-angelwings @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @lyarr24 @fiftyshadesgrl @this-is-me19

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @kazsrm67 @wtrpxrks @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies @charred-angelwings @jensendreamland @deanswaywardgirl @happyt0exist @waynes-multiverse @djs8891 @mimaria420 @this-is-me1 @syrma-sensei

#dean winchester fanfiction #jacklesversebingo23 #hurt comfort bingo #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x f!reader #baby dean winchester #supernatural dean #supernatural dean x f!reader #supernatural dean winchester #supernatural dean winchester x female!reader #fluff #barista!dean #barista!reader

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perfectlysunny02 · 2 days

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@badthingshappenbingo

Several Sentence Sunday🤪

i wrote a whole fic for bad things happen bingo!

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

“Baby, what’s wrong? I’m all for you saying my name like that, but not in this context.” Tommy says, running his hand through Buck’s curls. “You sound like you’re in pain. What hurts?”

“I need you to stab my foot,” Buck whimpers, sitting up to hand him the knife. “Now, please.”

tagging: @whatisreggieshortfor @tizniz @actuallyitsellie @theotherbuckley @runicnotation @sunnywiththestars @tiltingheartand @shyaudacity @between-two-fandoms @racerchix21 @randomfandombisexual @randomcitizen98 @twopercentboy @clandestine-j @keenonkinkley

#911 abc #911 #evan buckley #sunny’s works #bad things happen bingo #tommy kinard #tevan #kinkly #bucktommy #tuck #hurt/comfort #hurt evan buckley #911 fanfiction

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ramblingkat · 2 years

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Ghosts of Future Change

Look, more AU_gust. How do I get Solo Leveling/ORV/Leveling with the Gods theme fic from Artist’s Muse? No idea, but you get to enjoy it now.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Unohana Retsu

Prompts: Pandemics and Epidemics, Artist’s Muse

Summary: The world changed when portals to other dimensions opened. More than monsters came through. Sickness and change did as well.

Ghosts of Future Change

Ichigo’s back itched. Badly. He was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him, his brain feeling sluggish. Being sick sucked, even more given that he knew he was only part way through the illness. Right now, he was in the middle of a round of Changing Plague. What was going to come next was worse. But he sort of expected to be hit by it eventually. All Talents seemed to be catching it eventually. But he knew the worst was to come. The Changing Plague was called that for the mutations it brought to those who caught it.

Honestly, it was a surprise it took this long for some sort of illness to come through one of the portals.

The world had changed when portals to another dimension had opened up, like so many different stories he had read while working on keeping his Korean up. Web novels had been a good way to help Ichigo keep what he had learned fresh and in his brain.

It had been a little eerie how accurate some of those had been. Portals opened to dungeons and other realms, some that burst out swarm after swarm of monsters that needed to be wiped out. Kisuke had been fascinated, after they had made sure all their important people were alive. Ichigo had expected Kisuke’s mad science brain to explode with delight. When he had first met his cousin Yoruichi’s best friend, Kisuke had been in a collection of hard science classes and doing his best to break reality then. Having something else beat him to it just seemed to challenge the blond.

Ichigo had fallen head over heels for Kisuke when Yoruichi had introduced the pair of them when Ichigo had needed a photo shoot model for an art class. He had been lucky that the blond had felt the same way. So they were together already when the first dungeons appeared, and they had both developed Talents that made fighting in said dungeons a surprisingly fun and profitable endeavor. Besides being excellent at fighting, getting into these alternative realms had given them both an outlet that they both enjoyed.

Kisuke had invented whole new devices to take measurements, including a few that several governments had bought in order to rate and organize their dungeons. So the pair of them never had to work again, but they both still did a lot of exploration.

Ichigo had never thought he’d get the chance to do such a thing in his life. He had expected to keep up his language studies, be a translator, and live in Tokyo his entire life. Maybe taking vacations around the world and taking amazing photos with the cameras Kisuke got him.

Then the dungeons had appeared, and Ichigo had gotten the chance to explore places no human had ever seen before, taking videos and bringing them back. Another thing that Kisuke had created for him, drones that followed them and took videos. Ichigo would take that and set to work on what he wanted to release. He never hid danger, but there was a strange beauty to the dungeons. Especially when he got images of Kisuke or himself in combat.

All in all, the dungeons only seemed to make Ichigo’s life better.

Then the Changing Plague came.

Those who had developed Talents were affected first, but it spread to those who never even developed a spark of magic. One out of ever five Talents developed a high fever, most falling unconscious for a period. They’d wake up, sluggish but aware. Then they’d collapse again, a second fever raging through their system. Depending on how strong they were, they would make up with some sort of physical changes. Mostly some sort of animal aspect, though not always a natural one. There were quite a few who developed something mythical. The stronger one was, the more likely they were to become something from stories.

Or dungeons.

Ichigo was now in that period between fevers. He was still sluggish, and he wanted to scratch all over his body, but the young man resisted the urge. There was the sound of something odd in his room, and he forced his eyes open. Was still dragging from the first round of the fever, and he dreaded what was going to happen next. But he didn’t recognize the sound and that made him paranoid.

Opening his eyes, he realized that the noise was the sound of scales sliding against the wood flooring of the bedroom he shared with his partner. Blinking, it took a moment for him to realize it was Lady Unohana, a former teacher for Kisuke and one of the greatest healing Talents to have been discovered. He had heard that she had recovered from the Changing Plague, but he had not realized just how much the woman had changed. Yoruichi, the only person he knew personally so far who had been sick and recovered, had developed feline aspects, but nothing close to the level of Unohana’s change.

She looked human from the waist up, but then her body flowed into the great body of a serpent. Some sort of constrictor, Ichigo was pretty sure, given how thick the body was, but his eyes drifted back up to meet Unohana’s as the woman leaned over him.

“Good morning, Kurosaki-san,” she said calmly, moving to help him sit up a bit. “I see that you have rejoined us. I have some things for you to drink.” She held the first cup to his lips. “You’ve been sweating, and I’d like to rehydrate you in a more natural method.”

Drinking what the woman gave him, Ichigo let his eyes roam around the room. Once she pulled the cup away, he asked. “Where’s Kisuke at?”

Unohana gave a soft hum as she collected a second cup. “He’s currently sleeping in another room. He’s come down ill as well.”

“Fuck,” Ichigo muttered, pretending not to see the slightly disapproving look from Unohana. She was scary enough without looking disappointed with him. “I had hoped….”

“Hope is fine,” she told him. “As long as you accept reality. Now, how do you feel?”

“Sore,” Ichigo said. “Itchy.” Then he yawned, blinking sleepidly at the woman. She just made sure that he drank the second cup of what seemed to be broth. “How is he?”

“Feverish. He’s about a day behind you in regards to the illness,” Unohana said briskly. “Shihoin-san is watching over him. Thankfully she’s already recovered herself. Watching the pair of you is not something I can do.”

Honestly, Ichigo was surprised to see her here at all. As the top healer of Japan, she was in high demand. But she had pretty much raised Kisuke, so Ichigo could understand while she at least stopped by for a visit. But he found himself relaxing as he knew that Yoruichi was watching over Kisuke.

“One more cup,” Unohana ordered, and Ichigo managed to swallow that down as well. Now feeling rather full, he let himself sink down as Unohana pushed at his shoulders, pulling the blankets back over him.

“Rest, Kurosaki-san. You’ll need that energy.”

Eyes feeling heavy, Ichigo didn’t fight with her, letting himself drift off yet again.

***

Ichigo grinned as he was looking at the video the drones had gotten from the newest dungeon. Watching himself and Kisuke run through and take down monsters was always enjoyable. Plus, well, Ichigo just liked seeing Kisuke fight. The man was sex on legs when he was killing things.

Even when those legs ended with a pair of delicate cloven hooves. Not that Ichigo could say much, given his own feet were scaled and clawed now. Waking up with dragon bits along his body had been a shock, but Ichigo had rolled with it. At least he and Kisuke had the scaling along their backs in common, though where Ichigo’s were golden in shade, Kisuke’s ranged from crimson to black. They even shared new head pieces in common. Ichigo’s were more horns, protruding forward from his head, where Kisuke’s seemed more like antlers curling back over his head.

Also learning how to deal with tails was new. Yoruichi was going to cash in on the favor of finding them new pants sooner rather than later, Ichigo was sure of it.

But he was busy putting together some new photos to post from the latest dungeon run. He found images where they were in very similar poses, both pre and post sickness. Then, after changing the opacity of the new images, he layered them over the old. So the new looks were ghosts of horns and tails over the old images, the hint of wings on Ichigo’s back. A view of the future to come.

Smiling, because doing any photo editing with Kisuke as the subject always made Ichigo smile, Ichigo set it up to post.

Maybe he should go see if Kisuke was up for another proper photo shoot. Ichigo loved the look of the scales down his partner’s spine, and definitely wanted to make other people jealous that he got to lick them and they didn’t.

#hurt/comfort bingo #au_gust 2022 #Bleach #Kurosaki Ichigo #Urahara Kisuke #Unohana Retsu

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 months

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Defeated and Trophied

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: I would love to see your interpretation of Branch being captured instead of Floyd, like the original concept in the movie. Used for Defeated and Trophied.

Fandom: Trolls (Dreamworks)

Character: Branch

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, torture, multiple mentions of death and being killed, though nothing graphic

1744 words

Fear was an old friend to Branch.

It had been a rare acquaintance back when he was a child — back in the days in which his biggest concerns had been thunderstorms and a dark room.

From the moment he’d turned grey, it had crept its way beside him, a creature that would never grant him peace again.

After all, no one else was around anymore to chase it away for him.

As he’d grown up, it remained consistently by his side. It was a constant voice in the back of his head, screaming at him to watch for bergens, boil the drinking water, always be ready for that which longs to kill you.

Yes, fear was an old friend indeed. But he’d learned early on how to hold it close to his chest. One slip up and he could be devoured.

So when he woke up in a diamond bottle, two massive creatures looming over him, he didn’t show his terror. He didn’t scream as he so wanted to, and most importantly, he would not resort to begging.

They were tall, comparable to a bergen in that regard. But where bergens were stocky creatures, these were lanky. Their skin was shiny and hard-looking, a far cry from the soft fluff of a troll.

Whatever they were, he’d never seen one before.

His stomach churned with anxiety. Normally, he was knowledgeable enough to at least have some idea of what monster he may have been dealing with. But this… he didn’t know if these things wanted to eat him or worse.

He knew what Poppy would do if she were here. At the thought of his girlfriend, his heart leapt into his throat. Was she here? Had they gotten her too?

No. He didn’t see her anywhere in the massive room. Thank god. He knew she could take care of herself, but the thought of her being trapped in a claustrophobic diamond prison left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Who are you?” He called out cautiously. He waited for a response, but the pair — one boy and one girl, he was pretty sure — hardly even reacted to the noise.

They were both looking at the bottle he was trapped in, yet somehow they remained ignoring him.

“Hey!” He yelled, quickly losing patience as he pounded a fist against the purple-hued glass. “Let me out of here!”

The boy looked at him (or rather, the jar as a whole, like Branch was nothing more than a pretty decoration inside) with trepidation. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked hesitantly, like he couldn’t even hear the shouting.

“Oh,” the girl said, scooping up the jar carelessly and sending Branch tumbling, the wind getting knocked out of him as his body knocked against the hard walls. “It will work.”

“What the hell!” He shouted, furious at the lack of acknowledgement. “Let me out! What do you want?”

With her free hand, the girl held up a small ball…? Examining it closer, though, Branch could see that it was connected to the jar he was held in, making it almost reminiscent of a perfume bottle.

What the hell?

He didn’t know what to expect, but the coming sensation wasn’t something he could have prepared for. All at once, a horrible pressure erupted from the center of his chest, like — like some invisible force was trying to get in.

Distantly, he could feel his body being lifted slightly off the ground, levitating no more than a few short inches. It was hard to even notice, through the agony. It didn’t get any colder in his prison, but he could feel the warmth being pulled out of his skin.

The pressure seeped from his body quickly, and he could almost feel it going right up and out of the bottle, being spritzed like a fine mist over the girl’s body.

As his body dropped down, thudding against the floor, he could hear her belt out a ridiculous riff.

“Wh…?” He coughed, pressing a hand over his heart from his new position on the floor. It felt like a part of his very soul had been sucked right out of him. He felt empty. What was going on? What was happening?

“Wow,” the boy said, reverent of the notes that had just come from the other’s mouth. “Let me try!”

“Wait—” Branch wheezed, unable to catch his breath before being subjected to this again. He tried to brace himself, but it did little to help.

It was almost more intense the second time around, and leaving him feeling somehow even more hollow than before.

He was shaking from the cold by the time his body dropped back to the floor the second time.

“What are you doing to me?” He croaked, dizzy and freezing.

There was a malicious smirk on the girl’s face, the first thing finally directed at him.

His heart pounded in dread. He was going to regret even asking, and he knew it.

———

“He’s kinda cute,” Veneer said, shaking the jar slightly and sending Branch stumbling on unsteady feet back and forth. “Don’t you think so, Vel?”

Velvet glanced back at her brother from where she was touching up her makeup. “Not really,” she said, disinterested.

“Oh, come on, he’s like a feral little chihuahua!” Veneer said, proceeding to coo at Branch. “Who’s a good little troll?”

With the minuscule energy he had left, he glared as strongly as he could. “I will kill you,” he growled. As such a proportionately small creature that was barely standing and also trapped inside a sad little bottle, Branch couldn’t imagine that he looked very intimidating.

“Ugh, feisty thing,” Veneer whined, setting the jar down on a side table. “I don’t know why you’re so upset,” he said, “we take perfect care of you, don’t we? I mean, sure we have to keep you in a little jar, but it’s not like you’re dead or anything.”

“Your talent is being put to much better use on us,” Velvet chimed in, “You should be grateful! It’s not like you were using it for anything important. But thanks to you, we’re currently charting at number one!”

“Did you at least credit me somewhere?” he asked drily.

Veneer leaned over, stage whispering to his sister. “Should we have given him creds?”

“No, you moron! Ugh, come on, we’re going to be late for the photoshoot.”

———

Branch woke from his not-quite-sleep as he’d learned to get used to: by being jostled around like he was a fucking doll.

He groaned weakly, blinking his eyes open to the slightly sleep-blurred vision of a massive eye staring back at him.

After nearly two decades of anticipating a bergen around every corner, his instincts told him he was about to be fucking eaten. But he wasn’t quite so lucky.

“Oh, good,” who he finally recognized as Velvet said, completely flat, “it’s still alive.”

Had he the energy, he would have flipped her off… or something. But as it was, he just curled in on himself, wincing in anticipation. He knew what was coming. It was all the self-proclaimed pop princess (and oh, how that title made his blood boil) ever really interacted with him for.

“Just do it,” he growled, far from complacent, but simply desperate for the bad part to be done and over. He just wanted to rest.

How long had he been here, now? Two weeks? Three? He’d completely lost track.

Was Poppy looking for him? What had she thought when he’d just vanished into thin air? What if she gave up on him?

No. That was a stupid thought. He knew her better than that. On their first adventure together, they had literally seen Creek get eaten, and she’d somehow still been determined to save him. And, somehow, she’d been right. Of course, Creek had turned out to be a no-good traitorous piece of shit garbage man, but before that reveal, Poppy had been determined to get him back.

As hard as it was for him to fathom the idea that anyone would ever stay by his side as she had, he was always one to look at the facts. He knew she would refuse to give up until she got him back. He knew, no matter how long it took, she would find him.

As comforting as that was, it also left him feeling wary. Velvet and Veneer weren’t exactly the type that could be subdued by a hug.

He cried out in pain as his talent was drained from him, gasping desperately for breath. He didn’t have much more to give.

“You can’t…” he panted, gritting his teeth. “Can’t use my talent f-orever. S’not sustainable.” He said, snarky as he could manage through the bone-deep exhaustion.

“Oh no,” Velvet lamented, drawn out and dramatic, “whatever will I do?” With little warning, she tossed the jar to Veneer, who only barely caught it.

Branch didn’t have the strength to brace himself. Every inch of his body ached from being thrown around like this.

Velvet draped herself over her makeup chair, legs kicked over the arm of it. “If only I’d thought of that before,” she pouted as Veneer drained another dose from him, leaving Branch’s vision unfocused. “Oh wait! I did.”

“You did?” Veneer asked, apparently unaware of whatever his sister was up to. That seemed to be the common trend, Branch had noticed.

“Yes, dummy. I told you this troll was a part of BroZone, remember?”

His heart sank at the mention of his br—his former brothers. What did they have to do with this?

“I forged a letter,” Velvet continued, “it will lure the rest of the band here to save their stupid little brother, and then,” her eyes glinted with greed, “we’ll have plenty of troll to keep us on top.”

A thousand bad memories threatened to overwhelm him at once. He could feel his emotions swirling in his chest, and for a moment he was certain he was going to vomit them up. Instead, he managed to scoff out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to remain flat and unemotive. If he’d done it for the better part of twenty years, he could do it now, even if he was slightly out of practice. “I’ve got bad news for you. There’s no way in hell any of them are coming for me.”

“Just wait and see, little troll,” Velvet said, confidence unwavering. “Just wait and see.”

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whump-tr0pes · 6 months

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Honor Bound 6 - 24

Honor Bound 6 - 24 (Not Used to Freedom) - @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by @who-needs-a-life-anyways

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past captivity, themes of self-harm, past hallucinations, angst, recovery, Gavin being a feral Pomeranian with Isaac desperately holding the leash, frank discussion of murder, past child abuse, complicated feelings about abusers, Isaac "it's not my fault my love language is Acts of Service and all I know how to do is kill" Moore, discussion of dead parents

For the third time in three days, Gavin woke with no collar around his neck. He woke with a soft mattress beneath him and a thick, warm blanket over him, and the golden late-September sun creeping into the window. The shades were pulled back, so that the sun could come in and so that he could see out, see that he wasn’t in a small windowless basement with stairs up to a single door, a high ceiling, and a gallows against one wall.

Most importantly, he woke next to the warm, strong body of the man who had saved him, and he told himself yet again like a fervent prayer that this wasn’t Schiester’s cruelest hallucination yet.

Gavin rolled closer to Isaac and tucked his head in the hollow of Isaac’s throat. He didn’t know if Isaac was awake, or if it was simple unconscious instinct that had Isaac’s arms drawing around him and holding him close, but he didn’t care. He breathed out a shaky sigh and allowed himself to be held. There was warmth, here, unlike anything he had ever felt in the depths of Schiester’s basement. Even with the blankets he had earned with his desperate, often false confessions, nothing had ever felt even close to this warm. It had only ever been the chill of the air and of Schiester’s gaze, and the fire of the cane, the knife, the beatings. Then the chill, again, of being so completely, utterly alone.

Tears wet the pillow beneath Gavin’s head, and he sniffled. He hadn’t meant to start crying.

A hand cradled his cheek, and he pressed his lips to Isaac’s palm. The tears flowed freely now. His face screwed up and he buried it against Isaac’s chest.

“Gavin?” Isaac’s chest rumbled against Gavin’s ear. Gentle fingers slid through Gavin’s short hair, and he shivered at the soft touch. It had been days of soft touch, of clean clothes, of a warm bed, of hot food… Surely Schiester wouldn’t let him feel this relief for days. The only price had been watching Isaac’s pain as he reeled from his memories of Rosa, watching Isaac as he struggled so, so hard not to punish himself for all the shame that threatened to crush him – and nearly losing his own life again at the hands of another specter with cold blue eyes.

But that was Edrissa, not Schiester. And Sam said they really don’t think she’s going to try again.

“Are you alright?” Isaac rasped, tilting Gavin’s face up so he could get a good look. Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together over dark eyes and darker circles beneath them. The kindness in his eyes, the concern, fully undid him. Gavin’s throat closed around a sob.

“No, look,” Isaac said, his own voice tight. He guided Gavin’s face up, tilted it so he was looking at the room, dimly lit by the sun. “This is real. You’re safe, Gavin, you’re—”

“N-no, I, I know,” Gavin whispered. “I think… I know.” Isaac let out a breath. “I’m just…” Gavin pulled Isaac close again, buried his face in his neck. Tears wet the collar of Isaac’s sleeping shirt. “I was just… so scared. So alone.”

“I know,” Isaac said brokenly.

“I thought was going to die,” Gavin whimpered.

“I kn-know,” came the reply. Isaac’s arms tightened around him.

“I thought… I thought I… I thought I broke you, I thought I made you hate me so much you’d l-leave me there…”

Count yourself lucky.

Ice clutched Gavin’s chest, threatened to drag him away from Isaac’s arms and down, down into the depths of Schiester’s basement again. It was always waiting for him, always there. He simply had to close his eyes and let himself be pulled in.

A hand, gentle as a kiss but strong as iron, slid under Gavin’s jaw and lifted his face until his eyes met Isaac’s again. Isaac’s lips trembled as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that he… that he ever made you feel that way. That he ever made it possible. But Gavin… no. No. You didn’t break me. And I could…” The hand on Gavin’s jaw began to shake. “I could never… leave you there, Gavin, I’m… sorry it took me so long to—”

“Don’t,” Gavin breathed, and shook his head. “Don’t.” He reached up and twined his fingers through Isaac’s, kissing each scarred knuckle. Gavin’s breaths were shaky and ragged, and Isaac’s matched his.

Gavin forced himself to draw in a slow breath through his nose.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Nothing smelled like Isaac in the basement, but Gavin could smell Isaac all around him now. It calmed him, slowed the stuttering beat of his heart. He scrubbed at the tears with his sleeve and met Isaac’s eyes again.

“I want to go outside again today,” he said with an uncertain smile.

Isaac’s lips curved up. “That sounds nice. Any particular place, or…?”

“Just outside,” Gavin said. “Anywhere. The town again, or…” He trailed off as Isaac’s smile froze. “Or the woods, maybe…”

“We can go into town,” Isaac said thickly. “We can, um…” He swallowed hard. His thumb rubbed along his forearm over his long sleeve, back and forth, and unconscious movement that made Gavin’s own scars itch. “If you want—”

“I don’t want to run into Rosa again,” Gavin said as he gently took Isaac’s wrist in his hand. Isaac went rigid and met Gavin’s eyes with a startled look. “I… that’s the last thing I want.”

Isaac swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “If we, um, r-run into her while we’re out, then—”

“I don’t want to run into her again if not allowed to kill her, Isaac,” Gavin said, as calmly as he could muster.

Isaac’s eyes flew open. His pulse raced under Gavin’s fingers. “S-sorry?” he mumbled.

“After what she did to you?” Gavin said, feeling rage coiling inside him like an injured predator. He thought his fury had been beaten out of him, cut out of him.

Not when it comes to my family. Not when it comes to Isaac.

He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “After what she… did to you,” he murmured, “I don’t want to see her again unless you’ll let me at her next time.”

“You could barely stand,” Isaac huffed, incredulous.

“I could have done damage,” Gavin said. His stomach roiled with bitter hatred for the woman who had looked at Isaac as he fell apart in front of her, because of what she had done to him, and laughed.

Laughed.

“You don’t know her,” Isaac said, shifting his gaze down. “She made me, um, who I am.”

“Bullshit she did, Isaac,” Gavin snapped. “She taught you how to handle a weapon and take inhuman amounts of punishment, and she cheated because you were already ready to do the second thing. And she couldn’t even beat you in a fair fight, so I think I stand a fair chance at half strength.”

“She can… but I…” Isaac shook his head as if dazed. “You’re not at half strength, Gavin.”

Gavin snorted, his eyes still blazing. “Fine. A quarter. My point still stands, she’s a fucking piss-ant weakling that couldn’t beat you with one arm tied behind your back, so you should have let me at least try while I had my shot at her. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Why do you keep… She’s not weak, she used to beat me every fucking night. She used to beat me into the fucking ground. And—”

“First off, that’s fucking horrifying, so I hope you registered what you just said.” Isaac opened his mouth, but Gavin kept going. “Second, how old were you when that was happening?”

Isaac blinked. “Um… I mean, I was… younger, but… even once I got a little older, she could still take me with the others, she could still—”

“So she could beat you as long as there were multiple other people you were fighting? Along with her?” Gavin’s head was beginning to throb.

“I mean… sometimes it was one-on-one with her, at the end of the night, when—”

“When you were tired?”

Isaac looked at Gavin helplessly. “I mean… yes, when I was tired, but sometimes you have to fight when you’re tired—”

“But I’m guessing she was always fresh when this happened.” Gavin’s jaw ached, too. He forced himself to relax it.

“I… I don’t remember, but… yeah, I guess she was fresh more often than not…?”

Gavin was shaking with rage. “Why didn’t you let me fucking kill this woman?” he breathed. “Who hurt you and used you and made you think, after all of this, that she was somehow stronger than you, so you were too scared to fight back against all of it?”

“I wouldn’t have fought back,” Isaac said as he shook his head. “I would have lost the family if I… if I ever…”

Gavin fell silent. He had no answer, no retort for the words that faded between them. Gavin had never fought back, either. He had never even considered it. He had been so young when his parents first made him afraid that he never remembered there being another option.

And, just like Isaac, he had been saved when his family cast him out when he failed to be what they made him.

“S-sorry,” Gavin rasped, and pressed his lips to Isaac’s scarred knuckles again. “I’m… I’m just… angry. At what she did to you.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “I’m getting that.”

“You’re not angry?” Gavin’s eyes flicked up to Isaac’s.

“Um…” Isaac wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I am. A little. But mostly there’s just… shame.” He seemed to be trying very, very hard not to press on the newest cuts on his forearms – the ones not left by Gavin, but by Isaac himself. “I mean… are you angry at your parents?”

“Yes,” Gavin answered, without hesitation. Then, “But… mostly for… what they did to you. The family.”

Isaac huffed and pressed a kiss to Gavin’s hair. “Feelings about the people who hurt us doesn’t ever seem to make much sense. I wasn’t angry at my mother for… years. I mean… I didn’t realize I felt anything but guilt for her until this year, and even then it’s… hard.”

“Yeah,” Gavin whispered. He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“For what it’s worth, while we’re on the topic of parents and killing people,” Isaac said, “I know this might be… kind of a weird thing to say.” He gently cradled Gavin’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “But for what your parents did to you… I’m jealous that Vera got to kill both of them. Doesn’t seem fair.”

Grief, familiar and faded, washed through Gavin’s chest. A bitter laugh tightened in his throat. “That’s fair,�� he said. “And definitely the most romantic thing you’ve said all morning.”

“I do what I can,” Isaac said with an equally tense laugh, but the arms around Gavin were careful and warm. Gavin fit into them like Isaac’s arms were home – the only home he’d ever known. All his parents’ homes, his warehouse in the east prairie, the Crayton house, the lake house – they had all been places he’d laid his head, but none of them had ever been home. The only place that he had ever rested, the only place he had ever found peace, was in the arms of the man who held him now – the arms of the man he thought he had broken a second time. Tears burned in his eyes again and he blinked them away. He didn’t want to spend the morning crying and angry. He wanted to spend the morning outside with the sun on his face and his hand twined with Isaac’s.

“I want to get up,” Gavin said softly, and pushed himself upright. “We don’t have to go into town, but… please, Isaac, let’s—”

“No, we can go into town,” Isaac said with a shaky smile. “If Rosa lives here, then… I’ll have to find a way to make peace with that. And if you want to go into town, then… for fuck’s sake, we’re going into town, and no one is going to stop us.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Gavin’s cheek. Gavin turned his head and caught Isaac’s mouth in a kiss that Isaac broke after only a moment.

Gavin’s smile faltered. “To town it is,” he said softly. “And then it would be good to visit with Vera and Tori?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac said. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stripped off his shirt. “We have some stuff to catch them up on.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said as he averted his eyes from Isaac’s scars. “Yeah, we do.”

Continued here

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #bad things happen bingo #not used to freedom #whump #hurt/comfort #Isaac/Gavin #past captivity #themes of self-harm #past hallucinations #angst #recovery #frank discussion of murder #past child abuse #complicated feelings about abusers #discussion about dead parents

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

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📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so��good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

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